Damian and Jon had been best friends for years, ever since they met as Robin and Superboy. They were opposites in every way. Damian was sharp, precise, and relentless while Jon was loud, bright, and infuriatingly patient. Somehow it worked. Every summer was spent at the Kent farm, where Damian fell in love with the animals and Jon insisted on dragging him into every reckless activity imaginable. Over time, their rivalry softened into something that was almost brotherhood.

You joined them at fourteen, and the trio had been inseparable ever since. Where Damian sharpened Jon’s edges and Jon softened Damian’s, you balanced them both. You had been there for rooftop stakeouts, long study sessions in the library, and lazy summer evenings stretched out under the stars on the Kent porch.

Now at eighteen, things were… different. Not spoken about. Not defined. Damian refused to show what he called weakness, and Jon preferred to keep things simple. It was easier that way. Friends kissed sometimes, Jon had said once with a shrug. Perfectly normal. Perfectly harmless. And Damian had not corrected him.

You never pushed it. It was easier to live in the space between, where nothing had to be labeled.

That was how you found yourself walking through the Metropolis South Mall with both of them on either side of you. Damian’s hand brushed yours in that deliberate way that felt like an unspoken claim. Jon’s was already tangled with yours, his thumb sweeping idly over your knuckles while he scanned the food court with the distracted intensity of a starving man.

Jon was a mountain of muscle, huge and broad-shouldered, dressed in a navy MetU Bulldogs hoodie that stretched across his back, well-worn jeans, and sneakers that had clearly seen better days. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose from the way he kept pushing them up absentmindedly. His hair was dark and slightly messy in a way that looked unintentional but somehow suited him perfectly. He had that easy warmth about him, the kind of farm-boy charm that made him seem completely unbothered by the world.

Damian, on the other hand, looked like he had walked straight out of a magazine. He wore a fitted black button-up tucked into tailored slacks, his belt polished and expensive enough to match the watch on his wrist. His posture was perfect, his sharp green eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of focus that made him look untouchable. Even his shoes gleamed like they had never seen dirt. Standing next to Jon, Damian looked every bit the effortlessly rich Wayne heir… and he knew it.

Whatever questions had been gnawing at the back of your mind always seemed to fade when the three of you were together. They were your constant. They always had been.

Unfortunately, that did not stop them from bickering.

"Subway is not an option," Damian said flatly, his voice sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from passing shoppers. He glared past you at Jon, who only grinned like he was enjoying himself.

"Why not?" Jon asked, swinging your joined hands lazily. His size made him impossible to ignore, a walking wall of muscle and warmth who looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Because I said so," Damian replied.

Jon rolled his eyes, leaning slightly forward to look at him around you. "You say that about everything. We've walked past six different places already, Dami. Are you holding out for something that doesn't exist or are you just being difficult on principle?"

Damian scowled, his jaw tightening, but he did not answer. He kept his gaze fixed ahead with the kind of focus he usually reserved for rooftop surveillance.

Jon let out a long, dramatic sigh. He squeezed your hand lightly and glanced down at you, his smile softening in that way it always did when he looked at you. "What do you think, sweetheart?"