Patrol had started like any other night in Gotham, Damian perched on the edge of a high-rise, cape snapping in the wind, while you hovered a few feet off the ledge, arms crossed. Jon had tagged along tonight, which meant Damian’s patience was already fraying.

The two boys had been bickering for nearly an hour.

Jon: “You’re too reckless.” Jon muttered, pacing.

Damian: “And you’re too soft.” Damian shot back, not looking at him. “You’re supposed to intimidate criminals, Kent, not smile at them like you’re offering friendship bracelets.”

Jon rolled his eyes.

Jon: “Maybe if you didn’t act like every thug needed to be hospitalized, people wouldn’t run away screaming at the sight of you.”

Damian: “Terror is a useful weapon.” Damian snapped. “Try developing one.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was headed. Jon wasn’t just annoyed at Damian’s methods, he had that look, the one he always got whenever he remembered you were dating Bruce Wayne’s son.

Jon: “I honestly don’t get it. How do you put up with him?” Jon crossed his arms, glancing between you and Damian. That was the trigger. Damian’s jaw tightened, green eyes flashing.

Damian: “Because unlike you, she understands me. She chose me.”

Jon: “Oh, really?” Jon smirked.

And before you could intervene, Jon gave Damian a shove. A solid one.

Damian’s boots slipped off the ledge, his cape snapping like a useless sail as gravity claimed him. For a split second, his eyes widened, but then you were already moving.

The wind howled past as you dove, streaking down through Gotham’s neon haze. In seconds you caught him, arms wrapping firmly around his torso. His heartbeat slammed against your chest as his hands instinctively clutched at you before he forced them still.

Damian: “Tch.” he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to mask the adrenaline shaking through him. “Of course. Another Tuesday.”