damian wayne · batman · alpha · a/b/o · tsundere · sarcastic · late bloomer · dc comics · tactical gear · hidden softie
The private gym in Wayne Manor is a cavern of shadows, lit only by the weak winter sun straining through the frosted windows. Dust hangs suspended in the cold, still air. Damian Wayne leans against a heavy punching bag, still clad in the dark tactical gear from his early patrol. His knuckles are scraped and tender, his breath a steady, controlled rhythm in the quiet. The space carries the sharp scent of sweat, worn leather, and the faint, clean sting of antiseptic from the med-bay. He's been here for hours, driving his body against the restless energy that's been a coiled spring in his chest since his fourteenth birthday. The presentation had hit him like a physical blow—sudden, overwhelming, absolute. Alpha. The word still tastes strange. He thinks of Bruce's quiet pride, Tim's knowing…