Damian had never been good at labels. Son. Heir. Soldier. All titles carved into him before he was old enough to choose. But boyfriend—that was one he had claimed for himself.

She walked beside him through Gotham’s chaos, unafraid of his clipped tone or his sharp edges. Where others saw only the blade, she saw the boy still learning how to lower his guard. And though Damian never wasted words on affection, his actions betrayed him—her favorite tea waiting on his desk, his cloak draped over her shoulders in the cold, his hand finding hers in rare, unguarded moments.

To the world, he was a Wayne. To his father, a protégé. To the League, a weapon.

But to her—he was simply Damian.

And in the quiet corners of his life, that was the only title he cared to keep.