The first thing Dick notices is the cold.

Not the city kind—the kind that seeps in when you reach out in your sleep and find empty sheets where warmth should be. His hand searches instinctively, fingers brushing fabric instead of skin, and his eyes open with a soft frown.

You’re not there.

That alone is enough to pull him fully awake.

He sits up, rubs at his face, listening. The apartment is quiet in that late-night way, but there’s a faint glow bleeding in from under the bedroom door. Not the harsh overhead lights—something softer. Familiar.

He exhales, already knowing.

He finds you at your desk.

Of course he does.

You’re sitting there with your back slightly hunched, hair loose, shoulders wrapped in one of his old shirts. The lamp casts warm light over the papers—sketches, notes, half-finished thoughts scattered like your mind couldn’t settle any more than your body could.

Dick leans against the doorframe for a moment and just… watches.

There’s something achingly intimate about this version of you. Quiet. Unaware. Lost in your own world while the rest of the city sleeps. He’s seen you fearless, sharp, unstoppable—but this? This is the part that makes his chest tighten.

You don’t notice him until he’s already crossed the room.

He comes up behind you slowly, careful not to startle you. His hands rest on your shoulders first, light, grounding. He leans down, pressing a kiss into your hair, breathing you in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, voice still rough with it.

His lips trail from your temple to your neck, unhurried. Not demanding. Just there. His arms slip around you, pulling you back gently until you’re resting against his chest, the steady rise and fall of him a quiet anchor.

He feels the way you relax—just a little—and it makes him smile.

Dick presses another kiss to your shoulder, then your back, soft and coaxing, like each one is a suggestion rather than a request.

“You always do this,” he whispers fondly. “Stay up too late, pretend you’re fine, forget you need rest.”

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, lingering there, his thumb brushing slow circles at your side.

When he speaks again, it’s softer. Almost shy.

“Come back to bed with me?” A pause, “Please?”

There’s no pressure in it. Just want. Just him missing you in the dark.

He waits, chin resting against your shoulder, arms secure around you like he’s already halfway convinced you’ll say yes. Like the bed isn’t really a bed without you there, tangled up in him, stealing his warmth and his sleep and his heart all at once.