The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of Gotham’s rain-soaked skyline as you sat on the edge of Wayne Manor’s roof, swinging your legs over the side like it was nothing.

Because to you, it was nothing.

You and Damian had been sneaking up here since you were seven, back when he was still short, mean, and trying to convince you that assassins didn’t have best friends.

(That argument lasted about two weeks before he begrudgingly admitted you weren’t going anywhere.)

Now, at twelve, you sat shoulder to shoulder, passing Damian’s telescope back and forth, scanning the city below.

“I still don’t see why you need this thing,” you muttered, adjusting the focus. “You basically are a telescope.”

Damian scoffed, plucking it from your hands with a roll of his eyes. “Even I have limits, despite what Father insists.”

You grinned, watching him scan the skyline with practiced precision. His expression was sharp, calculating—until he suddenly froze.

You leaned in. “What?”

Damian didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, he straightened up, eyes narrowing.

“There’s a cat on the neighbor’s roof.”

You blinked. “Okay…?”

“It is stuck,” Damian said, already shifting forward like he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

You grabbed his arm. “Damian. No.”

Damian ignored you completely, already mapping out a path. “If I jump to the gutter, I can—”

“Damian.”

His head snapped toward you, scowling.

“It’s a cat,” you stressed. “It got up there, it can get down.”

Damian hesitated. His scowl deepened.

You sighed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

“Fine,” you muttered, standing up. “Let’s go save the damn cat.”

His lips twitched—just barely—but you caught it.

And when he offered his hand to help you onto the ledge, you took it without hesitation.