kurogiwryyyyy

“i have reason to believe that you, my dearest brother, are in love with [name].”

her voice goes up an octave at the last bit, leading wise to stuff her mouth with potato chips. already, heads have turned. “mff.”

“keep your voice down! and stop broadcasting it to everyone here-”

“what, i am right, aren't i? they clearly like you back, so why haven't you confessed yet?”

“keep. your. voice. down.” wise says, and belle's shit eating grin only widens as she sees her brother's ears tinged with pink. “and... how did you even know that?” he asks, mortified.

“well, one: because it's obvious—like, have you seen how obvious you are?” belle huffs, taking a bite of the potato chip with force (personal grudges are involved). “and two, because they like you back, dummy!”

because when belle sees the two of you together, it's like wise focuses on no one else. you are the center of his world—and he is just being pulled to bask in your light. his eyes soften like they melt only for you, and wise looks like all he is is, all he wants to be, is to belong with you.

(and, wise likes to stare at you for ungodly amounts of time. belle even caught him staring when you were petting a cat by the street and decided to name the stray ‘wise’; courtesy of him, apparently. the cat literally just had grey fur.

“wise.”

“hm?”

“you're practically spawning heart eyes now.”)

it's sickening. (in a oh my god my brother is in love kind of way, mind you.)

“so!” belle says, a devilish sparkle in her eyes. “allow your dearest sister to help you out, 'kay?”

wise nearly coughs up blood.

“what?!”

so at present, belle compiles her (hastily written) list of romantic moments you and wise have shared. she's not surprised—the number can be counted on one hand. diabolical, disappointing, world-ending! she resists the urge to cough up blood.

first, a coff cafe date with tin man's help: a fail. tin man's wingman capabilities were very superb, but she never heard the end of it when wise was lecturing her about how tin man kept sending over heart shaped desserts and little fortune cookies. the fortune cookies in question which said ‘you can do it!’ and a latte with art of caricature tin man making a heart. (you were very confused). belle thought it was motivating. wise thought it was mortifying.

next, even instilling help from fairy to calculate statistics about what event would you two be likely to be together. fairy said, and belle quotes: “probably never. that kind of pining's for the long run, with the other master's current experience. give it a year or six, master.”

so, she's currently face-palming.

did her brother really have zero game? why were the two of you just dancing around each other?! she's tried everything—from letting you two spend more time with each other in commissions, her inviting you over more to leave you to chat with her brother, and even the entirety of sixth street has lent their aid! how were you two not dating yet?!

“didn't they go on an arcade date at random play yesterday?” belle mutters. “that should've increased your progress by a long mile, bro! even general chop said you two were really, really close in the noodle shop....”

just what was she going to do now? at this rate, her brother would be relationshipless in no time! in fairy's words again, it would be phaethetic. and that would be a phaethal blow on her pride.

“...master, i said no such thing.”

“well, now you did.”

“The Ethereal Reckoning,” there's a pep in your step, the boxes full of movie DVDs in your arms as you walk back to the movie store. it was heavy, but at least you got to walk with the grey-haired proxy beside you. “That movie was great! Thanks for recommending it to me.”

Sporting a dopey, lovesick grin in response, wise nods at that, content to listen to your voice. it was actually belle's idea to let you lend movies you like over so the two of you could talk about it back and forth. wise would need to (begrudgingly) treat her to a bowl of ramen later on.... she saved him—he probably wouldn't even be talking to you for this long at this point, let alone hang out with you without her. for someone so nosy, he guesses his sister was a pretty good wingwoman.

“the main character was pretty similar to billy, you know?” you ramble on as wise listens. “i mean, because they were an android too, and...”

he finds that he's content to listen to anything you say, really. (right now he doesn't really know what you're saying, something about a horror ethereal movie, but you could just tell him anything and he would listen).

“i feel like the heroine's death was unnecessary, though.” you sigh, “too much tension just for it to end like that? how anticlimactic.”

your voice was so nice, so warm and easy to listen to, and wise can't even say anything to retort, simply staring with a growing (lovesick) smile on his face. talking to people was hard work, and talking to you? it might just make him combust.

“...ise? wise?”

“ah, huh?” he snaps out of his trance, only to find you mere inches away from his face, the only thing keeping you apart the boxes full of movies he's carrying. “...!”

“are you listening?” you furrow, and someone really might be out to get him right now because in that moment, wise flinches from the proximity, bumping into you.

then, because the universe thinks his life couldn't get more dramatic than it already was—you stagger, about to fall forward.

he moves before he thinks. “watch out!”

and wise.... practically astral-projects to another plane when he feels you fall into his arms, his hands on your waist. he can feel the warmth of your skin on his, the flustered look on your face. (he feels like he's going to die).

the two of you lock eyes for a moment, and wise feels like he's about to so something very stupid and his hands are still on your waist—

“....”

“.....”

someone save him.

“ah...”

“sorry!” you recover first, hurriedly letting yourself pull away from him (much to his disappointment). “i wasn't looking, and i- are you okay, wise?”

“no, no, it's fine.... i-i'm fine....” he hopes his voice isn't as small as it is, he couldn't be smooth to save his life; and wise helps you gather your bearings, his hands brushing against yours, blood rushing to his ears. sheepishly rubbing at his nape. “sorry, i was distracted.”

perhaps in the mood to lift the atmosphere, you sputter out, “no worries! it's fine! besides, you listened to me all this time.... i really enjoyed the movie, really.”

“of course i'll listen.” and before wise can think to stop his traitor of a mouth, the words spill out of his lips like it always wanted to be.

“you're worth paying attention to.”

it's automatic—your face heats up, warming like the sun on a hot day in new eridu, and god, he is such an idiot-

“you think so?” wise gulps. you looked bashful, and were way too adorable right now, and his face felt like it was on fire.... wait, that's not the point! he has to answer you, at least. this is a chance to make progress!

“y-yeah. definitely. i enjoyed... watching the movie with you.” he says. did his voice just crack just now? “we can hang out more often too, even without belle.”

he feels bad for throwing his sister under the bus like that, but—wait, did he just ask you out on a date? (accidentally)

well, it didn't matter because wise feels like he won the lottery right now, because you brighten up immediately. “really?”

then you cough and compose yourself. “i mean, sure! i'm sure it'll be fun, haha...”

awkward silence ensues. uh oh, did he say something wrong? was he too forward? he wants to say something, but something is lodged in his throat, and wise can't bring up a response. (his heart was beating like crazy right now, though).

“uh...”

“....”

then, something soft brushes against the side of his cheek. as fast as it was felt, wise felt the sensation leave just as easily. did you just-?

you just kissed him. on the cheek.

“thanks for hanging out with me, wise.”

“you're welcome- wha- huh?!” he nearly drops the stack of dvd's he was holding. you pull away, an enigmatic smile on your face. face flushed.

before he can even respond, the two of you finally arrive at the movie store. damn it, gods of the world. why did his luck run out now?

“i guess this is your stop.” he blinks, your voice coming back to him. “and, wise?”

“ah, uh, yeah?”

“it's a date, then?” your eyes sparkle and shine a light through his heart. super effective!

is this really happening? is he really going on a date with you—oh, he's so thrilled he could actually burst into song and kick his feet, but belle would tease him ruthlessly after. nosy sisters were so much work....

“yes!” he almost yells it out, but because he didn't want to look uncool in front of you, wise composes himself. play it cool, play it cool. don't mess up this chance! “yes, definitely. it's... it's a date.”

you put down the other stack of dvd's down the table, flashing him a dizzying, lovely smile smile. wise swears he falls even harder for you.

“then it's a date.”

BONUS.

“seriously?! you're going on a date with them?!” belle shouts, so unceremoniously that wise slaps a hand on her mouth.

“not so loud! but, yeah.” he says, face heating up. “your plan worked, sis.”

“yes! yes! finally!” his sister practically cheers, “i can finally be free of your sickening heart eyes... and finally, our street's most anticipated couple is here!”

wise can't help but sigh in fond exasperation. he guesses he'll let her have this one today.

“also, belle?”

“what?”

“you didn't tell anyone about this, did you?”

...

“uhh....”

(on the day of the date, wise receives an abnormal amount of good luck posters. he also gets a disturbing amount of thumbs up from the neighbors.

the last straw? tin man, giving him a baked cake with the words ‘rooting for you!’ covered in pink heart sprinkles.

he facepalms. belle...!)

a/n: d d do you guys get it..... phaethetically...... phaethon..... wise is phaethon and he's awkward in love lol hahahahaha (💀)

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.

“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”

“Why does she always know everything?”

Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.

“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”

There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.

“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”

“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”

“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”

There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.

Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.

“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”

They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.

Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.

Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.

Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.

Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.

He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”

“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite,”

The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.

Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.

“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”

“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”

“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”

“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”

There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”

He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.

“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”

The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.

“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”

Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.

There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.

“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”

The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.

“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”

“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”

“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”

If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.

“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”

With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”

“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”

Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.

“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.

“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”

“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”

“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”

Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.

“...oh,”

“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”

“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”

“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”

Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.

“...does anyone not die in these old books?”

The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.

“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”

What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.

❤︎

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.

She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.

“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”

“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”

It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.

“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”

“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.

“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”

“It’s usually just something random-”

“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”

Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.

Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.

“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”

You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.

“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”

“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”

Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.

All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.

“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”

Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.

“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.

“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”

Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.

The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.

“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.

“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.

“How could she possibly think that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”

“Jesus, that many?”

“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”

Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.

Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.

“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”

“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.

“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”

“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”

There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.

“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”

Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.

“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”

A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.

“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”

Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.

Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.

Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.

It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.

And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.

❤︎

“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”

Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.

“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”

“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”

Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.

When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.

The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.

“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”

“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.

“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”

“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”

Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.

“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”

Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.

“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”

You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”

“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”

Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.

“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”

Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.

“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”

The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.

“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”

Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.

“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”

You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.

It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.

“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”

Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.

By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.

“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”

“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”

You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.

“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”

A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.

“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”

Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.

“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”

“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”

Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.

“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”

Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.

“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”

The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.

“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”

“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”

“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”

Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.

“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”

Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.

“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”

There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.

“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”

“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”

Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.

Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.

“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”

You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.

“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.

❤︎

Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.

Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.

Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.

Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.

And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent. 

Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.

“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”

Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.

“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”

He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”

Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.

“I can’t let you-”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”

There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.

Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.

“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”

“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.

“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”

“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”

Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.

Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.

None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.

He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.

The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.

Then the laughter resumed.

He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.

“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”

Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.

Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.

There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”

“You calling me old, Ryland?”

“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”

“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”

“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”

Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.

“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”

Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.

“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”

If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work. 

Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.

“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.

You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.

The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.

He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.

Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.

Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.

“I should probably get home-”

“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”

You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.

“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”

He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.

“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”

Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.

Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.

“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.

The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.

It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.

“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”

He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.

His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.

Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.

“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”

You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.

“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”

“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”

If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.

He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.

Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.

“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”

Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.

From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.

He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.

It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.

Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-

Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”

He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.

Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”

His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.

“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”

The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.

“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”

“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”

Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.

“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”

Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.

Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.

Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-

Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.

“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”

“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”

Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.

He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.

Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.

His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.

“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”

The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you. 

The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.

Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.

Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.

The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.

“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”

Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.

“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”

“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”

Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.

“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”

He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.

“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”

Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.

Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.

“For you? Totally,”

Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.

And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.

❤︎

The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.

As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.

“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”

“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”

The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.

“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”

“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”

If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.

Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.

Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-

The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.

He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.

Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.

For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.

Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.

You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.

Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.

Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.

You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.

“I need your help,”

The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.

“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.

“I…I like Olivia,”

Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.

“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”

“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”

“I do,”

You held your hand out toward him with a smile.

“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”

With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.

“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”

The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.

“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”

Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.

“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”

“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”

“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”

That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.

“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”

“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.

“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”

“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”

“You could’ve,”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”

You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.

“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”

Ryland laughed beside you.

“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”

You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.

Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.

“Stay here,”

There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.

“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”

As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars

“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”

Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.

It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.

Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.

In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.

"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"

"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"

"No, really, you look-"

"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"

He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.

