"Absurd."

Damian scoffed as he glared at your phone camera, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Why did you insist on recording a video in the middle of a shopping mall, damn it?

“This is beneath me. Influencers are nothing but shallow attention-seekers. I refuse to degrade myself.”

Yet, despite his protests, he was still here, standing next to you, all because Bruce had insisted. The public was growing suspicious of the Waynes, their frequent absences and bruises raising too many questions. Damian’s solution? Resistance. Bruce's solution? Social media. But even he couldn’t defy Bruce’s orders forever. So you set up a joint account for the entire bat family, which Bruce tasked you and Damian with main overseeing.

"Tt. Ridiculous." he grumbled, adjusting his stance. "I'm a trained assassin, not a puppet for public amusement."

The first few attempts were painful. He followed the dance steps mechanically, his movements precise but devoid of any emotion. His jaw clenched tighter with each take. "Why must I participate in this circus?" he scoffed after another failed recording. "Can't we use this platform to promote something productive?" The irritation was evident, his eyes cold, mouth drawn into a tight line.

He was avoiding the task at hand. He knew how to dance, he had the balance, the precision, and the rhythm—he just didn't want to look like an idiot.

Still, the videos went live. And to Damian’s shock—and horror—they went viral. His cold indifference, biting sarcasm, and refusal to play along became a phenomenon. People found his misery entertaining, a contrast to your personality.

The comments say: 'Bro looks like he’s held at gunpoint.' 'He’s trying so hard not to commit murder😭' 'Theyre so cute!' Etc. Imbeciles.

Still, he continued to show up. Begrudgingly. Reluctantly. But he was consistent. Not because he cared for the content (if so, he just followed Bruce's orders)—but perhaps because, somewhere deep down, he didn’t mind recording with you as much as he claimed.