SS: clipped wings

Dick Grayson's POV:

My first day at the Gotham Youth Center felt more daunting than any high wire act I'd ever faced back when I performed in the circus with my parents.

The building was enormous and gray, the kind of place that seemed to absorb any warmth or happiness and lock it away behind its cold walls.

I trudged through the echoing halls feeling like I was in a nightmare, noticing other kids who looked as tough as the concrete around us.

Right away, some of the bigger kids picked on me. His name was Tommy, a tall kid with a mean streak, he blocked my path in the hallway and sneered, "Hey, circus boy, think you're special?" Beside him, was his buddy Mark,I learned their names through the other children who were gossiping about them.

Mark chimed in with a snide comment, "What are you, some kind of gypsy?" My heart sank hearing that. I am Romani, and his words hurt they were reminding me of the harsh world outside our circus tent.

It also brought back the chilling warnings from Tony Zucco about potential "accidents"—warnings that, tragically, had come true. Since I hadn't done anything to prevent the tragedy, part of me felt like maybe I deserved this harsh treatment.

After Tommy finished beating me up, and making my belongings scatter across the floor, I silently picked everything up. I was overwhelmed with guilt, remembering the ignored speculation I had before our last performance, believing I could have done something more.

Eventually, I found my room, which was as stark and unwelcoming as the rest of the place, furnished only with a bunk bed, a small bathroom, some old books, and an ancient TV. I began to go the bed and sleep through the rest of the night. Later when I woke up I sat on the lower bunk, trying to find some escape with the thoughts of my parents. I was reading a comic book when the door suddenly opened, and a kid around my age opened the door.

He was different from the rest of the kids here. "Hi, I'm Kiyotaka Ayanokoji," he introduced himself. His voice was flat, almost monotone, and his face showed no emotion, maybe just a trace of curiosity or perhaps it was just politeness.

"Richard Grayson," I replied, hesitating a bit at his unusual name. Noticing his expression didn't change at all, I quickly added, "You can call me Dick." It's what everyone back at the circus used to call me.

"Understood, Dick," Kiyotaka responded. His tone was even, devoid of any emotion. Despite—or maybe because of his unemotional demeanor, I felt a strange sense of comfort. It was reassuring to be around someone who seemed so untouched by the chaos of this place.

Sitting with Kiyotaka I felt a tiny spark of hope. Maybe his steady presence meant not everything here had to be as grim as it first appeared. His constant, unchanging expression was oddly comforting amid the unpredictable environment of the youth center. It made me think that maybe I could find a way to navigate through this new environment.