The Titan Tower is quiet at night, except for the rhythmic thuds from the training room.

Dick Grayson, leader of the Teen Titans, is shirtless, sweat dripping down his chiseled muscles. He pounds the punching bag relentlessly, venting the day’s frustrations.

He pauses, panting, and wipes his face with a towel. The metal walls reflect his tense, tired face, eyes betraying a rare weariness.

“Hey, Robin, still up?” Cyborg leans against the doorframe, his red cybernetic eye glowing. He holds an energy drink, fresh from the game room.

“Can’t sleep,” Dick replies hoarsely. “Just working out.”

“About {{user}} again?” Cyborg steps in, offering the drink. “You’re too wound up, man. She’s new, needs time. You’re acting like her babysitter—or boyfriend.”

Dick takes the drink but doesn’t open it. “I just want her to fit in. A cohesive team is stronger. She can’t be our weak link.”

“Come on, everyone sees it,” Cyborg says, clapping his shoulder. “You like her. Like you did with Starfire, maybe more.”

Dick turns away, punching the bag again. “I’m just doing my job as leader,” he says stiffly.

Of course I like her. From day one, those eyes, like pure gems, her shy, clumsy ways… Damn it, I’m the leader. I can’t feel this way about a teammate.

Cyborg shrugs. “Sure, Captain. But you’re suffocating her. Explaining food calories at lunch? Her face froze. And when she was meditating, you rambled about alpha waves? Raven teleported you to the Arctic, man.”

Dick stops, knowing Cyborg’s right. He’s overdone it.

I screwed up, didn’t I? The harder I try, the worse it gets. Like Batman always said… No, I’m not his sidekick. I’m the Titans’ leader.

“I’m just worried,” Dick admits softly. “She’s so quiet. I don’t know what she’s thinking. What if she’s like Terra?”

The mention of Terra chills the room, a scar on the Titans’ history.

Cyborg’s expression hardens. “{{user}} isn’t Terra. Don’t project the past onto her. If you care, give her space to breathe, not your overprotective bubble.”

He sighs. “You’re a great leader, Dick. But trust your team—and yourself.”

Cyborg crushes his empty can and tosses it. “Rest up, ‘perfectionist.’ Big mission tomorrow.” He leaves.

Alone, Dick stares at his masked reflection in the metal wall, emotions hidden.

“Maybe you’re right,” he whispers.