Layla was his favourite childhood friend.

Back then, she was but a short-haired tomboy, frequently getting into fights with the boys and leading them in pranks.

But the years had changed her, transforming her into not just a trapeze artist, but a beautiful young woman that Dick barely recognizes.

Memories of their times together lower his guard. He sits by her side in the worn old seats, watching the artists train as they chat.

"I can't believe you really went for the trapeze," he said, surprised. "I thought you'd learn animal husbandry from your father."

They had all thought she'd pick up the family trade, taming wild beasts for the circus. But Layla preferred the feel of wind rushing through her hair as she swung along the trapeze - but despite hounding Dick to teach her his tricks, she could not emulate his grace, her movements instead reminiscent of a newly hatched duck.

"Tsk." She lifts her chin proudly, the joys of childhood brightening her features. "I'm the star here. People come specifically to see me."

"That sounds great."

"But I'm never  as good as the Flying Graysons." She lowers her voice. "When you left, I begged my parents to adopt you. But when we finally got to that orphanage, they told us you were already gone. If you had stayed with us at the circus, you'd still be a part of us."

"That's "if", Layla." Dick said, touched. He thought only Jason remembers him.

"I missed you, Dick."

"I missed you too, and everyone else."

The trapeze artists glide through the air; Dick watches him, almost seeing his family in their flips and turns. He thought this was going to be his life, travelling the world with his circus.

Yet now he sits on the audience's seat, watching someone else dance on the stage that no longer belongs to him.

"So what are you up to now?" Sensing his distress, Layla tries to lighten the mood. "Trying to become a movie star, handsome?"

He fears this question the most.

Layla has become whom she wanted to be, and yet Dick has become whom he most despises.

Of course he'd thought about the future while living with Jason. He had no degree, and no money to get one. Joining the police force could have been a good choice after serving in the army. If possible, he'd have liked Jason to walk the same path - become more law-abiding. After he'd caught Jason smuggling heroin, Dick had always feared that he'd pass the point of no return.

"What would you want to do if I were to join the army?" He'd asked.

He thought Jason would brush him off, or give some flippant answer. But Jason had pondered his question seriously, taking a full five minutes before answering.

"Maybe become a priest. I heard them say that if you get a recommendation, you can study for free."

Dicd had stared. "What?"

"Do you really have to be that surprised?" Jason turned his face away, but not before Dick caught the tinge of red.

"Why, Little Wing? You'll need to read a lot, and learn Latin - and there's not much money to be made, most importantly."

"Because they can forgive and tolerate everyone, even drug addicts like my mom." Jason's hands went back to work, fixing a screw on Dick's old bike. "I thought he wouldn't want to come - but he did - and sent her off properly to her Maker."

Dick remembered, of course. At the time, Mrs. Todd was past saving, her painful screams like knives on steel. They had no money for doctors, and could only save up for painkillers. It was a terrible time, Jason and him taking turns at the bedside while continuing to work.

That last day, she opened her eyes, the brightness within them returning but for a brief moment. Even her bark-like skin seemed to glow from within. She grabbed Jason's hand, and made her final request. Only then did Jason find out that his mother was a Catholic.

"Would he come?" Dick asked. "We don't have any money...."

Jason clenched his teeth, and turned to leave. Within minutes, he'd returned with the priest. The man was calm as he strode through the empty apartment, and nodded to the surprised Dick. He performed his duties diligently; Jason watched him, and then back towards his mother.

Perhaps it was then that Jason had found his path.

Though reality often had different plans.

"I want to be a police officer," he says, finally answering Layla's question.

Layla pats his shoulder, laughing. "I would never have known - that the prankster would grow up to become one who chases pranksters!"

Dick brightens. He points at the trapeze. "May I?"

"You haven't practiced for years..." She hesitates, but then nods. "What am I saying? You are a Flying Grayson."

The stage is a different world from the top of skyscrapers. There are bright lights instead of wailing winds, open space instead of malicious shadows. Dick stands on the narrow steps, looking down at everyone below. Layla stands across from him on the stage, her eyes encouraging - she might think his trembling is that of nervousness, but only he would understand the thrill of elation.

This is the place of his countless dreams. Once again, he's a Flying Grayson.

"Dick, don't force yourself; you can try another...."

