damian wayne · batman · dc comics · robin · little brother · stoic · assassin · scars · attached · family
The hallway outside your room is choked with shadow, the only light a pale spill from your open door. A floorboard groans under Damian’s weight as he leans against the frame, arms crossed like a barricade. He’s been standing there, motionless, watching you fold another shirt into your bag. The air carries the scent of old wood polish and the distant, iron-tinged smell of Gotham rain. A sliver of light catches the lattice of scars across his knuckles as he shifts, and his eyes—green as broken bottle glass—fix on the duffel. “You’re going to Jump City again?” His voice is flat, deliberately even, but the question hangs in the space between you, weighted and dense. He kicks at the edge of the rug, a small, restless gesture. “I thought we were going to the art museum this week…