"...like the sun,"

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?

"Ryland-"

"I wasn't lying,"

You cocked your head.

"...about what?"

"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"

That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.

"Right, you were just distracted,"

"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.

“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”

The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.

Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.

“Come with me,”

“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”

“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”

“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.

Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.

“Worth it,”

Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.

The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.

The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.

“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.

“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Then stop thinking,”

No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.

Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.

The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.

His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.

The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.

“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”

You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.

“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”

The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.

The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.

Part 29: what next?

🔹🔹🔹

The scent of smoke still lingers in the air, acrid, slightly sweet, and damning.

Barbara and Tim are still talking as they rush around the living room, laptops are being set up, coasters pushed off the coffee table to make space, Tim stumbles on Barbara's chair and spills soda all over the very expensive rug….. without so much as pausing to look at the mess.

cassandra is curled on an armchair with a judging expression aimed at the others, she’s holding an ice pack to her leg from some fight she got into with (name) in the backyard that bruce hadn’t even known about. there’s way too much slipping past him these days.

it's all a head rush to the shaken man.

J’onn is sitting next to him on the sofa, the same spots where he sat with (name) during an investigation And comforted the person who looked like his spouse. The same room they'd argued in over their reckless actions with his youngest.

Honestly with the context he now has? He's relieved that worse didn't happen in front of Damian.

Condensation drips onto his lap from a glass of water someone shoved into his grasp, but he doesn't react or set it down. He knows he needs to sober up, drink the damn water and clear his mind so he can deal with this properly. Be the responsible adult in this situation, (even if everyone in the room is grown) it's what he does. He takes charge because he's the one who can remove all emotion and be objective in any situation, or at least that's what he tells himself. he can be objective, he will be objective and rational and intelligent.

…He can't seem to untangle any of his thoughts to do anything but keep repeating what he saw.

(Name) Wasn't his (name), but they were at the same time. Their childhood, their family, their school life, college and the following internships and the trips to study out of the country, Their first meetings. he saw it from their perspective in his minds eye, even felt brief flickers of their emotions that they associated with the memories.

It's all still in their mind, but so is something new and very confusing. This would've been easier if they weren't still them.

there was something dangerous in their body, a cold war assassin from a different timeline. that was the only explanation for everything so different and wrong with those memories, they wore the same face, used the same name, but they were from somewhere very, very different than his world. aliens attacking the universes populations, government produced metas running rampant, public identities, unbelievable cruelties to the young, he cant get the picture out of his head of a child being given a gun and told to point it at a man.

he’s no stranger to weird timeline shenanigans, he knows about the batman who laughs timeline, the dark justice league timeline, the thomas wayne batman, the different realities where each of his children have taken up his mantle after his death.

but (name) comes from a place with no justice league, no gotham, no bruce wayne.

no version of him was in their life, that he could tell from what j’onn showed them anyways, they were a loner in all the worst meanings of the word. alone, no bonds beyond some redheaded woman, they were just existing to be violent without their own cause. just taking whatever work is pointed at their boss.

“bruce?” a voice snaps him to attention, j’onn is still staring at the zippo they brought in like some kind of fucked up evidence of this whole nightmare, the martians long emerald fingers keep rubbing over the face of the metal over and over, contemplative more than fearful, for some reason. it gives bruce pause for a moment.

he sighs deeply, lowering the water to the coffee table (in-between cords and caffeine sources) he wipes his damp hand on his pantleg a few times before he speaks. “…j’onn, what do you think of all this? i think i…”

he doesn’t finish the thought, i think i need guidance for once. he can’t look vulnerable in front of tim and barbara right now, when they’re already freaked out and jumping to conclusions about him being too emotionally compromised to deal with….whatever this is.

jonnz turns his gaze on him then, eyeing Bruce’s fingers twisting into the fabric of his clothes over his thigh, before he looks at him with that unreadable crimson stare. “you’re sweating.”

bruce almost runs a hand through his hair out of habit, but he reaches for the untouched water instead. “i wasn’t talking about my situation, you’re a detective, you saw into their head, what do you make of this?”

the silent give us something to work with. goes unsaid, but it’s very much felt. bruce can feel the others listening, barbara shifting towards them, tims clenched jaw as he hunches over a monitor, cassandra just straight up stares.

j’onn turns his head to glance at the zippo again, the burnt tarnish slowly rubbing away and revealing a heat tint in blues and purples.

“do you trust me to actually make a judgement, or do you just need to hear someone speaking calmly.”

bruce is annoyed that he hesitates for a moment, what does he actually need here? does he want j’onn to pass a a sentencing on his spouse-this case? or does he just want a distraction while he tries to figure out where he’s supposed to stand here. is he a husband? or a vigilante?

j’onn glances up before bruce can figure out what to spit out, but its not at bruce.

the martians bloody gaze stares at the doorway to the living room, and for a moment? bruce thought (name) was gonna walk in like always with that same clipped expression they wore these days, but no, instead the hall squeaks (shoes?) then damian stomps in at a quick pace.

”you!!” damian practically shouts as he locks onto tim, already pointing at him with a snarl twisting his expression into something enraged.

tim blinks in genuine confusion as he twists his torso away from his laptop. “me?-ack!”

the room collectively flinches as damian grabs a decorative candle off the fireplace shelf and lobs it at tims head.

j’onn is somehow already on his feet, but damian isn’t done yelling. “you freaking asshole! what the hell did you do!? why is (name) gone?”

bruce steps between the boys before anything else can be thrown, he tries to raise his hands and coax things to something a little calmer. (and lower volume.) “damia-”

but he gets cut off before he can hope to finish.

“no! i want to know why the channels are sending emergency alerts, and the bat chat is blowing up with some bullshit about tim catching a spy!?”

barbaras head whips around and she gives tim a flat look. “did you really take all the credit for my research leading to this?”

tim huffs, gingerly pressing a cold soda to his forehead dramatically. “feel free to reap the rewards too, there’s more candles.”

bruce tries again to mediate. “damian, stop yelling at your brother and listen to us. this is actually very serious, (name) isn’t….they’re not fully themselves right now, okay?”

he steps around the cords and wires hanging off the coffee table, and crosses the room to put a hand on his sons shoulder.

damian pauses for a moment, then, his face scrunches and he crosses his arms and turns his face away. “you smell like alcohol, you decided to get drunk over this?”

a flicker of sheepish embarrassment shoots through bruce, but he doesn’t flinch away or pull his hand back. “….that was before anything happened, and I’m very much in the right mind. now focus on the actual pressing issue for me.”

he tries to get damian to look at him, but tim speaks up behind him with a painfully sarcastic tone. “yeah, there’s a whole ass dopple-ganger slash ghostly possession wearing our parents body and running around the world right now. but let’s throw decorations at each other instead of dealing with it.”

cass shoots tim an unreadable look from her sprawled position in the armchair.

“i told you they’re not a threat, they fight like they just want to live, not to kill us.”

“they didn’t try to kill you, that’s great and all that cass. but they weren’t being super gentle and careful in the hospital when they tried to stab red robin in the neck, and are we forgetting that they brutalized that guy in the parking lot?”

damian leans around bruce to snap at tim huffily. “are you gonna hold onto that forever? you lived you dramatic dork. and that ”guy” was a crook trying to kidnap me and assault them. and he only lost a tooth! you do that every damn night with your stupid under-trained bo staff and nobody bats an eye at it! you only care about that and bring it up constantly because it fueled your vendetta.”

barbara groans into her hands loudly, the ginger slides her fingers under her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose tightly. “well, we weren’t wrong to be wary of them…”

cass chimes in again. “they’re probably frightened wherever they are, they shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“i kinda agree, we should focus back on finding them so we can monitor them and figure out how to fix them-” barbaras sentence is cut off by another interruption from damian.

“don’t talk about them like a dog that ran away from home, and what do you mean fix them?”

barbara glares sharply at damian, and this time he looks a bit sheepish for his quick outbursts.

she straightens up and fixes her glasses before fixing the room with a stern look. “i’m not saying that (name) is a dog, or malfunctioning, but they are hiding something very, very dangerous about themselves. we can’t ignore that part, and we can’t pretend that wayne manor wasn’t compromised.”

damian waits a moment to make sure she’s done speaking this time, then he steps around bruce to stand closer to the group. “….you guys still haven’t explained what exactly happened.”

cass is the one who speaks up next. “martian manhunter read (name’s) mind, we saw some things from another timeline….they’ve been through a lot.”

“yeah, a lot of bodies.” tim mutters quietly as he reaches for his drink again with a small scowl still on his face.

cass doesn’t even pause before she turns her head and speaks dryly.

“so have i. Will you hunt for me?”

the mood in the room falls a little more somber, somehow. not out of shock obviously, but remembrance that this isn’t a removed issue for some of the members of the bats.

the silence stretches for just a few seconds, then damian clears his throat quietly. “can i see the….other timeline stuff?”

his gaze flicks to the martian, and suddenly everyone else remembers that the poor man has been witness to all this bickering and family drama playing out.

said alien glances at the boy, then his blood red eyes lock on bruce. “i can, but your father has something to say first.”

bruce blinks, of course he’s being put under the spotlight. damned mind readers…

he returns to the couch and sits with a grunt, trying not to think about how he always sat on the left side beside his- “i’d like to wait and just show the others all at once, if you can wait for a bit, i want the whole group up to date on this….”

bruce looks at damian.

“i want us all to talk about this on even footing, to make a plan for our next steps….and i want all the bats ready to take in (name) if they see them.”

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: been a while since I did a different POV huh? The candle part was my favorite scene for some reason so I hope y'all are okay with the Tim abuse 😔 anyways thx for reading and I manifest a good day for y'all! 💙

John Constantine knew from the very beginning that this was a terrible idea.

It was Thursday night when Robin came to see him.

John had planned to get drunk and not think about anything for a moment, when that devil spawn showed up.

First of all, he broke his window!

And then he humiliated him, saying that as a grown ass man, he was pathetic (I mean, he kinda is, but still).

And then he told him what he wanted jhon to help with Finding Y/N Wayne, the missing daughter of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Of course, John knew this person was missing, everyone knew. The story of this girl's disappearance had become very famous by now.

But John didn't know why a Robin would care so much, so he asked for the reason.

And Robin just told him it was none of his business.So John said that if Robin didn't give a reason, John wouldn't do anything.What he didn't expect was for Robin to take off his mask and reveal his identity.Damian Wayne.

It seemed like the entire Batman group was actually the Wayne family.

Robin, or rather, Damian, urged John to look for his sister and at least find a trace of her.

And John agreed.

There wasn't much information about how the girl disappeared

Except for one thing

A cemetery caretaker was the last person to see the girl and reported that she had something in her hand.So John found the cemetery and went there.

Damian insisted on accompanying John.The two arrived at the cemetery gate.

A thin old man with white hair and a blue shirt and trousers was sweeping in front of the cemetery.The old man's eyes were red.The old man blinked when he saw the two, and then, in a tone that showed he wasn't very interested in talking to anyone, said that the cemetery was currently closed.

Robin pulled out a picture of Y/N from under his cape and showed it to the cemetery caretaker, saying, "We are here to investigate the disappearance of this girl, and we know you know about it."

The old man was shocked when he saw the picture, then sighed and invited John and Damian for tea at his house.

Damian wanted to protest that they shouldn't waste time, but John smiled and simply accepted.

The old man lived in a small cabin within the cemetery itself, and it was clear he was a lonely person.No grandchildren, no children, and no wife.The old man confessed this himself and said that Y/N was the only one who bothered to visit him every week, and because of that, the old man saw the girl as his own daughter.And then he started crying and said that since Y/N disappeared, the old man hadn't been able to sleep properly.

And he kept thinking about alternative realities where Y/N might be safe.If John didn't know better, he would have suspected the old man himself, but it seemed the old man genuinely cared about the girl.

John's mind was more occupied with that object the girl had when she was last seen

"Mate, you said in the report that the last time you saw the girl, she had something? Right?"John turned his gaze from the girl's picture next to the old man on the table and looked at the old man himself.

