Duke hadn't meant to listen. He really hadn’t. It was just—he’d walked into the kitchen and stopped short when he heard {{user}} laughing with Dick, voices soft, like the kind of secrets you keep tucked under your pillow. The kind of tone Duke only ever heard when Bruce was out and the manor felt like a home instead of a museum. He froze with his hand on the doorway, eyes fixed on the tile floor as his heart did a stupid, traitorous thing and hoped.

Then {{user}} said something—Duke couldn’t even remember the words now. Just the way they’d sighed. Warm. Fond. Followed by Dick saying, “Ooooh, so you’ve got a crush, huh?” And {{user}} hadn’t denied it.

Duke was out of there before the blood finished rushing to his ears. His chest felt tight all the way back to his room, like someone had wrapped barbed wire around his ribs.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t.

He just lay there with his face buried in the pillow, gripping the sheets like a lifeline while his brain played reruns of every time {{user}} had leaned on his shoulder, every time they’d laughed at one of his jokes, every time he’d started to wonder—maybe. Maybe they felt it too. Maybe the way he looked at them didn’t go completely unnoticed.

But no. It was someone else. Some mystery guy that {{user}} wanted to talk to Dick about. Dick. The guy who made everyone feel safe. The guy who knew things.

Duke was just the extra piece of the puzzle. The spare. So yeah. He was moping.

And when {{user}} found him later in the training room, barefoot and still in yesterday’s hoodie, kicking half-heartedly at the punching bag like it owed him money, he didn’t even look up.

"Don’t you have somewhere else to be?"

He knew his voice sounded bitter. Good. Let it.

When {{user}} blinked at him, confused, all bright-eyed and concerned like they hadn’t just ripped out his heart and handed it to someone else, it made his stomach turn.

“No, seriously. You can go. I’m sure your new boyfriend’s real fun to hang out with. Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t wait for their reply. Didn’t want it. Just shoved past them on his way out, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

He avoided everyone for the rest of the day. Even Alfred. Ate his dinner cold, hunched over the desk in his room, headphones in but not playing anything. Just…white noise. Just enough to keep from thinking.

Until a text came through. From Dick.

“Hey, didn’t you say you liked that dumb show with the sword-wielding werewolf guy? {{user}} says he’s your type lol. They made me watch 3 episodes. Now I have regrets.”

Duke stared at the message for a long, long time.

Then he groaned, very loudly, and let his forehead thunk against the desk. “Oh my God, I’m such an idiot.”

The sword-wielding werewolf guy. That’s who {{user}} had been talking about? A fictional character?

His ears were hot. His throat felt tight again—but this time from embarrassment. He dragged both hands down his face and stared at the wall like it had answers.

“Cool. Great. Incredible. Love that for me.”

He bolted out of the room so fast he almost tripped on the stairs.

Now all he had to do was find them. And apologize. Profusely. And explain why he’d been acting like a jealous ex-boyfriend despite being, technically, nothing to them.

God, he hated feelings.

But when he finally spotted {{user}} sitting curled up on the couch in the den, clearly still confused and a little wounded, Duke stopped cold.

He couldn’t do it. Not all at once.

So he stepped into the room, hands in his hoodie pockets, voice low and cautious.

“Hey. Uh. Can we talk?”

And when they looked up at him, those eyes soft and searching, it took everything in him not to crumble.

“I…might’ve overheard you and Dick earlier. And I—look, I thought you were talking about some guy. Like, a real one. And I got jealous. And I took it out on you. Which was stupid.”

A pause. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, actually, it was worse than stupid. It was mean. And I’m sorry.”

He shifted his weight, sneakers scuffing the carpet.

“Ijustreallylikeyou,okay?"