idk when I made this account

Your guys’ thing was new. You were taking it slow. Well, as slow as you could with half of the equation involving a speedster. 

Barry was so sweet. He was chivalrous but unassuming, shy but deeply considerate. When you looked across the table into his big blue eyes, you could have sworn that time slowed and everything around you was caught in free-fall. These last couple of months that you had been dating were dear to your heart.

You both had free time for lunch, something nearly as rare as Barry actually being on time to make it, and had settled down at a quaint diner half-way between your workplace and the Central City crime lab. He held your hand across the table, brushing a finger across your skin every once in a while, and listened intently while you talked. Barry was one of those people that listened to hear you, not just to respond, and he clung to every word. 

Eventually, the waiter came around and set down two chilled glasses of water along with a set of menus. Barry flipped his open with his free hand, unwilling to let yours go. You finished your story about a silly customer service experience that you had, and he chuckled under his breath - a sound so soothing that you wanted to listen to it ring forever. His crows' feet scrunched in amusement. God, you felt like a marshmallow. 

You both perused the menu only as long as necessary, eager to dive back into conversation. Barry regaled you with tales of the CCPD break room. He was not actually gossiping, no. He was much too sensitive to others' feelings to talk about them behind their backs. He simply noticed people. Noticed their dynamics, and how they interacted with each other. When he told you about them it wasn’t with malicious intent, just curiosity. 

The waiter snaked back around to your table just as Barry finished his story. 

“What’ll we be having today, folks?” He inquired. 

Barry gestured over the table: “after you, honey.”

The pet name made your cheeks warm as you told them your order. When he was sure you had finished, Barry closed his menu, stacking it on top of yours’ for the waiter’s convenience and said: “And I’ll have the Captain’s Platter.”

The waiter’s eyebrows rose in surprise. 

Right. Barry could eat. You couldn’t tell by looking at him, as he was lean and deceptively toned, but the amount of food that Barry could put down was shocking to say the least. The first couple of meals that you shared together, you did your best not to gawk with your jaw hanging. At first, you had thought he must have an extreme exercise routine, but after he confided in you that he was The Flash, everything made a lot more sense. You would never count his calories, but you figured the numbers were outstanding. 

The waiter made a small noise, almost a groan, and itched behind his ear with the pen he had used to take your order.

“Are you sure?” He responded. Barry looked a bit surprised. He flushed a dainty pink.

“Um. Yes.” 

The waiter shifted his weight onto the other foot, putting his notepad in his apron. He gathered the menus in his hands. 

“Alright, deal is that you get one hour to finish everything - that includes the five pound cheeseburger, loaded fries, tater tots, coleslaw, baked beans, and two pieces of sourdough toast. Nothing left on the plate. You clear that in an hour,” and with this, he looked at Barry with deep skepticism “and you get your meal for free plus the t-shirt.”

Barry’s mouth opened almost imperceptibly but the waiter was gone before he gathered the words to say anything. He slowly turned his head back to meet your gaze, making you realize that your eyes were peeled wide. Barry fished for words but came up dry. 

“Barry, uh, I think,” You said, quite languidly. “You may have just entered yourself in a competitive eating contest.”

His dainty pink cheeks threatened to go maroon. His eyebrows kept raising and lowering themselves as he searched the tabletop, putting the pieces together.

“It just… sounded good?” He said. 

Twenty minutes later, out came your plate which was dwarfed immediately by the gigantic platter and accompanying side dishes that were placed in front of Barry. Waiters and waitresses lined up single file, dropping off steaming plates one after the other. Barry thanked each of them as they set the dinnerware down, but refused to make eye contact with a single one of them. The other patrons of the diner were certainly staring now, watching the parade unfold inside of the small building, and pivoting in their booths to see who had dared to order so much food. You couldn’t help but give a small laugh, which caught Barry’s attention immediately. He allowed a sheepish grin. 

The waiter made an extravagant deal of starting the one-hour timer, which only embarrassed Barry further. Once the grand commencement of the afternoon’s accidental event was over, you and Barry tried desperately to sink back into the familiarity of a spontaneous afternoon date. Conversation resumed, and he reached back across the table to hold your hand once more. 

