#dramatic dick grayson

“You survived,” he says, falling into step beside you as you walk toward your shared English class.

“Barely. They want another fundraiser.”

His lips twitch. “God help Gotham.”

You don’t hold hands in the hallway—no need to draw attention—but he walks a little closer than strictly necessary. His shoulder brushes yours. It feels like gravity, subtle and constant. Neither of you says much. You don’t need to.

When a group of students rushes by, loud and careless, Damian subtly shifts. His shoulder angles in front of yours—not enough to block, just enough to guide. Like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like saying: I saw them before you did. I’ve got you.

By the time you reach your English classroom, neither of you has said much. But when you glance up, he's already looking at you. And for just a second, it feels like the hallway disappears. Just you, him, and the space between your shoulders brushing like a secret no one else gets to know.

In English, you sit beside him, listening as the class analyzes a poem about isolation. When the teacher missays ‘hyperbole’, you glance sideways just in time to see the slight twitch of Damian’s eyebrow.

He corrects the teacher without hesitation, his voice calm and clipped. No one argues. They never do.

You bite your lip to hide a smile, nudging his ankle beneath the desk. He nudges back.

By the time the bell rings, he’s already collected your book with his and is walking you to your biology class.

You fall into light conversation about your next class, you being excited about dissecting a flower in the biology lab and him mentioning the boredom he will experience in his Math class, grumbling something about “I’ve learned all this information when I was 7.” And you laugh it off.

No one says anything about you two. People notice, obviously—but no one’s brave enough to comment. Not about him. Not about the way he always seems to know your schedule. Not about the way he hands you your lab notebook before you even reach for it.

When you reach the science wing, he pauses. His hand ghosts your lower back before he murmurs, “Text me when you’re done.”

But just before you step inside, you glance back.

He’s already looking.

And for one second, it’s like the hallway doesn’t exist. Just him. Just you. Just that invisible, unspoken thing in the air between your shoulders brushing.

Like you’re both in on a secret the rest of the world hasn’t noticed yet.

Biology passes in a blur of petals, chloroplasts, and another classmate begging for your notes.

Then, fifty minutes later, like clockwork, Damian is waiting outside the classroom door.

You don’t ask how he always manages to be outside the right classroom at the right time. He doesn’t explain. He just holds out your Physics book like it’s always been his job to carry it for you.

In Physics, you’re lab partners. You race each other through the equations. You tie. He says nothing. You call it a win anyway.

When the bell rings for lunch, you both start heading to the cafeteria.

You sit at your usual table by the east-facing windows. The spot is quiet, tucked just out of sight but flooded with sun. Damian doesn’t sit until you do. Damian’s presence brings you comfort, his tray perfectly portioned and untouched while he waits for you to steal a bite first.

Jon shows up five minutes later, loud and beaming, armed with two juice boxes and a half-squished bag of chips he claims are “cafeteria contraband.”

Damian breaks off half a chocolate croissant and places the bigger piece on your tray without a word. He does this every Monday. You pretend not to notice. You always do.

Some things don’t need to be said.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-01 CALLSIGN: Nightwing OBJECTIVE: Reconnaissance and Relationship Confirmation TIMESTAMP: 08:00 – 12:10 HOURS LOCATION: Gotham City – Various Civilian Hotspots

Dick Grayson had three goals by noon:

Befriend everyone who’s ever handed Y/N a latte.

Casually gather intel without setting off alarm bells.

Not look like he was spiraling over his baby brother’s secret love life.

He was currently failing at all three. Time to change that.

At 08:00 AM sharp, Dick Grayson stepped onto the sidewalk with a mission and a smile.

No rooftops today. No grappling hooks. Just him, a casual hoodie, charming dimples, and a growing suspicion that his little brother was hiding a life-altering romantic situation from the family. Which, frankly, was just rude.

If Damian was emotionally compromised, the least he could do was fill out the proper paperwork.

So, Dick had taken it upon himself to go old-school, an approach he was sure the other agents wouldn’t take.. which was exactly his reason for choosing it. No satellites. No drones. Just good, old-fashioned in-person recon—plus a few planted trackers for flavor.

08:07 AM – Café Recon

First stop: Le Petit Noir, the cozy Gotham café Y/N was known to frequent. Dick stepped inside, adjusted the collar of his jacket, and smiled at the barista like he’d just invented charm.

“Morning,” he said, voice warm. “First time here. This place always smells like cinnamon and regret, or is that just Monday?”

The barista, a college-aged guy with a nose ring and an eyebrow scar, snorted. “You nailed the vibe.”

Dick ordered a black coffee and a slice of cake (‘research purposes’), then leaned casually on the counter.

Dick smiled. “Trying to become a regular. My brother recommended the place. Brooding tall guy, olive skin tone, dark hair, Gotham Academy uniform? Always sits by the window?”

“Oh. Yeah. Him,” the barista said, nodding. “He and his girlfriend come in sometimes. Kinda intense.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Dick added mental red alert sirens to his internal soundtrack.

“Totally chill,” he said aloud. “Love that for them.”

He chatted with the barista a bit longer, gave a charming smirk, left a generous tip, memorized the layout of the café, and walked out knowing he’d be back before sunset.

08:59 AM – Caffeine Intel

Dick wasn’t done. Not yet. Not when the truth might be hiding one latte away.

So, with the casual determination of a man on the verge of losing it, he crossed the street to the café directly facing Le Petit Noir. It was less aesthetic, more fluorescent, and the barista behind the counter looked exactly like someone who’d rather be asleep. Perfect.

He ordered a latte he had no intention of drinking, and leaned against the counter like a guy with way too much free time. “Busy morning?” he asked lightly.

The barista shrugged. “Not really. Just a few of the usuals.” She glanced out the front window, toward the rival café across the street. “That place gets all the weird ones, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick said, like he wasn’t already mentally sharpening his spiral knife. “What kind of weird? Couples and PDA?”

She nodded, gesturing with her chin. “There’s this one kid. Always dressed like he’s on his way to a funeral, even at 7 A.M. Real serious. Sharp jaw. Good hair. Definitely thinks he’s the main character.” Dick’s stomach dropped. “And he pulls out chairs for his girlfriend. Every single time. Same table. Doesn’t even sit down until she does. It’s like watching a black-and-white romance movie play out in 4K.”

Dick blinked. “He… pulls out her chair?”

“Yeah.” The barista blew a bubble with her gum, unimpressed. “Old-school. Makes the rest of us look bad.”

Dick laughed, but it sounded strangled. He took a sip of his mint tea. It tasted like betrayal. “She has a coffee routine,” he muttered. “And he pulls out her chair? What is this—pre-marriage courtship?? I swear if I see a napkin doodle with both their initials, I’m defecting.”

He glanced out the window again. The table was empty now. But the implication lingered like a ghost.

He added a mental note to the growing evidence wall in his mind:

POSSIBLE EVIDENCE PIECE – THE CHAIR RITUAL Routine table. Consistent location. Subject D.W. performs romantic gestures without hesitation. Possible courtship behavior = dangerously high commitment levels. Status: Pre-Honeymoon Behavior. Immediate concern. Priority: CATCH THEM IN THE ACT

He thanked the barista, left an absurd tip out of guilt and spiraling, and walked out feeling haunted by the image of his 17-year-old brother performing emotional grand gestures like some tiny Victorian husband.

This was worse than he thought.

And he was only just getting started.

09:31 AM – Pet Store Sweep

Next stop: Paws & Whiskers, a tiny shop with cracked tile floors. The moment he walked in, a dog barked, a cat hissed, and Dick felt right at home.

He struck up a conversation with the store clerk while pretending to browse chew toys he definitely didn’t need.

“You guys ever get volunteers from Gotham Academy?”

“All the time. There’s this one girl—h/c hair, always in a rush? She comes in with her Animal Welfare Club and talks to the animals like they’re her coworkers. I swear I saw one of the cats bow once. Kind of adorable.” The clerk said.

Bingo.

“She’s always nice,” the clerk added. “Tells the kittens they’re doing great. I didn’t know cats could be motivated.”

Dick laughed, tucked that info away, and smiled like his heart wasn’t unraveling. “Aw. Kids these days.”

He then bought a suspicious amount of organic dog treats. Just in case. Alfred’s going to be confused.

10:22 AM – Art Store Charm Offensive

By the time he entered Graphite Dreams, the art supply store tucked between a laundromat and a tarot shop, Dick was in full-on casual mode: hoodie sleeves rolled up, messenger bag over the shoulder, low-stakes flirting with the tired college girl behind the register.

“I swear I’m not just here for the fancy pens. Okay, maybe I am.”

She smiled faintly. “Let me guess—graphic design major?”

“Close. Night-shift philosophy.”

She laughed. Progress.

They chatted. He mentioned an “artistic cousin” who was into mixed media. The girl started speaking about the regulars and the weird ones. Dick mentioned teenagers and their art. The girl rolled her eyes affectionately. “We have this regular, Y/N, she’s like that. She’s always here, buys those mechanical pencils in bulk like they’re going extinct. She totally has a favorite shelf.”

“Y/N L/N?” Dick said innocently.

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Oh, my cousin might. Small world.”          

Dick made a mental note to check said shelf later for souvenirs evidence. He paid in cash and left with a sketchbook, several suspiciously sharp pencils, and three names to file under Known Civilian Hotspots of Suspect Y/N L/N.

EVIDENCE PIECE A: Y/N L/N: KNOWN CIVILIAN HOTSPOTS: 🔹 Le Petit Noir Café: Barista (college student, nose ring, eyebrow scar) confirmed repeated visits. She has a usual order. This implies routine. Intimacy with caffeine. Often accompanied by subject D.W. (see: suspect Damian Wayne) Quote: “He and his girlfriend come in sometimes. Kinda intense.” Status: Suspected Regular Threat Level: Mochaccino-Adjacent Romance 🔹 Paws & Whiskers Pet Store: Known member of Gotham Academy’s Animal Welfare Club Allegedly motivates kittens. Who does that?? “She talks to the animals like they’re her coworkers. I swear I saw one of the cats bow once.” — Store Clerk Status: Cat Communicator. Possibly Snow White in disguise. Threat Level: Unreasonably Wholesome 🔹 Graphite Dreams Art Supply Store: Known shelf-loiterer. Buys mechanical pencils in bulk. Has a favorite bookshelf. A shrine? A secret passage? Cashier called her “one of our regulars” and smiled like that was a fond memory. Status: Pencil Hoarder. Suspected Artistic Overachiever. Threat Level: Artsy. Probably emotionally well-adjusted.

By 11:30, his charm offensive was complete. Gotham’s local businesses were softening. His civilian web was forming.

11:46 AM – Safehouse Spiral

Dick Grayson had been in love before.

He knew what it looked like.

That’s why he was starting to sweat.

He sat cross-legged at the safehouse terminal (not the DSSS agents’ allocated safehouse, his own safehouse), coffee going cold beside him, eyes flicking across the network of traffic cams, school feeds, and public security loops he’d quietly tapped into over the last three hours. Tim was busy obsessing over drones. Jason was doing something morally grey. And Dick?

Dick was following the receipts. Digitally.

He was here to confirm suspicions, not feed them.

