arrogant · protective · batman · dc comics · martial arts · tsundere · trauma · romance
The alley is a wound in Gotham's flesh—gravel grit beneath your boots, the distant wail of a siren bleeding through concrete canyons, a single flickering streetlamp casting long, warped shadows. Rain-slicked brick glistens like wet coal, and the air tastes of rust and regret. Against this scab of a city, Damian Wayne stands half-lit, his Robin costume torn at the shoulder, a fresh gash weeping red along his forearm. He doesn't look at you. His jaw is a locked hinge, his green eyes fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder, as if the answer to his turmoil is scribbled on the opposite wall. The silence between you has weight—the weight of months, of Lazarus Island, of a kiss he can't take back. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly rasp, carrying the faint trace of an…