The Tower had felt emptier since Dick left. At first, everyone told themselves it was temporary, he’d always been torn between Gotham and Blüdhaven, between mentor and leader, between too many responsibilities pulling at him all at once. You told yourself that too, that he’d walk back through the doors after a week, maybe two.

But the weeks stretched into months. Messages came few and far between. Sometimes just a single line: Busy. Be safe. Or nothing at all.

The others filled the space he left in their own ways. Kory tried to hold the team together, Gar cracked jokes to hide the worry, Rachel asked the questions no one wanted to answer. But it was you who felt his absence most sharply, not as a leader, but as someone who had always been your constant.

You remembered nights on the rooftop when he told you about Blüdhaven, about wanting to protect a city that ate itself alive faster than Gotham ever could. He’d been so passionate, so sure, and you admired that about him. But you’d asked, “What about us? The team? Me?” He’d promised it wouldn’t change anything. He’d promised he’d always come back.

That promise rang hollow when the Tower grew quieter with each day he didn’t. You’d stopped sleeping in the common room because the empty couch across from you reminded you too much of him. You stopped checking your phone after midnight because the silence after the screen lit up only made it worse.

So when the Tower doors hissed open that night and Dick stood there, rain in his hair, jacket clinging to him, looking every bit the man who’d been gone too long, it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like reopening a wound you’d tried to let scar over.