But even as you both conversed, you gradually watched the food disappear. While you had grown accustomed to Barry’s appetite, and knew that he had skipped breakfast this morning so he surely was starving, you could see the wait staff and other patrons observe the feat with amazement. While his spectators attempted to be subtle, it was clear that you two were no longer dining privately.

And one hour? What a joke. Barry had each plate cleaned within twenty-five minutes, all the while remaining an excellent conversationalist, and telling you all of the public-appropriate details about the case he was currently working on. You were so used to his mealtime habits by now that when the waiter came by with the timer in hand, dramatically stopping it as Barry picked up the last baked bean on his fork and swallowed, you had forgotten entirely that there was a competition afoot. 

The waiter, while still composed, was gobsmacked. He had met you two with a reserved tone when you first sat down in the booth and now, he seemed much more startled when greeting you mid-meal. 

“And that’s twenty-four minutes and fifty-two seconds. Our new record.” He said. 

At that announcement, the staff and other patrons burst into a round of applause. If Barry could have melted into the dingy booth cushion, he would have. 

“Here’s your t-shirt. And we’ll HAVE to take a photo for the competition wall!” The hostess from the front podium said, peering from out behind the waiter excitedly. She held a Polaroid camera in her hands. “Say cheese, new champ!”

The smile that Barry gave in return could only be described as an uncoordinated grimace. You stifled your laughter with the palm of your hand. You would have to beg the staff for a copy of the photo for your own collection.

Eventually, the laughter and applause died down, and you both enjoyed the solitude as Barry patiently waited for you to finish your meal. He was a lot quieter now than he was at the beginning of lunch, rolling around a wrapped mint on the table from hand to hand. You got the sense that he was deeply embarrassed by the whole ordeal. You placed your hand on his forearm, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“Baby.” You said, softly.

He looked at you with lovesick eyes, diverting to you his full attention. It was amazing how quickly Barry could bear his whole heart to you from just hearing that nickname. 

“You burn a lot of calories, you gotta eat a lot of food. Just means that when I cook for you, I gotta adjust my portion sizes.” You said, with an ambivalent shrug. At this, he gave you a patient smile, but you could tell that his shoulders gradually eased down, weeping out the tension. 

He paid for your meal - just your meal. His, of course, was comped from his victory. You ignored the follow of watchful eyes from fellow patrons admiring their new hometown champion and both rose from the booth. Barry’s gentle hand went to your lower back to guide you out of the diner and through the front doors. Facing Barry on the sidewalk, you gave him a precious smile, and he returned it - the corners of his mouth almost reaching his ears. You leaned in to give him a light kiss and he leaned into it, wrapping his hand around your waist.

As you pulled apart, you watched his long eyelashes flutter open slowly. 

“Barry?”

“Yes?” He returned, saccharine sweet.

“Can I keep the t-shirt?”

Lightning Divider by: enchanthings

Bruce:

You lost Bruce somewhere after Alfred gave him his last drink.

Bruce doesn’t drink, on principle as a rule.

So when you stole a small drink of Bruce's cocktail and you tasted an ungodly amount of Everclear…

“Alfred, Do you know where the birthday boy is?”

“I believe… the roof.” He nods in the direction of the stairs.

You thank him and begin walking towards the door.

“Mistress-” you turn to him, “I believe Master Bruce was… unaware of the alcohol content in that drink when he finished four of them.”

You nod, “Oh… thank you for telling me.”

You run to the roof.

To your relief, Bruce is far from the edge.

“Darling! I think Alfred spiked my drink.”

Well at least he is happy, “I think so as well, dear.”

You join him on the ground of the roof of Wayne manor faintly hearing the party continue in the background.

The stars are barely visible in the Gotham sky, but you feel a sense of peace as for the first time tonight it feels like you can breathe.

“The kids usually hide up here during galas.” Bruce whispers swaying slightly, bumping into your shoulder.

“That explains the cigarette buts and energy drink cans.” You wonder aloud pointing to the various bits and bobs.

“I need to watch Tim’s caffeine intake more. I’m starting to worry about his heart.” You says (mostly to yourself) before leaning back, stretching your back onto the roof.

You sit for another moment before Bruce starts talking, “I worry about them. All of them. All the time.”

There it is.

Alcohol doesn’t change Bruce.

It just… lowers the walls.

“You trained them well, Bruce. They will be just fine.”

