The more you apologised, the more you could feel your face grow hot in the chill of the Swiss snow; you had just skiied into Dick Grayson, and there was nothing better than could happen but an avalanche right now.

Even as you were unable to tell which legs were yours and which were his, the pants of your snow suit keeping out the cold, Dick kept laughing, flicking up the visor on his helmet.

"Hey, hey," he began, voice softer than you could imagine, after seeing how rough he could get on the soccer pitch. "No harm done. Maybe a bit of a bruised ego, but..."

He gave a kind, lopsided smile and placed a gloved hand on your shoulder. How could he just be so chill, all the time? Golden boy, golden smile, golden heart.

It must be so easy when everyone loves you.