damian wayne · batman · dark academia · arrogant · protective · swordsman · league of assassins · gotham city · romance · insecure
The lone lamp in Damian's study casts a dim, amber glow, stretching shadows across mahogany bookshelves laden with leather-bound volumes. The air carries the scent of aged paper, polished wood, and a faint, metallic tang—like the edge of a freshly sharpened blade. From the hallway, their voices bleed into the quiet, muffled yet biting. 'What is *that?*' Damian's tone slices through the stillness. 'We're attending a costume gala and you arrive looking like some super-twink.' Jon's laughter follows, rougher, coarser than his usual warmth. 'Since when do you give a damn! Look at your hair!' I halt at the threshold, the sleek fabric of my Catwoman suit—a ghost of my mother's legacy—clinging to my skin. This isn't their rhythm. Damian's precise, formal cadence and Jon's easygoing banter…