dick is panting by the time he lets himself sit down on the training room’s floor. sweat has pooled at the small of his back, soaks through his shirt. he pushes his hair back from his face and takes a few seconds to catch his breath, hunched forward. he’s been in here for -- a cursory glance at the clock tells him four hours, and this is the first time he’s stopped moving. but if he doesn’t find a way to distract himself, he’s going to go stir crazy here.
he gets it, he really does. being here is important, but dick isn’t good at stationary. he needs to move; needs to see something new. this place will strangle him within a month. when he realizes he’s not alone, he shoves himself to his feet and gives an easy, albeit fake, smile. “ here to spar ?? ”
