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Roy had been trying to come up with an opening all night. Something easy or – god forbid – cool that would earn him more than just a laugh for his efforts. The problem was in the fact that they were friends though. There’s no way it would be this hard if they weren’t. Roy knew it would be easier, because then there would be nothing to lose. As it was though, if Roy lost this – what they did have – he felt he was well within his rights to say he was losing the best thing in his life.
Having a crush wasn’t supposed to be easy. He knew that, he wasn’t stupid, but was it really supposed to be this hard?
They hadn’t even been doing anything particularly special when he was struck by just how pretty Dick was. It was last summer, and Roy had been practically living at Wayne Manor. Just playing video games, eating junk food and intermittently swimming in the practical lake that Bruce Wayne called a pool. Roy remembered glancing over as Dick launched himself into the air with a whoop and splashed back to the surface with a grin. He didn’t look any different than he had five minutes earlier, but the words rose up in Roy’s mind unbidden, “I think he might break if my hand touched his skin.”
Don’t misunderstand, Dick was pretty, but pretty did not mean he was inherently breakable. It wasn’t that so much as the way Roy was then suddenly sure that any connection to him could destroy a beautiful thing – could drag Richard John Grayson down to earth to shatter on the ground.
And he wasn’t meant to shatter – wasn’t meant to touch the ground at all – Dick Grayson was meant to fly.
Now, as they hid out on the balcony during Queen Industries’ annual charity ball Dick was loudly joking about something that had happened earlier that week when Bruce had insisted on bringing Dick in to a shareholder meeting at WE.
“I just don’t understand when Bruce is going to get it through his head that I don’t have business-savvy or anything resembling it. I mean the man’s known me nearly half my life now, you’d think that’d be long enough.” Dick glanced sharply toward his friend when all he got in response was a vague hum.
“What’s got you so preoccupied, my dear Roybert?” He over-enunciated the ‘T’ to emphasize the ridiculousness of today’s chosen nickname and grinned unabashedly as Roy rolled his eyes in response.
“Nothing really. Just thinking.”
“Just thinking he says, when he hasn’t strung more than three words together in the last half hour at least!”
Dick nudged at Roy’s foot with his own, still trying to get the redhead to look him in the eye, “Seriously man, we’ve been friends for how long now? What’s up?”
When Roy finally met his friend’s gaze he felt all his breath leave him in a rush. God. When did Dick get so close with his stupidly blue puppy-dog eyes? He had to force himself to suck in a ragged breath, casting his gaze back inside where the members of high society practically glittered under the light of the chandeliers as they socialized.
“It’s really nothing.” Roy cast about for something he could say that wouldn’t give him away, “I was just thinking about all of this.” He gestured toward the ballroom.
“Do you ever think about how ridiculous it is that we’re here right now? I mean – I know you’ve been part of this world a lot longer than I have but – do you ever feel lonely in there? Like you’re surrounded on all sides by people who can’t even see you?”
The mischievous glint that had moments before shone brightly in Dick’s eyes dimmed somewhat as he too looked through the tall glass doors into the brightly shining room beyond.
“I just feel like I’m not supposed to be part of all of this, and you’re such a natural at it with the way you’ve charmed us all.” Roy’s smile as he said this – more honest than he had expected to be – looked more like a grimace, but he pushed on, “I don’t understand how you manage it. I really don’t.”
The silence stretched between them for a space, as each boy observed the party as it progressed like a sort of living, breathing picture of status and wealth. Roy could see Oliver, holding court for some of those he considered lower than himself in the upper echelons of the business world. He was always trying so hard to be what Bruce just effortlessly was.
Roy scanned the crowd, and sure enough there was Bruce, casually seated in a far corner of the room with some of the older couples. Though he was out of the spotlight at the moment the throngs seemed pulled in by some gravitational force, and Roy could see the way people gestured toward where Bruce sat, oblivious to the power he held over them all.
“I only manage it ‘cause I have you right there with me.” Roy finally allowed himself to look at Dick as his friend broke the silence, but Dick kept his gaze fixed on party inside.
Bruce who now appeared to be shamelessly flirting with a Mrs. Rutherford (who was well into her seventies) as he gestured gallantly to her now empty champagne flute. Mrs. Rutherford let out a laugh that could be clearly seen – and heard Dick was sure – as she waved him off to refill their drinks and managed to flush just as prettily as she had four decades prior (or so they were led to believe). Dick alone could see the machinations Bruce was undertaking to be visible. They’d been planning to leave early tonight and actually spend some time together since they were out of Gotham anyway, but that meant that Bruce needed to be seen. He needed to engage the spectacle. He was like a walking example of just how manufactured a public persona could be.
“Existing in this world is and awful lot like living life that has been edited down to be more palatable to the masses. Every single thing I do is observed and critiqued and talked about by people I’ve never even met before. I have literal millions of people who think they know who I am and what I like. Before you came along, I dreaded these parties. It was a lot of being ushered from one wealthy self-important snob to the next as old women pinched my cheeks, and old men clapped me on the shoulder. I used to get bruises from it, Roy! This whole thing is such an extravagant performance, and honestly my dear,” Dick allowed the mischief to creep back into his tone, “sweet, Royphelia I couldn’t do it if you weren’t right here keeping me grounded and reminding me what it’s like to feel normal.”
Roy smiled for real at that. It was hard not to when he was faced with the truth of Richard John Grayson needing him – loving him even – despite being so far beyond Roy’s hopes. No, Roy wouldn’t ask for what he wanted – wouldn’t acknowledge the way his stomach flipped when Dick looked at him like that and echoed his own affection back to him. He was content to have even this one part of Dick that he could call his own. They needed each other, and if they were together neither of them could ever say he was alone.