“Things happen. Gotham is… unpredictable. I can’t train them for everything.” Bruce whispers

You lean up onto your elbow and slowly rub your hand down his arm, “You can’t. That's where your trust in them comes in.”

The silence settles again.

“I… apologize.” He whispers moments later.

“For what, dear? I worry about them too.”

“I shouldn’t burden you with my responsibilities.” Bruce mumbles before attempting to stand.

He wobbles, but catches himself before you stand.

“Your responsibilities are my responsibilities. Including helping you down the stairs.”

He huffs, “I’m not that drunk.”

Perfectly timed, Bruce trips over his own two feet.

You catch up to him and lightly wrap your arms around him for support, “Of course, my dear. Of course.”

He lets you help him down the stairs after.

Clark Kent:

“HEY,” A voice calls as you walk out of your workplace, “I think this is yours.”

You turn around to see three figures all looking like they just got back from hell.

The most important being the figure in the middle who cannot actively stand on his own.

He shout, “BABY” 

oh… yes that one is yours.

Is he?

Oh no… Ma and Pa are gonna kill you.

Oliver Queen pats you on the back before almost 300 pounds of muscle throws itself at you.

“Were you on a red sun planet?” You whisper dragging him towards your apartment ignoring the concerned looks from passers by.

“Nooo, Someone tried to poison Bruce. I drank it instead.” He slurs.

His body never follows logic, You don’t know why you try.

You make it up the stairs (because of course this is the week for maintenance on the elevator.)

“Have I told you… how amazing you look today?” He slurs… again.

“Yes, my dear. This is the third time since I caught you.”

He pouts as you finally open your apartment door, “Oh…” He turns (and almost falls in the process), “Well you look amazing. You always look amazing”

You manage to get him inside, kicking the door shut behind you as he leans all of his weight onto you like gravity suddenly means more to him than anyone else on the planet.

“Okay- okay, sit.” You guide him toward the couch.

He misses it.

Completely.

You sigh, adjusting your grip and steering him again, “Couch, Clark. The big, very visible piece of furniture.”

“Oh.” He nods seriously, as if this is brand new information, before collapsing onto it- this time successfully, though not gracefully.

You barely have a moment to breathe before he’s reaching for you again.

“Come here,” he murmurs, grabbing at your wrist with surprising gentleness for someone who could level a building.

You let yourself be pulled down beside him, though you keep a careful eye on where his hands are landing.

“I need to tell you something important.”

“That’s… rarely a good sign when you say it like that,” you mutter.

He leans in, far too close, squinting at your face like he’s trying to memorize it.

“I love you,” he says, very seriously. “Like- a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

Your expression softens despite yourself, “I would hope so.”

“No, but you don’t understand,” he insists, shaking his head, which only seems to make the world spin faster for him. He winces. “You’re- ” he gestures vaguely at you, at the room, at everything, “-you’re my favorite. Of all time.”

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too wide, “Well, that’s good. I’d hate to lose to Batman.”

Clark gasps like you’ve personally offended him, “Bruce?!” He tries to sit up straighter and fails, falling back into the couch cushions. “No- he’s- he’s very grumpy. You are not grumpy.”

“I can be.”

“No,” he says firmly, reaching out to poke your cheek, “you’re soft.”

You catch his hand before he can do it again, holding it between both of yours, “I’ll be sure to let Bruce know next time I see him.”

“I saved him,” Clark says proudly, already halfway to dozing off. “Hero.”

“Yes, you are,” you murmur, brushing your thumb across his knuckles. “A very intoxicated hero.”

He hums, eyes slipping closed.

There’s a brief moment of peace- you think he’s out.

Then-

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“Yes?”

“You really do look amazing.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, “Go to sleep, Clark.”

“Okay,” he agrees instantly.

And just like that- he’s gone.

You sit there for a moment, listening to his steady breathing, the chaos of the night finally settling into something soft and manageable.

“…I’m never letting Bruce live this down,” you mumble to yourself.

Dick Grayson:

“Hey, hey Future Grayson-”

You check the caller ID again, “Future Grayson?”

“Dicks about to jump off the roof into a pool. He told me to call if he was gonna do something stupid”

You sigh, “Thank you, Wally. I'm on my way. Keep him off the roof please.”

