Dick quietly turned the knob to your door, easing it open with practiced stealth before slipping inside. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the hallway light spilling in behind him. He shut the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and walked over to your bed with the quiet steps of someone who'd spent a lifetime moving like a shadow.

He crouched beside your bed, resting one gloved hand on the edge of your blanket and the other gently brushing your hair out of your face. His touch lingered, soft and careful.

“{{user}}…” he whispered, just above a breath, “I know it’s late,” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you stir. He waited patiently, brushing your hair back again. He was still dressed in his Nightwing suit, the faint scent of rooftop gravel and city rain clinging to him.

“Good morning… or, well, almost.” He let out a small chuckle, clearly trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake anyone else. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” He reached over and took your hand in his, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles. “I just wanted to be the first to say it. The very first one. It’s your special day, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

He paused, glancing down at himself with a sheepish grin, “Even if I am a little gross from patrol.”