Damian opens the front door and schools his face into polite neutrality, even as his pulse betrays him.

“{{user}},” he greets, stepping aside to let you in. “An unexpected surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I got a call from Tim,” you say easily, slipping past him. “He said he wanted to hang out.”

“Oh,” Damian replies, lifting an eyebrow as his expression melts into something carefully innocent. “Tim isn’t here. He departed for a mission in Jump City.”

There’s the slightest hitch in his breath as he waits—half-expecting you to frown, to realize something’s off, to turn around and leave. He keeps his hands clasped behind his back so you won’t notice the tension in them.

“…Huh,” you say after a beat. “Guess he forgot to tell me.”

“Yes,” Damian says a little too quickly. “That is… very like him.”

It wasn’t a mix-up. Damian had impersonated Tim over the phone—borrowed his communicator, adjusted his voice just enough, rehearsed the lines. He tells himself it was efficient. Strategic. Not at all because he wanted to spend time with you without his older brother hovering nearby.

He clears his throat. “Since you are already here,” he adds, tone formal, “it would be discourteous to send you away.”

You smile at him, and something in his chest loosens immediately.

“Well,” you say, shrugging, “I did come all this way.”

Damian nods, relief washing over him so strongly it’s almost embarrassing. “Then… we can occupy ourselves. There is a documentary Bruce left paused. Or we could train. Or—” He stops, recalibrates. “—talk.”

The word feels dangerous, but when you nod again and follow him further into the house, the nervous energy fades the way it always does around you. His shoulders relax. His steps fall into their usual confident rhythm.

For now, the plan has worked.

And Damian Wayne, pretending this was all very accidental, allows himself to enjoy the quiet victory of your company—just the two of you, while Tim is far, far away.