A few keystrokes later, he was into multiple different camera networks.

He started with the street cams near Gotham Academy—just to “check morning traffic,” he told himself. Totally normal. Totally casual.

It didn’t take long.

▶️ 07:57 AM – Traffic Cam Footage | South Gate | Gotham Academy

Two figures. Damian Wayne and Y/N L/N. Walking side by side toward the school entrance. Same stride. Matching pace.

Damian’s head tilted slightly toward her as she talked. She carried her bag on one shoulder. He held her coffee.

Dick froze the frame.

He zoomed.

Then zoomed again.

Her face was lit up mid-sentence. Damian had that look—neutral but listening, all sharp lines and unsaid things—but there was ease in the way they moved. Familiarity.

Like they’d done this a hundred times.

He printed the frame.

EVIDENCE PIECE B: SYNCHRONIZED ENTRY He Walked Her There, Didn’t He?

Dick blew out a breath.

Okay. Fine. Maybe it was coincidence. They could’ve just run into each other. No big deal. This didn’t mean anything yet. He still had plausible deniability.

Then he opened the classroom footage.

▶️ 08:56 AM – Classroom Feed | Room 3C | English

There they were again.

In their seats. Side by side.

She leaned toward him at one point, just a little, like she was hiding a smile. He handed her a highlighter without even glancing. The teacher mispronounced hyperbole. Damian corrected her.

And then—

She nudged his ankle under the desk.

Dick blinked.

No. No, no, no—

Damian nudged her back.

Dick choked on his coffee.

It was so small. So subtle. So domestic.

Dick’s soul left his body.

 He paused the feed. Stared. Rewound. Watched it again. And again.

“This is flirting. This is strategic. This is emotionally synchronized ankle flirting. This is calculated emotional sabotage!”

He paused the footage again. Stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. Then he dragged his hands down his face and muttered:

“This is... this is illegal. This is weaponized intimacy.”

He printed the footage.

EVIDENCE PIECE C: CLASSROOM SEATING – THE HYPERBOLE AND ANKLES INCIDENT™ EYEBROW FLIRTING = ROMANTIC CODE LEVEL 9 PHYSICAL CONTACT!! REPEATING BEHAVIOR!! ANKLE FLIRTING EXISTS!!! HE DIDN’T EVEN LOOK DOWN. THIS IS A WELL-OILED MACHINE OF ROMANTIC NONSENSE. IF THIS ISN’T LOVE, I’M CANCELING ROMANCE

Dick sat in stunned silence. The room buzzed with the low hum of the computer. The croissant he bought earlier stared at him from the counter like it knew.

“They’re in sync,” he whispered.

It wasn’t just the shared classes. Or the textbook handoffs. Or the synchronized arrival. It was the looks. The muscle memory. The comfort.

It was the softness.

They were soft with each other.

He hated it. He loved it.

He was spiraling.

“Okay,” he said aloud, standing up and pointing at the evidence wall forming in real time. “Okay. So. He walked her to school. They sit together. They flirt. With ankles. Which is apparently a thing now.”

Dick inhaled deeply. He was fine. He was calm. He was not overreacting.

He exhaled.

He stared at the screen.

He was fine.

He was calm.

He was going to plant a tracker on her by the end of the day.

For her safety, obviously.

And also for evidence.

But mostly her safety.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-02CALLSIGN: Red HoodOBJECTIVE: Infiltrate Gotham Academy and (not so) covertly monitor subjectsTIMESTAMP: 08:00 – 12:10 HOURSLOCATION: Gotham Academy & Vicinity

Jason Todd had done a lot of insane things in his life. Infiltrating a prep school before noon wasn’t even Top Ten.

But tailing his demon brother’s maybe-girlfriend? That was… a new low. Or a high. He hadn’t decided yet.

He didn't want to be here.

He also didn’t want to be emotionally invested in his demon brother’s mysterious maybe-girlfriend, but here they were—him, outside Gotham Academy, and Damian, somewhere in this building committing either a crime or a deeply inconvenient romance.

So. Yeah. Monday.

At exactly 08:00 AM, Jason strolled past the front gates of Gotham Academy wearing a fitted black turtleneck, charcoal slacks, and his Wayne Enterprises Head of Security badge clipped to his belt. He looked sharp. Official. Slightly homicidal. Perfect.

He made it two steps into the main building before someone flagged him down.

“Uh—sir? Can I help you?”

Jason stopped, offered a half-smile that said ‘I know things you don’t’ and flipped his badge.

“Jason Todd-Wayne. Wayne Enterprises. Head of Security.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Bruce wanted a quick sweep of the premises. Can’t be too careful. What with all the… high-profile legacies enrolled.”

“Oh! Right. Of course!” The assistant flustered. “Would you like a student liaison—?”

“No need.” Jason waved her off, already walking. “I’ll manage.”

He didn’t need help.

He needed answers.

08:07 AM – Operation: Hall of Honor: Initiated

Jason wandered the halls like he belonged there—which, technically, he didn’t, but he also didn’t care.

He passed several classrooms, paused near a hallway display titled “Academic Excellence at Gotham Academy”, and—

Bingo.

There they were.

Framed and polished, gleaming under a spotlight like Gotham’s most delicate secret:

Nine medals. All with Y/N L/N etched into their nameplates.

🥇 Academic Decathlon Champion 🥇 State Science Olympiad Winner. 🥇 Regional Mathletes Gold Medalist. 🥇 National Youth Essay Contest Winner. 🥇 Top Score – Gotham City National Exams 🥇 Gold Medal – International Linguistics Olympiad 🥇 Best Research Paper – Gotham STEM Fair 🥇 1st Place – National History Day Competition 🥇 State Champion – Academic Pentathlon

Jason stepped closer, hands in his pockets, squinting at the engraved labels like they personally offended him.

“Of course she has medals,” he muttered, tilting his head and smirking faintly, "Overachiever. Probably alphabetizes her notebooks.”

He snapped a picture with his burner phone.

ITEM ONE: MEDALS THE GIRL WINS THINGS. WHY. could be a cult leader. or worse—valedictorian material.

He paused. Took another picture. Then one more. Just to be dramatic. The reflections were different in each. It felt important.

Then he added another sticky note to his notebook:

What is she trying to prove?? (Other than being perfect??)

Then Jason glanced a few feet down the display, curious.

Another set of medals—smaller, only three. He stepped over and squinted.

Damian Wayne.

🥇 Gotham Academy Debate Finalist 🥇 Inter-School Chess Tournament Runner-Up 🥇 Gotham Prep Fencing Invitational – First Place

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

A slow, evil grin stretched across his face.

He leaned in close, lips twitching as he whispered to the glass: “Oh my god. She has more.”

He turned back toward Y/N’s section, then toward Damian’s.

“His girlfriend has more medals than him,” he snorted, pulling out his burner phone again. “Oh, this is delicious.”

Click. Click. Click.

He zoomed in on the nameplates and jotted down another note under the medal display log:

ITEM ONE: SUBSECTION: RIVALRY – COMPARATIVE MEDAL DATA Y/N: 9 🥇 | Damian: 3 🥇 Conclusion: She wins. At everything. Sticky note: Demon Spawn = academically outmatched?? (He’s going to need therapy. Again.)

Jason snickered. This was prime teasing material.

Jason turned to leave the medal display, muttering something unprintable under his breath, when—

He stopped.

Took three slow steps to the left.

And stared.

Another case. This one taller. Glass a little smudged.

And packed—packed—with trophies.

Seven.

All proudly engraved with the same cursed name: Y/N L/N.

Jason stepped closer, squinting at each one like it was a personal attack.

🏆 1st Place – Gotham Regional Debate Tournament 🏆 Grand Prize – Gotham Academy Art Showcase 🏆 Varsity Track Champion – 100m Sprint 🏆 Top Speaker – National Public Debate Finals 🏆 Best Floor Routine – Gotham State Gymnastics Meet 🏆 First Place – Biotech Innovation Challenge 🏆 Top Scorer – Gotham Girls’ Archery Invitational

Jason stared.

Then stared harder.

“Okay,” he whispered. “She does genius things. She runs. She monologues people into submission. She paints. She flips. She invents biotech. She shoots arrows.”

He took a slow, deep breath.

“This girl’s a one-woman Batfamily.”

He stared at the case like it had personally wronged him.

“This is a threat,” he muttered. “This is absolutely a threat.”

Click. Click. Click. He snapped three pictures, then dropped into a crouch and added them to his evidence file like he was handling nuclear codes.

ITEM TWO: TROPHY PARADE OF DOOM Is she planning to become mayor? Or a vigilante? Or queen of Earth? Who needs this many skill sets?? Conclusion: Threat Level = Unholy. Possible vigilante material. Or president. Or both. Damian is dating a goddess. I need to lie down.

He scribbled on another sticky note and slapped it onto the page:

Plot twist: Damian is the side character.

And with that, Jason walked away from the case like it might explode.

He snickered all the way down the hall.

But twenty-nine steps and one vending machine detour later—

He stopped.

Brows furrowed. Feet frozen.

A second trophy case stood near the fencing wing—larger, older, and clearly reserved for one specific student. Polished brass plaque at the top: “Gotham Academy: Distinguished Athletic and Academic Excellence”

Inside?

Thirteen trophies.

Thirteen.

Each engraved with the same smug little name: Damian Wayne.

Jason squinted.

🏆 1st Place – Gotham Prep Fencing Invitational 🏆 Top Scorer – Regional Chess Circuit 🏆 MVP – Interscholastic Martial Arts Tournament 🏆 Grand Prize – Gotham Youth Robotics Showcase 🏆 First Place – National Latin Exam 🏆 Gotham History Bowl Champion 🏆 State Archery Gold Medalist 🏆 Gotham Academy Art Competition – 1st Place 🏆 Best Short Story – Citywide Literary Fair 🏆 Gotham Academy Debate MVP 🏆 Biology Research Showcase Winner 🏆 Top Score – Tactical Logic Assessment 🏆 Gotham Philosophy Club Symposium Champion

Jason just stared.

“…Are you kidding me?”

He counted again.

Thirteen.

He leaned forward until his forehead lightly tapped the glass.

“Okay. Fine. Fine,” he muttered, pulling out his phone like it betrayed him. “Demon spawn can’t let his girlfriend win anything, huh?”

Click. Click. Click. He snapped three photos and slapped a fresh sticky note into his notebook with way too much aggression.

ITEM TWO: SUBSECTION: DEMON SPAWN’S TROPHY HOARD – COMPARATIVE TROPHY DATA Y/N: 7 🏆 | Damian: 13 🏆 Conclusion: She has more medals. He has more trophies. They definitely bicker about this.

Second sticky note:

Relationship dynamic = Competitive Nerds™ Theory: they probably race each other to class. This is their foreplay. I hate it here.

Jason stepped back, shook his head, and muttered under his breath as he walked away: “They’re both insane. That’s why it works. They deserve each other. God help the rest of us.”

Operation: Hall of Honor: Notes: Subject exhibits overwhelming dominance in academic, athletic, and artistic fields. Possible cult leader. Or valedictorian. Possibly both.

