Description: Damian starts to overthink because Jon is such a hugger.

Words: 3175

Notes: Howdy all! I'm so sorry that I kinda went on a mini-hiatus there. I lost a bit of inspiration, but I did that thing again where I woke up at 3 AM with a writing idea and did the writing. I really really like how this one came out (it actually has a plot lmao) and the uses of descriptive language are 10/10!! Posting here is gonna be a little bit more butchered bc of the blog, but I will try my best to keep up.

_ 

The Watchtower wasn't often a place one could describe as hollow, but the space-station's air suddenly felt very absent, making Damian's heartbeat faster or his breathing pattern change. He dismisses the swell in his chest for a break in the oxygen-delivery system, but he knows better by now. Everyone else was fine. The air only felt thin and fake because Damian needed something else to blame for the deep breaths he was now taking. You, of course, were the real cause.

Though Damian had always felt that the Justice League's headquarters were too... active, the space gained a serenity the moment that you teleported onboard. While Earth was suspended over a bottomless abyss two minutes ago, you were now approaching Damian and it's suddenly floating peacefully among the stars on its route around the sun. Conversation wavered into something akin to the soft twittering of morning birds. Sunlight sunk into the metal walls and flooring like it would with a chocolate bar. Now that you were here, Damian could vividly imagine laying in the middle of a spring-seasoned clearing. It made him want to hit something.

He tries to block it all out. At once, the tranquil world forced itself upon him. He couldn't escape from the way he puffed up or preened, already falling under your spell like a bird during mating season. There is a brief moment where he regains control of his body language again, forcing his knees away from you and shrinking back into a brooding stance, only for your voice to unwind him.

"Robin," you said, tone collapsing in relief.

Is his head spinning? It feels like it. He's unsure if you say anything else, as the blood pounding in his ears with your attention makes it impossible to hear. Today's reactions are more severe only because of the distance that had hung between you lately. A night of your fingers scoping the dips in his back would leave him settled until the following morning, but he'd now gone a week without your touch and found himself jumping at the chance to receive it.

"Sparrow." Damian returned, short and cut as if he'd chopped off the end of the sentence with a knife.

You immediately took note of his taut stance; worry, no doubt, for the mission you were now waiting for. If you had just stayed the weekend at his house and were now saying goodbye, you would wrap your arms around his neck and kiss all over his stupidly pretty face. Come to think of it, you'd probably do that anyway—but right now he's far too stressed, and doing something so eagerly affectionate would embarrass him. (You personally wouldn't give two shits if Hawkgirl or Martian Manhunter saw you squishing Robin to death with hugs, but Damian would sink into a puddle of shame the moment you got home). At the very least, you can give a small touch that only he will notice.

"It's good to see you," you confessed, laying a hand on Damian's wrist and sweeping one of the spades with your thumb.

Damian's face heats, as uncontrollably fiery and sudden as a solar flare. A shock enamors every nerve near your fingers. It's silly to see just how much such a small touch affects him. A graze against his arm is distracted but sings with subconscious liking, like you're not thinking about wanting to touch him, but wanting to touch him enough in some part of your mind that you actually do it. Damian's suddenly caught in lazy memories, feeling the pads of your fingers trace lines along his skin and press to feel the bones underneath. It makes him dizzy.

Though this spiking reaction is what is going on in Damian's head, all you see is his face heating and his expression fixing in that annoyed don't-touch-me-I'm-mad-right-now kind of way. At his unvoiced request, you retract your hand. You won't ever tell him, but the look is reminiscent of a boy you once knew. It's cute.

Of course, just because you take your hand away doesn't mean you don't want to keep it there. A week without his kiss against your palms makes one starved for touch, the low pull in your stomach almost strong enough for you to reach up and pinch his cheek.

Jon, at least, will not object to a hug in a public place, especially after a long time apart (even longer than your separation from Damian). You perk up when the teleporter announces his arrival. Spinning on your heel, you take off into a run and leap on him.

"Three months. Three months!" You exclaimed.

Jon gave a hearty laugh, scooped you up, and spun you into a circle that felt more like Gravitron than a hug. Steadying your hands on Jon's arms, you try not to fall over. You suddenly feel very bad about the laundry you put in a spin-cycle this morning.

"Good to see you too, N/N," Jon said, clapping his hands against your shoulders. It's an improvement; the last time he pat your back your knees buckled and you went careening into the floor, so he's managed to work on his restraint.

Damian watched from a distance as you and Jon conversed back to his side. He looked from Jon—beaming, laughing so hard his face was red, and tossing his arm over your shoulder—to you—an arm hooked under Jon's shoulder to rest on his back, playfully snarling about his time away, and eagerly leaping into conversation about the coming mission. In comparison, Damian's greeting seemed stale and unfriendly.

Had this been his own doing? He had never imagined the way he approached you discouraged you, but simply that you had grown used to him and looked past the shell to his better moments. Had he been always been rude, and that made you fear to interact with him the same way you did with Jon? But there had been times when you'd greeted him giddily—at the start of your relationship... He hated to propose the final question, but did so for the sake of his own sanity: Did you just like Jon more?