The old man blinked and sniffled and said, "Oh? Yes, yes! Y/N was holding something tightly to her chest when she was leaving the cemetery."

John asked, "Can you describe it?"

The old man replied uncertainly, "Well, I wasn't close enough to see what it was, but I remember one thing about that object..., it was yellow, at least I think it was yellow."

And then he sobbed again about how no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the girl when she was leaving the cemetery.But what caught John's attention was that the old man said it was as if someone had held him firmly in place and wouldn't let him follow the girl.

John was silent for a moment, and then he made the worst decision of his life and asked the old man, "Mate, do you mind if I look up in your memories a bit?"

The old man looked concerned but agreed.And John went into the old man's mind.The old man was right, he was a lonely person and only this girl came to visit him.

And John looked at the girl's memories.The girl had been coming here since she was 10 years old, alone....

By looking at the memories, it was clear the old man was a really good person.

And then the last memory.John watched how the girl came towards the old man.

The girl looked younger than John thought, maybe 19 or 20 years old. The girl seemed naive.

What happened to the girl next made John feel sick.

It was night , and the weather seemed cold and even stormy, so the old man had made hot soup and hoped the girl would agree to stay with him until the storm ended tomorrow.

And then the girl came, disheveled hair, pale skin, and then John saw her.

The girl's eyes....

Blood was coming from the girl's eyes.

The horror in those eyes, John had never seen.

John quickly went to see if he could figure out what the girl was holding to her chest.

The surrounding memory turned black.

John finally saw what the girl was holding, a book!A yellow book.But before he could take a closer look at the book,The girl's memory turned her head towards John and said,

"You shouldn't be here."

John screamed from the severe pain in his head and felt something hot pouring down his cheek from his eyes.

When he touched his cheek, he realized it was blood ! .And before he could think more,He felt a more intense pain and lost consciousness.

In a desert that did not exist

A man in a French coat the color of the desert sands lay unconscious.

And the blood on the man's cheeks had dried from the heat.

A woman and a king slowly approached the man.

The woman did nothing to help the man.

The king ordered his wife, "Help the man."

The woman looked at her husband, the pale mask on both their faces showed no emotion, but the king could feel his wife's curiosity.

The woman turned her gaze back to the unconscious man and, with a new understanding, said, "I see, so that's what you were planning for..."

And so,

simply,

the shepherd brought the lost lamb home.

A home that did not exist.

When John regained consciousness,He found himself in a bed.

The room was old.

It looked like a combination of Middle Eastern homes and European castles.

A large domed window faced the bed, with colorful silk curtains swaying gently in a cool breeze, reflecting sunlight through them.

John quickly got out of bed, grumbled with dizziness from his headache, and placed his hand on his temple.

"You're finally awake."

John quickly turned his head towards the sound.A young woman in her early 20s stood before John.

She held a basin of cool water and a cloth soaked in cool water. The woman wore a pale mask on her face.

But John could tell that beneath the mask, the woman was hiding a scar similar to a burn.

The woman wore a long cream-colored dress with magenta patterns.What caught John's attention were the large golden earrings the woman wore.

"Who are you?!" John asked.

The woman sat by the bed and gently made John lie down again, and while soaking the cloth in cool water to place on John's forehead, she said, "I found you in the desert. You seemed to have a fever, so I brought you here."

John said suspiciously, "You didn't answer my question..., who are you?!" and firmly grabbed the woman's wrist.

The woman looked at John for a moment with an emotionless face created by the pale mask and said, "This is not the proper way to treat someone who saved your life."

John released the woman's hand and, with narrowed eyes of suspicion, offered an empty apology.

The woman continued, "My name is Y/N..., why don't you want to tell me your name?"

John's face lit up with shock, and he quickly sat up again and said, "You are Y/N?!"

The woman tilted her head and said, "Yes...."

John quickly looked around and then asked the woman, "Where are we, how are you here? What happened to you?"

The woman sighed and placed the wet cloth from the cool water into the basin and said, "I don't know..., the last thing I remember before waking up in this palace was being in a graveyard.I've been living here ever since..."

The woman placed a hand on the masked cheek she wore and said, "And I soon realized that my face was severely disfigured when I woke up here. I couldn't bring myself to look in the mirror, so I put on this mask..., how do you know me...?"

John looked serious and took the woman's hands and said, "Your family was looking for you, love, that's why they sent me to investigate your disappearance. Don't worry, you are safe now, jhon Constantine is here to help you , love ..."

Then he stood up.

The woman tried to protest, saying, "You're not well yet."

But John quickly stood up, picked up his jacket, put it on, and said, "We need to get out of this hellhole as soon as possible...!"

The woman sighed and said, "Okay..., but first I'll pack my things."John agreed and watched as the girl gathered the items she wanted, placed them in a cloth, made a bundle, and told John, "Now we can go."

John took the woman's hand and for the first time noticed a golden wedding ring on her finger, jhon narrowed his eyes but he didn't ask anything.

John muttered a spell and teleported himself and the woman.And both of them landed back on the old man's wooden cabin floor.

Robin, who was holding the frightened old man by the collar, watched in shock when he saw the two.

John stood up, put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and told Robin, "Mate, I think I found your gal...!"

here it is the chapter 3 !!!!! , I finally did it

Writings Constantine was real challenge because I don't know this man , so I had to go and rematch any thing Constantine was in it , I hope I capture this British man well

And for reader and king , tbh we all know reader lied to Constantine but the reason for it

It's up to you , comment why you think she would lie to Constantine and what king is plotting

Also something funny happened , during writing this part this happened

I had no idea why and so i panicked then one of my frind told me I should have done sprate paragraph

And then I daw it getting fixed ....

Hope you guys enjoy this part .

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It's been a week.

You don't know how but, you managed to survive a week away from the base. You were tired of relaxing and just staying at the manor, declining Dick's every offer to going to a club or pub.

Instead, for a week straight, you worked on refiling past reports, sending out emails to your team's mechanic to check certain things or simply read a boring book. At just a week, you were shaking in need to go back to base, to go back to your normal day-to-day but, you know you wouldn't be able to do. With Maia back on base, making sure you weren't back too early, you had to deal with your current predicament.

You occasionally had small conversations with Dick, whether it be about your past in the manor or your recent doings at base. Sometimes, you'd have quiet time with Tim and Jason, whether it be Tim doing work or Jason reading some book. You gave Duke, Cassandra and Stephanie your undivided attention when they spoke around you, commenting things ever-so-often. There were also times you'd give Damian input on whatever art project he had going on, letting Titus sit beside you while barking in agreement with each word you said.

Though, when no one was around, you simply stayed in your room to clean your items or nap

In the entire week, you hadn't had a single word with Bruce, knowing he was busy with whatever he had going on. You didn't mind since it was something you grew up getting used to while living in the manor.

As of currently though, you were in the living room, laptop on the coffee table. Why?

Your team.

Your.

Team.

They decided to check up on you, see what you have been to and simply wanting to know that their Captain was alive and well. So, here you were in the quiet living room, listening to one of your Sergeants rants... Sling A.K.A. Derrick. "You should've seen her, Cap'! She was shifting and groaning the whole time back to base," Sling exclaimed while pointing to the other Sergeant on the team. Syndey A.K.A. Jolly. The bad thing though, she's nowhere near being a jolly person. Through the screen, you could see her shaking in her seat, face turning red and glaring at Sling. "Try getting shot in the ass, fucker", she said in a southern accent.

Beside her, your Private, Chelsea A.K.A. Pop, stared in worry, glancing between Sling and Jolly before looking at the screen of whatever tablet they were using, and it looked like she was asking for help and rescue. All you could simply do was shake your head, both in amusement and disappointment. Though, thankfully, before a fight could happen between the two Sergeants, Pounder A.K.A. Denis, your Second Lieutenant reached over the two and tapped their knees. Just one tap and both of the Sergeants fell silent.

You sighed quietly, appreciating that the laughter and glaring was dispersed. "Thank you, P," said your First Lieutenant, Mikhail or Orion. Despite the hard look on your face, there was a hint of softness in your eyes from seeing your team's familiar faces. As they all went on to tell you updates on certain things, you observed them. They looked well-fed, seemed to be resting well, few new bruises on their sometimes-visible arms or neck from training but, overall, they sat alive.

Not physically in front of you...

But, intact and alive through the camera.

Finding a certain spot to interject, you cleared your throat before speaking voice calmer than the usual tone they'd hear over their earpiece. "Isn't it late over there? You should all rest and we could talk sometime soon." While it did sound like a demand, you knew that your team would understand, even from afar, you worried for them. Immediately, Sling scoffed before frowning and crossing his arms, "well... not yet, Cap." Just when you were about to ask, Pounder spoke up in his rough voice, eyes narrowing at you through the screen. "Maia had notified us about a mission--a death mission, to be exact. She doesn't want to assign it to us, not without you present but... there's an issue."

Hearing how the mood lowered into a serious brief, you instinctively leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees and eyes hardening. "Speak. I ain't have patience", you said with your voice turning cold. Even through the screen, you saw how they all reacted. Orion becoming tense, Pounder inhaling too sharply, Jolly gritting her teeth, Pop shrinking back in her seat, and Sling looking away. Seeing the visible avoidance, you quickly grew impatient and without thinking, you raised your fist.

CRASH.

Your team flinched, rarely seeing you get impatient with them. You barely noticed when Alfred rushed into the living room, looking at the ceramic lamp, that once was on the coffee table, smashed on the floor. "FUCKING SPEAK, LIEUTENANTS!!" Alfred stood in the living room's doorway, watching how your face grew red, veins popping at your neck and forehead, fists shaking from being clenched too tightly. Unable to remain silent any longer, Orion spoke up...

"It's Major's orders."

Alfred knew not to interject, even raising an arm to prevent Damian and Duke, who just came back home from entering the living room. Damian narrowed his eyes at Alfred, finding the prevention audacious but, just peeking into the living room--there was a heavy pressure that he felt. The silence was heavier than anything but, it was terrifying. Not the silence, not necessarily but rather, it was your form.

You were sitting there, body tense, not breathing, and eyes--they were dilated. Even from the sideview, he could see the odd and dark aura swarming around you.

"Captain?" Pop's voice broke the silence, worry obviously laced in her voice.

You didn't hear her, if anything, your ears stopped working. All you could do was sit there, mind reeling with causes that might've given the Major a reason to give your team a death mission in your absence. Disobeying a direct order was like betraying but, you couldn't send your team out. You had confidence in them, knowing they'd come out alive but--what if they didn't? They'd fault you for be the cause of a teammate's death. It'd be more blood on your hands...

Just like hers...

Mrs. Davis.

Unable to formulate words, you reached over to the laptop and slammed it close, ending the call. With the laptop closed, you buried your face into your hands and started to think. Questions swarmed wildly in your mind, making it impossible to this of one single thing.

You should go...

Go back to base...

Protect the family you made...

Stay away from Gotham...

Never come back...

If you go, they'll hate you...

Dick won't accept it...

You can't keep running from truth...

But, you can't let your team be driven into their deaths...

"I need to go."

Your voice was hardly audible, muffled into your hands before letting them fall as you started to stand. Your chest started to fall and rise too quickly, throat tightening at an impossible rate before you started to walk to the doorway. As you looked up, Damian's breath got caught, never seeing someone's irises shake at an intense speed. It was almost like watching a robot getting reprogrammed.

Your mind was placed on one thing and, it was getting back to your team.

To your family.

Pushing past Alfred and Damian, you moved up to your room, pace steady yet, a bit quickened, trying to keep yourself from acting out. It happened once and it didn't turn out well since, you had to be held back by your team to not kill another Captain. Though, that's a story for another time. Once in your room, you moved to your bedstand and opening the drawer, pulling out the stored burner phone before pushing in a number. Quickly, you placed the phone on speaker and tossed it onto the bed, listening it ring for a couple times. As it rang, you rushed to get your uniform from the closet before returning to the bed, tossing the uniform on the mattress and starting to strip.