09:47 AM – Operation: Eyes on the Asset: Initiated

The bell would ring soon, he had to act.

Next goal: locate the subjects.

It wasn’t hard.

Jason had shadowed enough missions to know how to walk without being seen. Even in a crowded school hallway, he moved like smoke—eavesdropping from the corner of doorways, listening for that familiar low-pitched growl that could only belong to Damian freaking Wayne.

He found him outside the biology lab around 09:49. Damian was waiting casually, back against the wall, arms crossed, looking like the grumpiest Victorian ghost in a modern-day prep school.

No phone. No book. Just… waiting. For her.

Jason blinked.

Y/N appeared, beaming about “chromoplast distribution” and “the dissection was perfect” and “the pollen was so fluffy.” She bumped his arm with her elbow.

Damian tilted his head slightly, listening like no one else existed in the hallway.

Jason blinked again.

“Okay,” he said under his breath. “We’re doing this now.”

Damian did the impossible: he smiled.

A small one but a smile nonetheless.

Jason felt something in his ribcage collapse.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and discreetly snapping a picture of them standing together—her mid-ramble, him mid-listen, that faint softness haunting his face like he didn’t know how to stop looking at her.

ITEM THREE: POST-FLOWER DISSECTION FLIRTING

He slapped multiple sticky notes onto in his notebook:

EMOTIONAL LOITERING. He was waiting outside her class. Just waiting. He holds her book. Like some sort of… soft-boy assassin. They share air?? WHY DO THEY SHARE AIR??

He hated (loved) how synchronized they looked.

Hated how quiet they were around each other. How effortless it was. Just how long had this been going on?

Operation: Eyes on the Asset: Notes: Subject appears emotionally compromised. Observation includes hallway proximity, mutual softness, and suspicious synchronization. Recommend emotional extraction team. Or a nap.

10:24 AM – Operation Locker Recon: Initiated

Jason had a sixth sense for emotional vulnerability. It was practically a gift.

So when he passed a row of lockers, he didn't hesitate to look for hers. No one was nearby. They were all in class

He found her locker. It wasn’t hard—he’d already memorized the floor plan.

He took out a pin and got started on picking the lock, which was one of the easiest things he had ever done. Click. Click. And it was open. Perfect.

Her handwriting was visible on a binder label inside. A hoodie, too. Folded neatly and tucked in. Clean. Organized.

He saw it before he meant to: a sticky note. Yellow. Carefully folded. Wedged beneath her day planner.

Quick glance left. Quick glance right.

Swipe.

Stole it.

Unfolded it.

Damian’s handwriting. Small, sharp, clean:

“Don’t forget your scarf. It’s cold today.”

Jason stared at it.

Then stared harder.

“I’m going to throw myself into traffic.”

He took it, closed the locker shut, and stormed off.

ITEM FOUR: THE DOMESTIC THREAT NOTE

Sticky note added:

This is violence. This is criminal levels of thoughtfulness. Why does he know the weather?? Is he checking?? Does he have apps?? evidence: he’s thoughtful. she kept it. we are in hell.

He didn’t take a picture. He kept the original. He had plans for it. Hopefully she wouldn't realize it was missing.

Operation notes:

Operation Locker Recon: Notes: Subject Y/N's locker accessed. Intel retrieved: handwritten note from Damian Wayne. Contents emotionally destabilizing. Classification: Domestic Threat, High Impact. Agent A-02’s morale: severely compromised.

11:54 AM – Operation: Croissant Protocol – Initiated

Jason didn’t sit.

He stood just inside the cafeteria entrance, blending in near a half-broken vending machine and pretending to read a fire evacuation map like his life depended on it.

(It kind of did. If Damian saw him lurking near his girlfriend during lunch hour, Jason would be forced to fake his own death again.)

But he could see them. Perfectly.

There, in their usual spot—tucked beneath the east-facing windows, sun slanting across the table like something out of a sentimental indie film—sat the crime.

Y/N and Damian.

Not facing each other like normal teens. No. Side by side. Same pace. Same tray movements. Mirror reflections of teen domesticity.

Jason clenched his jaw and focused.

Damian didn’t sit until she did. Typical. Always dramatic.

His tray sat untouched in front of him—perfectly portioned, like Alfred made it himself.

He didn’t take a single bite.

Not until she stole the first one.

Jason saw it.

She leaned over. Took a forkful of something from Damian’s plate without asking.

Damian didn’t flinch. He just handed her the water bottle cap like they were a two-person machine.

Then came the kicker.

A few minutes in, Jon Kent appeared—sprinting over with all the subtlety of a dropped piano—two juice boxes, a wrinkled bag of chips, and zero self-awareness.

Damian broke off a chocolate croissant and—without a word—placed the bigger half on Y/N’s tray.

Like clockwork. Like ritual. Like he did it every single Monday.

Jason’s left eye twitched.

He raised his phone, zooming in, he snapped a quick photo.

ITEM FIVE: THE CROISSANT CODE He saved her the bigger half. It’s always the bigger half. This is… premeditated romance.

He scribbled on a sticky note and slapped it next to the photo:

CHOCOLATE = COMMITMENT?? MONDAY ROUTINE = LONG-TERM BEHAVIOR. SEND HELP. Emotional routine established. Comfort level: Dangerous. Looked like love. I’m unwell. Croissant routine = domestic intimacy = code red = someone please sedate me

From a few feet away, Jason caught the way Y/N bumped her knee lightly against Damian’s under the table. He didn’t even look up. Just adjusted his tray slightly, like they were communicating in Morse code via knee contact.

Jason sighed. Loudly. Then immediately silenced himself and pretended to read the fire map again.

This was psychological warfare.

And he was losing.

He pulled back before the bell rang—quick exit through the courtyard, just in case—but not before jotting down one final observation in his notebook:

Note to self: Damian is in deeper than we thought. He’s croissant-deep. That’s at least a 7 on the Emotional Entanglement Scale.

And with that, Jason slipped out of the cafeteria and into his next round of bad decisions.

Operation: Croissant Protocol: Notes: Subjects engaged in synchronized domestic behavior. Tray synchronization confirmed. Food sharing observed. Emotional entanglement: Severe. Analyst note: We are now croissant-deep. May require extraction.

12:10 PM – Emotional Damage Acquired

Jason backed off just as lunch ended. Watched as Damian picked up her book bag like it was instinct.

Watched as she leaned toward him, whispered something, and made him smirk. Actually smirk.

Jason turned away before he had to witness anything worse.

Like feelings.

Or forehead kisses.

He messaged the others:

GROUP CHAT MESSAGE: THE DSSS AGENTS [AGENT A-02]: He’s in deep. Possibly whipped. Evidence pending full spiral. [AGENT A-03]: What kind of evidence? [AGENT A-02]: Sticky notes. Croissants. Flower dissection aftermath. And that’s before 1 PM.

He took a look at his notebook filled with evidence, he stared at it for a long second.

Jason Todd had been dead before. He had lived through Lazarus madness. He had fought assassins, demons, and billionaires with god complexes.

But this?

This was worse.

Damian Wayne was in love.

It was the end of times.

And Jason was going to gather every bit of evidence before the whole world collapsed.

He took a long breath and then whispered, “You poor, dangerous idiot.”

⸻

DAY ONE AGENT: A-03CALLSIGN: Red Robin OBJECTIVE: Deploy Drones and Gather Evidence on Suspect Y/N L/N TIMESTAMP: 08:00 – 12:10 HOURS LOCATION: Wayne Manor (Command Post Alpha)

At exactly 08:01, Tim Drake slipped into Gotham Academy's internal servers like a whisper in the dark. 

Firewall? Bypassed. Security protocols? Please. School database? His.

He barely sipped his black coffee.

“Honestly,” he muttered, typing with one hand and spinning a flash drive between two fingers, “this is insulting.”

On Monitor 1: a clean scroll of Y/N L/N's academic record, locker combo, attendance logs, scanned ID badge timestamps, assignment history, and digital footprints so detailed it would make a privacy lawyer cry.

On Monitor 2: a live top-down map of Gotham Academy, classroom names updating in real-time.

On Monitor 3: the drone feed from Birdwatcher-2, now disguised as a standard-issue smoke detector and nestled in the top corner of the principal's office in the administration floor. It locked in place, invisible to the untrained eye. The live feed popped open.

Monitor 4 blinked to life. Tim stared at a live multi-feed grid of strategically placed security cameras throughout Gotham Academy’s common areas — classes, hallways, cafeteria, courtyard, and stairwells — with AI-assisted motion tracking highlighting Y/N and Damian’s movements. Red blip: Y/N. Blue blip: Damian. The feed is overlaid with discreet timestamps, subtle heat-mapping to show crowd density, and a digital log recording all interactions Y/N has with other students and staff, cataloged by facial recognition software.

8:02 AM - Student Council Meeting + Aftermath

Tim’s eyes flicked up from the scrolling academic records to the live drone feed on Monitor 3 just as the student council meeting dragged on below. The AI-highlighted figure of Y/N shifted restlessly in the principal's office feed — clipboard clutched, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on its edge.

The principal’s voice droned on about funding allocations. He barely registered the bureaucratic babble—his focus was on the bored figure of Y/N L/N, captured by Birdwatcher-2’s tiny lens perched inconspicuously in the ceiling corner.

The feed showed a cluster of students around a polished oval table, Y/N among them, her fingers tapping along the edge of a clipboard. Tim zoomed in, noting the subtle tension in her posture, the occasional glance away from the treasurer who was persistently pitching bake sales like a crusade.

Tim continued observing, occasionally going back to monitor 1 to continue his task of hacking and finding anything and everything related to Y/N L/N's standing at Gotham Academy. He also occasionally glanced at a camera feed on monitor 4, checking on Damian's stoic behavior in his biology lab.

08:47 AM - What The Hell

Tim’s fingers paused on the keyboard as his eyes flicked over to Monitor 4, watching the crowded hallway near the administration offices. The bell was still three minutes away from dismissing the next period, but there — unmistakably — Damian Wayne stepped away from his classroom, moving with quiet purpose.

Tim zoomed in. Damian’s usual stoic expression was there, but something softer flickered as he made his way toward the principal’s office. The AI motion tracker picked up on Damian’s deliberate pace, focused and unhurried, unmistakably headed towards the administration floor.

Tim paused. Screenshotted. Labeled.

Exhibit A – Early Exit Behavior: Timestamp: 08:47 AM Source: Monitor 4 – Hallway C-6 | AI Motion Tracking Overview: Captured Damian Wayne exiting his classroom three full minutes prior to the period’s end bell. No hall pass was issued. No external summons. Movements indicate premeditated timing — his trajectory leads directly toward the administration wing, intercepting Y/N’s location moments before she exits the principal’s office. Analysis: - Behavior suggests anticipation of Y/N’s release from the Student Council meeting. - Confirmed routine: coordinated link-up between both subjects during class transition windows. - Indicates elevated level of familiarity, pre-established pattern, and discreet synchronization. Conclusion: Damian’s willingness to leave class early—risking faculty notice—is significant. For someone obsessed with punctuality and discipline, this deviation implies emotional priority override. He’s choosing her over protocol. Subject Damian is actively seeking Subject Y/N during transition periods. Behavior implies emotional attachment and pre-planned coordination. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Behavioral Evidence – Category: Prioritized Engagement Commentary: Excuse me?? This man LEFT CLASS. Ditching biology. Voluntarily. This is not the Damian Wayne I know. This is a man on a mission, and that mission is apparently called ‘escort duty.’ He doesn’t even look stressed about it. Just cool and collected and walking like a knight on patrol. He probably calculated the exact second he needed to slip out without getting marked absent. I hate how smooth this is. I’m both impressed and personally offended.

