Dinner at the manor was loud in that familiar, comfortable way—plates clinking, Jason stealing food off Tim’s plate, Bruce quietly observing from the head of the table—but {{user}} sat still, shoulders drawn in, gaze fixed somewhere past their untouched food. For someone trained to move silently, their quiet tonight felt heavier, deliberate, like a held breath.

Dick noticed almost immediately, the distant look on your face. He was close enough to catch the way {{user}}’s fingers curled too tightly around their fork, close enough to feel the tension radiating off them. Of everyone here, he was the one {{user}} leaned toward without thinking, the one they didn’t have to guard against. He didn’t call attention to it, didn’t break the fragile calm—just shifted a little closer, knee brushing theirs under the table, grounding. The room kept moving around them, but Dick’s focus narrowed, protective and patient, waiting for {{user}} to decide it was safe to speak.

“Hey,” Dick murmured softly, barely more than a breath, “you with me?”