conner hadn’t been sure he’d recognize him right away. years were funny that way. they stretched and twisted and sometimes blurred the edges of people in your memory. but the second he saw the silhouette, crouched in that classic robin way, it hit him like a weight to the chest. familiar. god, so familiar it almost hurt. he let out a slow breath and grinned, arms folded across his chest as he hovered just above the ledge.
"you always did have a flair for dramatic entrances,” he said, voice light, teasing—like no time had passed at all. then, quieter, more honest. "hey, tim." and for a second, just a second, it was like they were kids again. like the world hadn’t fallen apart a hundred different ways in between. like maybe this time, they could actually pick up where they left off.