The real-time motion tracker on Monitor 4 pinged as Y/N rose the instant the bell rang. Tim watched as she moved swiftly, efficient and purposeful, the clipboard now tucked under Damian’s arm. His gaze softened at her, something the cameras could never capture but the algorithms marked as a slight slowdown in his otherwise hawk-like attention scan.

The faint brush of fingers as she handed over the clipboard was a microscopic moment Tim caught, zooming in on the frame for analysis. “Noted,” he muttered, snapping a quick screenshot and saving it.

Tim stared at the high-resolution screenshot capturing the brief, almost imperceptible brush of fingers between Y/N and Damian as she handed over her clipboard. The contact lasts less than a second but is framed perfectly by the drone’s camera angle.

He added it to the “Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip", labeling it and adding his notes:

Exhibit B – Subtle Physical Contact: Timestamp: 08:50 AM Source: Monitor 3 – Birdwatcher-2 (Principal’s Office Exit Feed) Overview: Captured a 0.7-second fingertip contact between Y/N and Damian during clipboard handoff. Seemingly minor, but framed perfectly by the drone’s camera feed. Occurs in a crowded hallway environment, yet neither party hesitates or adjusts course—implies pre-existing comfort with casual proximity. Analysis: - Physical Cue: Skin-to-skin contact indicates a form of intimate nonverbal communication—deliberate in timing and context. - Public Awareness: No flinch, glance, or nervous body language post-contact. They're used to this. - Emotional Signal: Suggests closeness and familiarity. Not accidental. Definitely not platonic. Conclusion: Subtle, quiet intimacy. This is not just a “we’re lab partners” situation—this is a "you can hold my soul and my clipboard" kind of moment. The precision of the gesture and the context imply emotional connection and daily practice. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Physical Evidence – Category: Low-Key Romance Commentary: Oh, come on. They’re doing secret hallway hand-holding disguised as clipboard passing now? What is this, an indie romance movie? It’s the microsecond stuff that gets me. This wasn’t some accidental graze—this was practiced. This was rehearsed. This was muscle memory. If I have to look at one more slow-motion close-up of Damian’s fingers doing the world’s most subtle pinky tap, I’m going to lose it. Also, Damian?? YOU HAVE A FACE. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO SHOW EMOTION. STOP LOOKING AT HER LIKE SHE’S THE LAST STAR IN THE SKY AND GET BACK TO THE DISSECTION OF FLOWERS.

08:54 AM – Subtle Shielding Protocol

Tim watched the hallway feed on Monitor 4 like a man waiting for an asteroid to hit. The moment Y/N and Damian merged into the stream of students flowing through Corridor C, the AI tracker locked onto them—red blip and blue blip, side by side.

They weren’t holding hands. Of course not. That would be too obvious. But that didn’t matter.

Because Damian didn’t need to hold her hand to make his point.

Tim narrowed his eyes as the blue blip shifted ever so slightly. Onscreen, Damian angled his body—not directly in front of Y/N, just ahead and to the side. Enough to intercept the shoulder of a football player barreling by, to block a swinging backpack, to steer her away from a puddle of spilled coffee with a half-step pivot.

It was automatic. Smooth. Precise.

Tim muted the ambient mic feed, watching the scene unfold. Y/N said nothing, didn’t react visibly—but she adjusted her steps just enough to sync with him, like this was muscle memory.

Tim sat back slowly in his chair and typed a few lines into his log:

Flagged Notation For Review (Not Quite Exhibit Worthy) – Subtle Shielding During High-Traffic Transit: Timestamp: 08:52-08:58 AM Source: Monitor 4 – Corridor C - Overhead Cam Overview: Subject Damian Wayne is observed subtly angling his body ahead of Y/N during hallway travel, placing himself between her and incoming pedestrian traffic. Contact with obstacles is deflected through calculated micro-positioning—no verbal coordination required. Behavior consistent across three separate crowd incidents in under 30 seconds. Analysis: - Reflexive Protection: Timing and consistency suggest ingrained behavior pattern—possibly subconscious. - Familiar Response: Y/N adjusts to Damian’s positioning without resistance or surprise, implying repetition. - Social Discretion: No verbal acknowledgment exchanged; behavior appears casual to bystanders but is functionally protective. Conclusion: This isn’t performative chivalry. This is habit. Protective instinct baked into their interactions. The kind you don’t develop overnight. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Behavioral Evidence – Category: Instinctive Guarding Commentary: What is this? The human shield maneuver?? Is he tanking hallway damage for her now? What’s next, jumping in front of vending machines so they don’t eat her change? I swear, he walked her past a group of football players like he was scanning for snipers. And she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even blink. This is normal to her. Which means this isn’t new. I knew it. I knew something was up. You don’t just build hallway instincts like that with your lab partner. Not unless your lab partner is also your secret girlfriend and apparently the literal center of your gravity.

He then started a new file and went over all of their behaviors so far, analyzing their expressions and body language, noting their psychological implications.

Psychological Observations – Subject Y/N L/N & Subject Damian Wayne

Y/N L/N:

Behavioral Efficiency: Quick to exit meetings and transition to next objective. Displays task-oriented mindset, especially under institutional tedium.

Self-Controlled Presentation: Shows restraint in public—does not engage in overt emotional displays despite visible affection cues to and from Damian.

Social Intelligence: Adapts her behavior based on environment—knows when to blend in, when to lead, and how to manage attention subtly.

Emotional Regulation: Keeps physical affection minimal in public, suggesting conscious boundary-setting. Protects the relationship dynamic from exposure.

Trust Response: Easily hands over clipboard and shares brief physical contact; implies long-term trust and quiet emotional reliance.

Damian Wayne:

Protective Instincts: Uses body language (shoulder positioning, walking angle) to shield Y/N in high-traffic areas—instinctual, not performative.

Routine Disruption: Leaves class early with precision timing to escort Y/N—breaks his usual adherence to structure.

Softened Demeanor: Facial recognition algorithms detect slight gaze softening when focused on Y/N—uncharacteristic deviation from baseline stoicism.

Nonverbal Priority Indicators: Assumes position beside her without verbal prompting. Acts as physical barrier (clipboard under arm, corridor shielding).

Emotional Suppression: No overt displays, but micro-behaviors point to deeply rooted affection and possessiveness.

09:03 AM – English Class, Unverified Incidents

Tim’s eyes flicked across the classroom camera feeds as the second period began. English, Room 1C — outer hallway view only. The interior cameras were motion-triggered only when students passed directly beneath them.

Y/N had taken the window seat. Damian sat beside her.

Monitor 4 pinged with activity as red blip and blue blip took their seats side-by-side.

Tim zoomed in.

"Alright," he muttered, adjusting his headset. "Let the ethically gray monitoring begin."

At 08:08, she passed Damian a highlighter without looking. At 08:12, their ankles touched under the desk.

Tim blinked slowly. Then typed:

FLIRT_LOG_001 Subject D & Subject Y: synchronized object passing. Under-desk contact. Ankle-based. Repeated. Possible courtship behavior.

He toggled to a closer camera in the ceiling corner of the hallway. It gave a partial reflection in the wall-length window—just barely enough to confirm Damian and Y/N were sitting in close proximity.

Tim leaned forward slightly. A few passing students momentarily blocked the view.

Then—nothing. Just shadows moving. He saw her hand go up once to tuck her hair behind her ear. Damian tilted his head minutely. They weren’t talking. But they were… in sync. He saw some movement beneath the desks but his sleep deprived brain didn't quite register what it was.

He stared at the feed like it might blink first.

The AI tagged “mutual focus behavior” but didn’t register any anomalies. No PDA. No gestures he could catalog.

Tim tapped his pen rhythmically against his coffee cup and made a quiet mental note:

Possible contact beneath desk. Unverifiable. Will revisit if further evidence appears. Camera angle too distant for foot-level clarity.

He didn’t catalog it. He didn’t log it. But he didn’t forget it either.

On Monitor 4, the class continued. Notes. Discussions. Another ankle nudge.

Tim didn’t flinch.

He just… minimized the window.

He had six tabs open and thirty more things to do, and he was not going to babysit his younger brother’s love life like a live-action teen drama.

Instead, on his fifth monitor, he opened a 3D model of the Gotham Academy building.

📍 “Deploying Micro Recon Bot: Pocket Gremlin v2”

A mini bot with tank treads and robotic claws zipped down the floor of Tim’s room, launched itself into a shoebox-sized carrier drone, and zipped out the manor skylight like a missile of judgment.

He watched its POV for two seconds.

Destination: Gotham Academy locker hallway.

Objective: collect any item Y/N dropped, touched, or breathed near.

"Go steal me a napkin or something,” he muttered.

By 09:10, the bot returned with... nothing. That's fine. He still had time.

10:10 AM – Academic Record Scraping

Tim slid back into his chair and returned to the task he’d left hovering on Monitor 1: data pull from Gotham Academy’s internal awards and academic history systems.

A quick script did most of the heavy lifting—student awards, commendations, extracurriculars, leadership roles, peer feedback, GPA trendlines, standardized test percentile scores, and faculty memos.

The results filtered through in less than 30 seconds.

Tim stared.

Then blinked.

Then slowly leaned in.

28 awards. Academic. Athletic. Arts. Debate. Language contests. Leadership. Community Service. Music. Twenty-eight.

His fingers hesitated over the keyboard.

“Okay, overachiever,” he muttered, then clicked ‘save’ and tagged the newest entry.

Exhibit C – Subject Y/N L/N: Gotham Academy Awards: Timestamp: Pulled from Records at 10:10 AM Source: Monitor 1 – Gotham Academy Internal Database Overview: Subject Y/N L/N has been officially recognized with 28 separate awards and commendations by Gotham Academy since enrollment. Awards span across five major categories: Academic Excellence, Creative Arts, Athletic Participation, Community Service, and Peer-Selected Honors. Analysis: - Cross-Disciplinary Achievement: Indicates strong time management, social skills, and an intrinsic motivation structure. - Perceived Standing: Recognized not only by faculty but also by peers (Student Council leadership, student-nominated awards). - Comparative Analysis: Statistically outpaces 98.4% of student body in cumulative performance metrics. On paper, she's perfect. Conclusion: This isn’t just “the girl Damian’s into.” This is the girl. If Damian has a “type,” apparently it’s Gotham’s top-performing unicorn with a moral compass, three leadership roles, and an extracurricular resume that reads like a college brochure. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Profile Evidence – Category: Overachiever Alert Commentary: So she’s not just cute. She’s insanely competent. Fantastic. No wonder Damian’s out here risking detention to carry her binder. Do you know how hard it is to win this many awards without selling your soul to the yearbook committee? This girl is terrifying. She’s perfect. She’s too perfect. I need to know her flaws before I start spiraling. …Wait. What if she recruited him? Oh no. She’s the Damian in this relationship.

