The living room of Titans Tower was lit by the flicker of the screen, empty pizza boxes piled on the coffee table, soda cans threatening to topple. The whole team had crammed onto the couches and beanbags, the kind of rare night where no one was bleeding, no alarms were screaming, and the world didn’t need saving for a few blessed hours.

The movie wasn’t anything special, some B-grade action flick Gar had insisted on, complete with over-the-top explosions and a hero whose hair never moved, even in hurricane winds.

Dick had claimed one end of the couch, slouched with his arms folded, pretending to be unimpressed. Every few minutes he’d mutter under his breath, just loud enough for those near him to catch.

“Oh yeah, because that’s how physics works.” “Subtle. Definitely no one’s noticing the guy in full leather sneaking around in broad daylight.” “Bet his chiropractor loves him.”

The others groaned and threw popcorn at him, but it didn’t stop him. If anything, it made him lean further into his dry commentary, voice dripping with amusement he tried not to show.

When one particularly ridiculous stunt hit the screen, you couldn’t help it, you laughed. Loud, sudden, the kind of laugh that carried and made a couple of the others chuckle just because of how hard you were going.

Dick’s head turned slightly at the sound. For a split second, his sarcasm faltered. The corners of his mouth softened, and his usual sharp smirk melted into something warmer, unguarded. He caught himself quickly, masking it with another muttered jab at the movie.