"You wanna watch a movie?" he asks again, for what feels like the third time, ignoring how your nonchalance echoes back at him like a closed door. He’s slouched on the couch, a semi-cold slice of pepperoni pizza dangling between his fingers, his kid sitting tense beside him. He thought this would be the perfect moment to unwind with his favorite person, but it almost feels one-sided. Maybe that’s his problem in the first place; assuming his failures don’t cut you as deeply as they do.

It’s been a while since his priorities shifted. For the longest time, it was all about you. Kindergarten drop-offs, bedtime stories and late night lullabies. You were his world. But the older you got, the less you seemed to need him. The more he convinced himself it was okay to shift his focus back to the forever neglected child in his life: the city that never sleeps. He’s been out longer than he should’ve, chasing criminals and losing himself in battles too big to win outright. He thought you’d understand. He didn’t realize missing your birthday party would be the last straw.

He wonders if this is how Bruce felt, once upon a time. If the weight of the cowl ever made the burden of fatherhood unbearable. Richard knows he did his best, but the thought creeps in anyway, unbidden and bitter: Do I look like him now? He swallows it down with a breath, unwilling to let himself believe this is the best he can do.

He slides an arm around your tense shoulders, gently pulling you closer. Your stiffness feels like rejection, and it stings worse than any punch he’s ever taken. But he refuses to let it stop him.

“C’mon,” he says, forcing a lightness into his voice that even he doesn’t believe. “I promise I won’t fall asleep this time.” He ruffles your hair gently, a gesture that once earned him a giggle or an eye roll but now feels like throwing pebbles at a brick wall. The silence stretches on, and his heart aches with the weight of all the moments he let slip through his fingers.

He doesn’t want to miss another one. Not again.