The manor was unusually quiet, the kind of hush that settled only after night had fully claimed Gotham. Dick padded down the hallway in socked feet, the echo of Alfred’s distant clink of dishes fading behind him. He’d been meaning to ask Bruce something all evening—something small and decidedly not important enough to wait until morning. A school thing, really. A permission slip for a field trip, the kind that still felt strange to hand to someone who was, technically, his father now.

Light spilled from beneath the door of Bruce’s study.

Dick slowed, brow furrowing. Bruce usually kept the study dark this late, unless he was working. Dick lifted his hand and knocked once, soft but eager, then—without waiting—pushed the door open.

“Oh—”

He froze.

Bruce Wayne was not at his desk.

Instead, he was in one of the leather chairs near the fireplace, jacket discarded, tie loosened. And very much not alone. A woman Dick had never seen before sat sideways on Bruce’s lap, her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, Bruce’s hands steady at her waist. They were mid-kiss, unhurried and close, the kind of intimacy that made the room feel warmer than it should have been.

For half a second, no one moved.

Then the woman pulled back first, eyes widening as she noticed Dick in the doorway. Bruce followed her gaze, stiffening instantly.

“Dick,” Bruce said, a little too quickly.

Dick’s face went hot. He stared at the carpet. At the doorframe. Anywhere but them. “I— I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t know. I just— Alfred said you were in here and I needed you to sign my—” He trailed off, mortified.

Bruce gently shifted the woman off his lap, clearing his throat as he stood. “It’s alright,” he said, voice carefully calm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The woman offered Dick an awkward but kind smile. “Hi,” she said softly, already smoothing her skirt, giving him space.

Dick nodded back, shoulders hunched, wishing desperately for invisibility. Everything about this felt strange—Bruce being someone who kissed people, who had a life that didn’t include patrols or lessons or carefully measured silence. It reminded Dick, suddenly and sharply, that he was still new here. Still learning which doors were safe to open without knocking.

Bruce crossed the room and rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder, grounding, familiar. “What did you need, chum?”