10:50 AM – Between Periods: Biology Handoff

Monitor 4 blinked.

Y/N exited the science wing hallway—shoulders loose, expression focused. Damian was already there. Right on time.

Again.

Tim muttered, “How does he do that?” under his breath. He tapped the desk, switching between hallway cams. No sign of rushing. No sign of running. Damian just… appeared. Like he knew.

Onscreen, Damian held out a Physics book before Y/N even reached for it.

Tim zoomed. Watched. Analyzed.

Clipboard handoffs were one thing. This? Preemptive academic provisioning? This was dangerous territory. The kind of behavior that said “I’ve memorized your schedule, your needs, your locker code, and maybe your birth chart.”

Tim didn’t have anything new to log—but he took notes and stared at the screen a second longer than necessary. Just long enough to mumble:

“He’s giving her books now. She didn’t even ask. He’s a walking predictive model for her class transitions. What is this.”

Tim muttered, "Predictive object handoff confirmed. Telepathy imminent."

He added it to the behavior profile.

He minimized the feed again.

Then ran a voice isolation algorithm through the drone's mic, filtering their hallway whispers.

"You dissected that flower like a surgeon." "You’d be a good war general." "You’re too smug for someone who couldn’t ID xylem." "You told the kittens they deserved a raise."

Tim paused. Stared.

He slowly lowered his forehead to the desk.

"They flirt in science metaphors. I… I hate it here."

12:00 PM – Operation Lunch Surveillance

Tim leaned forward in his chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard as Monitor 4 adjusted its focus on the Gotham Academy cafeteria. AI crowd density heatmaps pulsed yellow across most of the room—except one corner.

East-facing windows. Quiet zone. Low-traffic quadrant. That’s where they were.

Red blip. Blue blip. Side by side.

He toggled the camera view. Then again. Then enhanced. The overhead lens zoomed until the sun-washed corner table came into full, annoyingly peaceful view.

There she was. Y/N. Tray in hand. Composed. Calm. Smiling at something just offscreen.

Then Damian stepped into frame.

He didn’t sit.

He just stood behind the chair across from her, arms folded, gaze scanning the lunchroom like he was preparing for an assassination attempt. His tray was untouched—carefully curated, of course. Knife and fork perfectly aligned. And he didn’t move until she sat first.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh please.”

Then Damian sat. Slowly. Like this was a chess game and not a sandwich break.

And then—Jon Kent showed up. Loud, awkward, sunshine-in-human-form Jon Kent, holding two juice boxes and a squished bag of chips like he was smuggling black market goods.

The camera’s ambient mic barely picked it up, but Tim caught fragments:

“You’re lucky I’m even sharing, man—this is vintage snack contraband—” “They still sell those.” “Not this flavor, they don’t. This is Retired Lime Chaos. Limited run.”

Tim didn’t laugh. (Okay, he smirked a little.)

He was about to switch feeds when something moved in the corner of the frame.

Damian, cool and casual as anything, tore a chocolate croissant in half with surgical precision.

Tim blinked. Watched. Zoomed in.

One half was clearly bigger.

Damian placed the larger piece silently on Y/N’s tray.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look like she noticed.

But she took a bite a second later.

Croissant Transfer. Zero words exchanged.

CROISSANT_LOG_001 Monday pattern: 100% repetition. Croissant Distribution: 60/40 (Subject Y favored) Emotional weight: high

Tim stared at the screen for a full three seconds before muttering:

“I’m going to need… a minute.”

He noted the exchanged and tried to stop the incoming freak out.

By 12:10, Tim had collected the following:

Her class schedule

Her locker number and combination

Exhibits A, B and C

One freeze-frame of a shared smile

Audio clips of mutual mocking affection

A time log of every interaction from 08:00 to 11:58

He dumped them into a folder labeled:

LOVEBIRD.EXE

Then replied to Jason's messages on the group chat:

GROUP CHAT MESSAGE: THE DSSS AGENTS [Agent A-03]: Confirmed. He’s in deep. We’re looking at croissant-tier affection.

He stared at the last still-frame of Damian holding Y/N's books.

Then sighed.

"Damian Wayne is in love."

He updated the file.

EMOTIONAL STATUS: TERMINAL. RECOMMENDATION: Prepare backup folder titled WEDDING_VOWS_DAMI/N.DOCX

Mission: Active.

Surveillance: Live.

Investigation? Far from over.

⸻

Lunch wraps up, and you reluctantly peel yourself away from the warmth of the cafeteria, the last bite of croissant still tasting faintly buttery and sweet in your mouth. Damian walks beside you, as he always does when the bell signals the end of lunch. You feel the steady cadence of his footsteps next to yours, calm and deliberate, but there’s something different today—a hesitation you catch in the tilt of his head or the way his gaze lingers just a moment longer before he finally pulls away to head to his next class. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it makes your chest tighten. Like there’s an invisible thread holding you two together, even when you’re about to be apart.

Math class is a blur. The teacher drones on about equations and formulas, but your mind drifts. You already know all this stuff. You find yourself doodling small, absentminded sketches—curled-up cats, delicate tulips—in the margins of your notebook. Your eyes drift toward the classroom door every few minutes, half-expecting to see Damian’s familiar silhouette, even though you know he’s long gone to his geography class.

You’re aware of a quiet smile tugging at your lips at the thought of him. Maybe it’s because of the croissant—how he always saves the bigger piece for you, no words needed. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a secret language between the two of you. Or maybe it's the way he always seems to make the simplest moments feel special. Or maybe it’s the tiny seconds where you catch the softening in his eyes when he thinks no one’s watching. But one thing is for sure: You absolutely, completely love that man.

The bell finally rings, and you pack your things quickly. Outside, Damian waits as usual, leaning casually against the lockers with that slight smirk that makes your stomach flutter. He falls into step beside you like a shadow, silent but present. His silent footsteps a steady comfort as you make your way to your next class

Arabic is next. You signed up for it mainly because it’s Damian’s mother tongue, and you wanted to understand his world better—even if it means stumbling over words and feeling your tongue twist in ways it’s not used to. You are getting better at it though. If you keep up your daily studying, then you will probably be fluent in the next couple of months. It isn't an easy language for you, but you take it for him anyway.

Sitting next to him in class, sharing the same tablet open on your shared digital textbook, you feel a quiet connection that goes beyond words. He corrects your pronunciation under his breath, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, and you gently nudge his knee in retaliation when he mocks your struggle with a particularly tricky phrase.

At one point, you accidentally say “رمان” (pomegranate) when you meant to say “زمان” (time). His quiet laughter is unexpected and infectious, making your cheeks flush a little. You trade notes and doodles on the digital textbook, writing little jokes and silly comments on the lesson that only the two of you will ever see.

When you try to write his name in Arabic, the letters come out a little crooked and uneven. He takes your pen gently and fixes it, his handwriting elegant and neat, curling at the ends like a secret signature. Next to it, he writes your name, smaller and equally beautiful, a tiny mark of something only you both understand. You tuck the note safely into your notebook, a small treasure.

After class, he walks you down to geography, his presence a steadying anchor. He doesn’t say where he’s headed next—his free period is his own, and you don’t pry. You give a small wave when he slips away through the school gates, your heart tugging a little at the absence of his usual quiet company.

Geography is slow. The teacher drones on about maps and climates, but your mind drifts elsewhere. You doodle birds on the corner of your page, unaware until you glance down. The minutes tick by, each one slower than the last. You glance at the clock—2:58. 2:59. The bell finally rings, and you hurriedly pack your things.

Outside the school gates, you expect to see him waiting, maybe leaning casually or checking his phone. But the spot is empty. For a moment, confusion bubbles up—where is he? He’s never late.

You linger, pretending to scroll through your phone, fingers twitching with impatience. After a moment, you start walking toward the sidewalk, the sounds of the afternoon crowd buzzing around you.

Suddenly, you feel a jolt—a bump, shoulder to shoulder, quick but enough to knock you off balance. You stumble back slightly, your bag shifting against your back.

“Oh—sorry!” you blurt, stepping back to steady yourself, even though it was the other person’s fault.

The man looks apologetic, eyes wide behind a sheepish smile. “Wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry about that,” he says, voice casual but smooth. You feel him quickly help you steady yourself.

You nod quickly, brushing off the moment, eager to move past him. But something niggles at you—a tiny, unshakable feeling that someone is watching you.

You glance back.

He’s already disappeared into the crowd, slipping away like smoke. Too fast, too clean.

You shake your head, trying to push the odd feeling aside.

Then, just as you’re about to cross the street, a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, heart lifting as you see Damian jogging toward you, breath slightly ragged but eyes sharp and alert. He apologizes quickly, mentioning traffic and how he got held up.

You smile and tell him it’s okay.

But as you stand there together, you notice the way his gaze darts over the street, scanning the area with the precision of a soldier on alert. You don’t question it—you just lean in a little closer, feeling the quiet strength that always makes you feel safe.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s more going on here than simple chance.

But for now, you just enjoy the moment.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-01 CALLSIGN: Nightwing OBJECTIVE: Infiltrate Gotham Academy and Place Tracking Devices TIMESTAMP: 12:15 – 15:05 HOURS LOCATION: Gotham Academy (Main Office and Grounds)

12:14 PM — Smooth Operator Enters the Building

Dick pushed open the heavy glass doors of Gotham Academy’s main office with a confident ease, already anticipating the small game he was about to play.

The receptionist looked up immediately, a spark of recognition lighting her eyes. "Dick Grayson. Fancy seeing you here again."

He grinned, flashing that charming half-smile that had earned him way more favors than he deserved. "You know me — just making sure the family’s future scholars are getting the VIP treatment."

She laughed softly, clearly enjoying the attention, and handed him the latest brochure without missing a beat. “Always with the charming excuses. You always did have a way with words. You could sell sand to the desert.”

Dick leaned casually on the counter. “Only the best for the family.”

While was busy with a phone call, Dick’s eyes zeroed in on a thick yearbook resting on the front desk. dated last year. His fingers twitched with curiosity. The temptation was too good to resist.

He didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed it, flipping through pages with faux casual interest — but really, he was on full detective mode. He scanned the pages, flipping through them like a man on a mission, which he was.

And then. Jackpot.

He reached the section GA MEMORIES.

There it was —Y/N and Damian, caught in moments that spoke louder than words:

Y/N in full-on debate mode, mid-pose and fiercely commanding attention. Damian sat beside her, clearly tuned in and hanging on every word she said—his focus locked on her like she was the only person in the room.

On the next page, a candid snapshot from a school field trip. There they were, side by side, eyes fixed on something off-camera. Damian’s stance was relaxed, arm almost brushing Y/N’s. The kind of photo that said “we’re together, no matter what.”

Dick grinned and pulled out his phone, clicking rapid-fire pictures.

EVIDENCE PIECE D: THE YEARBOOK CHRONICLES She makes him pose. He lets her. That’s love. They do school trips together?? I never did that with anyone. I’m not jealous. I’m FINE. This was last year. They have definitely been together, or at least crushed on each other, since last year. HOW COULD DAMIAN DO THIS TO ME??? HOW COULD HE HIDE THIS??

