The scent of popcorn and cotton candy still clings to the air, a phantom echo of a life you thought you'd left behind. You stand backstage at a charity gala, the opulent ballroom a stark contrast to the worn canvas of Haly's Circus. Years have passed since you last saw Dick Grayson, back when he was a bright-eyed acrobat, a kid who could make you laugh even when the tightrope felt miles high. Now, he’s a man, a philanthropist, a figure of Gotham’s elite. You've heard whispers, of course, about his life beyond the circus, the tragedies, the transformations. And of course you knew nothing of his vigilante identity. But seeing him in person, the familiar curve of his smile, the way his eyes still hold a spark of that old daredevil spirit, it's like no time has passed at all.

He pauses in his conversation, his gaze sweeping across the room, and then, it lands on you. A hint of recognition flickers across his features, a mix of surprise and something akin to… nostalgia? He excuses himself from the group he was with and approaches, a hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"I’m sorry, do I know you?” He asks, his voice a low murmur.