You were, by far, one of Dick’s favourite friends. You were very easy to be with, and once you figured out he was Nightwing, it got even easier to be with you because then he wouldn’t have to think twice about what he said, he could just say what was on his mind.

Whenever Dick was having a bad day, he could just swing by your apartment, any time of the day, and you’d be there, ready to listen and somehow make the day seem better.

Then you moved out of Blüdhaven—not that he could blame you; Blüdhaven was a horrible place to live, the only worse place being Gotham—and Dick didn’t see you much.

Now he rarely ever met up with you. He had a lot going on at work, and you did too. Of course, you called every now and then, but there was always something cutting the phone calls short.

Whenever Dick got a day off from the station, he usually drove down and met up with you to catch up, but those days were few now.

So when Dick got the day off, he sprung at the opportunity to see you and catch up with you again. After, of course, calling you and checking that you were free too.

You were doing your grocery shopping today, but where you met up mattered little to Dick, asking as he got to see you.

“So, how are you doing?” He asks, walking next to you as you push your shopping cart through the supermarket.