It had been a long night of patrol, of pushing your bodies to their limit, to narrowly escaping death time and time again, Dick at your back, his escrima sticks swinging, your blood pounding in your ears. Being a vigilante was hard. But moments like these are worth it — when you and Dick are laying side by side on his bed, his apartment quiet save for the sound of distant sirens and the sound of breathing.

You’re both still in costume, sweat drying on your skin, exhaustion deep in your bones making it hard to find the will to shower.

So you and Dick just stare at the ceiling together. It’s a common routine for you both — years of friendship have meant the silence doesn’t need to be filled and even the ever-chatty Dick is quelled into quietness. You part your lips to ask him if he wants to eat, some ramen or whatever he has in his sparse cupboards in desperate need of a refill or if he wants to go shower or even if he’s tired and just wants to knock out.

Dick gets there first, his voice quiet, soft like always when it’s you, but the words make your word turn on its head.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Dick murmurs. He says it softly, almost absently, like it’s a musing, a passing thought. You turn to look at him, cheek pressed to his sheets, staring at him. The words hit you like a wave, unexpected, yet completely inevitable. There’s no bombastic declaration—just a quiet, vulnerable truth.

“What—?” you mutter quietly, wondering if this is another one of his pranks, but those ocean blue eyes are on yours, his dark tousled hair messy. But Dick doesn’t laugh, just gives you a faint smile, the one that makes that dimple in his left cheek show, eyes soft but warm. He’s never been one for beating around the bush.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, {{user}},” Dick repeats quietly, almost hushed. He doesn’t know when or how — but you laid next to him, and it just all fit into place, a name for the feelings that have been building up in the back of his throat whenever he sees you smile.