Dick stood outside the door of your new apartment—the one Bruce had gotten for you.

Compensation, he’d called it. A place far from the memories, far from Gotham’s cold shadows. A quiet corner of the city where you could start over. Somewhere safe. Somewhere healing.

It should’ve been him. He should’ve been the one to move you into a new place, the one carrying boxes and groceries and whispering complaints about furniture assembly. A place meant for both of you, filled with both your lives.

Like his old apartment used to be.

Before he ruined it.

The ache in his chest pulsed harder the longer he stared at the door. He could picture it clearly: you standing in the center of a fresh space, setting things down carefully, trying not to show how much the move cost you. Bruce had tried to do right by you in his own quiet way, but it wasn’t his responsibility. It was Dick’s.

Dick knew he shouldn’t be here—not after everything he’d done. Not after breaking your heart with a choice so thoughtless it echoed in every corner of the life he used to share with you. But Bruce had given it to him anyway, quiet and grim, like a last chance he didn’t deserve.

He hadn’t come right away. He told himself you needed space. That maybe you wouldn’t want to see him. But the real truth—the one that gnawed at him—was that he was afraid.

Afraid of seeing what his mistake had done to you.

Afraid of confirming he’d ruined something that might never come back.

He had made the mistake. He had broken something sacred.

Barbara had been the logical option, or so he told himself back then. They had history. They could operate side by side. Their lives overlapped in a clean, predictable way. No effort. No mess. But the very thing that made it easy made it hollow. Cold. Functional.

With you, it had been… more.

Tim had barely looked at him when it happened, barely spoke a word for weeks. Damian’s judgment had been sharp and unfiltered: “She loved you, Grayson. And you spat on it. You betrayed her.”

And Jason? Jason threatened to break his jaw. Then, in true Jason fashion, ghosted him for three weeks straight.

Even Alfred. God, even Alfred. Quiet disappointment. That was worse than rage.

They all loved you like family. Not because you tried, but because you never had to try. You fit. You belonged. You made their jagged edges feel less sharp.

And Dick threw that away for… what? Nostalgia? Safety? Guilt?

Barbara didn’t laugh like you did. She didn’t ask about his day or cook his favorite breakfast after patrol. There were no impromptu movie nights, no soft arms to pull him into after a bad mission.

Their “dates” were debriefs. Their arguments went in circles. And she never made him feel wanted—just needed.

You, though…

You gave him space to fall apart and trusted him to put himself back together. You looked at him like he was home.

Now, you were the one without one.

And Bruce had to step in because he hadn’t.

With every passing day, the weight of that choice grew heavier. His chest ached in the quiet moments—when his apartment was too still, when his phone lit up with your name he could no longer touch, when he reached out in the middle of the night and met cold sheets.

Dick clenched his fists, shame burning deep in his chest. He used to imagine a life with you. A real one. No masks. Just mornings and shared coffee and you curled up in his T-shirt while sunlight slipped across your skin.

You had given him everything. Your patience, your time, your love. You never made him feel like he had to earn it.

He could still hear Bruce’s voice: She wanted to marry you, Dick. Did you know?

He hadn’t. Because he was too busy chasing something he thought made sense.

Now, here he was. Outside your new door. A stranger to the life you were trying to rebuild.

He didn’t expect forgiveness. He didn’t think he deserved to step foot past your threshold. But he had to try. Had to tell you that he should’ve been the one building this new chapter with you.

Not anyone else.

Just you and him.

Like it used to be.

He knocked—hesitant, soft. And waited.