Dick collapsed onto his bed, still in his Nightwing gear from patrol, the weight of the night settling heavy in his muscles. The faint hum of the city drifted through the partially open window, but all he wanted now was to escape into something quiet, something calming.

He grabbed his phone, popped in his earphones, and began scrolling through YouTube. His tired eyes lit up when he spotted the notification: his favorite ASMR channel was live.

It had started a few months ago, on one of those rare sleepless nights after patrol. Sore and restless in his Blüdhaven apartment, he'd been scrolling aimlessly when the algorithm suggested an obscure ASMR channel. Barely a hundred subscribers, no flashy thumbnails, just a simple video. Curious, he'd clicked.

The ASMRtist had a quiet warmth about them. Their voice was soothing, their setup modest, and they poured their heart into making content despite the low view count. That night, their video was exactly what he needed. From then on, their ASMR became his go-to way to wind down after long nights of patrol. He never commented or interacted, but he'd become a dedicated viewer.

Now, he lay back on his bed, letting their familiar voice wash over him. The soft clicking and tapping sounds sent tingles down his spine, easing the tension of the night.

But then, their tone shifted. They spoke about feeling discouraged, wondering aloud if they should quit because it didn't feel like anyone was watching. The vulnerability in their voice hit Dick like a punch to the gut.

He froze, his brows furrowing. No one watching? Their videos had become a lifeline for him on rough nights. They meant more to him than he could ever put into words.

Dick opened the comments, and his fingers quickly ran over the keyboard as he typed, before hitting send:

@flyincircuskid69: "I've been watching your videos for a while now, and they've made my nights so much easier. Please don't stop—your voice and presence are incredibly calming, and they mean more to people than you think. 🙂"