You've heard about what the Wayne house looks like. But what you saw when he opened the heavy oak door with the iron handle for you was... not even a house. It was a world. Old walls smelling of books and leather. Echoing corridors with soft carpets. Paintings in gilded frames, on which the shadows of bygone eras seemed to move. And the silence - rare, dense, almost noble. Like in a museum. Or in the heart of something truly ancient.

Damian didn't say a word, just nodded for you to follow him. You passed two staircases, a long corridor with floor-to-ceiling windows - and finally he abruptly opened the door to one of the rooms.

"Come in," he said, almost without emotion, but... you caught it. A slightly tense tone. Restrained seriousness. He was worried.

And so you cross the threshold. The room was rather simple, in his style. Bookshelves, graphite walls, dark wood. But your attention was immediately drawn to something else.

Big. Black. Dog.

He was sitting right by the wall. As if he knew you would come. Ears pointed forward, Damian's green eyes reflected in the dog's amber eyes. A huge Great Dane. Confident. Calm. Without a chain, without a collar - only with a pendant around his neck, and with this... dignity in his posture.

You stopped. For a second.

"This is Titus," Damian said quietly. — "He doesn't bite. If he doesn't like someone... he just leaves."

You slowly crouched down. The dog didn't move. He only tilted his head slightly, looking at you. You extended your hand, carefully, respectfully. Titus inhaled, deeply, and after a moment he came closer. His large head lay on your lap.

You gasped.

"Oh," you breathed. — "Hi, handsome..."

He licked your fingers.

Damian stood next to you, silent. But his lips barely twitched. Almost a smile.

He sat down next to you on the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest, as if he had suddenly become a child again, who didn't need to prove anything to anyone. Just watch his dog accept you.

And you suddenly realized: This is a very important moment. He showed you the warmest part of himself.

You sat like that for maybe a minute, maybe two. The silence was cozy. He quietly turned on something on his phone, handed you one earphone - you listened to music together, each in your own earphone.

And then - the creak of the door.

"Master Damian," a familiar, polite voice said. — "I heard the door open. I was hoping you were finally home…"

You turned around.

Alfred. A perfectly pressed waistcoat, a cup in one hand, a towel in the other. He froze halfway into the room when he saw you. His eyebrows rose slightly.

"Oh," he said. — "I'm sorry, child. I didn't know we had a guest."

You stood up a little awkwardly, straightening up.

"Sorry… I… he just…"

Alfred waved his hand gently.

"It's all right, miss. I'm just glad the young master finally decided to show Titus to someone."

You looked at Damian. He turned away. But… there was a slight pink in his cheeks.

Alfred looked at him with that special expression that contained everything: care, irony, and very, very warm understanding.

He came closer, put the cup on the table next to him.

“I’ll bring tea. Or cocoa?” he turned to you. — “What does the guest in this house prefer?”