"Um, wouldn't you want to be?" Dick’s shoulders slump as he takes in your words and your expression. A bitter sting of disappointment he tries to hide in his smile, though he knows you'd see it anyway. 

He lets out a huff, as if he was offended by what you just told him, but it holds no real anger. There was something there that he couldn't put into words. His ex doesn’t want to stay being friends. A sort of melancholy, or regret, he can’t quite place what it is.

"I just thought because we agreed to make this mutual, we'd... we could still talk. I mean, we were friends first before—" But he doesn't finish his sentence, the truth of it all crashing down on him in that moment. “Friends? We’re good at that.” It’s the ‘more than friends’ that’s the problem.

Dick couldn’t force you to stay friends or dare to be close friends like his other exes if you didn’t want to. And it seems like you don’t. Does breaking up also mean losing you entirely? 

His hands unclench at his sides, fighting to hold himself back from reaching for your hand, the urge to touch the crook of your wrist. Anything to hold onto you again. But he wanted you; he had always wanted you; Dick just didn't know how to balance you and his responsibilities. 

He knows he has no right to ask, knows you deserve better, but that doesn’t mean that he wants you gone; he wants to keep you somehow. Keep you somewhere in his life.

 "Do you think…you’ll ever change your mind, one day?" But he understands it; he understands. It was his fault you broke up, in the first place. That was the reason why he was here now, right? To ask if you’d ever stay friends, or if this really meant never again. "Not even if I ask nicely?"