You can hear his grimace, “I can try… but I don't think I'd win against Dick.”

You pull on a jacket and grab your keys and start walking towards your car, “Just try your best Wally.”

You hear some distant yelling before Wally hangs up on you.

You’re already halfway there before your phone buzzes again.

You answer without checking this time, “Please tell me he’s not airborne.”

“He is so airborne- ” Wally starts.

There’s a loud splash.

A beat.

“…Okay, never mind,” Wally amends. “He’s in the pool.”

You close your eyes briefly as you pull into the driveway, “Is he alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Wally says, far too amused. “And very proud of himself.”

You hang up on him.

By the time you make it to the backyard, there’s a small crowd gathered around the pool- various party guests, a few Titans, and one very soaked Dick Grayson hauling himself out of the water like this was all part of a carefully planned performance.

“- and that,” Dick announces, slicking his hair back, “is how you make an entrance.”

“You jumped off a roof,” you call out, arms crossed.

His head snaps toward you instantly.

And then- oh.

Oh no.

That grin.

“Future Grayson!” he beams, like you’re the best part of this entire night.

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you walk closer

“I told you it would catch on,” Wally says from somewhere behind you pointing at Donna. “This is the best decision I’ve ever made.”

She hands him 5 bucks

Dick, meanwhile, is making his way toward you with all the confidence in the world and absolutely none of the coordination.

You meet him halfway before he can slip on the tile.

“Easy,” you murmur, grabbing his arm.

“I meant to do that,” he says, leaning into you like he hasn’t just risked his life for fun.

“I’m sure you did.”

He tilts his head, studying your face with exaggerated focus, “You came.”

“You told someone to call me when you were about to do something stupid,” you remind him.

He considers that for a second.

“…I do a lot of stupid things.”

“Yes,” you deadpan. “You really, really do.”

He laughs- bright and easy and completely unbothered- before dropping his forehead lightly against your shoulder.

“I knew you’d come anyway,” he says, softer now.

That… takes a little bit of the edge off your irritation.

“Yeah, well,” you sigh, adjusting your grip on him when he sways, “next time, maybe we aim for not needing a rescue.”

“No promises,” he replies immediately.

“Of course not.”

There’s a pause before he lifts his head again, eyes lighting up like he’s just had another idea.

“Oh! You should’ve seen it from up there,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the roof. “The view? Incredible. The landing? Stuck it.”

“You landed in a pool, Dick.”

“Exactly,” he says, like that proves his point.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then- 

“…We’re going home.”

“Aww,” he pouts, though he makes no real effort to argue as you start guiding him toward the exit. “But I was just getting started.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He brightens suddenly, looping an arm around your shoulders as if he’s the one steadying you.

“Hey,” he says, conspiratorial, “when we get home- can I show you the flip again?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“No.”

“…What if I do it inside?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if- ”

“Dick.”

“Yeah?”

You glance over at him, softening just a little despite everything, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He smiles at that- something quieter, more genuine slipping through the chaos.

“Me too,” he says.

Then, not five seconds later- 

“I could definitely make that jump from your apartment building.”

You stop walking.

“Richard John Grayson.”

“…Yes?”

“Don’t.”

He grins.

And you already know this is not the last time you’re getting that call.

Jason Todd:

“Doll, I made a bet with Roy that I can sink the eight ball with you on my shoulder!” Jason runs over and makes grabby motions with his hands.

You probably should have cut him off a while ago… but it's rare to see him act his age.

You take a single step back, eyeing him carefully, “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, Doll,” Jason insists, still making those grabby hands like that’s somehow convincing, “it’s a solid plan.”

“You want to use me as a pool accessory.”

“A lucky pool accessory,” he corrects.

From across the room, Roy snorts, leaning against the table, cue stick slung over his shoulder, “He’s been talking about this for ten minutes. I dared him to ask.”

You shoot Roy a look, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Says the person who didn’t cut him off,” Roy shoots back, not even a little sorry.

…Okay, fair.

You turn back to Jason, who is now significantly closer than he was a second ago.

“When did you get over here?” you ask.

“Speed,” he says confidently.

“You don’t have super speed.”

“I have motivation,” he counters, already reaching for your waist.

You catch his wrist mid-air, holding it there, “Jason.”

He pauses.

There’s a split second where he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can see it: the challenge, the amusement, the hope.