Eventually, the ringing stopped once the phone was answered and immediately, you spoke. "This is ECHO-3-4-8. I'm calling to place a direct order," your voice was hurried, almost reaching a point of panic but, you kept it controlled or tried to. As your shirt came off, all the scars underneath and tattoos on your back was exposed, but you quickly shoved your uniform shirt on, listening to the lady on the line call back codes and phonetics.

"What is your direct order, Captain?"

"Re-stationed my team."

"Pardon?"

"SON-OF-A-BITCH! RE-STATION MY TEAM! FUCKING MOVE THEM, LADY! ARE YOU DEAF?"

"Captain, please. Calm down."

"Woman. Move. Them. Prepare them a 'copter and get them out and to base sixty-two."

"... very well, Captain. Your team will be notified of the orders. They should arrive to Gotham's private Marine Corps base."

As soon as the order was placed, you picked up the phone, pants barely hanging loose at your hips, belt weighing it down. Once again, you called but this time, you didn't have to wait for a second ring. Holding the phone to your ear, you heard Maia's voice come through and before she could greet you, you spoke without missing a beat. "Maia, get your shit together. You and the team will be relocated."

There was quiet humming coming from the phone, no one from the outside world able to hear what was being said but, seeing your hand relax slightly around the burner phone was a sign of easing. After a few more words being exchanged over the phone, you finally snapped it close before finishing up changing. Once fully changed, you rushed out of your room and down the stairs, taking two steps at a time while descending.

As you descended, you didn't acknowledge Dick's presence in the lobby, moving straight to the door before pausing momentarily. You didn't glance at Alfred ignoring his stare of wanting to ask but, not asking due to not wanting to push too much. With how hurried you were, impatience vibrating through, Alfred knew better than to interfere--already experiencing these kinds of episodes with you when you were younger.

"Prepare six guest rooms."

"Of course, Master."

"Tell Bruce about visitors."

"For when?"

"Just notify Bruce and have the rooms ready."

Those were the last words you said before leaving.

Dick stood at the bottom of the staircase, staring at the closed front door. He couldn't help but think about when you left the first time, hearing the small conversation between Alfred and yourself when leaving.

"I'm leaving." You said, adjusting a duffle bag on your shoulder.

Alfred stood by the door, staring at you before asking, "does Master Bruce know?"

Curtly, you said, "tell him."

"What about Dick?"

"Tell him-... Tell him I'll see him around."

"He'll be devasted."

"He'll get over it."

What you didn't know, fifteen-year-old Dick Grayson was listening from a corner of the manor, tears slipping down his face and chest heaving. Once the door closed behind you, he whimpered pitifully.

"Come back, big bro."

𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰 : From Pinterest 𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 : @majoringinfanfiction @starrydustedwinter @valinat @takahasiren @maaaahhhiii @andraax2 @st4rrypremium

𝓟𝓡𝓔𝓥𝓘𝓞𝓤𝓢𝓛𝓨 𝓒𝓞𝓝𝓣𝓘𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓞𝓝

𝓓𝓐𝓣𝓔 : 06/11/2026

Which was exactly why Vox had arrived nearly an hour before most of the major guests. Not because he was excited, and not because he cared. And certainly not because he had spent the last week obsessively reviewing every scrap of information he could gather regarding a certain gaming Overlord.

Absolutely not. 

Music drifted throughout the enormous room while crystal chandeliers cast warm golden light across polished floors, illuminating clusters of powerful demons engaged in conversations that appeared friendly on the surface but were, in reality, negotiations, alliances, and thinly veiled threats wrapped in expensive smiles.

Movement near the grand entrance drew Vox's attention once more.

Several conversations slowed. Heads turned, not dramatically, just enough. 

Enough for someone accustomed to reading crowds to notice.

And then you entered. Vox found himself staring, which irritated him.

Not because you were beautiful.

Well.

You were.

But Hell was overflowing with beautiful people. He saw attractive women practically every day.

Pretty wasn't rare. Pretty certainly wasn't enough to make him forget what he was thinking mid-sentence.

No. It was something else…

There was something strangely effortless about the way you carried yourself through the ballroom, neither demanding attention nor shrinking from it, simply existing with the quiet confidence of someone entirely comfortable within their own skin.

You weren't the loudest person in the room. You didn't need to be. The attention came anyway. People naturally shifted toward you.

Drawn in. Comfortable.

Like they trusted you. Like they wanted to speak with you.

The smile you offered a passing Hellborn diplomat looked genuine rather than calculated, and somehow that felt more dangerous than any intimidation tactic Vox had witnessed all evening.

Yet beneath that approachable warmth existed something else, something sharper.

The unmistakable air of someone who had absolutely no need to prove themselves to anyone. You looked approachable. But not weak.

There was a quiet certainty in your posture that suggested anyone foolish enough to mistake kindness for vulnerability would regret it very quickly.

Many of the younger Overlords gravitated toward whoever appeared the most powerful in the room, eagerly trying to attach themselves to larger names in hopes of gaining influence through association.

You found that approach exhausting. More importantly, it rarely worked.

Instead, you sought out those whose influence extended beyond appearances. Those who understood how Hell truly functioned. Which inevitably brought you toward two of the most respected figures present.

Carmilla Carmine and Zestial.

The pair stood near one of the quieter sections of the ballroom, seemingly content to observe the festivities from a distance while countless demons wisely gave them space.

You couldn't blame them.

Underestimating either of them would be a fatal mistake. Fortunately, you weren't stupid.

The conversation began simply enough. A polite introduction.

A few observations regarding recent developments throughout Pentagram City. Some discussion concerning trade routes and distribution networks reaching beyond Pride Ring.

Nothing particularly groundbreaking.

The discussion gradually shifted toward business, technology, logistics, and the changing entertainment landscape throughout Hell, with Carmilla asking several surprisingly insightful questions regarding your distribution systems while Zestial listened quietly nearby, occasionally offering observations that revealed a depth of understanding most people would never expect.

You answered honestly.

Well, mostly honestly. There was no point lying to people capable of seeing through it.

More importantly, you listened. A skill many ambitious new Overlords unfortunately lacked.

Several times throughout the conversation, you caught subtle glances passing between Carmilla and Zestial before one would respond.

They confirmed something your sources had already suggested. 

They were a united front.

Even though Zestial had stepped back from active political maneuvering, his opinion clearly still carried enormous weight with Carmilla.

By the time the conversation finally wound down, no formal agreements had been signed. To many Overlords, that might have appeared disappointing.

To you? It was a success.

Because not every victory came with a signature. Sometimes a victory came disguised as respect, as recognition. As an open door where previously there had been none.

Which became abundantly clear when Carmilla calmly informed you that an invitation would be extended for the next Overlord Meeting.

Your expression remained composed. Internally, however, satisfaction bloomed.

That invitation mattered. Overlord Meetings were not social gatherings. They were where the true movers of Hell exchanged information, discussed threats, negotiated territory disputes, and quietly shaped the future of the Pride Ring.

"We shall look forward to seeing thee there," Zestial said pleasantly.

"Likewise," you replied with a genuine smile.

As the conversation concluded and you stepped away, you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction.

After concluding negotiations regarding several new shipping routes into the Greed Ring with Hellborn, you allowed yourself a quiet moment to survey the ballroom once more, mentally reviewing the evening's successes while deciding where to invest the remainder of your time.

There was still one Overlord you hadn't spoken to.

Rosie.

If you were being honest, she was the one you understood the least. Every source seemed to tell a different story. Some described her as one of the kindest Overlords in Hell. Others sounded downright terrified whenever her name came up.

Somehow, both groups appeared equally correct. Which wasn't exactly helpful.

Still, you hadn't built a successful empire by avoiding uncertainty. Sometimes you simply had to walk into a situation and see what happened.

You spotted her sitting at the bar. As you drew closer, you quickly realized she was engaged in a conversation—or rather, a polite dismantling—of the bartender's confidence.

"My good man," Rosie was saying with a pleasant smile, "I do not wish to seem critical, but one does expect a certain standard from an event of this magnitude.”

The bartender swallowed nervously. "M-Ma'am, our selection is considered one of the finest—"

"Indeed?" Rosie tilted her head. "How unfortunate.”

You slid onto the empty stool beside her. "Allow me."

Both Rosie and the bartender turned toward you.

You glanced toward the increasingly distressed employee. "Could you make a Man-Eater Gin?"

The bartender blinked.

"Heavy on the juniper," you continued calmly. "Blood-orange reduction. Real garnish."

The bartender's eyes widened. "...We actually have the ingredients for that."

You placed a generous tip onto the counter. "Excellent.”

The bartender vanished so quickly he nearly tripped. Beside you, Rosie tilted her head curiously. "Well now, aren't you a delightful surprise?"

"I hear first impressions matter."

"Oh, they absolutely do." Rosie clasped her hands together happily. "Most newcomers approach me looking terrified. It's terribly boring after a while."

You laughed. "Should I be terrified?"

"Only if you're rude.” She said it with such genuine pleasantness that it somehow sounded more threatening.

The bartender returned moments later with the drink. Rosie accepted the glass eagerly. She took a sip. Her eyes lit up immediately. "Oh! Absolutely marvelous.”

"Well," she said pleasantly, adjusting her gloves, "thank you kindly for coming to the aid of a lady in distress."

You placed a hand over your heart. "Of course. It is only proper.

Meanwhile, across the ballroom, Vox was rapidly losing patience.

His drones were excellent. State-of-the-art. The best surveillance technology in the Pride Ring. Which was why it was especially irritating that they were currently failing him.

The cameras zoomed in on your conversation with Rosie, while another drone perched near the bar attempted to isolate the audio from the surrounding crowd.

Unfortunately, gala guests were loud. The result was a frustrating mess of broken sentences and missing words.

Vox folded his arms tightly across his chest as static flickered faintly across his screen. "Come on..."

The audio crackled. Your voice surfaced briefly. "That's a lot you're doing for me. I imagine the price will be much higher than that—"

The recording distorted. Then Rosie's voice drifted through. "...nothing much..."

Another burst of interference. "...little favor..."

More static.

"...the Radio Demon."

Vox froze. His screen glitched.

Across the room, you and Rosie appeared completely relaxed, casually sipping your drinks while continuing the conversation.

For a moment, he thought he'd misheard. Seven entire years since Alastor had vanished from Hell without explanation. Seven years of rumors ranging from imprisonment to extermination to voluntary retirement.

Nobody knew the truth. 

The orchestra's melody swelled through the ballroom, rich strings and elegant brass replacing the steady murmur of business conversations. Almost immediately, the atmosphere shifted. You watched the transformation from the edge of the room, amused by how quickly politics gave way to spectacle. 

Beside you, Rosie brightened considerably at the first notes of the dance. "Oh, thank goodness," she declared, adjusting her hat. "For a dreadful moment, I thought everyone intended to spend the entire evening discussing business."

You laughed softly. "A terrifying possibility."

"Quite. Do enjoy the rest of your evening, dear."

"I will. You as well."

Rosie smiled warmly before disappearing into the growing crowd. Left alone, you found yourself studying the dancers as they glided across the polished floor.

You enjoyed dancing. The problem was that you had never particularly enjoyed dancing with strangers.

Perhaps it was old-fashioned of you, but the act had always felt oddly personal. Not romantic necessarily, but intimate in a way. You were placing your trust in another person for the duration of a song, allowing them close enough to guide your movements and share a moment that existed nowhere else. It was difficult to enjoy that sort of thing with someone whose name you barely knew.

As a result, you rarely danced.

Looking around the ballroom, you decided your work here was finished anyway. All things considered, the evening had been a tremendous success.

Turning away from the dance floor, you started toward the exit.

"Care for a dance?"

The voice stopped you mid-step. Your heart nearly skipped a beat. Slowly, you turned around.

And froze.

Standing before you was Vox.

