Despise ⇢ Dick Grayson

twelve.

6 Months Later

THE CLINK OF METAL hitting metal fills the training room. Jason's sword moves so quickly that it becomes a blur, deftly blocking hits from both Rachel and Gar.

A strike to Gar's chest sends him flying across the mat, leaving Rachel to defend herself against Jason's lightning fast moves.

I sit up on the window sill, my legs crossed and my chin in my hand. For six months, we have trained together, day in and day out. The monotony of it all is starting to get to every single one of us, but none more than Jason. His restlessness is evident as he swings harder and harder against Rachel, their swords clashing together. She stumbles back, off the mat.

"That's enough," I call out, before Jason accidentally hurts her. He freezes, right before he strikes her, and drops his sword to the ground with a reverberating clatter.

"Man, I'm sick of this. I'm sick of being locked up in this fucking tower and I'm sick of Dick's rules," he complains.

"We all are," Gar says, standing and rubbing at his chest.

"Don't do this, don't do that," Jason mocks Dick and I smile, just a little.

There's a beep over the intercom, signalling the presence of someone at the entrance of the building.

"Who is that?" Rachel asks, confused. It's not like we get a lot of visitors here.

I jump down from my perch and walk out of the training room, toward the elevator. Just as I get in, I hear Dick come into the living area, questioning the others, "Is someone here?"

When I come back up the elevator and into the penthouse, it's with four pizzas in tow, stacked on top of each other.

Rachel, Gar and Jason rejoice, yanking a box from me each and shoving their faces with pizza slices. Dick is decidedly unimpressed.

"I made dinner already," he tells me, using his stern voice.

"Not the vegetable soup again," Jason groans. "It's disgusting."

"He's right, Dick. We can't keep eating that stuff. It's gross," Gar sheepishly agrees, clearly feeling guilty.

I don't though, pushing myself up onto the kitchen counter and flinging open the final pizza box. I bite into a slice as Dick gives me his unimpressed stare. I have become well acquainted with the unimpressed stare over the past few months.

"Will, can I talk to you please?" The frustrated strain in his voice makes me smile. I hop down from the countertop, pizza in hand, and follow him into the hallway. He turns to face me, arms crossed over his chest.

"You want some pizza?" I ask as I take a bite.

"This needs to stop." His face is as serious as always. I hum.

"Eating pizza?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"The rules are in place for a reason, alright? The others see you flaunting them and think—"

"Think what? That they might not have to follow the Dick Grayson handbook on how to live? I don't see that as a bad thing. This isn't a prison, you know?"

He shifts, frowning. "It's not supposed to be. But I'm trying to prepare them—all of you—for..."

"For what?" I ask. "What exactly are we preparing for? To become Titans? Please." I scoff and shake my head.

"Is that so hard to believe?" There is a hint of insecurity in his voice, one that I can only detect because I've spent the last six months living in close proximity to him.