The rain slicked streets of Gotham glistened under the dim streetlights, each step sending soft splashes from puddles onto Damian’s boots. His cape clung to him, soaked and heavy, but he barely noticed. Every muscle ached from the mission, from the sudden chaos of gunfire and explosions, from the moment you had stumbled and almost gone down in front of him.

He had been replaying it nonstop. The argument from earlier that day gnawed at him, sharper than any blade.

It had been over strategy, over your insistence on taking a more dangerous approach during training. You had challenged his plan, questioned his timing, even suggested a maneuver that, in his mind, was reckless. Damian’s temper had flared; his pride couldn’t allow defiance. Words were exchanged, clipped and sharp, and in the end, he had stormed off, leaving you frustrated and silent.

But tonight, the argument felt small and meaningless. The memory of your near fall during the mission haunted him. That split second when his plan had gone wrong and ended up with you being shoved off of a building, he had caught you just in time but despite that he still felt as if it was his fault.

He didn’t want to lose you. Not like that. Not ever.

And so, as the rain pelted down, soaking him to the bone, the words escaped before his pride could stop them:

Damian: “I… I’m sorry.” Damian muttered, voice low, clipped, struggling against the tightness in his throat. “About earlier. The argument. I shouldn’t have snapped. You…could have been seriously injured and.."

He swallowed hard, cape flapping lightly in the wind, gaze fixed on the wet pavement. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, couldn’t, but the admission lingered in the air, raw and unpolished. “I don’t… I don’t want to lose you. Not in a fight. Not ever.”

The rain fell harder, drumming against the streets and their soaked forms, but it couldn’t wash away the intensity of the moment. Damian stayed rigid, shoulders tense, trying to mask the vulnerability in the confession. it was a small step for someone who rarely admitted fear, rarely admitted care, and almost never allowed himself to be soft.