Your phone buzzes at 2:47 AM.

Damian.

You answer, and for a moment, there’s only silence. Then, the faint rustle of fabric, the steady sound of his breath. He’s still moving—probably perched on a rooftop somewhere, watching the city with that ever-sharp gaze of his.

Then, finally—

“…You should be resting.” His voice is quieter than usual, lacking its usual sharp edge. Still firm, but softer. Like he’s more concerned about you than he’s willing to admit outright.

A pause. The faint hum of the city in the background. He exhales, like he’s debating whether to keep going.

“…Tt. Patrol is tedious,” he mutters, but there’s something else in his tone—something he’s not quite saying. Another beat of silence, then, almost too quiet—“And I find myself… missing you.”