He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to find the receptionist watching him with a teasing smirk.

“Doing some research, huh?” she said playfully.

“Just keeping tabs on the next generation,” he replied with a wink before slipping the yearbook back into place.

When she looked away, he stole borrowed the yearbook, taking it quietly and leaving, his heart beating a little faster. This was more than a crush. This was a timeline, a history, a quiet unfolding romance documented for all eternity.

3:01 PM – The ‘Accidental’ Bump & Tracker Drop

Outside the school gates, Dick shifted into stealth mode—his version included a bit of suave.

He spotted Y/N leaving, calm and unaware, her bag swinging lightly at her side. She looked like she was looking for something— or someone — but most importantly, she looked like she was alone. No sight of Damian anywhere near.

Perfect.

Closing in, he expertly bumped into her shoulder—casual, smooth, 'accidental'.

“Oh—sorry!” she said, stepping back to regain her balance.

He flashed her an apologetic look, widening his eyes and creating a faux sheepish smile. "Wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry about that,"

As she was distracted, Dick’s hands moved deftly:

A tiny tracker slipped under the strap of her bag, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Another was clipped inside the hem of her jacket, hidden beneath the fabric folds.

He pretended to help her steady herself and slipped two tiny trackers into place.

One slipped under the strap of her bag, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Another was clipped inside the hem of her jacket, hidden beneath the fabric folds.

Mission accomplished.

Y/N glanced back once, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes, but Dick was already melting into the crowd, leaving only the faintest trace of a smile behind.

Status Report: - Evidence Piece D secured: yearbook photos showing long-term closeness. - Trackers deployed: bag and uniform, undetected. - Subject unaware, mission progressing smoothly.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-02CALLSIGN: Red HoodOBJECTIVE: Gather More Intel and & Monitor Subject Y/N L/NTIMESTAMP: 12:15 – 15:05 HOURSLOCATION: Gotham Academy Supply Room + Rooftop Recon Post

13:10 — OPERATION: DUMPSTER DIVE: INITIATED

Jason didn’t want to stay inside.

He knew it was risky. He’d already infiltrated the school for a few too many hours. Any more and someone would start asking questions—maybe even notify Bruce. Or worse… Damian.

But reason had long since fled the premises.

While Damian and Y/N sat side by side in Arabic class—probably whispering softly, probably brushing knees beneath the desk, probably making memories they’d tell their future kids about—Jason crept into the dimly lit staff hallway with the desperation of a man on the brink.

He got started on quietly picking the lock to the teachers' lounge with the ease of someone who once infiltrated a black site in Budapest.

The room was small, cramped, and smelled like printer ink, dust, and broken dreams. Filing cabinets lined one wall. Teacher’s junk was everywhere. Old posters, confiscated keychains, expired snacks.

Jason was home.

He didn’t find love letters. He didn’t find hearts carved into desks.

He found something worse.

A stack of returned quizzes and worksheets.

Sloppily rubber-banded together. Mostly random and useless. Until they weren’t.

Because halfway through the pile, Jason found it— A page labeled: "ENGLISH PRACTICE: DUAL RESPONSE WORKSHEET" Two names at the top: Y/N L/N and Damian Wayne

He froze.

They had co-written a worksheet.

Their handwriting danced side by side across the sheet—her rounded script, his controlled strokes. They had answered the same questions, in back-and-forth format. The assignment was full of commentary, corrections, even… jokes.

And in the corner, doodled like it was nothing— A small, hand-drawn heart.

Jason dropped to his knees like he’d taken a sniper shot to the chest.

He stuffed it in his jacket's huge inside pocket with trembling hands.

ITEM SIX: COLLABORATIVE LOVE-LANGUAGE LITERACY. Shared worksheets. They share worksheets now. What’s next, a shared future?

But it didn’t stop there.

He kept digging and uncovered a folder labeled “STUDENT COUNCIL FEEDBACK.”

Bored, numb, and bleeding emotionally, Jason flipped through them until a familiar scrawl caught his eye.

Wayne, D.

“Y/N is effective, principled, and intimidating. I approve.”

Jason clutched the paper like it was radioactive.

ITEM SEVEN: PROFESIONAL CRUSH CONFESSION Professional Admiration = Emotional Obsession HE ADMIRES HER WORK ETHIC. HE’S DOOMED. WE’RE ALL DOOMED. Respect? In this economy?? He's her biggest ban (This is official documentation) He Called Her Intimidating. That’s Love.

He staggered out of the room and back into the shadows, clutching both forms like war trophies.

14:57 — OPERATION: ROOFTOP ROMANCE RECON: INITIATED

Jason couldn’t risk reentering the school building. He couldn't brood sulk quietly mission debrief in the vents either. So he did what any emotionally unraveling older brother would do.

He climbed the roof.

It wasn’t even that tall—just a good vantage point, hidden enough from the student view but open to the courtyard and the gates. He lay flat on his stomach, binoculars in hand, half-eaten protein bar next to him like a sad soldier mid-mission.

He told himself it was for surveillance purposes. Definitely not emotional masochism.

At exactly 3:01 PM, students began filing out like clockwork.

And there she was.

Y/N.

Alone.

Alone.

“Where is her guard dog?” Jason whispered, eyes scanning the perimeter. “Where is my emotionally constipated baby brother?”

And then—bam. Some guy. Tall. Smiley. Bumped into her.

Jason sat bolt upright.

"WHO IS THAT?? WHO IS HE?? WHO SENT HIM?? WHO LET HIM BREATHE NEAR HER—"

He dropped his protein bar. Fumbled for his binoculars. Couldn’t get a good look.

By the time he zoomed in, the man was gone. Gone. Vanished. Like a ghost. A charming, criminally smooth ghost.

Y/N shook it off.

Jason nearly threw himself off the roof.

Just as he reached for his comm—just as he prepared to leap into whatever ridiculous protection-mode this required—Damian arrive, jogging across the sidewalk like the world owed him an apology for the traffic.

Jason stared.

He pulled his notebook near him and his pen moved before his thoughts could catch up:

Damian ran. He RAN. He would run through fire for her. He would abandon a mission for her. He’s already abandoned us.

They talked. Smiled. He scanned the street like a hawk. Like a boyfriend. Like a partner.

Emotional Stability: Crumbling. Conclusion: They are in Stage Five Romance. Possibly eloping. Possibly already married. Damian visibly sprinting for her = endgame-level love. IMPORTANT NOTE: Unidentified male civilian interaction = active threat to operations. Notify other agents ASAP.

He opened a blank page and began drafting a letter to Bruce.

“Dear Bruce, I regret to inform you that your youngest son is in love. Terminally. There is no cure. He’s not coming back. Regards, Jason.”

Jason closed the notebook and stared up at the sky.

⸻

DAY ONE AGENT: A-03CALLSIGN: Red Robin OBJECTIVE: Surveillance Expansion + Digital Intercept Recon TIMESTAMP: 12:15 – 15:05 HOURS LOCATION: Wayne Manor (Command Post Alpha)

13:05 PM – Digital Textbook Extraction

If Damian was going to keep parading around with his secret girlfriend, Tim was at least going to uncover the digital receipts.

He didn’t need to chase anyone across rooftops today. He had a keyboard, six screens, and a growing list of grudges. He also had access.

While the others stomped through campus like emotionally compromised disaster spies, Tim stayed planted in front of a six-monitor array with coffee in one hand and a stylus in the other. Quiet. Efficient. Mildly judgmental.

After syncing into Gotham Academy’s cloud portal on his sixth and final monitor, he accessed the digital Arabic textbook used by Class 3A – Section B. Multiple users had recently entered their own copy, seatmates shared the same encrypted copy.

Two names linked to the same digital textbook: L/N.Y and Wayne.D. Shared login history. Shared annotations. Shared content edits.

That was all the invitation Tim needed.

Using custom scripts, Tim isolated their joint activity: shared highlights, margin scribbles, and embedded annotations. What he found was… horrific.

Exhibit D – Secret Code in the Margins Timestamp: 13:07 Source: Class 3A – Section B – Arabic Textbook | User Collaboration Metadata Overview: Digital textbook marked by two users, showcasing ongoing academic interaction and personalized engagement. Messages flagged include: (With translation) "💬 😊جربي هذا النطق" ("Try this pronunciation 💬 😊") "!أحسنت" ("Good job!") "ممارسة الفرض الليلة؟" ("Homework practice tonight?") And, of course, a literal "❤️!عمل عظيم" ("Great work!") Also notable: Damian corrected her verb usage… with a tiny digital heart next to it. Analysis: Data suggests direct academic collaboration, paired with personalized encouragement. Tone is soft, encouraging, and increasingly flirt-coded. Emoji usage = casual familiarity + emotional intimacy. Their use of the comment feature is… tender. Interactive. Intimate. Damian added a heart. A heart. In the textbook. This is not educational—it’s emotional warfare. Estimated number of inside jokes = 12. Estimated number of flirt-coded comments = 9. Estimated number of times Agent A-03 wanted to slam his laptop = 21. At one point, Damian wrote “You’re getting better.” with a smiley face. That alone violates 3 unspoken Wayne family laws. Conclusion: Subject Y/N has infiltrated the linguistic perimeter. Subject Damian has allowed this. Subject Damian is not just helping her study. He is digitally caressing her sentence structure. This is intellectual intimacy. Possibly the worst kind. They are communicating in a language of emoji-coded affection and textbook flirtation. Subject Y/N is teaching him how to be soft. Also, the heart emojis are in red. RED. THE DESIGNATED COLOR FOR ROMANCE. Either way: I hate it here. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Digital Evidence – Category: Flirt-Based Academia Commentary: They’re annotating their love in shared study materials. They are building emotional intimacy over vocabulary practice. Who does that? Who makes "ترجم" ("translate") sound romantic? I hope they fail the pop quiz. This is either a modern fairytale or the beginning of my villain arc.

14:59 PM – Late Arrival and Unknown Male Contact Alert

Everything was stable until 14:59.

Tim had already checked Damian’s location twice. He should’ve been three minutes early. That was the pattern. He’d been next to Y/N's class three minutes before the bell all day.

He had been operating like a Swiss clock for every other class transition.

So where was he now?

A quick triangulation with traffic cams, street sensors, and Google Maps confirmed minor congestion on Gotham Boulevard. Estimated delay: 2.8 minutes. Barely acceptable for mortals. Concerning for Damian.

Still, it was enough to trigger a proximity flag.

Tim deployed Birdwatcher-3, his latest drone prototype disguised as a mildly depressed pigeon, from the rooftop of a nearby building. With micro-optics engaged and flight path cleared, the drone flapped its way into position above the Gotham Academy gates.

And that’s when the screen blinked red.

Subject Y/N – EXTERNAL CONTACT DETECTED.

A man bumped into Y/N.

Not just a passing graze. Not a crowd jostle. A targeted, shoulder-to-shoulder collision.

