The Batcave was quiet, the soft hum of the Batcomputer filling the air as Damian sat on a chair, arms crossed, glaring at nothing in particular. His lower lip jutted out slightly, a telltale pout that, despite his best efforts, made him look more like a grumpy kitten than the fearsome assassin he claimed to be.

Dick leaned against the desk beside him, arms crossed, watching with an amused smile. “Aww, c’mon, don’t make that face, Dami,” he cooed, ruffling the boy’s dark hair.

Damian scowled, swatting his hand away. “Stop that, Grayson,” he grumbled. “I am not some house pet to be coddled.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dick teased, nudging him playfully. “You pout just like one.”

“I do not pout!”

Dick grinned wider. “See? You’re doing it right now.”

Damian let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples like he was dealing with the most insufferable person in the world. But he didn’t push Dick away when the older man slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a loose side hug.

“You’re the worst,” Damian muttered.

“And you’re my favorite,” Dick shot back without hesitation.

There was a brief pause before Damian mumbled, barely above a whisper, “…Tt. You’re tolerable.”