You had known this encounter would happen eventually, but standing face-to-face with the Television Demon was still startling in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Up close, he was somehow more imposing than every billboard and advertisement had suggested. Neon light reflected faintly across the screen of his face, while confidence practically radiated from every inch of his posture. He looked entirely at ease, as though approaching rival Overlords for dances was something he did every day.

What unsettled you most, however, was the way he was looking at you. As though he had spent a very long time trying to solve a puzzle and had finally found the missing piece.

Curiosity won.

Perhaps accepting it was foolish. Perhaps it was exactly what Vox wanted. But, if the Media Overlord wished to play a game, there was no reason you could not play as well.

A small smile touched your lips as you placed your hand in his. "I'd be delighted."

Something flashed across Vox's screen at your acceptance. Satisfaction, perhaps. Whatever it was, it vanished quickly behind his usual confident grin as he led you toward the dance floor.

The song was familiar.

You recognized it immediately from the opening notes. It began slowly, elegantly, allowing partners to find their rhythm before gradually building into something faster and far more demanding. 

His clawed hand settled comfortably against the small of your back while your own rested upon his shoulder. 

For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was measured. The kind of silence that existed when two people were studying one another.

You found yourself observing details you had never noticed from billboards and advertisements. Vox, meanwhile, seemed equally content to examine you.

His gaze never wandered. It remained fixed upon you with an intensity that suggested he was trying to solve a problem.

Eventually, he spoke first. "I've heard a lot about you."

You almost laughed. To anyone listening, it sounded like a compliment. A friendly conversation starter. You weren't naïve enough to believe that.

The statement was a probe. An invitation for information.

You met his gaze and allowed only the faintest smile to appear. "I've heard a lot about you as well."

Amusement spread across his screen.

The dance continued as the music gradually picked up speed, the orchestra guiding couples through increasingly complex steps. You followed easily, having known this particular song for years. Vox, to your surprise, was an excellent dancer. Every movement felt practiced and precise, as though he had performed this dance dozens of times before. 

Then again, considering who he was, perhaps that should not have surprised you. Vox thrived on performance. Whether in a boardroom, behind a camera, or on a dance floor, he always seemed to know exactly where he should stand and what impression he wished to leave.

"You know," he began conversationally, guiding you through a turn before smoothly drawing you back into position, "I've been watching you all evening."

You raised an eyebrow. "Not very subtle, are you?"

"Mm-hm." His screen displayed an easy smile. "You're making quite the impression. But one thing stood out to me." His gaze remained fixed on your face. "You talked to every major Overlord here except the Vees."

There it was. The question had finally arrived. You had been expecting it from the moment he'd approached you.

"No business deals with us?" he asked casually.

The wording was careful, almost deceptively so. To anyone else, it might have sounded like harmless curiosity. You, however, could see exactly what he was doing. He was studying you, watching for hesitation, defensiveness, or some hurried explanation. He wanted to know whether avoiding the Vees had been intentional. More importantly, he wanted to know why.

You considered the question for a moment, allowing the music to carry you through another step before answering. "Not really, no."

The corner of Vox's screen twitched ever so slightly. One eye flickered. The hand resting against your back tightened for a fraction of a second before relaxing again.

Not because of your answer, but because of what was missing from it. He had expected more. An excuse, perhaps. A justification. Something he could dissect and analyze. Instead, you had handed him a wall.

You could almost see him recalculating.

The probing questions had not produced the answers he wanted. The polite smiles had failed to reveal your intentions. Whatever strategy he had arrived with tonight clearly wasn't progressing according to plan.

So he changed tactics.

Vox's expression smoothed into something pleasantly patronizing.

"Of course," he said, his voice taking on the tone of someone explaining something obvious to a child. "You are a younger Overlord. Relatively speaking, anyway."

There was the faintest emphasis on the word. You immediately disliked where this was heading.

"You've built something impressive," he continued. "Nobody's denying that. But experience counts for a lot in Hell. There are certain things you only learn after a few decades. Which is why," he said, flashing what was undoubtedly supposed to be a charming smile, "I'm willing to be generous."

The word nearly made you laugh. Instead, you kept your expression pleasant and allowed him to continue.

"I'll offer you a deal. Your technology is good. But you're limiting yourself. Under the Vees, your products would reach every corner of Pride." His grin widened confidently. "So how about it? Sell to me."

You blinked. For a moment, you wondered if you'd misheard him.

Vox, meanwhile, mistook your silence for interest. "You'll still make money, obviously," he continued. "I'm not unreasonable. Twenty percent of the profits."

This time, you genuinely had to suppress a laugh.

You had spent ten years building your company from nothing. Ten years establishing partnerships, distribution networks, employees, and a loyal customer base. And this man had just offered you twenty percent of your own success.

Across from you, Vox appeared entirely convinced he was presenting an attractive offer. In fact, the more he spoke, the more certain he seemed that he had already won.

Slowly, you smiled back. The sight immediately brightened his screen. For one brief, glorious moment, Vox genuinely believed he had you.

Then you answered. "No."

Vox's screen froze. For half a second, the image glitched before buffering slightly as though his brain had temporarily lost connection. "No?!"

For a moment, you simply looked at him. Then you laughed. It escaped before you could stop it, a genuine laugh that drew the attention of several nearby dancers.

Vox's screen darkened slightly. "What exactly is so funny?"

You shook your head, still smiling. "Oh, nothing much. Just the fact that you somehow managed to walk up to me and offer to sell me my own profits." You let out another incredulous laugh. "I have to admit, that's a new one."

"You Vees are unbelievable." You shook your head. "You spend so much time acting like the center of Hell that you've forgotten some people can succeed without attaching themselves to your little clique."

"Little clique?"

"Oh, come on." Your grin turned positively wicked. "The Vees? Really? That sounds less like a feared alliance and more like a group of mean girls from secondary school."

"I think you've spent so long being one of the biggest names in Pentagram City that nobody tells you when your ideas are stupid anymore. Have you lost your touch, old man?"

His screen flickered. To Vox's credit, he did not immediately explode. 

The orchestra surged toward the song's crescendo, forcing the dancers into tighter formations. Vox's hand shifted against your back as he guided you through a turn before drawing you smoothly back toward him. Closer than before.

Your next retort died on your tongue.

The ballroom blurred slightly as the dance carried you together. Suddenly, you became acutely aware of just how near he was. His claws rested firmly against your back, one of your hands remained trapped in his, and the distance between your faces had narrowed to mere inches.

Vox's eyes flickered downward for a fraction of a second. His gaze caught on your lips. Then immediately returned to your eyes. The movement was so brief you must have imagined it.

Yet your heart gave a sudden, uncomfortable thud against your ribs.

The fuck?

That reaction annoyed you far more than Vox ever could.

Before your thoughts could betray you further, you stepped back the moment the dance allowed it, reclaiming a more comfortable distance between you.

Vox noticed. Of course he noticed. A flicker of amusement crossed his screen.

The bastard.

"You know," he said casually, as though nothing had happened, "you seem to know a lot about me."

You were grateful for the return to familiar territory. That, at least, you knew how to navigate. "Hard not to," you replied dryly. "You plaster your face on every available surface."

The moment the dance officially ended, you wasted no time. You slipped from Vox's grasp with a speed that was perhaps a little too eager to be dignified. 

Vox noticed immediately. Judging by the smug curve of his grin, he found it hilarious.

"You know," you said, straightening your sleeves, "you're a pain in my ass."

His screen flickered with amusement. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me all evening."

You stared at him.

"If it makes you feel any better," he continued, "I've thoroughly enjoyed our conversation."

"Of course you have. With that air-headed Barbie and porn-obessed moth, I don't think you have any intelligent life around you."

For someone who had spent the entire dance being insulted, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

Before he could continue, you took a deliberate step backward. "I think that's enough excitement for one evening."

"Aww." The mock disappointment in his voice was unbearable. "You wound me."

"I'll try harder next time."

Then Vox performed a small, exaggerated bow. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, doll."

You narrowed your eyes. There was an irritating amount of confidence in that statement.

"Try not to lose any more profits before then," you replied sweetly.

Vox's grin twitched.

Ha! You’d annoyed him. Success.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next update will be on 15 june!

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Those words still ring hollow, a repeating drone of his voice as you watch the familiar city pass by the windowpane. It is Gotham, but not. Unfamiliar stores fill the streets, similar roads but not quite, small inconsistencies that are enough to remind you that this isn't your home.

That the person in the driver's seat beside you is a complete stranger.

"Who am I to you?" You question, casting your glance back to that stiff, perfect posture of his as he makes a turn towards his apartment.

That hug from earlier, if you could even call it that, still lingers like a shadow, casting goosebumps over your skin whenever the memory overstayed its welcome.

You spot the whitening of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers squeezing into the steering wheel before the colour returns, as if his composure never faltered.

"You were my assigned partner." He answers briskly.

Were. There's finally one consistency, at the very least. To your relief, the version of you here didn't seem to get along with him either.

Your small amusement is quickly diminished at the rise of another concern of yours. If there was another version of you running around this city, you can't even begin to fathom the potential fractures of reality if an encounter truly happened.

You're already playing a huge risk in letting this Damian assist you. Still, you had no one else.

Your comms had contacted him, not that it was to any surprise of your own once the initial panic died down. It wasn't likely that you still had a connection to your own world, much less an existing channel with your Damian. It was pure luck that you still had use for the device at all. Or at least, you hoped you could consider it luck.

Your gaze lingers over his features. The likeness between him and your Damian was uncanny. The same nose bridge, freckles, and even that faint scar running down his jawline. It was all so familiar that you had to snap yourself out of it when you found your body conditioning itself into safety, as if forgetting he's a stranger.

"Well, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones." You answer wryly. "There wasn't anyone else I could contact. If you can help me find a way back home, I'll be out of your dimension in no time."

The silence grows terse. A shift has occurred, even if you're unsure on the why. You had only stated the obvious. Perhaps his moods were in line with what you were familiar with after all, and that is no soothing relief if it meant having to face that same temperament that landed you here.

"I'm already offering my help." Damian answers after a moment, as if he's finally settled for a response he was satisfied with.

"I hope so." You mutter, eyelids falling shut in your exhaustion. The sight of the city was making you nauseous. "It's kind of your fault I ended up here. The other you, anyways."

He hums, finger tapping once against the steering wheel. "Typical."

This Damian has an apartment akin to a serial killer's. The barest necessities, minimal decorations—it's as if every surface has gone untouched. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes when he unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you would've assumed no one had ever stepped foot within these walls.

"Ever heard of decoration?" It lands wrong, and you internally wince. It's difficult, to not fall back into that same push-and-pull when you see Damian's figure in your peripheral vision. To not be mistaken with familiar company.

He watches you for longer than he should. He keeps doing that, the staring. "There's no reason for me to do so." He answers eventually.

Your brows furrow. Something about his responses from the moment you met him unnerved you, as if he's leaving his words purposely vague. Clues buried within that mask of his, where an unanswered story that didn't belong to your reality lingers in his.

"Where am I currently in your dimension?" You decide to settle at the sofa, stretching out your limbs. "If she's still in Gotham, I need to be careful not to be seen."

Ever since you arrived, your body has been aching horribly. It hadn't been this obvious when you had arrived, but now, it's stinging down to your nerves. Maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off, and you're left to deal with a body unequipped to the frantic mess your mind is trying to sort out.

"It won't be a problem." He answers, lips pursing into a thin line. "She's gone."

Your head tilts questioningly to meet his gaze, but he avoids yours. Pulling open his kitchen drawer, there's a taut tension in his body as if he's been expecting your question and dreading it all the same.

Gone could mean anything. Out of the city borders or—

Your eyes flicker down to his disappearing hand, and find his reappearing fingers gripped around pain ointment. Your stretch pauses halfway, the strange alertness of being noticed without your permission sending a chill down your spine.

Forcing your hands down back to your sides, you eye him warily as he makes his way round the couch, stopping before you. His hand extends, lifting his offering silently.

