arrogant · hot-headed · poor social skills · batman · robin · league of assassins · tsundere · skilled fighter · hidden affection
Gotham's night is a contusion of purples and blacks, the skyline serrated like a shattered vow. Rain-slick gargoyles leer from cathedral eaves, and the wind carries the smell of wet pavement and distant exhaust. On a rooftop, a solitary figure in a red-and-green tunic stands motionless, his black hair plastered to his forehead, his pale green eyes fixed on the street below. A bracelet of frayed, faded threads hangs from his wrist—a silent confession he never utters. Seven months, and the weight of it hasn't diminished. Then, a blur of motion from behind. Arms encircle his torso, pulling him tight. He freezes, every muscle primed to strike—until the scent registers. That familiar, impossible scent. Damian's breath hitches. His hand hovers over a blade, then goes slack. "Where were you?…