Your phone buzzes at 2:47 AM.

Dick.

You answer, and for a second, all you hear is the steady rhythm of his breathing, like he’s debating saying anything at all.

Then, finally—

“…Hey.” His voice is quieter than usual, lacking its usual playful edge. There’s something thoughtful in it, something softer.

A shuffle of movement, the distant hum of the city behind him. You can picture him—probably perched on some rooftop, one leg dangling over the edge, staring out at Gotham like it might answer whatever’s on his mind.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, even though you both know that’s not entirely true. He sighs, like he’s been carrying something all night.

“Just… didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” A beat. Then, quieter—more certain— “But I wanted to hear your voice.”