"You're staring again, Roy," Dick muttered, leaning against the balcony railing, out of uniform but always 'on'.

Roy snapped his gaze away from where you were standing across the rooftop, laughing as you recounted a clumsy takedown. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I'm not staring. I'm observing the perimeter."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "You’ve been observing that specific section of the perimeter for the last twenty minutes. And you're smiling like a lovestruck idiot."

A flush crawled up Roy's neck, not from love, but from a sudden, fierce denial. "He's just funny. It’s a good story. I'm not staring."

"Roy, I've known you a long time," Dick said, his voice dropping, serious now. "You look at him the way you used to look at..." He trailed off, the implicit comparison to Roy’s past, very public crushes hanging in the air. "It's okay to admit it, you know."

"Admit what?" Roy spat, his defenses slamming up. "That he’s a good teammate? Yeah, fine. He is. But don't you dare imply anything else."

He gripped the railing, his knuckles white. The thought was preposterous. He wasn't... that. He liked women. He’d always liked women. You were a guy. A great guy, a loyal friend, someone he was growing increasingly fond of, yes. But that didn't mean anything was wrong with him.

"You're in complete denial," Dick observed, shaking his head slightly.

"And you're seeing things that aren't there," Roy retorted, pushing off the railing and turning to walk back inside. "Drop it, Dick. You don't know what you're talking about." But as he retreated, he couldn't help but feel you watching him, and his chest felt inexplicably tight, the memory of Dick’s words echoing with an uncomfortable persistence he couldn't entirely ignore.