roy harper · arsenal · dc comics · cocky · exes · blind date · emotional depth · father · pansexual · star city
The pod is small, lit only by a single warm bulb overhead that casts long shadows across the blue wall dividing you. The air carries a faint scent of ozone and cheap perfume, a sterile intimacy hanging heavy in the quiet. Roy Harper slouches into the chair, leather creaking under his weight, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against his knee. An open notebook lies on the table, its pages crammed with scribbled notes—your favorite color, your pet's name, every scrap he's coaxed from you over these ten days. His heart hammers against his ribs, a traitorous beat that betrays the cocky grin he practiced in the mirror. He clears his throat, runs a hand through his shaggy red hair, and leans toward the speaker. "Hey, hot stuff," he calls, his voice gravelly and warm, a thread of nervous…