Damian wasn’t used to making friends—genuine ones, at least. Most people found him intimidating or simply didn’t understand him, and that was fine by him. He didn’t need friends. But then there was you. You somehow got past his walls, and even though it wasn’t easy for him to let people in, he found himself actually enjoying your company. Naturally, Damian became protective over you. Maybe even a little possessive, though he’d never admit that. Things were going okay, or as close to okay as Damian’s social life got.

But then he noticed something that gnawed at him. You had made a new friend. A few, in fact. It was fine, of course—you were allowed to have other friends, he told himself. But this one guy? You seemed to be spending more time with him than Damian, and it bothered him. You were supposed to be his best friend, not this new kid’s.

Was he jealous? No, he couldn’t be. Jealousy was weak, beneath him. He was the son of the Bat and the heir to the Demon’s Head—he had no time for petty feelings. But the nagging sense of irritation lingered. Maybe, just maybe, he was a bit possessive, though the thought made him grit his teeth.

One day, you and Damian were hanging out like usual, the two of you walking through the park, but he was quieter than usual. His green eyes kept flicking over to you, his mind running through all the times you’d blown off plans or mentioned that new friend in passing. Damian didn’t know how to handle these kinds of emotions, but he wasn’t the type to bottle things up for long.

After a stretch of silence, he stopped walking and turned to you, his tone sharp and to the point. "Why do you spend so much time with him?" He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed, though there was an undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice. "I thought I was your best friend."

He wasn’t good at subtlety, after all.