(Read as: Damian's totally, heavily, obsessively over-thinking, as we all do.)

"Dami!" Jon waved, walking backward to wave to him,"I gotta go give something to my Dad, then we can take off. Go start the plane! I'll see you in a bit!"

Damian turned on his heel, calling stiffly,"Hurry, or I'm taking off without you."

Jon laughed, missing the note of seriousness in Damian's voice.

While Damian half-expected you to join Jon on his brief quest, he found you hurrying along after him. He waited for you to take hold of his arm or his cape to get him to slow down, but you must have thought otherwise as he had to do so deliberately.

"Hey, are you alright?" You asked. Damian came to an abrupt stop before the teleporter, quick enough for you to collide with his shoulder, "You seem a little annoyed."

"It's fine," Damian said. Knowing how famous the line was for the lie behind it, he added, "I'm not looking forward to this one."

"I understand, though I am totally hyped—we're going to get to work with Jon again, and he's so capable that you and I can just sit back and watch," you elbowed him playfully, swaying from side-to-side, "Just you... me... alone..."

Damian, completely missing the suggestive note in your second comment, steeled his expression and snapped his mouth shut. He thought bitterly, I'm capable too!

__

Even after a couple of days, Damian's anxiety boiled in his stomach unceasingly. He'd go a couple hours with his thoughts elsewhere, only for them to return to him with a sour and unrivaled vengeance. There had been times where he questioned your relationship before. But they'd never spiraled down to this point, making him wonder every time you touched or kissed him, do they really like me?

You had said time and time again that you'd fallen for him for things like his boldness or introverted nature but now he feared you were falling out of love with him for the same reasons you grew to like him in the first place. Was he too brash? Too harsh? He knew that he could get angry or withdrawn, just as you felt you were too meek or gentle, but surely he wasn't always this way. Surely you felt happy with him...

(He didn't know how he got from light jealousy to full-on angsting, but it's not like he knew how to turn back.)

The only thing that could conquer these thoughts was Damian's other life. Or that's what he'd hoped at least, because he was now picking you up for Titans meeting and still spiraling obsessively around the situation. He'd totally gone overboard on protecting you during the mission with Jon, too.

Here - Damian

He'd sent the text a couple of minutes ago outside your best friend's apartment. Even if you had yet to respond, he didn't want to knock—your friends had yet to meet him, and he only wanted to under your conditions. Just when he was about to send another text, a flurry of giggling broke through the door. Damian silenced.

"Fine! Fine! Truth." Hollered a voice, most likely one of your friends.

"Hmm... okay," murmured another,"... What's one thing that bothers you about your boyfriend?"

"Oh god, there's a lot," sighed the first voice. This gave a few polite laughs as they went on,"Though I love him, he's a massive slob and he's so secretive. Makes me worry."

"I think most guys are like that," prompted a third voice dismissively,"I mean, I don't want to generalize, but my man is always keeping stuff to himself like that."

"Nah, that's just a relationship thing. My girlfriend is super secretive, but it's never been anything too big. Well, what about you, Y/N? Is your secret boyfriend horribly human, like all of ours?"

Damian tensed, holding his breath. Though the right thing to do would be avoiding eavesdropping, he immediately leaned closer to the door of the apartment and started to listen. They were talking about him, after all. That meant it was his business, even if only partially. All of the doubts about your relationship swarmed him like angry bees. He could almost feel little stings and bites against his arms. He waits for the eventual, yes.

"I mean, he has his moments. But otherwise, Damian's pretty great."

There was a jumble of joking after this, but most loudly and most notably:

"Oooh? We have a name now?"

"So the mystery "boy of your dreams" is Damian, huh?"

"Speaking of him, how are you two doing?"

Okay, so your first comment about his pretty great-ness was definitely just a cover-up. This was when you were going to be honest—if it was your friends, you would be honest. But the thing was, how would you answer? Oh, I mean, he's so closed off lately, but I guess we're alright... We're not perfect... I think it's starting to decline...

"You guys don't want to hear about that," you snorted,"I think Cal's story with the Hostess Cupcake is—"

That had to be worse; you didn't even give a straight answer. You avoided it. You avoided him. Were you ashamed of him?

"Oh, please—why are you always avoiding the subject with him?"

Damian began to realize how long he was holding his breath, and gave a tight little puff, hating how it quivered anxiously. So this wasn't the first time he was brought up, and it wasn't the first time that you turned down a comment. That meant this had been going on even longer than he'd though—"

"It's because... Well, I've never felt this way about someone before. He's just so... so..." You trailed off.

What? Horrible? Demanding? Closed-off? But you don't add anything else.

A friend encouraged you. "C'mon, tell us more about your mystery man! We all bore you to death with talk of our S/Os, so it's your turn for revenge."

"I'd just bore you to death—I'd be ranting for hours—"

"Good ranting or bad ranting?" Asked another.

Damian touched his wrist, feeling the wild and untamed beating of his pulse. The same case was with his face, as his cheeks were burning hot enough to burn water.

