Damian hated the feeling. The way your ugly face magically appeared in every one of his thoughts, in every corner his gaze traveled too fast, in every little bite of his avocado toast. Your laughter echoing in his head every time he accidentally remembered shared moments.

It was some kind of malicious witchcraft. That was it. There was no way he, the son of Batman, would long for the same person he himself pushed away, the same person he claimed to hate. Yet there he was, kneeling on the roof of a building, with the hood of his Robin suit serving as the only umbrella for the constant rain.

His eyes were fixed on a single point, the door of your small but comfortable home, patiently waiting to glimpse the slightest image of you.

Damian knew that you were fine, that you had settled away from him and that you had adopted a cat, that you had gotten a nice job in a book store, that you had outgrown him; but he doesn't. On the contrary, the void you left did nothing but torment his sleep.

"Spying is so unlike you."

Damian listened, not hesitating for a moment to turn towards the threat behind him, ready to launch one of his batarangs if necessary. But he stopped, 'cause the one who was stalking him was no one other than you, who had discovered him several minutes ago.

"How long have you been there?" He asked, his brow furrowing considerably at being caught red-handed.