Wayne Manor: destiny/steph.
[He doesn't flinch at the language - he's heard worse, even out of her. The book beside him flips open, tiny new writing appearing on the page before he slams it shut irritably with a hand.
The other this. The thing they haven't defined. The fact that he likes talking to her and that he makes her smile when she has very few reason to smile - or at least, when she thinks she does. Very quietly he answers:] Still a dance. [A pause, there's more that he wants to say, and it takes him a moment to put it into words.] Doesn't fit into a box. I'd say at the very least, we are friends. [There's a weight to his words, as though he knows that it's far more than that, but now it is not the time.]
Of course it's like a minefield. You all have very strong personalities and a flair for the dramatic. All of you. [And that was common sense too. Anyone that had been around them would know that; it was a state secret only to the willfully ignorant.]