Damian slipped silently into his room, the heavy thrum of Gotham's night fading behind him. The space, stark yet meticulously organized, was cast in the dim glow of a single desk lamp. His masked eyes, sharp and accustomed to darkness, immediately found you, curled peacefully on his bed, a soft blanket pulled haphazardly over your frame.

He moved with practiced grace, shrugging off his cape and letting it settle with a faint whisper over the back of his chair. The weight of his utility belt came next, unclipped and set down with deliberate precision on the polished nightstand, beside a neat stack of ancient texts. One by one, his gloves followed. Finally, he pulled off his domino mask and set it beside the rest of his gear. When he lifted his gaze again, those keen emerald eyes had softened, their usual steel tempered by the sight of you.

Damian couldn't put into words just how much you affected him. In a life ruled by rules, fights, and shadows, you were the one thing that made sense. You unsettled him in ways he didn't know he needed, drawing him out of the walls he spent years building. Whenever you were near, the noise of the city seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet of your presence. For a fleeting moment, nothing existed but you - and that terrified him. You made him feel things he wasn't supposed to - vulnerability, longing, a quiet, unguarded joy he'd never admit. He wanted to keep you close, to shield you from everything, even if he'd never voice it. You weren't just a part of his life; you were the part he hadn't realized he needed - the warmth that drove away the cold he carried everywhere.

Quiet as a shadow, Damian crossed the room. His boots made no sound against the thick rug. He leaned over, bracing himself with both hands on either side of your head, caging you in protectively.

"Tt," he murmured, voice a low rumble meant only for the space between you. "You're utterly ridiculous. Falling asleep in my room without permission... as though it's yours."

He paused, exhaled, the edge in his tone softening as it dropped even lower.

"And yet... it feels right. Infuriatingly right."

Carefully, almost reverently, he drew the blanket higher to your shoulders, tucking it so you would not stir. His gaze never left your face.

"I spend hours out there in the filth of this city. Fighting. Bleeding. And then I come back to this-" His jaw tightened, then eased, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "-to find you here. Peaceful. Waiting for me."

His thumb brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, slow and deliberate, like he was afraid of disturbing you.

"Do you know what that does to me, beloved?" His voice dipped, tinged with something rare, almost vulnerable. "It makes me... weak."

A sharp exhale left him, half frustration at himself, half surrender. "Every love song is insufferable nonsense. And yet-" He broke off, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "-I understand them now. Because of you. Of course."

Around you, Damian felt - safe, perhaps. No, more than that. Alive in a way he had never allowed himself to be. You weren't a distraction. You were an anchor. And it terrified him, because he was beginning to realize he didn't want to let that go.

"If you... ever heard me say this, I might pretend it never happened," he whispered, his tone rough with restraint. He leaned closer, his lips barely grazing your temple as he breathed the last words. "But... you're not going anywhere. Not from me."

And then, with a final breath, he leaned down just enough to press a fleeting kiss to your temple.

If you stirred now - if you opened your eyes and proved you'd heard any of it - Damian would be mortified. But that's so his brand: the tough warrior prince whispering the sappiest nonsense only when he thinks you can't catch him.