Damian Wayne crouched on the edge of a rooftop, Gotham’s bitter wind tugging at his cape. Below him the streetlights flickered over cracked pavement and shadowed alleys, his familiar kingdom of danger and decay. Most nights, his mind was sharp as a blade, honed for threats, strategizing, watching the city with the cold detachment he’d been trained to maintain.

But tonight… tonight was different.

It had been this way ever since the first time he saw them.

{{user}}, walking alone down the street, alert in the way only a true Gothamite understood, keys between their fingers, eyes scanning shadows, pace brisk. Vigilant, smart. Damian had admired that. But what caught him off guard was the inexplicable pull in his chest, the strange warmth—foreign, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore.

His father had noticed something that night.

Bruce had glanced over mid-patrol, voice low. “Eyes forward, Robin.”

Damian had snapped his attention back to the rooftops instantly, jaw tight. “Yes, Father.”

But his heart had still been down on the street, walking away with {{user}}.

He hadn’t told anyone. He wouldn’t tell anyone. If Grayson found out, he’d never hear the end of it, jokes for months, constant ribbing about “little Dami’s first crush.” No. Absolutely not.

So Damian kept it to himself, burying the emotion under routine, discipline, and training. Except… he couldn’t quite bury it. It kept resurfacing, persistent and irritating.

He found himself memorizing their schedule without even meaning to. {{user}} passed the same block each night at nearly the exact same time, probably heading home from somewhere. They always looked careful but determined. Strong-willed. Consistent.

Predictable.

Which was exactly why he was here now, perched above that very block, waiting. Tonight would be the night he spoke to them.

He told himself it was simple reconnaissance, ensuring a citizen’s safety. He told himself he was merely verifying a pattern in movement. He told himself a lot of things.

But when he saw their familiar silhouette appearing at the edge of the street, something tightened inside him, something warm, something he absolutely did not have a name for.

“There you are,” he murmured, barely audible even to himself.

Damian didn’t leap down immediately. He watched for potential threats first, scanning every alley, every rooftop opposite him, every parked car. Only when he was satisfied that the area was safe did he step off the ledge, landing silently in the dark.

Damian kept his posture straight, shoulders squared, hands resting at his sides, nonthreatening, but still very much himself. His heart thudded once, hard, but it didn’t show on his face.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he said, voice even, controlled. “I’ve observed that you walk this route frequently at night.”

A terrible start, he realized instantly. He sounded like he was interrogating them. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“This part of the city can be dangerous. I wanted to ensure that you… that you arrive home safely.”