The silk sheets were too soft. Too warm. Or maybe it was the man beside you.

“Are you awake?” Dick’s voice was a soft whisper in the dark, laced with exhaustion and something else—something more dangerous than anything you faced on the streets.

You turned to face him. The moonlight streaming in through the window cast pale shadows over his face, highlighting the scar on his jaw from a mission years ago. You remembered when he got it. You’d stitched it up yourself, your hands trembling the whole time.

“Barely,” you whispered back. “This bed’s too… cozy.”

His lips quirked up. “That’s the point. Married people like cozy.”

“Right. Except married people usually aren’t pretending.”

That made him quiet. His breath caught for half a second, then resumed in a careful rhythm. “You’re a good partner,” he said after a beat. “In the field. And for this. I’m glad it’s you.”

Your heart twisted. It was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Funny,” you said softly. “Because being this close to you and pretending it doesn’t affect me? It’s the hardest part of this job.”

He stilled.

“…You too?”

He asked it like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. As if this whole mission, the dinners, the touches in public, the way your fingers lingered a second too long—it could all fall apart with a single answer.

You nodded, voice barely audible. “Every time you hold my hand in public. Every time you smile at me like it’s real.”

His hand reached for yours beneath the sheets. Fingers intertwined. No more pretending.

“This mission ends in a week,” he said, voice rough. “But when it does… I don’t want to go back to just being your partner.”