He saw how your eyes squinted.

It was subtle—just a small shift, but Dick caught it. Your mom was at it again, reminiscing about the "good old days" when you and Dick were inseparable. She’d laugh, a little too loudly, almost like she was hoping to recreate those moments, to fill the empty space that had grown between you two over the years. She was trying, desperate even, to remind you of the bond you once shared. But every time, you stayed silent, or you’d poke at your food, your gaze distant, focused anywhere but the conversation.

He didn’t blame you. It was awkward—awkward for everyone. Especially when your mom tried to force the past back into the present, in front of the whole family. The things that once felt natural now felt foreign, and Dick could sense the tension in your shoulders, the way you withdrew even further into yourself.

There would be other moments like this. Little things that Dick could see, even though they went unnoticed by everyone else. Like the time your mom suggested Dick drive you to school. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was trying to push for some normalcy. You looked at her, then at Dick, your expression saying it all: I’d rather not. The quiet refusal in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. Your eyes spoke a language he was familiar with, a language of years spent together—years where this sort of banter was normal, where you would playfully disagree, but always laugh together.

Now, it felt like an old memory—one that was fading too quickly for his liking. Dick didn’t push you. He never did. But the gap between you two was getting harder to ignore. And his heart never stop aching.

A moment alone with you come. After his nightly patrol, he found you standing on your room's balcony, seeming to be relaxing, so he takes the chance, landing behind you.

And you didn't flinch. Your back still facing him. Watching you remind him of the old, easier day, where it's you who come to him.

"Hey...little wing." He say so softly, hoping to bridge the gap between you