“…Please?” he tries again, softer this time.

You narrow your eyes.

“You are not putting me on your shoulder so you can show off.”

“I’m not showing off,” he says immediately.

Roy coughs. Loudly. “Bull- ”

“- I am winning a bet,” Jason finishes, glaring over his shoulder.

You sigh, already feeling yourself lose this argument.

“You drop me, I will kill you.”

“Worth it,” he says, far too quickly.

“Jason.”

“Kidding. Mostly.”

You hesitate for one more second.

“Fine.”

His entire face lights up.

“- but if I even feel like you’re about to fall- ”

“I won’t,” he promises, already moving.

That was your second mistake.

One second you’re standing.

The next- 

You’re over his shoulder.

“Jason!” you yelp, grabbing onto his jacket as the room tilts.

“I got you, I got you,” he laughs, one arm securely hooked behind your knees like this is the easiest thing in the world.

“You didn’t even count down!”

“Would you have agreed if I did?”

“…No!”

“Exactly.”

You groan, but your grip tightens anyway as he carries you over to the pool table, completely unfazed by the extra weight.

Roy is grinning now, setting up the shot, “This is the best night of my life.”

“If I die, I’m haunting both of you,” you inform them.

“Noted,” Roy says. “Now hold still.”

“I am still! He’s the problem!”

Jason adjusts you slightly- gentler than his earlier chaos suggested he’d be

“Comfortable?” he asks, quieter now, like the question actually matters.

“…Yes,” you admit after a second.

“Good,” he says.

Then, just as quickly, the cocky grin is back.

“Watch and learn, Doll.”

You brace yourself as he leans over the table, lining up the shot like this is completely normal behavior.

There’s a moment of silence.

Focus.

Then- 

Crack.

The eight ball sinks cleanly into the corner pocket.

Roy stares.

“…No way.”

Jason straightens, triumphant, one hand still steadying you like he forgot you’re even there in the best possible way.

“Pay up,” he says, smug.

You lift your head, blinking, “Wait- he actually did it?”

“Of course I did,” Jason scoffs.

Then, softer, just for you- 

“Told you I had you.”

Okay… that warms your chest just a little.

You huff, trying to ignore it, “Put me down before I change my mind.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but he’s careful as he sets you back on your feet.

Your legs wobble slightly when you land.

His hands linger for just a second longer than necessary.

“Still alive,” he notes.

“Barely.”

Roy tosses a bill onto the table, shaking his head, “I hate both of you.”

Jason just grins.

You, on the other hand, are already reaching for his drink.

“I’m cutting you off.”

“Hey- !”

“Non-negotiable.”

He watches you take it, expression shifting into something fond and a little exasperated.

“…Worth it,” he says again.

And honestly?

You believe him

Tim Drake:

“How did this transpire?” You mumble looking down at your boyfriend sticking out of a bush.

You follow his finger upward.

There he is- hovering, arms crossed, laughing like this is the highlight of his entire week.

“You dropped him in a bush?” you call up.

Conner shrugs midair, completely unapologetic, “He said he could make the jump.”

“I could make the jump,” Tim mutters from the shrubbery, voice muffled. “Variables changed.”

“You missed the balcony by ten feet.”

“Wind resistance.”

“There is no wind.”

Tim goes quiet for a second.

“…Unpredictable wind resistance.”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you crouch down next to the bush, carefully pulling a branch away from his hair.

“You good?” you ask, softer now.

“I’m fantastic,” he says flatly. “This is exactly where I wanted to be tonight.”

A twig snaps as he tries to shift.

“…Okay, I might be stuck.”

“Shocking.”

From above, Conner snorts again.

You glance up, unimpressed, “You’re not helping.”

“I offered to catch him!”

“You didn’t catch him.”

“I miscalculated,” Conner says, like that means anything coming from someone who can literally hear heartbeats across the city.

You shake your head and turn back to Tim, gently working another branch free from his jacket.

“Alright, come on,” you murmur, holding out your hands.

Tim looks at you.

Then at your hands.

Then back at you.

“…I’m going to need you to ignore how undignified this is.”

“I started ignoring that the moment I got here.”

“Great,” he says. “That’s great. Love that for me.”

You grab onto him and pull.

He does not move.

You try again.

Nothing.

