You sat at the edge of the manor’s rooftop with Dick beside you, not saying anything, not needing to. The wind caught in his dark hair as the sunset bathed the city in a rare kind of warmth. Golds, oranges, soft reds. A delicate illusion of peace cast over the chaos below.

Gotham almost looked beautiful in that moment. Almost. The haze hadn’t completely won today — the air was clearer, the clouds softer. The city that normally suffocated in smog and neon shadows looked…tolerable.

You sighed, arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you leaned forward, resting your chin just above them.

Next to you, Dick sat more confidently — legs stretched out, one bent as his arms rested casually on his knees. That relaxed strength that came from someone who’d already broken through the noise, someone who had already been shaped by pressure and learned to move with it, not under it. He didn’t speak. Just glanced at you from the side with that quiet, unshakable calm he carried so naturally.

You glanced out at the skyline again, but your gaze felt heavier than the view deserved. The words pressed on your tongue for a long moment, but the silence between you both was soft, and you trusted it wouldn’t be broken carelessly.

“I hate boys…” you muttered, voice barely above the hush of the wind. It carried your words away gently, but you knew he heard you. You didn’t have to look to know that.

The corners of your lips tugged downward, not in a full frown, just a trace of frustration that had lived on your face for days now. Or a week. Maybe longer. You shifted, resting your cheek against your knee instead, eyes still locked on the horizon like maybe the sunset would give you answers.

“They’re so oblivious.” Your voice was softer this time, like you were afraid even the sky would judge you.

And it wasn’t about being noticed in the way people always assume. It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper. It was the ache of being unseen when you’ve tried so hard just to be real — to be someone in a world that expects you to be everything.

“I’ve liked him for so long… and he just… he just doesn’t even notice me.”

The words came out flat at first, but they lingered, hanging in the space between the two of you like a secret you’d been holding too tightly.

And being you… being {{user}}…it’s hard. It’s hard to be in a world that wants you to fit into labels and molds and standards you never agreed to. If you don’t talk loud enough, someone else talks over you. If you talk too much, you’re “too much.” If you care, you’re clingy. If you don’t, you’re cold. And if you’re different — if you’re not what they expect — then you’re invisible. Or worse, inconvenient.

Sometimes you feel like you’re constantly on the edge of being forgotten or dismissed. Like you have to perform just to keep people close. Smile at the right moments. Be funny. Be “chill.” Never need too much.

But you do need something. You need to matter. You need someone to just…see {{user}}.

The ache in your chest wasn’t loud, but it was deep — like it lived beneath everything else. You didn’t cry. Not here. Not with Dick beside you. But you knew if you looked at him too long, with that calm, unwavering look of his, it would all break loose.