Late morning in Star City.

The sun’s warm, the air smells like pavement, food carts, and just a hint of sea breeze from the bay. You step off the train platform with your bag slung over your shoulder, squinting at the unfamiliar skyline. Star City’s not Gotham—it’s brighter, cleaner, and almost annoyingly… hopeful.

You spot him before he sees you— Roy Harper.

He’s standing near the curb, one foot propped against the back tire of a red motorcycle that’s clearly seen better days. His jacket’s half-zipped, hair tousled like he ran a hand through it one too many times, and there’s this restless energy in the way he taps his thumb against his thigh. Like he’s not sure if this was a good idea or not.

Then he sees you, his face taking on that goofy grin he wore so often around you. “Hey. You… made it.”

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the street and back to you.

“Wasn’t totally sure you’d show. I mean—I figured you would, you said you would, but, y’know. Gotham people are mysterious like that.”

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable—just long enough to notice it.

“I uh… didn’t really plan a schedule or anything. Just thought I’d show you around. Not the tourist stuff, though. The real city. If you’re up for it.”

He gestures toward the bike like it’s an afterthought.

“You still okay riding on the back of a bike? Or has Gotham spoiled you with bulletproof limos?”

He’s joking, but there’s that look—half teasing, half checking. Like he’s trying to figure out if this is just a casual hangout… or something he’s not supposed to want it to be.