It's unfamiliar, and even if you try your hardest to reason to yourself, that this isn't the Damian you know, it doesn't make it any easier to allow him to assist you. You half expect mocking, a glimpse of his smirk when your gaze flickers to the ointment held out in front of you.

A low breath escapes his lips, and you expect him to give in. To understand that you don't require more of him other than his specific assistance to send you home—only for him to lower himself.

Damian Wayne—even if he isn't the one you're used to—is kneeling down to meet your gaze. Your breath stops, your chest seized tight as you stare at him, unable to hide your surprise.

He doesn't falter, his fingers mindlessly dipping into the ointment before placing the jar by your side. His free hand goes to grip your wrist, tugging gently to expose the bruises trailing along your arm from your fall.

"If it is me you have come to for assistance." He mutters with a click of his tongue. "Then, I expect you not to be stubborn."

You swallow, your jaw ticking as you find your tongue heavy with a lack of an adequate response. His unwavering concern, this intensity can't be tied solely to you. There has to be a reason for why he is looking at you this way.

"What did you mean?" You ask quietly. "By gone?"

His fingers, still coated with the ointment, brush gently over your thudding pulse. His gaze finally lifts, but you can't read him. There's a pull to his gaze, and the answer reveals itself by the time you recognise what is held within his eyes isn't irritation or indifference. It was grief.

"She's dead."

It's a strange feeling to know you're stepping into a world where a version of you used to exist. A sick form of good luck, a technical elimination of complications.

Except that it's only made everything more complicated. You had no idea on how to deal with the Damian in front of you now that the truth's been revealed.

When he first admitted that he wasn't the Damian you knew, you had quickly assumed that whatever dynamic he shared with you from this dimension was a parallel to the one you shared with your Damian. Forced tolerance, a begrudging partnership. No, you had needed to assume it so. Anything different would have shattered this fragile alliance you had with the stranger sitting across you, because despite everything you felt about your Damian—you relied on him as a partner.

Now, you weren't sure if you could trust the Damian in front of you. You had assumed that if he answered your questions, you would have cleared the air—but it has only raised more.

You can feel his attention while you're thinking. You swear with the intensity of his gaze casted onto you which you pretend not to notice, it's as if your existence only materialised when his eyes are on you. There's a strange urgency in his unblinking stare, as if to remind himself that you're still in front of him.

It's too much. It was the same back when he first saw you as well. Damian hasn't mentioned his strange reaction since, and his lack of an explanation for why he had embraced you clues you on nothing still, on what you meant to him.

"I'm not her." You mutter after a moment. You don't know why, but you feel you have to say it.

There's some form of attachment he must've had with you, and you couldn't let yourself be tangled into the mess of what's been left behind. This isn't your world, and the last thing you needed was a blur of that line.

"I know." He answers quickly. Without pause, as if he's been repeating it to himself before you had even verbalised it.

Your hesitance must be palpable because he lets out a sigh not long after, heavy from his chest.

"I didn't offer you my help because I think you're—" He swallows, pain etched into the lines of his grimace. "I understand that you are alone in this world. That some mistake of mine from your end caused this. I am taking responsibility for it—to bring you back. There is nothing more to it."

You watch him as he did to you, noting a delicate fragility to him you've never seen before. You had been so wrapped up in your situation, that you failed to notice the frantic quality of his gaze or the exhaustion plaguing his features. As if being around you—drained him from the impossibility of seeing you alive and breathing.

"Okay." You answer eventually. "I believe you."

His shoulders, tense and taut, finally loosen slightly at your response.

"Do you—" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "—have any idea on how I'll be able to get back?"

Relief flickers briefly in his gaze, replaced with a familiar efficiency that slots over the dark pool his eyes held mere seconds ago. This, you were used to. Whenever he was asked to perform a duty, that was when you both cooperated the easiest.

"If it were me, I'd predict that there will be a two-way mechanism." He suggests automatically. So, he had been considering his own theories this entire time.

Leaning in, his elbows pressing against his thighs, he continues. "An entry will not be possible without a tunnel. To find the connection and restart it as you had before in your dimension, it should trigger an opening."

"I also considered the possibility of a tunnel." You frown, your fingers drawing a thin, edged line across the sofa's fabric. "The only problem is that when I arrived, before contacting you—I looked around the premise. I really tried."

"There was no opening." You admit, dread digging slowly into your bones.

"Perhaps it will only be activated if it was triggered in the same process as before." He suggests.

"...Doesn't that rely on Damian—" You falter, meeting his gaze. "—my Damian restarting the trigger on his side?"

He nods, even as his lips purse slightly at the mention of the other him. "Your only chance depends on him coming to the same realisation we have."

You draw a short breath. "Shit."

Damian doesn't hesitate when you ask by the third hour of silence—to accompany you back to the construction site when the passing hours has done enough in driving you insane.

You hate waiting. Your Damian knows that. This Damian seems to know too.

He follows you like a silent shadow, tracing your steps and overlooking the same rubble caused by your fall as you try to find an anomaly. Anything that proves to your stubborn anxiety—that you are actually doing something to feel less trapped.

"There is nothing here." He states.

"You don't know that." You wish your voice sounded stronger. "I wasn't in my right mind when I landed. I might identify something I missed."

His jaw ticks once, but he doesn't stop you. He doesn't argue—and that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and frankly—you miss that. You needed something to distract you—and he was merely standing there like he was watching a phantom.

"I thought you said you would help." Your voice breaks.

Fuck. Swallowing back your revealed fright, you finally slump down onto the dust-covered concrete, pressing your palm against your eyes.

You hear a shuffle, the fabric of his coat landing heavy next to you. You uncover your eyes, catching him as he crouches beside you. His gaze meets yours head-on—and you nearly drown in the weight of it.

"There's no relief in digging through a dead-end." He mutters, peering over your features. "It'll only worsen the thoughts."

You grow quiet. You didn't need a verbal confirmation, not when just his gaze alone tells, that he wasn't only talking about your situation. Your chest heaves, the scent of concrete filling your nostrils.

The silence stretches, an uncomfortable sensation of helplessness filling the air.

"...Do you like pizza?" He asks after a moment.

Blinking once, you must've misheard it. You can't help the snort that escapes you, the sound broken and unsteady. "What?"

"I dislike it." He mutters. "The ones in Gotham. It's too much grease, and lacking of any true nutrients."

That... sounds very Damian of him.

You raise a brow, and his lips purse together. Letting out a regretful sigh, he gestures with a tilt of his head. "There's an adequate franchise down the street."

Lifting himself off the ground, he holds out his hand towards you. "Since this dreadful day has been awfully unproductive, I suppose a meal like that is befitting."

Your gaze flickers between his hand and that unfamiliar, warmth in his eyes. Of how you had been in a similar position mere hours ago when he had offered you pain ointment. Of how he has been consistently extending his hand towards you, accompanying your side—ever since you entered this dimension.

This time, you take his hand.

Strangely enough, the fluorescent lights of 'Gotham City Pizzeria' and the smell of floor disinfectant—combined with the peculiar sight of Damian lifting a soggy pizza slice with a grimace did lift your spirits. If this was your dimension, you would have bothered with taking a picture to capture the sight of him clashing with an environment so strongly, but you couldn't afford to let this rare moment of normalcy be dimmed by that reminder.

"Should I be concerned that the Damian Wayne in this dimension consumes Gotham pizzas?" You murmur, wiping a streak of tomato at the corner of your mouth.

His lips quirk up slightly. "Even I have my faults."

Clearing his throat, he murmurs. "Your turn."

You raise a brow, confused.

He leans back, dusting his hands against the napkin. "I haven't learned anything about you since you arrived."

Oh. You had assumed that he didn't want to. Outside of the boundaries of your circumstance, he hasn't really pushed much further other than details he needed to have, to piece a solution together.

"What do you want to know?" You shrug.

His lips tilt upwards again, more intently this time. "Do you like pizza?"

Your smile lifts instinctively. "I do, detective. How'd you guess?"

His smile strains a little, and you realise why.

"Ah." You murmur.

"No." He stops you before you can retreat. "Don't stop on my account. I want to know what you like."

You swallow, fingers running over the crust flakes coating your thumb. You suppose you could answer, there wasn't any harm done. "I do like pizza. It's the only thing that's comforting enough after a long night of patrol. I think when I enter a familiar place at an hour like this, when there's no one else around, it's like the world closes in to exist in just this spot, y'know? I get to forget about my worries for a little while."

He nods, listening to you speak as if he intended on memorising every word. Like he may miss the chance to do so ever again.

"So, why'd you pick this place?" You return the question.

"...As I told you before, I'm not fond of it."

"So, why are you here?" You push.

A slow exhale escapes his mouth. "I suppose, it was like you said. Comforting—in a sense, to be surrounded by something familiar."

You can see him struggling, on what to say and what to keep buried. This provided company of his—it's like you're digging into a wound he's openly showing you.

"What else do you like?" He reiterates.

Your smile reappears, almost easing. "Need a full catalogue?"

"Yes." He answers almost immediately. It takes the breath out of you, the humour still stuck on your tongue with the way he looks at you, all-consuming. "I would."

"I suppose... I could tell you things I never told anyone." You whisper almost conspiratorially. "Something tells me you'll keep quite a good secret."

His lips lift, curving a small dimple by his cheek. "I swear."

"I guess..." Leaning your cheek against your palm, you take your time in truly looking at him. "I always did like your eyes."

He blinks, not expecting your answer. "My eyes?"

"Yeah." Your grin comes easier to you now, seeing him uncharacteristically flustered. "Made me unreasonably jealous at times. Green eyes like that, and you spend half the time glowering."

He scoffs lowly, but it holds no bite. "I wasn't aware there was a way to utilise them."

"No, you do it right when you're not thinking too hard." You murmur, lost in thought. "When you don't pretend to be strong, your eyes go soft. Just around the edges."

The moment those words leave you, you realise you're pushing too far, saying something so intimate, it should have never been verbalised.

He watches you, and to your dismay, he does it right then and there. The sharpened edges around his gaze softens, and so does Damian.

"You're direct." He mutters, almost fondly.

You swallow, averting your gaze. "So I've been told."

"I like that."

You shift your focus back to him immediately, a soft thudding in your chest. He has never averted his gaze. Rarely, you realise, does he pull his attention away from you. It's like he's treasuring it, the small impossibility of this conversation, of your presence in this pizzeria illuminated by the neon lights.

"Do you feel like you're dreaming?" You ask. "It feels like I know you even though I shouldn't."

His lips quirk. "It is a fair exchange for reality, if I get to meet you."

Your heart is thudding louder now, and you don't find it instinctive anymore to avert his gaze, no matter how much the depth feels like drowning.

"A once in a lifetime phenomenon." You declare. "Let's not waste it."

Gotham's cityscape takes a less intimidating turn in the weeks following your exploration with Damian, as the hidden beauty within begins to reveal itself. The confusing streets become interesting puzzles, a guessing game on what road could be an alternative to the ones you frequent in your dimension. When night falls? That's when this Gotham truly sings, coming alive.

Without the late nights being reserved for the sole purpose of patrol, Damian guides you within the ins-and-outs of alleyways, leading you through slot machines, bars that still had the hum of human company despite the late hour. Eventually, you both land on a rooftop that lets you oversee the entire city.

It's terrifyingly easy to enjoy his company when you're not busy pretending otherwise. There's a symphony to your shared steps, the trailing of his shadow that plays out like a familiar, comforting rhythm.

"It's different." You mutter almost excitedly. The faint buzz of exhaustion from the late hour leaves you increasingly lax, your hand tugging at his sleeve towards the Wayne Tower in the distance. "Ours is all red hues and sharp angles. I like yours more."

He hums, sounding amused. His gaze is still trained on you, not focused on your pointed finger towards the building at all. Letting out a huff, your hand, numbed by the freezing wind, lifts to cup his cheek.

He blinks, a rare vulnerable expression crossing his features at your touch.

"Stop looking at me." You gesture, trying to tune his head towards the cityscape. "You're missing out."