Flagged Notation For Review: IMMEDIATE ALERT – Mysterious Bump: Suspicious Civilian Contact Timestamp: 15:01:14 Source: Birdwatcher-3 | South Gate Aerial Feed Overview: Unknown adult male made physical contact with Subject Y/N while Damian was absent. No identifying features captured. Baseball cap. Hoodie. Clean maneuver. Smiled. Vanished. Facial recognition = inconclusive (baseball cap + strategic angle). Y/N appears startled but recovers quickly. He helps her straighten up. Man leaves frame in 3.4 seconds. No trace. No follow-up contact. Disappeared into crowd. Analysis: - Zero facial recognition hits. - Disappeared too quickly. - Confidence of movement suggests training. - No GA uniform = Not a student. - Y/N visibly startled, then resumed walking. Subject looked back once—possibly sensing something off. - Could be: rival agent. - Could also be: someone she knows. That might be worse. - Drone zoom was slightly delayed. Still reviewing frame-by-frame. Status: Logged in Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Civilian Contact – Category: Suspicious Behavior Video Clip: Labeled “Unidentified Operative or Flirt???” | Facial Recognition Pending - Previous Facial Recognition was Inconclusive Threat Level: Medium-to-High Suspicion Level: Off the charts Conclusion: Potential threat. Possible operative. Infiltrator. Or worse: flirtatious stranger. Who was that man? Did he plant something? A bug? A note? A candy heart?? We’ll never know. He’s GONE. Like a flirtatious phantom. Drone was within range, but visual data was corrupted by sun glare and micro-wind disruption. Note to self: recalibrate feather sensors on next model.

But just before he could engage Birdwatcher-3 for zoom pursuit, another blip lit up his screen: Damian Wayne, arriving at a jog. Slightly winded. Alert. Eyes scanning. Guard mode: activated.

Tim pulled up biometric overlays. Heart rate elevated. Posture tense. Protective instinct: triggered. Birdwatcher-3 picked up sharp lateral eye movements and automatic repositioning between Y/N and street.

Flagged Notation For Review – Emergency Arrival: Damian’s Guardian Protocol Timestamp: 15:02:16 Source: Drone Feed | Biometric Sync Overlay Overview: Damian arrives within 62 seconds of Subject Y/N’s interaction with Unknown Civilian Male. Immediately scans area. Body angle oriented defensively. No external alert was issued. No communication was traced. And yet, he appears—calm on the surface, but posture, pulse, and micro-expressions all signal one thing: DEFENSE MODE Shoulders squared. Gaze tracking full perimeter. Body angled subtly but unmistakably in front of her. Movement: fluid, purposeful. Not rushed—tactical. Analysis: - This wasn’t just "showing up." This was a calculated deployment. - His response was biometric. Instinctual. He sensed a disruption in her space and repositioned himself accordingly. - He didn't need to know what happened—he just felt it. That’s either advanced training… or a boyfriend who’s 300% tuned into his girl’s threat levels. Conclusion: Subject Damian is not only emotionally invested—he’s actively deploying himself as a personal security perimeter. He usually doesn’t just show up. He arrives. This time? His instincts were activated. He ran. RAN. Seemingly not just because he was late. Because he felt something was wrong. This wasn’t coincidence—it was protective patterning. The boy’s in love. And he’s on high alert. Whatever just happened? He sensed it. Likely scenario: Subject Damian recognized a shift in Y/N’s emotional state (based on posture and residual tension) and executed a rapid proximity-claim to reestablish security control over the environment. Also known as: “Where is she? Who touched her? I’m going to kill them.” Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Physical Evidence – Category: Civilian Threat + Behavioral Evidence – Category: Protective Behavior Commentary: Damian’s internal defense system is synced to her nervous system. That’s not security. That’s love. I’m gonna need to rewatch a documentary about nuclear weapons just to feel normal again.

Tim stared at his monitors.

Then he stared harder.

He forgot he was holding a bowl of cold noodles—until it slipped from his hands and hit the keyboard with a wet splat.

He still didn't notice.

The soy sauce slid off the desk and landed on his pants.

He flinched.

"Shit."

⸻

You’re still thinking about the bump when you feel it.

You don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

You hear the familiar rhythm of his footsteps behind you—calculated, calm, precise. Then his voice, quiet and steady, even though you can still hear the last threads of a sprint in his breathing.

“Y/N.”

You turn, already smiling, and there he is.

He seems breathless but composed in that way only he can pull off—like he’s been running a marathon but still looks like a prince in a storybook.

Damian doesn’t waste time with excuses. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there right away. Traffic."

You don’t question it. You never really do. You just tilt your head toward the sidewalk and start walking. He falls into step beside you immediately, the space between you barely a whisper.

Jon joins you both a block later, waving from across the road with a bag of snacks and his usual bright grin. "Took you guys long enough. I’ve been waiting forever. You two walk like old people."

Damian scowls. You snort.

"We had to fight traffic," you say with a teasing glance toward Damian.

Jon snorts. "You? Sure. Him? He probably stared at a red light until it turned green out of fear."

Damian doesn’t respond. You don’t expect him to. But you do notice the faint twitch of his mouth—the one he gets when he’s trying not to smile.

It feels good, familiar. The three of you slip into rhythm as you make your way toward the café—your usual Monday hangout. Corner booth by the windows. A worn-down booth that creaks on one side. The table with the slight coffee stain no one ever manages to wipe clean. It’s a ritual now. You don’t talk about it like one, but it is.

The café bell jingles as you enter. Damian holds the door. You slide into the booth first. He takes the seat beside you, Jon across from you both.

The barista doesn’t even ask anymore—she just nods and disappears behind the counter. Two minutes later, the tray arrives: your usual chocolate frappe, Damian’s black Americano, Jon’s hot chocolate with too much whipped cream and extra marshmallows. You wrap your hands around the cold cup and take a sip.

And the moment is so quiet, so perfect, you forget the world outside.

Outside the window, the sun dips low behind the skyline. Everything glows.

You catch Damian watching you over the rim of his cup. You raise an eyebrow. He says nothing. Just passes you the extra sugar packet without you having to ask. It’s one of your rituals now—he knows you’ll like your drink sweetened after the first sip, and you always do.

The conversation drifts between half-jokes and real thoughts. Jon is doing most of the talking, which is typical. You and Damian mostly listen. Sometimes you lean into each other, shoulders brushing. Sometimes you look across the table at Jon and then glance back just in time to catch Damian already looking at you.

He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t need to.

You admire his face.

He is so handsome.

You are sure you face is fixed on a look of complete adoration, and that would make you embarrassed. Except, it doesn't because it's Damian. And his usually stoic face softens.

At some point, when Damian and Jon both look at each other, deep in conversation, you reach for a napkin. Your pen is already in your hand, though you don’t remember pulling it out. You write something quickly:

"You look really good today. You look amazing everyday actually."

Then pause. You press your lips against the edge of it in a burst of reckless affection and fold it twice.

But when Damian glances away to take a sip of his coffee, you hesitate. The words suddenly feel too loud in your chest.

'Is this too cringey?' you think

You scribble out the words and crumple the napkin. Toss it toward the center of the table like it was nothing. You don’t see where it lands.

Later, you’ll probably wish you’d kept it.

Jon throws a crumpled straw wrapper at you when you tease him about the marshmallows. You throw one back. Damian doesn’t join the mini battle—he just watches you. His eyes stay on you longer than they need to.

Eventually, Jon perks up. “Wait, we need a picture.”

You groan. “No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he insists, already pulling out his phone. “This is peak Monday energy.”

Jon slides onto your side of the booth and leans in close too Damian. You feel Jon’s laugh vibrate through the bench.

Damian leans towards you, his arm brushing your back. You’re very aware of the warmth where his shoulder touches yours.

You smile.

Click.

Jon checks the photo, then shows it to you.

Damian’s smiling. Barely—but it’s there.

You stare at it for a second longer than you mean to. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

You don’t know it’ll be captured forever. You just know that in that moment, you’re happy.

And you’re not ready to let it end just yet.

When the drinks are drained and the sky starts to dim, you gather your things slowly. Damian’s hand brushes against yours as he helps you with your bag. Outside, Jon waves goodbye and jogs toward the bus stop, disappearing into the evening rush.

You and Damian stand outside the café for a few moments longer. Neither of you say it, but it feels like something you don’t want to end.

He clears his throat. "Felix is waiting."

You nod, but you don’t move.

He opens the door of the car for you like he always does. You get in slowly, but just before the door closes, he ducks down and leans in—his forehead brushing yours for a second too long.

"I'll call you later."

You just smile and kiss his cheek in response. "Please do."

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-01 CALLSIGN: Nightwing OBJECTIVE: Infiltrate Café, Charm Staff, Retrieve Physical Evidence (aka trash and receipts) TIMESTAMP: 15:02 – 17:30 HOURS LOCATION: Le Petit Noir Café

17:07 – Casanova on a Coffee Run

Dick strolled into the café like he owned the place—well, at least he owned the charming half-smile that had gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count.

The bell above the door chimed as he stepped in, tousling his hair for dramatic effect. His jacket swished behind him like it had a life of its own. He glanced around once—no Damian, no Y/N, no Jon. They’d already left. Of course.

The morning barista was gone. Replaced by a new face: a cute girl with bright eyes and an easy laugh. She clocked him the second he walked in.

She smiled. He smiled back. Sparks.

Game on.

He didn’t waste time.

He leaned on the counter with casual charm. “Hey. Slow afternoon?”

She blinked once. “You’re Dick Grayson.”

He did the sheepish-laugh-hand-through-hair thing. “Guilty.”

“You’ve been here before, right? This morning?”

“I have. But I think the vibe’s way better now,” he said, dropping his voice half a register.

She blushed. Dick mentally high-fived himself.

He ordered coffee and a cake and stayed leaning against the counter as he ate and sipped.

“You get any cute couples in here today?” he asked casually, flashing his signature grin.

The barista giggled. "Uh, yeah. There’s this one pair. Table by the windows. They're always here on Mondays. Super cute. Tall guy, dark hair, kinda intense? He never told me his name and I can never, and I mean never, get a good look at his face. Kinda sketchy if you ask me. But the man likes his privacy. I respect that."

Dick blinked. "Always?"

"Yeah. Every Monday afternoon. Same orders, same table."

"Monday ritual, huh?" Dick teased, leaning casually on the counter.

She handed him a small paper bag with a smile. "You want a cookie? It’s part of a new promo."

He smiled back, even softer this time. "Sure. And hey, you don’t mind if I grab the wrapper off their table, do you? I like to compare these things."

She gestured to the booth with a shrug. “Knock yourself out.”

Dick made his way to the table like it was a sacred crime scene. Booth: still warm. Two empty cups, two crumpled napkins, and one fortune cookie wrapper.

He pocketed the receipt still sitting under a plate, scanned it with a flick of his phone camera, then delicately unfolded the fortune slip left behind.

It read: “Someone special is closer than you think.”

Dick stared at it.

Then stared harder.

He felt like the air conditioning had just kicked on inside his soul. He put it in an evidence bag (pre-labeled "EVIDENCE PIECE E", of course—he came prepared this time).

EVIDENCE PIECE E: Fortune Cookie Paper The fortune inside was unmistakably Y/N’s: “Someone special is closer than you think.” The universe really was shipping them.