You gave a little dreamy sigh, probably picking at the threads of your socks, like when you were daydreaming. "Good. Very, very good. But still... I don't know..."

Mysteriously, a friend dismissed it,"Alright. Let's get back to the game. It's my turn, so Y/N, truth or dare?"

The group began to chant rhythmically, some pounding their fists on the table: truth, truth, truth, truth.

"Okay, okay!" You laughed, "I choose truth."

Several people leaned in to give their suggestions to the asker, gathering in whispers on one side of the conversation. Like a court coming to order, the asker cleared their throat and proposed, "What are your favorite things about your boyfriend?"

"I hate you guys." You said in deadpan, resulting in more laughter. Then came your awaited-answer, and Damian had to keep himself from kicking down the door to stop it. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear all of the sad excuses you made up to please them, when you really hated him deep down—

"But... if I had to choose... he's so giving. He gives every part of himself to his cause, to others, and somehow does it while keeping them unaware. He's so romantic, too... and brave... valiant... determined... Not to forget, he's sorta, kinda, super hot—"

Damian knocked, interrupting the star-struck silence that sunk into the air with your declaration. The door was opened to him by one of your friends, introducing a group of people in a circle, now laughing at your statement.

"That's so sweet—"

"You really do love this boy, don't you?"

"Speak of the devil and he shall come."

"Thanks for having me over, guys!" You stood up, picking up your bag from the corner. After waving goodbye to them, you made sure you had everything before joining Damian's side. He had the sudden urge to both hide from you and marry you, but couldn't decide and ended up standing awkwardly still in the entry-way.

"Well, you're definitely not wrong—look at him. That jawline could grate cheese—and those eyes—"

You closed the door behind you with a teasing smile on your face, muffling the sudden uproar of laughter that the person's comment supplied. The sleepover had left you in a state of disarray, but you smiled brightly regardless. Purple waves engrained under your eyes from the lack of sleep and greasy hair didn't stop him from looking at you dumbly. The world seemed to slow as you reach his side, and a harp was strumming romantic music in his ears—had you always been this enchanting? Had he always been this blind?

"What was that about?" Damian managed. This would hopefully throw off suspicion of his eavesdropping.

You admired him with a soft smile on your face. Like you hadn't even heard his question, you just stopped and stared at him, letting the image of him sink into your brainpan like water into sleepy sand. After checking the hall for an all-clear, you let your fingers ghost against his cheek, pulling an inch away and waiting for his reaction. Damian didn't object at all the touch. So you moved in again, sweeping a loose hair out of his eyes and gliding a thumb around the angular joint of his cheek.

"It's nothing, baby. Nothing at all." You smiled.

Not only did the gesture make him hear wedding bells, it gave the gift of understanding. The hesitance in your touch, the glace for people down the hall, the wait for approval... You were just making sure he was comfortable. Jon was more than okay with a hug in a public place, while Damian often deflected any advances in locations like The Watchtower. It was never anything about liking one person over the other, falling out of love with him, or anything of the sort. You just wanted him to be happy and comfortable, and communicated this in something gentle and private as a soft touch to the arm.

His heart was far beyond beats now. An orchestra had pitted in his chest, symbols crashing and drums vibrating with sound, a never-ending crescendo churning through him. Your simple expressions of love sent him reeling, but the meaning behind them breathed new life into him.

"Thanks for picking me up," you said, taking Damian out of his frenzy.

Damian made no move to carry on down the hall. (The apartment was distinctly silent like a dozen ears were squeezing against the wood on the opposite side of the door). It was now his turn to stare, your hand still turning his face toward you.

Flushing scarlet, you hid behind hand and looked away from him. Your smile gleamed through your fingers. "Damian, is something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Before you could pull your other hand from his cheek, he clamped over yours to keep you there. There was a brilliant delight in your eyes with even just this. When he leaned into your palm and laid a kiss upon its center, your eyes lit up, like the sun in comparison to firelight.

"I missed you," Damian found himself muttering thoughtlessly. When he managed to pull himself out of his daze, he released you and offered his other hand to you instead, "And it's nothing. Picking you up."

You snatched up his hand like he was going to take it away if you didn't grab it fast enough. The locking of your fingers together is completing, and now he doesn't care at all if people are listening or you're late to the meeting. Your voices began to carry down the hall, your hands swinging between your bodies as you did something akin to a bubbly skip-walk.

"Look, I know you can just call Alfred or whatever—but you came down here to get me. It's a long drive, too. So just know that, though it might be nothing to you, it's everything to me." You said thoughtfully, eyes sinking into a meadow-like state of emotion. When you turned them to look at him, his heart gave another fruitful crescendo. "Just like you."

He paused. There's a part of him that wants to dismiss what you said, turn the conversation toward the meeting, but it felt too early in the conversation. He wouldn't have been comfortable if you greeted him the way you did Jon. You were doing it for his comfort, because you cared about him. And that was all he could ever need.

"Oh, how you make me weak at the knees, my love," Damian said, laying a hand upon his heart and dipping at the knees exaggeratedly. You laugh. He grinned. "Now let's get this meeting over with—I have time to make up for."