The mission had gone fine.

That’s what he kept telling himself. The civilians were safe, the fires were out, and not a single teammate was hurt. By all accounts, tonight was a win.

But as Dick leaned against the railing of the Watchtower’s observation deck, watching the endless sprawl of stars beyond the glass, he couldn’t ignore the way you were standing at the far end of the room — still, quiet, wrapped in that silver cloak you loved, like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

He’d seen your true form before. Once. A glimpse — no, a revelation.

Tonight, though, the whole city had seen it.

When the building started to collapse and that child had been trapped beneath the debris, you hadn’t hesitated. Your body had dissolved into something vast and impossible — like the universe itself had taken shape around you. Galaxies shimmered across your skin; every movement bent light and gravity. You'd caught falling rubble as if it weighed nothing, your voice echoing through the air like starlight itself.

And when it was over — when the mother had pulled her child away, eyes wide with fear — Dick had seen it in your face. That flicker. That heartbreak you tried so hard to hide.

Now, the only sound was the hum of the Watchtower’s systems and the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

He walked toward you slowly. He’d learned not to startle you when you were like this — lost in your thoughts, caught between worlds.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said softly, stopping beside you. “That’s usually my line after a bad mission.”

You didn’t answer. Your gaze stayed fixed on the stars, the same ones that lived beneath your skin. The reflection of them shimmered faintly in your eyes, and he realized — painfully — that you looked more like the night sky than the sky itself.

“You saved lives tonight,” he continued. “You did what no one else could.”

Your voice came after a long silence, low and distant — like you were speaking from light-years away. “They were afraid.”

The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. But they did.

Dick’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something quick, clever, reassuring — but the truth was, there was no quick fix for that kind of wound. For being feared for what you are. You were still learning how to be human, how to hold all that emotion without it breaking you apart.

So instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours before slowly intertwining your fingers. Your skin was cool — not cold, just… cosmic. Energy hummed faintly beneath your touch.

“Maybe they were,” he said. “Because they didn’t understand what they were looking at.” He looked at you, at the faint glow that always seemed to follow you when the lights dimmed. “But I do.”