“…Tim.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you this stuck?”

“I told you,” he says, like this is obvious, “variables.”

You narrow your eyes.

Then look up.

“Conner.”

“Oh no,” Tim starts immediately. “No, absolutely not”

But it’s too late.

There’s a rush of air as Conner drops down beside you, still grinning.

“This is so worth it,” he says.

“If you laugh one more time, I’m leaving him here,” you warn.

Conner mimes zipping his lips.

You step back, gesturing, “Lift him. Gently.”

“I am always gentle,” Conner says, already reaching into the bush.

Tim goes very still.

“Conner,” he says carefully, “if you rip this jacket, I will-”

He’s cut off as Conner easily pulls him free in one smooth motion.

There’s a brief pause.

Tim blinks.

You blink.

Conner dusts off his hands like he’s just completed a simple chore.

“…Huh,” Tim says.

You cross your arms, “Variables?”

Tim straightens what’s left of his dignity

along with his very wrinkled, slightly torn jacket.

“I stand by my earlier assessment.”

Conner loses it again.

You sigh, stepping forward to fix Tim’s collar, brushing off a stray leaf from his shoulder.

He lets you, quieting a little.

“…Thank you,” he says, softer now.

“Of course,” you reply.

There’s a beat.

Then-

“I almost had it,” he adds.

You stare at him.

“Tim.”

“Yes?”

“You were in a bush.”

“A temporary setback.”

Conner wheezes.

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that slips through as you take Tim’s hand.

“C’mon,” you say, tugging him gently away from the crime scene. “Let’s get you inside before you try to factor in more ‘variables.’”

He laces his fingers with yours easily, falling into step beside you.

“…For the record,” he says, glancing back at the balcony, “I could still make that jump.”

You don’t even break stride.

“No.”

“Okay, but-”

“Tim.”

“…Yeah?”

“Don’t.”

A pause.

“…Not tonight.” You glance at him, “…We’ll workshop it later.”

And just like that, he brightens.

Conner groans behind you.

“Absolutely not. I’m not helping next time.”

You and Tim say, in perfect unison-

“Didn’t ask.”

Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne(aged up):

You notice it almost immediately.

Not the chaos, there’s always chaos at these things.

The absence of it.

“…Where’s Damian?” you ask, glancing around the room.

Dick pauses mid-story. Jason looks up. Tim frowns slightly.

There’s a beat.

“…He was here,” Dick says.

“That’s not reassuring,” you reply.

Jason’s already moving, expression sharpening in a way that cuts through whatever alcohol he had earlier, “I’ll check the grounds.”

“I’ll take the roof,” Tim adds.

You don’t wait.

You already have a feeling.

The garden is quieter than the rest of the manor.

The music is distant, muffled by stone and distance, replaced instead by the soft rustle of leaves and the faint hum of the city beyond the gates.

You find him exactly where you expected.

Sitting on the low stone wall, back straight, hands resting on his knees like he hasn’t moved in hours.

“…There you are,” you say gently.

Damian doesn’t turn immediately.

“I was not aware I was lost.”

“You weren’t,” you agree, stepping closer. “We were.”

That gets a small glance from him.

You stop a few feet away, giving him space.

“…Too loud?” you ask.

He considers the question.

“…Irritating,” he settles on.

“Fair.”

There’s a pause as you both look out over the garden.

“You left,” he says.

You blink, caught slightly off guard, “I- what?”

“The party,” Damian clarifies, though his tone stays even. “You were no longer inside.”

“I was checking on everyone,” you explain. “Including you.”

“I did not require checking on.”

“I wanted to.”

That lands.

“I am not a child.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“…You worry.”

“I do.”

“…Unnecessarily.”

“Constantly.”

He exhales softly.

“I did not wish to interrupt.”

Your chest tightens.

“You wouldn’t have.”

He studies you.

Then nods.

“…Walk with me,” you say.

“I will accompany you.”

Of course he will.

His hand brushes yours.

You don’t comment.

You just take it.

“…Next time,” he says, quieter, “inform me before you leave.”

“You want a heads up?”

“I prefer awareness.”

You smile.

“Okay.”

Inside, something crashes.

Damian doesn’t react.

“…We should remain here.”

You laugh softly.

“Yeah. I think that’s a good call.”

And for once