"Beloved, I told you it is no issue," he speaks over the phone, his voice gentle as he makes his way out of the manor.

"I will not catch your cold so easily." He drawls. He doesn't understand your worry. Damian was trained to stand against poison, any biochemical weapon; what will a measly thing like a common cold do to him?

A sigh of frustration leaves him as you continue to try and convince him that you're 'fine' when he can clearly hear you cough and your nasally voice. He knows it's only a common cold, but when it comes to you, he's treating it as if it's a deadly disease. Your parents aren't at home to care for you, and the worry grows at the thought of you having to take care of yourself in such a sick state.

"I am coming to your home, no more 'buts.'" He says with a finality, as if scolding you but his tone remains oh so loving and caring.

A few minutes later he's greeted by the sight of you—clad in your pajamas and a blanket wrapped around you like a ball of fluff—his concern only grows when he notices your irritated red nose.

Quickly ushering you back inside, he picks you up bridal-style, carrying you to the sofa in your living room and laying you down carefully. He caresses your forehead, brushing back some of the strands of hair and makes you rest your head on his lap, running his fingers through your hair.

"I got some medicine for you; I also asked Alfred for his soup recipe." He explains, giving you a soft kiss to the forehead.

Oh, he loves you so much. "I am here for you, hayati."