When Dick was planning the perfect Valentine’s Day weekend, a Mr. Freeze-level blizzard hadn’t been in the romantic forecast.

Valentine’s Day had fallen on a Saturday this year, and he had taken time off work to whisk you away from Blüdhaven. Dick reached out to Bruce, and the old man offered one of his cottages up north in upstate New York, free of charge, for the weekend. The drive up Friday evening had been nice and quiet, and things looked promising.

Only for Dick to open the front door next morning, and walk smack dab into a wall of snow.

Overnight the snow had fallen high enough to seal the front door shut, becoming dense and immovable unless he dug himself out. He stood there for a solid five seconds, his hand still on the handle, blinking owlishly like the situation would sort itself out.

Behind him, the emergency radio droned on.

“Residents are advised to remain indoors due to hazardous road conditions, and near-zero visibility with white-out conditions. The storm is expected to continue until 3 AM…”

Of course it was.

His blue eyes wandered over to the unused cross-country skis by the door, almost mocking him now. He’d spent half the drive up talking about trails, about how great it’d be to—disconnect from everything together. The weatherman continued, unbothered by Dick’s ruined early AM plans.

“Due to an arctic air mass moving down from Canada, the region is expected to receive over 20 inches of snowfall—one of the highest totals on record,”

Dick let out a low whistle at the number—talk about an unplanned snow day, and finally shut the door to meander back over to them. He plopped down beside them on the small brown couch, a pillow serving as his witness to the physical distance between them.

Months ago, Dick wouldn’t have hesitated to pull them into his side to cuddle. Now he just sat there, spine stiff, and the only physical contact was when he brushed off a red thread from his sweater off their shoulder.

Tension had already been high, and this trip was supposed to be his Hail Mary. He couldn’t lean in for kisses without being pushed away, and any conversation ended in a stupid argument—like he ‘bought the wrong firewood’ again.

They weren’t saying anything, and his mind kept turning their arguments over in his head. When did quiet affection become replaced with biting words? He wasn’t sure anymore—it was only 9 am and they’d already argued. He then spent twenty minutes lighting the fireplace, going through match after match, and yelling at it hadn’t been therapeutic.

“Sorry,” he muttered, drumming a beat on his thighs as his left leg bounced. He went for a candid, charming grin. “Guess we’re… ice-lated for Valentine’s day.”

A beat. The silence was stifling.

“Right. We can make this a fun snow day—I think there’s board games around here somewhere?”

Dick was quick to leap off the couch, almost desperate to salvage the suffocating silence. He couldn’t sit with the weight of unsaid words, not when they were trapped indoors indefinitely. So much for a romantic Valentine’s weekend.