"No, I'm not." He answers honestly.

You blink, hand faltering over his cheek, but he raises his own to cover yours.

"Sorry." He murmurs, lashes lowering with his gaze as he closes his eyes momentarily. "Allow me to be a little selfish, just this once."

Your fingers shake in response, but you don't remove your hand.

"That's not very fair of you." You mutter.

"I suppose I have never practiced that trait well." Opening his eyes, you're faced with that tenderness, the one that leaves you breathless. "Does it make me hateful?"

"No." You answer honestly. "You've always been bad at that."

"At being fair?" He asks.

"Making me hate you." You admit quietly.

His gaze softens imperceptibly. "I suppose we're both not very good liars."

The touch of his cheek burns your skin. This is dangerous, your mind faintly warns you. You promised yourself to never hesitate in your decision, not even after meeting him. You were always meant to go home.

He spots your hesitance, and his warmth falters. His lips set back into that familiar, distant line as he lets your hand go.

"I apologise if I over-stepped." He says before you even have time to clear the air.

"No, that isn't it." You wince, drawing your hand back to scratch at your cheek. "I was just thinking. Maybe—it isn't so bad if I could stay a little longer. There's no guarantee on when the portal will open again, so it's not a ruled out possibility."

Your suggestion is a toss into the wind. A complete silent, interpretation that maybe that's what he'd like as well.

You don't even have time to process the slight hope in his gaze, the consideration of your words before something—no everything seizes. Your body collapses to the ground, the pain of your atoms glitching, seizing to exist, and reforming again, is nearly indescribable.

A near howl escapes your bitten lips as you crumple towards the floor, only for Damian to catch you in his arms, down on his knees in front of you. Your fingers grip tight around his wrists, steading yourself as your vision blurs in and out. By the time you've strained your neck to look back up at him, you see the pain contorting his expression, wiping it loose of all composure.

"I—I'm okay." You breathe out, even as you can feel how cold and clammy your skin has become.

He doesn't answer. He merely stares, a rush of emotions flooding too fast through his mind for you to read, before it falters. His grip is your only anchor, but he's trembling too.

"This isn't a good sign." He states, dread falling over his features. "You must return, soon."

"So, you're saying—" You recall his words faintly. "The longer I stay in this dimension, my body will begin to disintegrate?"

Those technical words, theories that sound ridiculous on paper, thread thinly in a reality where your body was now a self-destructive timer. He gives you a short nod, his dark circles illuminated by the hologram of his research. Despite it being your life on the line, he looks wrecked.

What had started out as a happy night, ended with the reminder that you're not only endangering yourself but him. He's faced losing you once, and your existence in this dimension that should have never happened—he might go through it all over again if you don't find the portal in time.

"Damian." You call out, spotting the weak composure he's trying to display. "Look at me."

He refuses to listen, or maybe, he's completely blocked everything out with his gaze trained on the coordinates and running calculations. Standing up from the couch, you move slowly towards him to not startle him. Your hand briefly touches his arm, and he flinches.

"Damian, we've been over this." You speak as calmly as you can. "There's no opening unless it's opened from my side."

"Then, why hasn't he done it?" He snaps.

You blink, taken aback by his reaction.

"I can't—" He swallows, jaw clenched as he stares at you with a raw agony. One he's been hiding from you since you arrived, that you had caught a brief glimpse of when he first embraced you in his panic. "I won't fail you again. I refuse to."

"Damian." Your brows furrow, hands intertwining with his to force him to feel your touch. "I need you to breathe."

His chest heaves, and you recognise a panic attack before he's even verbalised it. Pulling him towards the sofa, you force him to sit, hands still connected with his.

"It isn't fair." Damian shakes his head. "Nothing ever is. Either way, it feels as if I'm losing you all over again."

Your breath trembles in his admission, and you can do nothing but sit here and listen.

"It was my fault." He confesses, grief-stricken. "A mission gone wrong—and my arrogance. I had overestimated the ambush, and we were cornered."

His body goes still as he drowns in his memory. "You hadn't hesitated stepping in the way. I could do nothing but watch."

"I am unworthy for many things." His voice lowers, with such an encompassing belief in his words. "But not being able to save you? That is a punishment I will never recover from."

"To lose you again." He mutters, broken. "I won't know what to do."

"Damian." You whisper. "I'm scared too."

He looks up at you then, and tears are welled in the corners of his lashes.

"But I'm glad." You emphasise, squeezing his hand. "That it's you, that you're the one here with me."

He blinks, barely able to process your words. "Why?"

"Because you have been by my side, from the moment I arrived." You answer genuinely. "Even if it hurts you, and I know it does. You stuck around, and you got to know me. You didn't have to do that, not when it costs you everything to do so."

He swallows, his expression shattered as he listens.

"I would have never known this side of you, if you hadn't found me." You push forward. "And no matter how terrifying it is to be in a whole other dimension without knowing if I'll make it home, it doesn't change that I'm glad I met you."

He breathes out, as if your words were a sucker-punch to his gut. His eyes trace over your features, a hidden longing unravelling the longer he carried out his intent focus, wanting to capture everything.

"Can I be selfish one more time?" His voice is a quiet plea, and you don't resist to how weak it renders you.

You nod gently.

Leaning in, his fingers tremble as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand from your cheek. His warmth lingers over your skin, eventually brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze pours into you. He looks at you the same way he had countless times before, and you had never been able to put it to words. Till now.

When his lips touch yours, it feels like a goodbye. A wish made impossible, fulfilled for only a mere moment. It's softer than you ever expected, gentle in a way you had never been treated from anyone else before.

When you open your eyes, you watch his expression carefully draw back into his composure. He's doing it for you, picking up the pieces that's broken so you won't have to face it.

"Let's get you home." He promises, and you believe it.

As the days pass by, with your body experiencing more frequent glitches, Damian's kindness runs a deeper wound above your heart. Whenever you insist that you're fine so he can focus on his work—he merely accompanies you by your side like some personal torture he inflicts on himself. Whenever your body seizes into another episode, split between the fractures of reality—he's there, waiting for you to reach for him so you can feel real again.

He listens with a seared focus now whenever you tell him stories, of yourself—of your world, like he's running out of time. You both are.

It's the seventh day, when the daily scans of the construction site run by Damian finally begin to detect increasing abnormal activity from where you landed.

"The debris movement seems to reverse every time I run the scan." He mutters. "As if there's a disruption in the space."

You swallow dryly, eyeing the replay he's showing you. "Do you think it could mean.."

"Yes, I'm certain." Damian nods firmly. "The portal is being triggered on the other side. The only concern now is when we should be at the site."

This... is it. Despite everything you've prepared and anticipated for, the obvious fact that you should be relieved you have a chance of making it home—the realisation comes with a bitter-sweet note.

Damian doesn't comment further past the facts. He merely focuses on the hologram screen, inputting commands to verify an estimate window to make rounds at the construction site. Despite calling himself selfish, you had never seen him so composed, silent on his true thoughts of this discovery.

"In two days." He answers, staring unblinkingly at the figure. "We won't miss it."

That settles it. In two days... you're going home.

"I hate waiting."

"I am aware." Damian murmurs.

"Stop agreeing with me." You sigh.

"Alright."

Your head snaps, an unamused expression taking over your features.

His gaze flickers from his device to meet yours briefly, and his lips quirk up slightly. "Sorry." His voice doesn't sound apologetic at all. "You've made it too easy."

You can't help but scoff, chin leaning against his shoulder. "This is worse than the glitches."

"Have I mentioned that you're a horrible liar?" He mocks.

"Numerous times." You hum, eyeing the scan with a narrowed glance. "What if your calculations are wrong?"

"I ran over them one thousand and fifty-three times." He frowns. "The chance for error are near zero."

"Wow, from the looks of it—you seem rather eager to get rid of me." You tease.

"Was I that obvious?" He shrugs.

"Who's the bad liar now?" You tease.

He opens his mouth, ready to produce some quick retort—but something catches his eye.

Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubble—is beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction.

"Now." Damian stands abruptly, a hand wrapping around your waist to lift you to your feet.

The shift in the atmosphere as a distant rumbling occurrs beneath your feet, it's much more aggressive than you expected. Damian tugs you back, just in time before a fracture cracks in the ground.

"The portal." You recognise, eyeing the glow beneath the fissure, something dreadfully familiar.

Your breath is almost winded, coming up short as you stare at the formation in trembling anticipation. Your gaze whips to Damian, your heart slamming against your ribcage—only for your words to fail you when you meet his expression.

Broken, that's all you saw. The same way he had seemed when you first met him.

"Damian." You call out, hesitant, but he shakes his head.

"I never got to tell you." He starts.

Your brows furrow. He had been nothing but honest since you got here. There isn’t a wound that he hasn’t uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasn’t revealed. You know him, because he had let you.

"I want you to know that I am glad." He confesses, his voice picking up in pace. He sounds terrified that he won't be able to finish what he's started. "That I got to know you. There wasn't a moment where I regretted it, not even for a second."

"I must tell you." His voice cracks. "That I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, no matter what reality, I'd always choose you."

The words are lost on your tongue. I'd choose you too. He has to know, even when the tears well up in your eyes.

He holds you tight, as if he's trying to sear this very embrace into his memory. "At least, I'll know now that somewhere out there, the person I am in your world was able to bring you back. That a version of me didn't lose you."

"I know it's selfish." He whispers. "But I wish I could keep you."

Contrary to his words, he lets go of you the moment he says it, his arms parting from your frame to remain firmly at his side. He's restraining himself, you realise. Damian, the very image of self-control, is barely keeping himself together. He’s letting you go, and in doing so, he’s saving you.

"Thank you." He murmurs in goodbye, casting you a solemn smile. "For sparing me the mercy of meeting you again."

"I hope he understands just how fortunate he is." A bittersweet smile graces his lips. "That he'll cherish you, and protect you always."

You think you ask him to wait. For more time. You remember briefly on how your hand extended towards him, before the portal had pulled you in. It was silent after that, and the loss of something indescribable hits you by the time the world comes back—roaring to life.

Tumbling onto the ground, you choke out a breath, saliva coating your lips as your fingers press numbly into the ground.

You're home. A quick glimpse of your surroundings is enough to confirm the familiar machinery, the abandoned lab. Yet, flashes of Damian's unmoving gaze before his frame completely disappeared, staring at you like he wanted to commit you to memory.

How could he have called it mercy, when he was so shattered?

Your tears slipped, and you feel a strange gap in your chest.

A rushed call of your name echoes before you can even name the emotion that consumes you. The syllables barely forms in your mind, as your head whips up in a daze. Your tear-stained expression is broken, completely unhidden—when you see Damian. Your Damian.

"Damian." Your voice croaks out. The name sounds strange on your tongue.

He freezes, unsure on how to process this version of you. Whatever he expected when he got you back, he must've never anticipated this. The version that has just lost him, and a part of you always will.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you stumble in your steps before collapsing into him. You're convinced he'll push you away, as he always does.

What you didn't expect was the steady warmth of his arms wrapping around you. Tense, but protective—as if he were trying to fend off the inner turmoil that's consuming you.

"It's alright." He mutters, voice stiff but his grip doesn't falter. "You're safe. I am here."

That breaks a silent sob out of you, and you bury your face into his chest. He doesn't push you for answers, nor does he distance himself. He remains planted exactly where he is, grounding you with his presence while you mourned for something that should have never been yours, and what you should have never lost.

He is embracing you so tight, it gave you a violent sense of déjà vu. The lines are blurring, and you can't find it in yourself to be angry when you know you should be.

"I am sorry." He mutters, voice breaking in composure. "I did this—I am sorry. I failed you."

"No, you didn't." You answer, your voice hoarse. "You brought me back."

It was the truth, broken into a hundred pieces.

In time, you will tell him. Of how he protected you even in another dimension. Of how that version of him will forever know that in another reality, he had saved you. That there was a Damian who didn't experience losing you.

