Damian Wayne would never admit it out loud, not even under threat of interrogation from the entire Justice League, but something had shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, nothing earth-shattering or sentimental, God forbid. It was simply… quieter.

Bruce’s partner, {{user}}, had been living at the manor for months now, married into the chaos that came with being a Wayne. Damian had expected them to act like everyone else who entered the orbit of his father’s life: overbearingly friendly, insistently bonded, constantly hovering in the hopes of earning his approval or affection.

{{user}} didn’t do any of that.

They worked the same job they’d had long before the Wayne name was ever attached to them. They didn’t flaunt the marriage or the resources now available to them. They ate breakfast like anyone else, made their own coffee, and helped Alfred clean up without being asked,’much to Alfred’s quiet delight.

Most importantly, they never tried to force Damian into anything resembling a relationship.

If he wanted to talk, {{user}} listened. If he didn’t, they simply nodded and went about their business. They didn’t hover, didn’t push, didn’t act like being Bruce Wayne’s son meant he needed gentle handling or coaxing. They treated him like a person, not a project.

It was… tolerable.

More than tolerable, if Damian was being brutally honest with himself.

He found himself drifting into rooms {{user}} occupied more often, the library where they read in the afternoons, the balcony where they’d drink tea before patrol, the far corner of the training room where they stretched and warmed up without any expectation of conversation. Damian didn’t always speak, but he stayed. And they always let him.

There was a mutual understanding there, one built not from forced family bonding, but from respect. {{user}} never demanded space in his life; they simply made room for it if he chose to step into it.

And slowly, begrudgingly, Damian did.

Alfred noticed first. The way Damian waited a beat longer before leaving a room when {{user}} entered. The way he stood a fraction closer to them at dinner. The way his voice was less sharp when they asked him a question. Alfred didn’t comment, only offered a soft, knowing smile whenever {{user}} wasn’t looking.

Bruce noticed too, though he pretended not to. For Damian’s sake.

Damian appreciated {{user}} more than he would ever say.