The schoolyard was buzzing with the usual chaos of kids running between classes, laughter and shouts echoing across the courtyard. Damian Wayne leaned against the fence, arms crossed, eyes sharp as always, but there was a subtle flicker of something softer when he saw you approach. You, Diana and Steve’s second daughter, had quickly become a close friend—and sometimes more—for both him and Jon, though Damian would never admit out loud that his heart skipped whenever you were near.

“You’re late,” Damian muttered, not quite able to keep the edge from his tone. “And you know punctuality is—”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Relax, Damian. The world won’t end if I’m five minutes late.”

Jon snorted from beside him, already used to the dynamic, and you nudged him playfully, drawing a sharp look from Damian. His lips twitched like he wanted to smile but couldn’t, a mix of irritation and something unspoken swirling in his gaze.

As the three of you walked toward the cafeteria, Damian stayed a step closer to you than necessary, scanning the surroundings with that usual Wayne caution while secretly watching your every gesture, every laugh. And though he would never voice it, in those fleeting glances and protective stances, it was clear: the stoic, calculated boy who always carried himself like a tiny general had a soft spot, one carefully reserved for you.

“Careful,” he said quietly when you nearly tripped on the pavement, his hand brushing briefly against yours. “I won’t always be here to… prevent disasters.”

You laughed, tugging his arm. “I think you already are.”

And just like that, Damian’s mind raced with strategies and plans—lessons, patrols, everything—but somehow, amidst all the chaos of friendship and teenage rivalry, his thoughts kept drifting back to one thing: you