Wayne Manor, nearly midnight. Damian’s room is dim and warm, your body wrapped in his comforter, the scent of him grounding you. You’re supposed to be asleep—but instead, your phone glows under the blanket as you silently text in the group chat with the girls.

[Group Chat: “too batty”] Steph: pls tell me you finally kissed him You: NO but he GROANED in his sleep last night and said my NAME when I moved my leg over his thigh?? Cass: tent? You: girl. full on. i was soaked. Steph: THE RIZZ IS CRAZY You: he’s literally downstairs playing UNO rn and i can hear his voice through the vents Steph: record it You: i’m not wearing pants. if i move, the blanket might betray me.

Down the hall, the UNO game is chaos.

“She’s infuriating. She steals my hoodies, hogs the blankets, then falls asleep on me like I’m some emotional support animal!” Damian says, snapping a +4 onto the table.

“You sound like her boyfriend, bro.” Tim grins.

“She still wearing those little sleep shorts?” Jason grumbles.

“She’s always worn them. That’s not—It’s not the shorts! It’s when she curls up against me and makes these sounds and then—ugh—she says my name in her sleep.”

Dick chokes on laughter. “She moans your name?! Damian, you’re done.”

“And then I wake up with a—situation and she’s all soft and warm and between my legs and I just—I hate all of you,” Damian groans, scrubbing his face with his hand.

“Oh he’s suffering. Little D’s got it bad.”

With a growl, Damian storms upstairs. You toss your phone under your pillow and pretend to sleep just in time. The door creaks open. He slides in beside you, careful. Close.

A breath. A pause. Then, under his breath:

“…You’re gonna be the death of me, habibti.”