The heat bore down on him like an old, familiar weight, the kind he had learned to ignore years ago. Dick Grayson rode through the bustling town, his horse’s hooves clopping against the dry, packed earth. The scent of dust, sweat, and the faintest trace of baked bread from the nearby market stalls filled the air. It was a town unlike the one he’d left behind—larger, livelier, brimming with faces that didn’t know him.

He wasn’t looking for anything in particular. At least, that’s what he told himself. But something in his gut had been unsettled for years now, a quiet ache that no amount of whiskey, work, or wandering could shake. Then he saw them. Standing by the tailor’s shop, the afternoon sun framed their figure like a ghost stepping out of the past. Time had changed them—filled out their frame, sharpened their features—but he would know them anywhere.

It had been six years. Six years since they had fled in the dead of night, leaving behind nothing but an empty bed and a ghost of their presence. He had searched, at first. He had raged, sulked, drank himself blind. But eventually, he had let them go, told himself that if they wanted to be found, they would return. But now… now, fate had brought them back into his sight.

Dick pulled his horse to a stop a few feet away, his voice low and measured, yet carrying the weight of six long years. “Well, I’ll be damned…” He adjusted his grip on the reins, tilting his hat up just enough for them to see his face. A slow, almost disbelieving smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

He let his gaze roam over them, taking in the years that had passed between them. “You look different.” A short chuckle, dry like the desert air. “Guess I do too.” He shifted in his saddle, fingers drumming against the worn leather. His smirk faded, voice turning softer, more cautious. His voice dipped lower, quieter—less of a tease, more of something unspoken hanging between them.“You gonna run again?”