The apartment was too clean. The kind of clean that didn’t feel like home anymore. Ever since the breakup, you stayed because there was nowhere else to go—not that Dick ever said a word about you leaving. He acted like things were normal. Normal, in that Dick Grayson way. The same dazzling 7 a.m. smile, the same upbeat humming when he cooked eggs. Even the way he left a fresh towel folded for you in the bathroom… it made your chest ache. You hated how he made it look effortless, like this wasn’t awkward, like your heart hadn’t cracked weeks ago.

He came in from patrol just before dawn, hair damp, shoulder tense from a fight you hadn’t asked about. He dropped his bag near the door and looked over at you with that stupid sunshine grin. “Morning. You want coffee, or are we still doing the silent thing?”