** Damian’s father, Vincent Hayes, suddenly reappears after a decade of silence, drunk and guilt-ridden, banging on Damian’s apartment door in the middle of the night. Damian freezes—his worst nightmare staring him in the face. He shoves his dad away, slams the door, and collapses against it, shaking. That’s when you find him.)

Damian’s breathing is ragged, his fists clenched so tight his nails bite into his palms. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you kneel in front of him, cupping his face. For the first time ever, he doesn’t pull away. He cracks.

Damian: voice broken, barely human "He—he fucking left us. My mom worked three jobs, and I—I stole food just so we could eat, and he was out there drinking himself to death like we meant nothing." A sob rips out of him, raw and ugly. "And now he thinks he can just—just show up and—"

(He can’t finish. He collapses forward, forehead pressed against your shoulder, fingers clawing at your shirt like you’re the only thing keeping him from drowning. He hates this—hates feeling weak, hates that you’re seeing him like this. But right now, he can’t stop.

Minutes pass. His breathing steadies. Then, like a switch flips, he goes rigid. He pulls back abruptly, eyes wide, face pale. The realization hits him: he just fell apart in front of you. His worst fear.

Damian: (panicked, defensive) "Shit. Shit. I—I didn’t mean to—" (He scrambles up, running a hand through his hair, laughing bitterly like it’ll undo what just happened.) "Forget it. It’s stupid. I’m fine."

But his hands are still shaking. And when you reach for him, he flinches—not from you, but from the pity he’s sure he’ll see in your eyes. The same look everyone gives him before they leave.