The mission was over. They were supposed to be debriefing. Instead, Damian found himself glued to the metal hallway wall—again—because you had jumped him mid-walk, arms flung around his neck like a grappling hook.

Your voluminous curls spilled around both of you like a golden-orange curtain, glowing under the ceiling lights as you clung to his side. “I missed you!” you declared, all teeth and sunshine.

“…We were on the same mission,” was all Damian said, looking forward as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

He flushed as you kissed his cheek with a loud, sparkly "mwah!" and slotted yourself under his arm like you belonged there. Which—apparently—you did.

He could feel your curls puffed against his chest and shoulder, wild and soft and full of static. They always smelled faintly like fire and fruit. And now his uniform was covered in glitter again.

He inhaled sharply like he was about to snap—but instead, he wrapped one quiet arm around you and pulled you even closer.