ex!dick grayson can't stand it when your phone rings after a mission briefing. he doesn't even have to look your way to know that your lips are curled into a stupidly sweet smile when you read the caller id. but he does, like the sick masochist he is, and he's struck square in the chest with something that's entirely too similar to what he felt when you both called it quits a year ago.
he hates it when he spots you rushing to the zeta tube not even five minutes after you came back from that mission. you're already dressed for a date. he knows, despite the leather coat you've got wrapped around your frame, because he catches sight of the little black dress you're wearing beneath it.
he hates it even more because it all used to be him.
his calls that brought a smile on your face.
his eyes that you're wearing that dress for.
him driving you on the back of his motorbike to make it to your reservation, barely skirting the grace period.
and as much as dick tries to convince himself that he's moved on, insists to his family and friends that you seeing other guys doesn't affect him because it's been almost a year since you've split up, he can't deny the part of him that clings to the promise you made to each other all those years ago. that it would be you and him, hand in hand, against all odds. until your dying breath.