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“I’ve been planning this date for a month, it can’t go wrong now— I’m not stressed , Don, this is just important! You know that.”
Contrary to popular belief, Dick Grayson is not an overthinking, stressed-out mess. The fact that he’s pacing a hole through the floor and rambling to his best friend over the phone doesn’t change that, nor does it change the fact that he’s totally in denial. But he doesn’t have the best track record with relationships, and that’s why he’s trying extra-hard and treading extra-carefully with Joey.
He’s probably noticed by now—as much as Dick prides himself on being a good performer and acting like he’s got it all together, his boyfriend is perceptive, adept at reading between the lines where he falters. But hey, if Joey hasn’t said anything (most likely to save his dignity), he’s not gonna be the one to break that silence.
“Take a deep breath, Dick, relax. It’s gonna work out just fine. ” A pause, followed by a softer, fond tone. “Joey’s gonna love it no matter what because it was your idea, okay? The details aren’t gonna matter as much once you’re in the moment.”
Donna’s voice, steady and sure, soothes him like always. He’s always been able to count on her to keep him from self-destructing, from the huge, life-ruining world-ending problems to the littlest of things. Dick does as she instructs, and that brief respite is enough to break him out of the spiral he'd been tumbling down for the past hour. He deflates with a sigh, slowing to a stop.
"I just.. I want things to turn out perfectly."
Things, unfortunately, do not go perfectly.
An emergency Titans briefing calls him to the Tower only an hour before he's supposed to pick Joey up, and then he has to call in a favor from Wally to get him there in time—which means the flowers he'd bought are just stems by the time Dick has been deposited at the apartment's front door in a rumpled suit. Despite his frazzled nerves, he tries his best to be the charming boyfriend he usually is, but given the concerned look shot his way, his acting skills aren’t up to par like he thought.
By the time they reach the restaurant, he’s just hanging by a thread and praying the evening is salvageable in some way. That’s when the date truly goes to shit—the bottle of champagne brought to their table explodes when Dick uncorks it, dousing the both of them as well as the table (thankfully, there’s no collateral damage and no angry Karens yelling at them, just a mortifying ordeal which will most certainly end in his demise). That’s the last straw.
The next half hour passes in a blur—dimly, he can register the hand holding his as Joey’s, but he blinks and suddenly, they’re back home. Dick’s eyes sting, and the space between them aches, just like it always does when he’s been holding back tears, but his face is dry.
“Hey, welcome back. I’m gonna order us some takeout, okay? Go shower and change into something comfy,” Joey instructs, hands gentle as he explains that yes, he’d paid for the champagne and bundled them up and taken care of things, and wow. Dick appreciates it, especially because he takes charge in enough parts of his life already, and he knows that Joey's aware of that—he feels seen, he feels loved .
When he emerges from the bathroom, hair toweled dry and socked feet sliding on the floor, Dick feels more like a person and less like a badly-concealed mess. The worn pajama pants and Robin hoodie—Damian's era, complete with a sharp R and dark green hood—are a far cry from what he'd had planned, although they are more comfortable (and a lot less champagne-sticky), and he can't help feeling guilty about how tonight was supposed to go.
"I'm sorry I ruined our date," he murmurs, and Joey purses his lips, brows furrowing. He pulls away, lifting Dick's chin gently and waiting until his eyes are on his hands before he starts to sign. (He can already tell his boyfriend will be insufferable once he realizes Dick almost always has one eye on him when they're in a room together, but he's getting distracted).
"You didn't ruin anything, alright? I know you put a lot of work into that, and even if things didn't go as planned, it still counts. That means a lot to me."
Joey smiles, radiant as the Sun, and he basks in its warmth, a smile of his own coaxed out from where he still wants to continue apologizing. His boyfriend has a quiet sort of strength around him—he isn't physically imposing or outwardly intimidating by default, but there's this sense of gravity that makes the world slow to a stop and pay attention. Dick is hardly immune, but he doesn't mind being pulled into his orbit. There are much worse places to be than staring into those eyes…
Except now he realizes he's probably just staring, and—he's not making it weird, is he?
"C'mere, dumbass," he signs, drawing Dick in to press their foreheads together. They stay there for a long moment, and when he pulls back, Joey darts in to kiss his nose, which makes him huff out a laugh—leave it to him to know how to make him feel better, right?
The doorbell breaks the spell eventually, but even after he's answered the door and gotten their food, things still feel a lot lighter than they had before. They're still having a good date, even if it's just watching a movie and eating takeout on the couch.
It doesn't even end there! He stands to take care of the trash when the credits are rolling, some slow, instrumental song playing in the background. The next thing he knows, they're swaying back and forth, slow dancing in the kitchen like the leads in some cliche rom-com. The hopeless romantic he is, Dick can't complain about being swept off his feet; he just wishes he'd thought of that first. He sighs, content, and presses a kiss to his boyfriend's hair.
With Joey holding onto him, head leaning against his shoulder, he has to admit—for all its chaos, this evening couldn't have gone any better.