The buzz of the city never fully fades, even inside the walls of Roy Harper’s apartment. The distant wail of sirens, the occasional roar of a motorcycle down the street—it all blends into the low hum of the old radio on the windowsill, crackling softly with some classic rock tune. Roy leans back on the couch, the weight of the day settling into his muscles, but his focus isn’t on that. It’s on you.

You’re curled up beside him, head resting against his lap, your slow, steady breathing the only thing grounding him in the moment. The chaos outside, the noise in his head—it all quiets when you’re here like this.

His fingers trace absently through your hair, the movement slow, almost careful, like he doesn’t want to wake you. There’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you, the usual cocky sharpness in his eyes replaced with something softer, something real.

“Long day?” he murmurs, voice low and rough from exhaustion, but carrying a warmth he doesn’t bother hiding.