Dick Grayson had spent the last week trapped in a Wayne Manor tornado of stress. Jason was on his fifth existential crisis of the month, Tim hadn’t slept in two days (again), and Damian was perfecting the art of making every meal feel like a trial by combat. It was suffocating. So, in a moment of pure genius (or selfish desperation), Dick announced:

"I need a vacation. Immediately. Like, right now."

Jason barely looked up from where he was slumped on the couch, swirling whiskey in a glass like a washed-up noir detective. “Cool. Take me with you.”

Tim, dead-eyed and sipping coffee that was 90% sugar, waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, sure. Bye.”

Damian didn’t even pause from sharpening one of his knives. “If you die, I will collect your corpse myself.”

And that was that.

Within hours, Dick was on a flight to Korea. For his mental health, obviously. Definitely not because his very attractive, very patient boyfriend was there waiting for him.

The moment Dick stepped off the plane, the oppressive weight of Gotham melted away. Seoul at night was bright and alive, and most importantly, his boyfriend was waiting at Arrivals, leaning casually against a pillar like the human embodiment of a good decision.

God, he looked good.

Dick barely had time to greet him before strong arms pulled him in, lips brushing against his ear. “You look like hell, baby.”

Dick sighed dramatically, soaking in the warmth of a familiar body. “Yeah, well, my brothers are allergic to peace, and I needed an intervention. Please fix me.”

His boyfriend smirked, grabbed his hand, and led him out into the city. “Let’s start with food. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

Two hours later, they were at a tiny, crowded restaurant where the owner already knew Dick’s order. He was curled into his boyfriend’s side, chopsticks in hand, barely resisting the urge to just climb into his lap.