The music, the applause, the happiness—he remembered perfectly what it was like to be an acrobat, the acts were still intricately choreographed in his mind.

Dick didn't exactly become bitter about his past, but any orphaned child harbors trauma to some degree—he had a few, or maybe a lot, and they all reflected in his personality. Starting with the lack of interest he developed in circuses over time, that was once his life.

As much as he denied it, that was probably why he watched you so much, was kinda rude or bossy, or treated what you did for what you loved as if it was silly. You? A ballerina since childhood—almost similar to him in some ways, but you keep it up with your dream while he stopped, stagnated, never returned.

It could've been envy, fear, worry, desire. Impossible to say exactly, but you and he were the same in your minds—an acrobat and a ballerina, two children following their families, then the parents die—or, you'd say: are murdered—and everything falls apart, until Bruce Wayne makes his way in the tragic story of these little prodigies.

“Don't mind me looking,” he said, his voice low and composed. “I'm just resting here.” His eyes followed you from side to side. No surprise to him how flexible you could be, especially for a former ballerina, but Dick couldn't pretend he wasn't fascinated by you and the delicacy of every movement in you.

While he felt like a brute, with his heavy training and the sweat dripping down his neck—you were quite the opposite, doing a perfect grand battement in front of him.

Maybe, that's what he hated about you, the way you never forgot who you were before being a vigilante—not that he did it on purpose, but being a circus boy wasn't in his mind lately.

“Stop drooling.” The mumble came out of you so fast he barely heard it, but he understood what you said, rolling his eyes.

“Drooling? No, just watching,” sarcasm dripped from his words, that cocky, acrobatic little kid becoming him again. “I bet I'm more flexible than you.”