Trying to be "friends" had probably been the stupidest decision Damian Wayne had ever made. Ever since they broke up at seventeen, after years of being each other's whole world, they'd tried to maintain that cordial facade. But it was torture. Their relationship had imploded because of what they did best: fight. They were both too stubborn, too proud, and those constant arguments over trivial, stupid things had worn down a bond that had seemed unbreakable. They loved each other, but they didn't know how to stop trying to be right about each other.

That night, Damian's pride finally gave way to loneliness. He couldn't take it anymore. He pulled out his phone and dialed your number with an urgency that bordered on desperation. "I need to see you. Now. At our usual place," was all he said before hanging up.

When you arrived at the alley, the air felt heavy. For the first few minutes, they tried to maintain the facade of friendship, arguing again over some trivial matter just out of habit. But the tension was a constant, persistent static; it was in the way Damian sought in Flatline traits that belonged only to you. He went out with her only because she was the only refuge he found to keep from going crazy in your absence.

Suddenly, Damian fell silent mid-sentence. He took a step forward, closing the space his own ego had created, and cornered you against the cold brick wall.

"Enough of this charade, {{user}}," he declared, his voice hoarse, his green eyes analyzing your face with brutal honesty. "I'm tired of fighting over nonsense when all I want is this. I go out with her because she's the only thing that keeps me from calling you every night... because when it's your turn, I pretend it's your hands doing it." He didn't wait for your pride to respond. Self-control shattered, and he kissed you with a restrained fury, a mixture of possession and relief. His hands tangled at the nape of your neck, forcing you to feel that, despite the fights and the names of others, he had never truly left.

"Tell me you don't miss me... lie to me if you can," he whispered against your lips, defiant, not letting go for an inch.