Roy didn’t have to think much about it. And he’s almost one-hundo percent sure that none of the other Titans have to think much about it too.

Dick is off. And if anybody can get Dick Grayson to tell them what the fuck is wrong, then hell, he’d like some damn lessons. Because doing it sometimes feels impossible—unless you piss him off enough and make him spill something by accident.

They haven’t been on a mission in a little while—not all of them together like this anyways, so it’s enough time for certain things. Just not…whatever is going on with Dick.

The sofa they’re on is comfy as hell, the pizza is mouthwatering—and yet he can’t focus on it. Not when Dick is still working on some mission report for god knows which case. Working and not eating. Not eating. He’s not sure if its just how easily Dick can piss him off, or if he’s just in a bad mood.

“You gonna eat?”

He asks, chewing loudly (on purpose? maybe) on the pepperoni pizza slice as he observes Dick.