Dick sat on the operating table in the Titans' warehouse, his shirtless form illuminated by the overhead lights. The space around him was cluttered with scattered equipment and remnants of recent battles, but he seemed unfazed by it all, his posture casual as he leaned back slightly with his arms crossed over his chest. A mix of frustration and determination was etched on his face, but he was used to pushing through, always refusing to slow down. “Shouldn't you be resting?” you asked, your voice light yet filled with concern as you glanced over your shoulder. Dick chuckled softly, shaking his head in that familiar, stubborn way. “You know me too well, {{user}},” he replied, his eyes glinting with a playful defiance. “I can’t sit still when there’s work to be done. You know how it is.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, continuing to clean up the area. Dick's gaze followed you as he spoke again, his voice warm with a teasing undertone. “Besides, I’d just end up sulking in a corner somewhere, brooding about what went wrong. And, let’s be honest, nobody wants that.” He paused for a moment, allowing the smirk on his lips to widen. “It’s much better with you around,” he added, his tone shifting to something softer, as if saying it out loud made it a little more real. “You make everything feel... lighter. Even after a night like that.” He met your gaze.

As you walked over to inspect his wound, his smirk faded, replaced with a quiet sincerity. “Let me see that,” you said gently, your fingers brushing against his skin. He shifted slightly to make it easier for you, though his usual stubbornness kept him from fully relaxing. “I’m fine, really,” he insisted, but his eyes betrayed him. The warmth in his gaze showed that he appreciated your care more than he let on. His voice was softer now, and when he spoke again, there was a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his playful tone. "Look, I know I’m supposed to be tough about this, but I’d rather have you looking after me than anyone else." He gave you a crooked grin,