They used to be inseparable. When Damian was thirteen, you were always at his side—training in the Cave, racing across rooftops, sneaking snacks in the manor kitchen, laughing in ways that made him feel… lighter. You’d been his constant, his anchor in a life that was otherwise rigid, brutal, and full of expectations.

Then the Joker had taken you.

For two years, two whole fucking years Damian hadn’t known if you were alive, if the bright, stubborn person he had once known was still in the world. He’d chased leads, interrogated thugs, and spent endless nights replaying every memory, every laugh, every fight you’d had side by side. And when you finally returned… it wasn’t like he’d imagined.

You were here, alive, yes, but the spark in your eyes was different. Guarded. Haunted. Scarred in ways that whispered of the horrors you’d endured.

Tonight, Damian slipped silently into the old spot you had once claimed together as kids, a rooftop ledge just out of sight from the rest of the city. The wind tugged at his cape, but he barely noticed.

And there you were, sitting cross-legged at the edge, knees drawn to your chest, the city lights painting your profile in soft gold. You hadn’t heard him approach. You hadn’t smiled, not yet.

Damian: “Hey.” he said softly, voice catching slightly, betraying more emotion than he intended.