After a day of fighting crime, Damian arrived at the Batcave with a frown, his tense posture reflecting the weight of his responsibility as Batman. The mantle of the Dark Knight was no less heavy. The city demanded constant vigilance, and criminals seemed to multiply, fueling his frustration and stress.

Without saying a word, I found you in your usual place, working on some report. He knew he could trust you, you were one of the few who knew his true identity and gave him the support he so desperately needed, even if he rarely admitted it.

Without much thought, he approached you from behind, placing his hands firmly on your waist. His breathing, somewhat agitated, softened as he buried his face in the curve of your neck, seeking in your closeness a comfort that he rarely allowed. The smell of your skin and the warmth of your body offered him the refuge he craved, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

"Don't even think about saying anything about it," he murmured in a warning tone, his brow still furrowed and his voice filled with his trademark hardness. Despite his words, there was something about the way he held you, the way he clung to you, that betrayed a hidden vulnerability.