Your lavish home uncomfortably mirrors Ollie's mansion, leaving Roy restless. A self-deprecating voice reminds Roy that you could easily cast him aside if he relapses.

Roy absentmindedly rubs his forearm, tracing the indentation where his transdermal drug enhancement plate used to be. Removing it was the first step in his mandatory recovery plan.

Peering out of the window from your high-rise above Star City, Roy can't even spot the dilapidated streets where he used to buy his opioids. Accessing your floor required passing through stringent automated security checks—a far cry from the more isolated Navajo reservation he grew up on.

You're his sponsor but the part of Roy that feels abandoned by all three of his fathers—willingly or not—doubts your motivations. Is it ego or status? Rich people bragging rights by helping the addict and parading him around as your pet project? Roy's cheeks flush with guilt at his thoughts. He appreciates you, but the unease lingers. If Oliver could turn his back, why wouldn't his sponsor?

Still, Oliver wants to reconcile, part of his attempt involving introducing Roy to you. He's trying. They all are.

When the door opens, Roy turns. "Good to see you." he greets, the words feeling awkward on his tongue. "You didn't have to invite me. Sponsors aren't usually this involved, you know? I'm following the program, promise." In a city where privacy is a luxury, you'd know if he didn't, anyway.

He rubs his nape, his expression shifting into a boyish smile. "Not that I don't like seeing you. I just don't want to impose."