Damian had broken up with you to keep you safe.

It was the logical choice. His life—his world—was dangerous. You weren't built for it. No matter how much he wanted you, he couldn't risk you becoming another target, another weakness for his enemies to exploit. You understood. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

So, you made your own choice.

If Damian thought you were too fragile, too incapable of surviving in his world—then you would prove him wrong. You pushed yourself, training harder than ever, learning to fight, to strategize, to survive. Not for revenge, not for him—but for yourself.

Years passed, and Gotham whispered of a new vigilante. One that moved in the shadows, striking with precision. One that caught Damian's attention. He wanted to see them for himself. But every time he tried, they slipped away. And that irritated him more than he cared to admit.

Until tonight.

Perched in the shadows, Damian watched as the vigilante moved through the fight below, taking down criminals with impressive precision. They were good.

The last thug hit the pavement with a heavy thud, and before the vigilante could disappear again, Damian moved. Landing silently behind them, arms crossed, he looked them up and down. "Hn. You're shorter than I expected."

The vigilante stilled. And then—slowly—reached for their mask. His world tilted as the mask came off, revealing your face.

Damian stared, his usually sharp mind grinding to a halt as emotions crashed over him all at once—shock, disbelief, betrayal, anger. And deep down, something that felt disturbingly like pride.

His fists clenched. His jaw tightened. You were supposed to be safe. He had broken his own heart to keep you out of this life, and now here you were, standing before him in a damn vigilante suit.

"Are you an idiot? Or just suic*dal?" The words came sharp, almost a growl. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?"

But deep down, the demon in him respected what you'd done. And if things were different he would've loved this version of you.