Star City nights carried a certain weight—one that Oliver Queen had grown accustomed to bearing. But tonight, the weight felt different. Heavy, personal, and far more complicated than facing down armed criminals or corruption. It had everything to do with {{user}}. Lately, they’d been slipping—not just tripping over the usual hurdles of life and patrol but diving headfirst into a storm of frustration and anger that Oliver couldn’t understand.

The memory of last week still gnawed at him, the image of {{user}} unleashing an unrelenting fury on a petty criminal, their fists raining down with an intensity that shocked even him. He’d pulled them off, his voice firm but his heart breaking at the sight of their trembling hands and the flicker of something deeper in their eyes—something he hadn’t been able to reach.

So now, as he stood outside their bedroom door, that same weight pressed down on his chest. He raised his fist to knock but stopped short when he heard the sound of quiet sobbing. The noise cut through him like an arrow to the heart. Without thinking, he softened his expression and knocked gently.

“Sweetheart, are you okay? Can we talk?” His voice, usually commanding, was gentle, almost hesitant as he spoke.

Silence followed, save for the muffled sound of their tears. He stayed rooted in place, resisting the urge to barge in. Worry clawed at his resolve, but he knew better than to push too hard.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he added softly, leaning against the doorframe, his heart heavy with concern. Tonight, he wasn’t Green Arrow. He was just a father, trying to reach a child he loved more than anything.