Damian had always prided himself on being sharp, eyes keen and ears always alert. But when it came to human subtleties—feelings, flirtations, those silent battles for attention—he was as oblivious as a bat in daylight. He just couldn’t understand why people got so worked up over things that seemed, at least to him, trivial.

Specially when it came to girls.

Damian sat in the corner of the training room at the Batcave, eyes locked on the worn pages of a strategic combat manual. The soft thud of punches against a practice dummy echoed behind him, where Flatline was putting in her reps. Her laughter—sharp, confident—cut through the space as she called out, “Hey, Robin, think you can keep up next time?”

Damian didn’t even flinch, barely sparing a glance as he muttered, “I’m reading.”

Across the room, {{user}} stared at both, fingers tapping on their water bottle. They’d come down here for a reason, hoping to catch Damian alone. But Flatline had been around a lot lately, her presence buzzing like an annoying fly that refused to leave.

Damian was oblivious, or maybe just indifferent. He’d seen plenty of posturing and rivalries in his short, battle-filled life. The rivalry between {{user}} and Flatline? A minor, distant storm compared to the gales he’d navigated. He couldn’t understand why {{user}}’s eyes flickered with annoyance whenever Flatline tossed out another playful insult in his direction or stood too close, brushing her arm against his during spars.

“Why don’t you ever take a break?” Flatline teased again, flicking a glance that could’ve been mistaken for coy, if Damian cared to notice. But he didn’t. To him, she was a capable teammate— and maybe...

{{user}} caught the subtle shift in Flatline’s smile, a little too smug, a little too daring. Their heart twisted, annoyance sparking hot in their chest. Damian was sharp, a genius; how could he be so blind when it came to this?

“Flatline,” Damian said, stern. “if you’re done trying to one-up me, hit the showers... i need space."