He jumps from the top of the platform before she could finish, grabbing the trapeze as he glides through the air, surfing low like a seagull glancing over the water. The familiar wind whistles by his ears, and mixes with the yells of the performers below. Layla's cry of alarm changed to that of delight as she swings the other trapeze towards him.

Dick hugs his knees and spins, grabbing the trapeze in a clean, fluid, movement.

This is what he's born as, his first language.

He could not suppress his bubble of laughter as he gleefully takes in the applause from all the people in the tent.

All but one.

The newcomer has just stepped into the tent and chose to position himself in a secluded corner. No one else notices him.

Jason.

As if sensing his attention, Jason waves at him. There's too much space between them for Dick to see if he were smiling. But seeing the wave was enough.

After a few rounds of warming up, Dick starts to show off moves that most professionals wouldn't try without taking precautions.

"Dick, this isn't an actual performance. Don't push yourself," Layla said, worry creasing her brows. "There's no audience. Careful you don't hurt yourself!"

How could a Grayson hurt himself flying? It's his second nature, as effortless as breathing. And as for audience, isn't Jason one?

"The lad on the rickety swing,

His movements fair as the angels sing.

Gently he steals all the girls' hearts,

And mine for his seamless art...."

The performers laugh as they hear Dick sing this old song; they clap and whistle in beat as they watch him dance on the trapeze.

A shadow of a smile crumples Jason's stiff face. He remembers the time when Dick used to work at the bar - he'd polish the glass as he sang this. And when Jason asked about the song, Dick would say it's a melody his father sang for his mother.

As the routine ends, the performers crowd around Dick, admiring of his technique and teasing him about Layla.

"Is the song for her?" One girl asked, hiding shyly behind Layla, who snorted.

"I have a boyfriend," she announces. "Even though Dick is so handsome, he's not my type."

And Dick smiles. "I sang it for someone else."

"Oh?" Layla edges closer. "Who? Do I know them?"

"He's a priest." He glances at Jason. There is still too much distance between them for them to hear what's been said, but Jason sees Dick wink at him; his expression softens.

He tilts his chin at Dick in reply, and then walks out of the tent.

The afternoon sun hangs lazily in the sky, inching downward into the west. The muddled light turns a tawny yellow as they shine on the dark buildings surrounding the park. Leaves crunch underfoot, adding a measure of age and loneliness to the worn circus. But the number of people has increased - weary parents bringing their exorbitantly energetic children.

Dick sneaks out after him, delighted but careful as he lurks a slight distance away. He used to be able to read his thoughts, but now, he cannot tell what Jason might be thinking.

"You followed us all the way here, Jason," Dick stops a few feet behind his back. "Why?"

"Worried the old bat is gonna toss you into a dumpster."

"That sounds like the old Jason." Dick snickers, stepping around so he could see his face.

"So what do you think?"

"You looked like a flying squirrel."

Dick pauses. "What's a flying squirrel?"

Jason rolls his eyes, ignoring him.

"Then how's my singing?" he presses on.

"It's best for everyone if you don't sing again, Grayson."

A laugh, relieved. "So.... we are good?"

"Have to see."

Although Jason's expression was clear, something unreadable lurks beneath the surface. And it is only moments like this that make Dick realize that Jason has grown up, and no longer that gangly child.

He opens his arms and wraps them around Jason's head, attempting to hug him like when they were kids. But he's shorter now, and looks more as if he were hanging off of him. "You were barely to my shoulders, and now you are taller."

Jason glances at him, pleased. "That's a long time ago."

"You were only my height when you died." Dick said. An emptiness fills him. He's missed so much. "And in the blink of an eye, you've grown so big."

"We have more time in the future." Jason turns and wraps his arms around Dick's waist, his deep green eyes twin lakes reflecting Dick's face. Slowly, he dips his head downward and pecks him on the cheek.

"You kissed the wrong spot, Little Wing." Dick tips Jason's head slightly back up, and hooks his other arm tight around his neck; he presses their lips together.

They give away to their desires, opening their mouths and entangling their tongues. Unwilling to pull apart, they remain locked in embrace as the crowds shift all around them, the cries of laughter fading into the background. Only they remain still at the same place, as if waiting for a good omen.