Dick Grayson adjusted the strap of his utility belt and exhaled. Patrol had been routine tonight—stopping a few muggings, tailing a suspicious deal that turned out to be nothing, and breaking up a gang scuffle before it got out of hand. Not the worst night, but the weight of it still clung to him.

The elevator door slid open with a soft chime and he stepped out. The common area was dimly lit, the soft under-cupboard lights providing most of the illumination. Dick unfastened his mask and tucked it into his belt before rolling his shoulders. He moved on autopilot toward the small kitchenette, pouring himself a glass of water. His reflection in the glass cabinet doors showed exhaustion he hadn’t fully registered yet—the slight slump of his posture, the faint shadows under his eyes. He’d gotten used to it. A sudden noise—barely a shift of fabric—made him glance toward the hallway. Someone was awake.

"Long night?" The voice was groggy but amused. Dick turned to see Gar leaning against the doorframe, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and pajama pants patterned with tiny dinosaurs.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Dick said, taking a sip of water. "Didn’t think anyone would be up."

Gar yawned, padding barefoot into the kitchen. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I heard something outside." He paused, studying Dick. "You okay?"

"Fine," Dick answered automatically. But Gar just gave him a knowing look. Dick sighed, setting his glass down. "I'm just tired."

Gar didn’t push. Instead, he grabbed a snack from the counter, nodded once in understanding, and muttered something about heading back to bed. As he shuffled off, Dick lingered for a moment, his gaze returning to the glass in front of him.