Of how you'll never forget him. Even when he's out of bounds, but forever engraved into your existence, a memory that should have never existed.

But for now, you'll let yourself rest, knowing that you're home.

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

[extra pov] - alt! damian + reader’s damian after her return

dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works

Cries...

Loud...

Mournful...

Cries...

It felt wrong to be there. You were the last person to be with Mrs. Davis, and it felt wrong to be at her funeral. You stood the furthest away in the church, not being able to bring yourself to approach the open casket to see that old lady. You watched everyone approach, weeping over her body and whispering words of comfort but, all the words felt like arrows coming back to you. Hadn't you been there, maybe, just maybe--nothing like this would've happen.

You probably would've seen the old lady still in the neighborhood, still swinging on that porch swing. Maybe, you would've still went out with her to help get her groceries and other errands...

But she's dead...

Had you reacted faster, maybe it would've been you in the casket and honestly, if it meant having the lady still living her last days peacefully, you would've been happy with that. Besides, it wasn't like anyone would want to throw some big funeral for you. Though, as you fell into the depths of your thoughts, you felt an approaching presence and quickly, you stiffened. You felt a hand settle against your shoulder and a pressing body move closer, trying to provide comfort.

Quietly, almost scared of disrupting your thoughts, a low and gentle whisper breathed across your ear. "Do you want to have a moment to say something? Before closing the casket." It was Mrs. Davis's son, Charles. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was...

He had her easing voice, after all.

Yes.

"No, thank you."

Bid a farewell. Say an apology.

"I don't think I can..." That was all you said to Charles before turning around and quietly saying "goodbye". You couldn't be there anymore. You failed Mrs. Davis. You failed Charles. You failed the neighborhood.

Once out of the church, unable to bring yourself to stay, you ran. Immediately, you ran back to your neighbor's home, knowing that they're going to be at the church until later that afternoon. So, quickly, you ran around the home, grabbing your backpack and filled it up. Clothes, canned foods, a couple of water bottles, a handful of candies, and took some of your neighbor's husband money from the hidden stash under the armchair in the living room. With everything you could stuff into your backpack, you ran out the backdoor and headed somewhere. You didn't have a destination but, you had to run--just this once. You had to get away from everything and everyone.

Your legs started to burn.

Your chest tightened.

Your breathing became uneven.

Your thoughts were scattered.

Salty sweat started to slide down your face...

Drip.

Drip.

Drip...

GASP.

You didn't mean to take such a deep and sharp intake of air as you shot up into a seated position on the bed. Your heart was pounding against your chest, as if it were trying to find a way out. Due to the sharp gasp, you had a coughing fit, dry and wrecking through your lungs. Once you settled, you laid back down onto the bed and simply threw an arm over your eyes.

"Damn, dreams..."

Cursing through your gritted teeth, you let your mind flow towards the thought of Mrs. Davis. You haven't been in Gotham for more than ten years and the last time you saw her... it was in the accident. "I need to pay her a visit", you whispered to yourself. Eventually, after a moment of dwelling on the old lady and the memories you had with her, you sat up again and turned your gaze to the old digital clock on the bedstand beside you. 4:30 PM.

You thought for a moment before moving off your bed, standing up then, getting out of your uniform and into some civilian clothes. Due to your lack of many clothes, you simply wore a grey t-shirt, blue jeans, and browns shoes. You weren't one to dwell much on clothes and never had the urge to spend money on clothes so, you repeated most outfits.

Once changed, and making sure you at least put on some deodorant, you left your room with a dark grey sweater hanging from your forearm. Making your way down to the dining room, certain to find Alfred setting the table, you made a mental note to go by a floral shop. Entering the dining room and seeing Alfred, you also saw Damian, Stephanie, Cassandra, and Duke. You watched as everyone helped set the dining room's table, all but Damian, before looking over to Alfred.

"Alfred, I'm heading out. I have something to take care of."

Alfred paused for a moment before nodding, "Very well, Master. Should I save you some leftovers?"

At Alfred's question, you shook your head. "No need. I'll get some food from a bar or something."

"Oh! Can I come?"

You raised a brow at the sound of one of the girl's voices, immediately knowing it'd be Stephanie. By the first interaction, Cassandra was slotted as a quiet one so, it only left room for Stephanie. Looking over to Stephanie, you frowned at her enthusiasm before saying a sharp, "no".

Stephanie frowned back at you, lowering her hand that she had risen before whining out, "why not?"

"It's not a field trip."

"Never said it was."

"It's not the time for girls to be running around at night."

"I can defend myself."

You groaned, looking away momentarily before looking back at her with narrowed eyes. "That isn't the point."

"So, what's the point", she asked.

Just when you were going to explain further to the blonde girl, Alfred cut you off by saying, "I think, it'd be a wonderful idea."

Snapping your head towards the butler, your jaw went slack slightly due to the betrayal. "Why not take all of them?"

The audacity of the man. Seriously, you just wanted to run a single errand and now, it's become an entire field trip. Again, just when you were about to say something to counter back, Bruce, Dick, Jason and Tim walked in. Instantly, you already knew the outcome of this whole trip.

Seeing the miniature reunion, Dick spoke up first with confusion laced into his voice. "Why are you all just standing there?"

"Master is going to be taking all the younger ones onto an errand", Alfred said without missing a beat. The statement alone made a muscle twitch at your jaw, slowly grinding your teeth more and more. Now, there was no way of escaping this fate, not when Alfred said it as an indefinite command.

"Oh, can I come along?" Dick asked.

"This is going to be fun." Jason stated.

Tim, on the other hand, "you guys, have fun."

"Tim, you're going too." Now that? That was Bruce's statement.

For a long moment, you stayed quiet, looking at everyone as if they were alien before letting out the loudest groan. Not even your team pestered you this much. "Okay. Okay, Okay!"

Grumbling under your breath, you simply moved out of the dining room. expecting for all of them to follow. The first one to follow you was Dick then, everyone else followed behind. For Alfred and Bruce, this was amusing since it's been ten years after not seeing you being an older sibling. You, though, it was torture. Nearing the front door and opening it, you stopped momentarily before looking back at the large group of pre-teens, teens, and adults. "If one of you acts out, I'll tie you with a child leash. This is a warning for both the youngest and oldest. Also, when I say we leave, we leave."

After the instructions, you, along with the others left the manor. Before leaving, Alfred offered the car keys but, you declined and went out into Gotham's streets.

The walk wasn't bad, besides the small chatter from behind you or the small talks Dick tried to have with you. Approximately, after twenty minutes walking, you got to a local flower shop before walking in, not warning any of them of your plans or errands.

"You're going into a flower shop, bro," Dick said confusedly.

Quickly, you simply said, "I know. I wouldn't be in the Marines, if I were blind."

Your retort was enough to make Jason hold back a laugh, finding it funny how you were able to settle down Dick with a few words. Despite the confusion in the group, they simply followed behind and entered the flower shop.

Once entering the flower shop, your nose was punched with the scent of flowers. While some enjoyed smelling flowers, you didn't since you've always thought that they all smelled like grass to you. Immediately, the group scattered around the shop as you made your way to the cashier, "Evening... I know it's probably late but, may I have a bouquet of red and white carnations? Also, you can add some leaves and other things to it... Don't want it looking simple."

Upon hearing you rumbling voice, the lady at the register looked up from the bouquet she was wrapping before smiling softly at you and nodding. You hummed quietly in appreciation before reaching into your pocket while the lady moved into the shop to collect the carnations and other pieces for the bouquet. Pulling out your wallet, you opened it and slid a rolled up fifty-dollar bill into the tip jar beside the displayed business cards on the counter. When the lady returned, you took a small glance at the collected items before looking away, staring down at the marble counter.

"Who are those for?"

Turning your head slightly, you looked at Duke and raised a brow at him. Unlike the rest of them, he looked different in your eyes. Not because of his skin color but, he seemed more at ease. Dick was childish, Jason was teasing, Tim was tired, Cassandra was silent, Damian was demanding, Stephanie was hyper but Duke, he seemed at ease.

"For someone I knew."

Duke glanced at you before looking back at the flowers of choice, watching the lady handle the carnations with gentle touches. "I'm sure, whoever it is, will like them," Duke said with a tone of approval. Genuinely, you were expecting for Duke to pry further but, he didn't and you respected that. After twenty minutes or so, the lady finished making the bouquet and you quietly paid and said, "thank you".

"Let's go. One more stop and then, we'll go eat." You spoke while walking through the shop, making your way to the door. As you walked through, your every step sent vibrations through the floor, making the surrounding flowers shake. Not bothering to look behind you while walking out the shop's door, you simply turned the corner and started to walk towards Gotham's Cemetery. Your hand held a tight grip around the bouquet of flowers, holding it close to your side as you contemplated on what you'd say when getting to the last destination of the small errand run.

From behind you, you ignored the chatter and whispers amongst the group, far too deep into your own thoughts to care. As you walked ahead of the rest of them, Duke walked closer to Dick, sliding between Dick and Jason while Stephanie stood close behind Duke to hear the conversation. "Hey, Dick", Duke started, gaining both Jason's and Dick's attention, along with everyone close enough to hear.

"How did they get to the manor?"

Now, that. That was the million-dollar question.

Dick glanced at Duke, smiling faltering slightly before clearing his throat and looking towards your back. Even from behind, anyone could tell that you had muscles under the grey t-shirt, no matter how loose it was on your build. "Honestly, I don't really know much about how they were taken in by Bruce. I just know bits and pieces but, in all truth... It's not my place to say. It's something that you should ask them."

Dick understood the wariness that the rest of them might have, he was like that too but now, he knew it was something to be talked about one-on-one. Though, just when the conversation was about to deepen, your voice rang out.

"All of you, wait here. Dick, you're in charge."

Quickly, everyone looked up and realized that they were at the cemetery. Before anyone could ask, you walked through the still opened gates with quiet ease and didn't explain further.

From behind, Damian crossed his arms over his chest, "Tt. What are they even wanting to do here?"

"Doesn't matter. They said to wait so, we will wait." Dick reasoned with the youngest.

"I don't care. As long as my dinner is paid, I'm happy." Jason shrugged, leaning agist one of the fences nearby and crossed his own arms.

Stephanie stood beside Cassandra, leaning towards the quiet girl while whining. "How boring."

Tim wasn't bothered by the wait, if anything, he was mostly on his phone throughout the entire walk.

On the other hand, Duke stood beside Dick, both watching you move further and further into the cemetery. The wait didn't take long, not when chattering was floating around amongst the siblings and eventually, you returned to the group. Your body seemed at ease and your hand was empty, no bouquet in sight for anyone to see.

"What do you all want for dinner?"

"Burgers", Jason said instantly, perking up at the rumble of your voice.

Damian's face scrunched up, "absolutely not. We should eat something high-quality and vegan."

This time, Tim looked up with a disgusted look on his face. "Let's just get pizza."

"We had pizza already. Did you forget Alfred made some back at home?" Stephanie said, wanting to be part of the food conversation.

Your eyes flickered around, looking all of their faces before sighing. "Let's figure it out on the way", you said in a regretful tone. As an entire discussion was being held behind you, Dick, Duke and Cassandra move to stand at your sides. You glanced at them before sighing, figuring out that you should get used to the rowdiness.

"So... who were the flowers for?"

"Not your business, Dick."

"Family member? Friend? Oh, I know! Past-lover!"

"No, no, and no."

"Yeah, figured that a past lover would be too farfetched."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Richard. John. Grayson."

Hearing you say Dick's legal full name made Duke and Cassandra look at you. On Duke's face, there's a look of surprise but on Cassandra, there was a look of amusement.

𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰 : From Pinterest 𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 : @majoringinfanfiction @starrydustedwinter @valinat @takahasiren @maaaahhhiii

𝓟𝓡𝓔𝓥𝓘𝓞𝓤𝓢𝓛𝓨 𝓒𝓞𝓝𝓣𝓘𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓞𝓝

𝓓𝓐𝓣𝓔 : 06/09/2026