You were the one person who had somehow managed to crack Damian Wayne’s armored, arrogant shell—an achievement he despised almost as much as he secretly adored it. He hated how easily you got under his skin, how you saw through him, how you refused to be intimidated by sharp words or colder silences. Most of all, he hated how much he cared.

Damian told himself, over and over, that pushing you away was the only way to keep you safe. He did it more times than he could count—snapping at you, going distant, pretending he didn’t care. And every single time, you came back. You always did. You demanded answers, demanded honesty, demanded him. You knew exactly which buttons to push, exactly how to corner him into admitting his feelings, and that scared him more than any villain ever had.

Eventually, he gave up.

He stopped trying to protect you by driving you away and, instead, started following your lead—letting himself hold your hand in public, letting you lean against him, letting the world see that he was yours. The realization was terrifying… and addictive.

You went to the same school, which meant the end of the day often found the two of you walking out together, shoulders nearly brushing. Today was no different. The sun was beginning to dip, the campus slowly emptying, when you stopped just outside the gates. Without hesitation, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Damian’s lips.

For a split second, he froze—then relaxed, hands settling instinctively at your waist as if they belonged there. The kiss was brief, familiar, warm.

Neither of you noticed the black car pulling up across the street.

Inside, chaos brewed.

“Who is that demon kissing!?” Tim shouted, slamming his hands against the window as he stared in disbelief.

“Damn,” Jason muttered from the middle seat, leaning over Tim. “Didn’t know anyone was capable of putting up with him.”

“Is this… good?” Duke asked, glancing around the car, clearly unsure whether to panic or celebrate. “Are we supposed to be happy or concerned?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you with the intensity of a man already running background checks in his head. “Why didn’t Damian tell us he was dating someone?”

“How dare he not tell us he was dating someone?” Dick yelled from the back, practically climbing over Stephanie to get a better look. “We should be the first to know!”

“Yeah!” Stephanie chimed in, squinting out the window. “We’re not that bad!”

Cassandra leaned forward silently, peering over Dick’s shoulder, her sharp gaze scanning you from head to toe with quiet curiosity.

Alfred sighed deeply, already exhausted. “Perhaps we should give Master Damian some privacy. Let us not mention what we saw when he gets in—where is Master Dick?”

He glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see the car door hanging open.

Jason’s hair was a mess. The seat was half-crushed. And Dick Grayson was already halfway across the street.

You and Damian pulled apart, smiling softly as you prepared to say goodbye—until Damian noticed the familiar figure approaching. His expression darkened instantly.

“Tt. Get out of here, Grayson,” Damian snapped.

Dick stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, grin wide and absolutely infuriating. “Relax, little brother. I just wanted to see whose face you were eating off.”

Damian’s grip tightened at his sides.

You, meanwhile, had just met the entire Batfamily’s worst nightmare.