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Roy had attended galas before. When he still lived with Oliver, he was dragged along to be shown off to the world. The lights, the drama, the people, none of it was new to him, yet he wished he could forget all of it.
To prove that Oliver Queen did good and helped people. Even though it had always been a carefully played illusion. The people never knew what Oliver Queen was really like. Always absent, unreachable, and useful mostly for his looks. Oliver shaped Roy into the man he was today: a crime-fighting vigilante with far too many complexes and emotional scars.
Roy hated it. All of it.
He thought he had escaped that charade, but it had only lasted until he met Jason Todd.
Now Roy stood in front of a mirror, picking himself apart. His red tie sat too tight around his throat. The suit felt wrong, constricting and claustrophobic. He couldn’t breathe, his fingers already loosening the tie to catch some air. It would be just one night.
“Roy, are you ready?” Jason walked into the room, fixing his always-perfect hair. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked as soon as he noticed Roy struggling.
“Nothing,” Roy said, forcing calm. “The tie’s just really restrictive.” He finally managed to loosen it a little.
Jason slung an arm around his shoulders. Compared to Roy’s lean frame, Jason looked like a tank. He pressed a kiss to Roy’s cheek, making him blush despite himself.
“I’m grateful you’re doing this with me. I owe you something,” Jason said, his hand wandering lower.
Roy caught his wrist before it could go too far. “Thank me later. We should go now.” He hoped Jason didn’t hear the concern in his voice.
The ballroom glowed in warm yellow light. Classical music drifted through the air. Gotham’s elite filled the room in sparkling dresses and tailored suits, jewelry worth thousands hanging casually around their necks. Talking. Dancing. Laughing at the bar.
Something rose in Roy’s throat, an old instinct. He knew he didn’t belong here. He never had. This had never been his world. He felt like an intruder. But it was too late now.
Do it for Jason, his mind repeated over and over again.
He took a deep breath, and Jason’s hand found his. A firm squeeze reminded him he wasn’t alone. He could do this.
Roy noticed Bruce’s expression change the moment he saw them. Relief, maybe? Bruce crossed the room, ignoring people who clearly wanted his attention.
“Glad you made it,” Bruce said. “I was starting to think all of my kids would ditch me tonight.”
Jason sighed. “You definitely owe us.”
Bruce nodded, fully aware they were only there for his sake. Not even Bruce Wayne wanted to attend his own gala.
A woman approached them, most likely to welcome the guests.
“Welcome,” she said. “I’m Anastasia Stroll. I support several charities through my work, the Wayne Foundation among them. This gala is held to introduce a new project focused on art programs for the beneficiaries.”
Jason shook her hand with a practiced smile. “Jason Todd. Son of Bruce Wayne. And this is Roy Harper, my fiancé.”
As she turned to Roy, he noticed her hesitation before she took his hand. He forced a smile. It wouldn’t be the last time tonight.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
After a brief exchange with Bruce about the upcoming speech, she moved on.
Bruce turned back to Roy. “Don’t take it personally. These people don’t know any better.”
Roy nodded. He already stood out.
Without thinking, he brushed his prosthetic arm beneath his sleeve. Things like that were never easily ignored.
Again, Jason pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
Roy nodded. “I’ll go.”
Just do what you learned. It’ll be over soon.
The bar was farther away than he expected, blocked by clusters of people who barely acknowledged him when he tried to pass.
As he ordered, he overheard a couple nearby. Normally he wouldn’t eavesdrop, but when the name Oliver Queen was mentioned, it was instinct.
“Isn’t that Queen’s ward?” the woman asked.
The man glanced at Roy, not nearly as discreet as he thought. Roy didn’t need to turn around to know. “Looks like it. I thought he had… severe problems. I’m surprised to see him here.”
They whispered, but poorly. Roy heard every word.
People recognized him, but only for the worst parts of his life.
He kept his gaze down. Confrontation would only make it worse. He took the drinks and made his way back.
But the voices didn’t stop.
“Addict.”
“Waste of potential.”
Someone mentioned his homelessness.
His grip tightened around the glasses.
“A charity case for Bruce Wayne.”
“How could he allow his son to be engaged to someone like that? What a shame.”
Roy turned, facing a sea of faces. Pity. Disdain. Curiosity. It blurred together.
He wanted to scream. None of them knew what he had lived through. They assumed whatever fit their narrative, uncaring of the truth or the damage their words caused.
He did none of that.
Instead, he smiled. “Sorry, do I know you?”
Then he turned away, ignoring half-hearted apologies as he left.
Roy didn’t feel okay.
Nausea crept up his throat. The lights blurred. The music grew louder, muffled and distant. His legs began to shake. Somewhere deep down, he knew he couldn’t cause a scene. That would only give them more ammunition.
He spotted Jason across the room, his vague outline through the haze. He swallowed the urge to cry.
He placed the drinks on the table. Jason looked worried, but Roy couldn’t explain. He needed to calm down.
Breathe. In. Out.
Bruce’s voice echoed in his mind, reminding him of grounding techniques from another night.
“Roy? Can you hear me?” Jason asked.
Another voice followed, but it was distant. Roy glanced up and saw Bruce behind a podium. The room’s attention was on him.
If he was going to leave, now was the time.
Jason hovered beside him, concern written all over his face.
“Sorry,” Roy whispered. “Gotta go.”
He slipped away as Bruce began to speak.
Air. He needed air.
The memories came rushing back. His arm twitched with phantom pain. Blood. Panic. His vision blurred.
Roy ran until the world tilted. He braced himself against a wall, gasping.
Breathe.
He didn’t notice the tears or the sounds tearing from his throat.
Feet on the ground. Feel the floor. Ground yourself.
The darkness crept in faster than he could fight it.
“Mr. Harper, can you hear me?”
A hand shook his shoulder.
Roy opened his eyes to see Alfred kneeling beside him.
“What happened?” Roy tried to speak, but the words tangled together.
“Try to sit up,” Alfred said gently, helping him upright.
“I’m sorry… shouldn’t have run… during the speech.”
Alfred’s surprise flickered only briefly. “It’s quite alright. I’m more concerned about your condition. Do you mind telling me what happened?”
Roy pulled his knees to his chest, fingers fidgeting.
“People said things. I panicked. I couldn’t handle it.”
Alfred nodded. “May I say, Master Bruce and Master Jason are not angry with you. They are worried. As am I. There is no need for guilt.”
Roy nodded weakly.
“We agreed to meet in the library,” Alfred continued. “I believe Master Jason will be relieved to see you.”
Jason was pacing like a caged animal when Roy entered.
“Roy! Oh my- what happened?”
Roy couldn’t lift his arms to return the hug. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.”
Jason cupped his face.
“It’s alright and I’m sorry. After you left, I heard people talking. I heard how they treated you. You’re not going back in there. Not ever. I promise. I love you. You’re the best thing that’s happened in my life, and I won’t lose you over some dumb gala. I couldn’t be prouder to be your husband.
I love you, Roy Harper. Don’t ever forget that.”
Jason closed the distance between them, and Roy chuckled under his breath at husband as he kissed him back.
He couldn’t forget his past, it had shaped him.
But with Jason, carrying it felt a little easier.