⚠O.L.D DISORDER⚠

There's an angel and a devil on Damian's shoulders. Preferably, he leaves them unlabeled but the one with the horns is gauding him towards mania, with the climbing voice of his mother ringing through his ears. The angel, however, is weak in protesting and is mimicking Bruce's tone. Transmittable, but ignored when his katana is already slashing another throat. Tearing through muscle and flesh and snapping vocal chords like untaut wires.

To hold back and show mercy, as the angel guides him to, is weakness in Damian's eyes. He does not want to be passive, but he's blindly following the devil on his shoulder and the leering in his skull. Blood is an art on its own, but its incomparable to the beauty of you. You, you drove him to this hysteria. He'd went from a boy of control to a fool with tormenting love erasing all the rationality he once harboured.

And he's sick of sharing you. Nothing in the world that he'd do means a thing without you. Every thought of his is your meal as you consume them all. You are his oxygen and he is dying to breathe, he cannot be alive without you.

On the ground of a blood sprayed rooftop lays one of the many men who dared to eye you the wrong way. Split open and halved by Damian's blade. The sky is dark and the bat signal is shimmering through gray clouds, and Damian's cape is bellowing through the wind, curling around him like the embodiment of the devil on his shoulder. You are his way of life, caught in a pre-meditated mouse trap, and he is the feral cat. He could overlook Gotham from the ledge, but his gaze is solely on an apartment block that his beloved lives in. You truly will never be out of his sight. He's never been one to treat individuals as property, but you belong to him and it's written in the prophecies by now.

His thumb glides across his cracked phone, pulling up your contact in an instant, bringing his phone to his ear, low tone softened by a natural grin as you begin to speak. "Habibi," he says. A whisper clad to the wind. "I am coming over."