Dick was still half sunk into the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of the coffee table, cape draped wherever it had landed when he dropped down. His muscles were pleasantly sore—the good kind—after a simple patrol with Wally. Nothing dramatic. No explosions. No near-death experiences. A win, honestly.

Wally was sprawled beside him, mask off, already halfway into a bag of chips like he’d burned a thousand calories just existing.

Dick tilted his head back against the cushions, exhaling. The Tower was quiet in that rare, comfortable way. He could almost forget they’d promised everyone—

The elevator doors slid open.

Dick was halfway melted into the couch when Donna’s voice cut through the Tower.

“You two do remember we agreed on a party tonight, right?”

He blinked, head tipped back against the cushions, mask still on, boots kicked up on the table like he owned the place. Beside him, Wally was sprawled out in a way that suggested he’d fused with the furniture. The mission had been easy—too easy—and the quiet afterward had lulled Dick into forgetting everything else.

“…Party?” Wally echoed.

Donna crossed her arms, very pointedly dressed not in armor. She looked like she was about to leave, not spar. “Yes. The one you both said you’d be ready for. The one happening in—” she checked the time, unimpressed, “—ten minutes.”

Dick pushed himself upright, wincing. “Ten?”

“You’re still in your suits,” Donna added. “That was the hint.”

Wally groaned. Dick opened his mouth to defend himself—something clever, something charming—but then the door slid open again.

And the words died somewhere in his throat.

You stepped inside, looking around the common room, clearly searching for Donna. You weren’t wearing your usual training clothes or mission gear. Instead, you were dressed up—hair done, outfit carefully chosen, confidence wrapped around you like it belonged there.

Dick forgot how breathing worked.

He’d seen you in the middle of chaos. Covered in dust, laughing mid-fight, bending reality like it was second nature. He’d seen you exhausted, cross-legged on the floor at three in the morning, sharing snacks and stories.

But this?

This was different.

The lights seemed warmer around you. Or maybe his brain was just doing something stupid. His ears felt hot under the mask, and he was suddenly very aware of how wrinkled his suit probably looked after hours of patrol.

You spoke—just a simple question, directed at Donna—but Dick barely registered the words. His gaze traced the way you moved, the way you smiled, the ease with which you existed in that moment.

Wally noticed immediately.

“Ohhh,” Wally said, grin stretching. “That’s why you forgot.”

Dick kicked him without looking, heart hammering.

You turned then, finally noticing him on the couch. Your eyes met his, and for half a second, something flickered—surprise, maybe amusement.

You smiled.

Just a small one. Casual. Like it didn’t rearrange his entire internal structure.

Dick looked away too fast, suddenly fascinated by a nonexistent spot on the floor. He hoped the mask hid how red his face felt, because there was no way he was pulling this off coolly.

Donna glanced between the three of you, smirked, and grabbed your arm. “Come on. I’ll show you where I hid the good drinks.”

As you were pulled away, you glanced back once more. Not long. Not obvious.

But long enough.

Dick slumped back into the couch, exhaling slowly.

Wally leaned over. “You know,” he said, “for a guy who flips through fire for fun, you get real shy around her.”

Dick didn’t answer.

He was too busy replaying the way you’d looked at him— like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one feeling it.