17:21 PM – The Great Receipt Robbery (With Feelings)

Dick sauntered back to the counter, cake plate now empty, confidence intact.

Dick leaned casually against the counter again, letting the barista’s smile wash over him like a warm breeze. She was cute, bubbly, totally into him—and completely distracted as she refilled the sugar jars behind the counter.

His eyes drifted lower.

There, right beside the register: a small clear organizer, half-stuffed with backup receipts. Neatly stacked, rubber-banded in clusters, sorted by hour.

Bingo.

While she turned her back to grab more napkins, Dick’s fingers slid over the top of the organizer with the grace of a magician palming a card. One smooth motion. A small stack—maybe ten, no more—lifted cleanly and disappeared into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Thanks for the cookie,” he said with a wink as she turned back around.

She grinned. “Anytime.”

And just like that, he was out the door.

17:26 PM – Parked Car Panic (ft. A Glovebox Full of Receipts)

Dick sat in his car, door shut, A/C running, the stolen receipts fanned out on his lap like an unholy tarot reading.

His fingers moved fast, scanning names, timestamps, drink orders. Most of them were nothing. “Hazelnut latte.” “Chai with oat milk.” “Hot chocolate”

Then he found it.

Order Name: D.W. Drinks: - Americano – no sugar - Chocolate Frappe - Hot Chocolate, extra whipped cream Time: 15:09 Booth 4 – window

His breath hitched.

He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

This wasn’t just a coffee run. This was a ritual. This was documented evidence of a routine. Damian was the kind of customer who had a designated booth.

Dick slumped back in the seat, still holding the receipt like it was radioactive.

He sat up straight, about to drive away, when he paused.

He looked down at the other receipts. Innocent civilians. Collateral damage. People just trying to enjoy their Monday lattes without getting dragged into whatever spiral his life had become.

He sighed.

“I’m not gonna sabotage a small business for evidence. Again.”

17:33 PM – Casanova Returns (Criminal Intent: Neutralized)

Dick pushed open the café door once more, slipping in with an easy grin and a wave. “Forgot something.”

The barista looked up. “Your ego?”

“Ha! No. Just…” He gestured vaguely to the counter and wandered back over.

As she turned to help a new customer, he leaned over slightly—just enough to slide the extra receipts exactly where he’d found them. Top of the stack. No one would even notice.

All but one.

Damian’s stayed in his pocket.

Because Dick Grayson may have morals now.

But he still had priorities.

EVIDENCE PIECE F: Coffee Receipt Notes: regular booth, americano (black) = likely damian's drink Hot chocolate, extra whip = definitely Jon's Therefore, SHE DRINKS CHOCOLATE FRAPPES THAT DAMIAN PAYS FORR Damian and Y/N are regulars. REGULARS. This is a Monday ritual. Why do they have rituals?? They have a booth. A booth that’s theirs. They don’t just drink coffee together. They have history with this booth. This isn’t flirting. This isn’t new. This is settled. Domestic. Terrifying. I can’t believe I’m losing my baby brother to routine-based romance. What’s next? Joint taxes?? Note to self: I stole sixteen receipts. I returned fifteen. I’ve evolved.

GROUP CHAT MESSAGE: THE DSSS AGENTS [AGENT A-01]: update they’re basically married i’m not joking i may have committed a minor felony for proof but also i returned the extra receipts so -technically that’s character growth?? [AGENT A-02]: WHAT WHAT FELONY WHO GOT MARRIED WHERE WAS MY INVITE

[AGEN T A-03]: Wait. Wait wait wait. What did you steal Do I need to wipe surveillance again Do NOT make me drone-wipe a coffee shop

[AGENT A-01]: calm down i returned them i only kept damian’s it is a receipt with the name “D.W” booth 4 black coffee no sugar and she has a chocolate frappe every MONDAY they have a booth. a routine. a system. a shared caffeine bond. i’m spiraling. [AGENT A-02]: A designated booth?? What is this? Marriage counseling?? WHY DO THEY HAVE TRADITIONS DID YOU KNOW HE GIVES HER THE BIGGER HALF OF HIS CROISSANTS TOO? [AGENT A-01]: WHAT!!? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??? [AGENT A-03]: Cross-reference: Lunch Segment. He splits his croissant and gives her the bigger half. It's a food-based love language. [AGENT A-01]: I CAN’T DO THIS THEY HAVE A BOOTH THEY HAVE A FORTUNE COOKIE THAT SAYS “SOMEONE SPECIAL IS CLOSER THAN YOU THINK” THE UNIVERSE IS SHIPPING THEM THE BARISTA SHIPS THEM I SHIP THEM BUT ALSO I’M HAVING A BREAKDOWN [AGENT A-03]: Not to be that guy but I just recovered a napkin with a kiss mark and a crossed-out love note from the trash so yeah [AGENT A-02]: I’m gonna set something on fire probably emotionally maybe physically I don’t know yet [AGENT A-01]: i can’t keep doing this my little brother is in a monday-croissant-booth-committed relationship and i’m out here robbing cafes for evidence of his love life [AGENT A-03]: Logging this whole conversation as “Emotional Collapse of All Involved Parties” Caption: “Booth 4 was the final straw.” Status: Terminal.

⸻

DAY ONE: AGENT: A-02CALLSIGN: Red HoodOBJECTIVE: Emotional Evidence & Facial Analysis ReconTIMESTAMP: 15:02 – 17:30 HOURSLOCATION: Le Petit Noir Café

15:20 – Operation: Booth Surveillance: INITIATED

Jason slipped into the café, hoodie up, blending into the background like he belonged to the shadows. The smell of coffee and pastries did nothing to distract him—this was business.

He sat at a table facing their booth.

Agent A-02 scoped out the usual suspects: Damian, Y/N, and Jon, settled into their corner booth by the windows. Damian’s usually stone-faced demeanor was cracked by soft laughter, and that was new.

He pulled out his phone, camera app ready, pretending to scroll through music playlists as he kept a low profile.

Observations: - Damian’s shoulders relaxed. - Y/N’s smile was bright, genuine, unguarded. - Jon was the usual goofball, hands animated, cracking jokes and gesturing wildly.

Jason’s lips twitched into a smirk.

He watched as Y/N tossed a crumpled straw wrapper playfully at Jon. Jon dodged with a laugh. Damian’s eyes didn’t flicker toward Jon—they were locked on Y/N like she was the only thing that mattered.

He took it all in. The casual touches. The shared glances. The way Damian let his guard down just enough to smile. Smile.

Then it happened.

Jason caught Jon suggesting a photo—he wanted proof, or maybe just a memory. Jon fumbled with his phone and snapped it. Damian smiled with teeth showing, a rare sight, a crack in the armor.

Jason’s internal monologue screamed: He’s compromised. Totally compromised.

He fumbled with his phone, pretending to be on a call as he snapped pictures of them

ITEM EIGHT: Photo Evidence – Group Selfie He posed for a selfie. Smiled with his teeth. Emotional recklessness confirmed.

Jason shook his head and chuckled darkly. This is not what I signed up for.

16:50 – Operation: Emotional Overload (Bonus Intel): INITITATED

Jon cracked a dumb joke and Y/N playfully threw another straw wrapper at him. Damian’s gaze never left her.

Jason noted coldly: His eyes don’t move. She’s his entire visual field.

He added another note: Sticky Note: The brooding prince has been dethroned. Love wins. Damian Wayne smiling in public? What’s next, him wearing a ‘#TeamY/N’ shirt?

⸻ DAY ONE AGENT: A-03CALLSIGN: Red Robin OBJECTIVE: Garbage Recon, Tech Surveillance, Behavioral Sync TIMESTAMP: 15:02 – 17:30 HOURS LOCATION: Wayne Manor (Command Post Alpha) / Le Petit Noir Café + Outside Trash Bin

17:16 – Claw & Order

Tim’s eyes flicked between multiple café security camera feeds. He caught Y/N pulling out a pen and scribbling something quickly on a napkin while chatting with Damian and Jon, then she brought the napkin up to her lips. Tim's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Then, without hesitation, she crumpled the napkin and casually tossed it onto the table, pretending to be distracted by Jon’s antics. Later, a waiter came by to clean their booth, gathered the trash—including Y/N’s napkin—and took it outside to the café’s garbage bin. Tim’s claw-bot drone was already en route to intercept.

Tim’s focus turned the live feed from his tiny claw-bot robot, which was currently navigating the café’s outdoor trash bin. The bot’s pincers delicately picked through discarded napkins and wrappers like a high-tech raccoon on a mission.

He watched closely on his monitor, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to log any significant findings.

There.

Tim had the bot pick up the napkin and open it.

He was NOT ready for what he saw.

Exhibit E – Napkin (aka the Almost Love Note) Timestamp: 17:19 Source: Café Trash Bin / Claw-Bot Retrieval Overview: Faint lipstick kiss mark on the corner of a white café napkin. Scribbled out handwritten note in black ink. AI text recognition and photoshop editing later revealed the writing to be: "You look really good today. You look amazing everyday actually." before heavy strike-through marks. Analysis: - Note was clearly intended as a compliment but retracted before delivery. - The kiss mark suggests an almost-gesture of affection. - Clear evidence of hesitation and emotional turmoil. - The note was meant as a compliment or confession but was second-guessed and discarded. Conclusion: Subject Y/N nearly confessed her feelings, aborted the attempt, but left behind the physical trace of that vulnerability. Y/N came incredibly close to confessing something personal, but retracted at the last moment. The napkin remains as a physical trace of that emotional hesitation. Emotional evidence at peak subtlety. Heartstrings pulled. Mission impact: Critical. Emotional intel: high impact. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Emotional Evidence – Category: Behavioral Hesitation Commentary: She almost told him. She kissed the napkin. She kissed the idea of telling him. This is so close to an actual love note it hurts. I’m emotionally wrecked just reading this. Need a break. I think I need to lie down now.

Just as Tim was about to retract the bot, he caught sight of something barely visible on the bot's lens feed.

Her frappe cup.

He had his bot retrieve it immediately.+

Exhibit F – Coffee Cup: Evidence of Subject Y/N’s Presence Timestamp: 15:23 Source: Café Trash Bin / Claw-Bot Retrieval Overview: A single disposable coffee cup with residual lip gloss found inside the café’s outdoor trash bin. Lip gloss analysis cross-referenced with Y/N’s personal products confirms a match with 99.8% certainty. Saliva swab for DNA extraction pending. Analysis: - Lipstick pattern consistent with Y/N’s gloss color from napkin and from AI analysis. - Cup rim shows faint coffee stains matching her known drink preference (chocolate frappe). This cup was definitively hers. Conclusion: Physical evidence corroborates her presence and drink choice during the afternoon session. Validates Bartender’s receipt evidence collected by Agent A-01. Routine confirmed. Status: Logged to Y/N_Masterfile_v12_FINAL_FINAL_REAL.zip Classification: Physical Evidence – Category: Behavioral Signature Commentary: Yes, I am proud of having this level of detail. No regrets. I know this is weird but tracking lipstick patterns on trash coffee cups feels like my life now. Am I proud? Absolutely. Am I normal? Absolutely not.

⸻

next chapter