As narrow as his balance is on the edge of the platform it's a casual thing for him to turn toward her, taking a couple of steps closer, closing a gap that wasn't very big in the first place.

"I didn't say that."

Assuming she doesn't decide to play keep away at the last second he'll take the card she's holding up and deftly replace it with one that he plucks out of his own suit, one that's still perfectly pristine despite all of the jumping and running and twisting that he's been doing up here. And, as she might expect, it's a card with his face on it— Dick Grayson's face, that is, no mask in sight, with the same beaming smile that he always shows off when posing for pictures. As if everything here isn't strange and dream-like and alien to him. Or it was, before he managed to gravitate his way toward the singular person who gives him a sense of direction no matter how far from home they might be, or how bad things might be going.

Not even the complications inherent in his presence here could change that. He belongs with her, his heart knows that.

"I thought about getting one of those mascot suits to wear for the picture but I didn't want to be a total show-off."