Honestly, it's been years since Richard thought about the Flying Graysons and their various performances while traveling with Haly's Circus. Why would he need to? He's grown passed those years, grown past the need to honor the memories of his family even if he still does whenever the anniversary comes around.

He's not that little boy anymore, the little boy filled with childlike wonder and often chased his younger sibling around while pretending to be some ferocious tiger escaping its containment. The little boy who promised to always keep his sibling safe, who promised that they'll have some fairytale styled life with stars in their eyes and roses between their teeth. That boy that he was rivals the man that he is now.

Then you showed up out of nowhere, leaving him in absolute shambles.

It's odd to see the living being that's actively diverging with his actual memory. In his head he still smells iron in the air, the taste of it dropping onto his tongue like a nightmarish take on a snow falling. He sees lifeless bodies, hears his own harsh sobbing, he can feel liquid congealing between his fingers and trapped under his nails—

Richard blinks—breathes—and it brings him back to the present. Back to the worried look in your eyes, how your lips purse slightly. He shouldn't throw this opportunity away, he thinks. Not many people get second chances.

"I've got something to tell you," he starts quietly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his coffee mug, lips pulling into a terse smile. Maybe he shouldn't have invited you into his apartment, everything feels claustrophobic. He has to do this, though. Coming out to you could be the best start to this relationship. "I know I probably look a lot different from when we were younger..."

Pause. His lungs feel like they're immolating within his body he needs to breathe. In, out. Breathe.

"When Bruce adopted me, he helped me with my gender therapy and got me on Testosterone.. I started working out here and there.. pretty exciting, right?" Right?