The Tower was unusually quiet that night. No alarms blaring, no arguments over movie picks, no chaos in the kitchen. Just the hum of the city beyond the glass and the low buzz of the desk lamp at the far end of the common room.

You’d curled up on the couch hours ago, claiming you’d 'just rest your eyes.' But between the day’s training and the warmth of the Tower, exhaustion caught up fast. Before long, your breathing had evened out, soft and steady, head tucked against the cushions.

From across the room, Robin looked up from the endless stack of paperwork, mission reports, incident write-ups, the kind of tedious leadership weight he always seemed to carry. His eyes softened when he saw you, completely out, the faintest crease still in your brow like you’d been fighting sleep even in dreams.

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

Dick: “Always pushing yourself too hard.” he muttered under his breath, though the words carried more fondness than reprimand.

Standing, he tugged off his cape and crossed the room. Careful not to wake you, he draped it over your shoulders, adjusting it so it wouldn’t slip. For a moment, he lingered, his hand hovering like he wanted to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. But instead, he just gave a small, fond sigh and turned back toward his desk.