“Be more careful,” Damian grunts, his voice laced with a hint of irritation as you meticulously stitch up the deep gash on his shoulder. The room is filled with a heavy silence, an unspoken tension hanging in the air, as if the weight of their unfinished conversation is suffocating both of you.

He had sought solace in your presence once again, despite the fact that he had been the one to sever the fragile thread that bound your hearts together. The excuse he offered was feeble at best – your house happened to be the closest refuge where he could find respite for his battered body, where he could receive the care he so desperately needed.

You had been the one who had to bear the burden of his decision. The weight of his duty as Robin had overshadowed the love you had shared, leaving you discarded like a forgotten relic. He had claimed that your presence in his life had become a distraction, a hindrance to his relentless pursuit of justice. It meant getting in trouble, and he wasn't prepared for this.

He hated making that decision.

As you heal his wounds, join each point of flesh and sinew, he feels more torn, avoiding the gaze. He can't help but curse his own weakness, the way his heart still beats for you when he wanted to leave this behind. He hates this, he hates having to be something to step on in your memories; He never wanted to be fragile, but knowing that he is not in your life puts him in a strange state, not knowing what to do.