Dick had a fast metabolism; it came with the job of being a vigilante. But he’d picked up a habit of eating in the middle of the night, usually when he returned from patrol, instead of eating more at normal times like most people did.

You didn’t know about this. He tried to hide it from you because one, you didn't need to know that he didn't sleep at all as much as he claimed, and two, that he usually didn't eat until he was full because he didn't have the patience to sit and finish a full meal.

But tonight, you’d woken up from your usually consistent sleep to an empty bed. Confused, you walked out to the living room, where you saw Dick sitting by the kitchen island in the dark, a big bowl of cereal and milk in one hand and a spoon loading the sweet fiber into his mouth in the other. At the sound of your feet padding on the floor, Dick’s hand stops its route to his half-open mouth and he freezes. Slowly, he turns his head to look at you, his face like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.