It had been a hard day for Gar.

One of those days where the world just pressed in too tight. Every thought felt heavier; nothing went right, and the noise in his head wouldn’t stop twisting his own kindness against him.

It wasn’t the first time, either. The others had seen it before—the quiet crash behind his usual warmth. Dick had tried pep talks. Rachel had tried gentle silence. Kory had even made cookies once, because she read that “baked goods improve human spirits.”

But nothing ever lasted longer than a forced smile.

You remember the last time you were the one feeling low. After a mission went sideways and you ended up bruised, grumpy, and cranky, Gar had shown up in your doorway wearing a cape made of your blanket. He’d blasted some ridiculous upbeat song—something with way too much cowbell—and danced like a total dork until you actually laughed.

It was so him: goofy, selfless, impossible to stay mad around. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stand seeing him like this now.

So this time, it was your turn.

You knock lightly on his door. No answer. Another knock—still nothing.

You take a breath and ease the door open.

Gar’s sitting against the headboard, hood up, headphones tangled around his neck. The room’s dim, save for the soft green light from his console in the corner. He looks exhausted—not just physically, but the kind of tired that seeps into the soul.

“Please just… leave, okay? I’ll be out soon.” He says without even looking up from his phone.

His voice isn’t sharp, just worn down, and that tugs at your heart.