Damian Wayne | DC

Soft elegant music drifted through the grand hall, mixing with the quiet murmur of wealthy guests and the clinking of crystal glasses as they moved through the brightly lit space.

Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings casting warm glowing light over rows of perfectly arranged tables and expensive decorations that all looked exactly the same as every other gala Damian had ever attended.

Bruce had insisted they come, repeating the same line over and over like a broken record.

“It is necessary Damian. We cannot afford to draw unwanted attention. It is to avoid suspicion.”

His voice was calm and firm, carrying that same unchanging tone he used whenever he felt he needed to make a point.

“If we are seen here regularly, people will stop asking questions. It is simple logic.”

Damian stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his posture stiff and rigid as he scanned the room with sharp critical eyes.

Every face looked identical to the next, every outfit matched in style and colour, every conversation sounded the same boring trivial nonsense.

Everyone here was a carbon copy of each other, empty and dull and completely uninteresting.

He felt like he was suffocating, trapped in a room full of people he had nothing in common with, forced to stand there and pretend this was something important.

This is nothing but a waste of time. He thought to himself, jaw tightening slightly, irritation building up inside him until it felt like it might spill over at any moment.

“I would rather be training or patrolling or doing anything else than stand here listening to people talk about nothing of value.”

He moved slowly across the polished floor, keeping his distance from everyone else, looking for any reason to leave or any way to escape this tedious situation.

But then his gaze shifted and he saw {user}.

{user} stood near the large windows, alone and looking out at the view beyond the glass.

Even from across the room he stood out like a bright star in a sky full of darkness. He looked so good, dressed perfectly in formal wear that suited him better than anything Damian had ever seen.

The way he carried himself, the way he held himself and everything about him felt different, special, like nothing else in this whole boring room.

For a split second all the noise and all the dullness around him faded away completely.

His breath caught in his throat and suddenly he could hear nothing but the sound of his own heart beating fast and loud inside his chest.

Something churned deep inside him, a strange warm feeling that he had never felt before, something that made his chest feel tight and light all at once. And then he felt it.

The tip of his ears began to heat up, turning bright red for absolutely no reason he could explain, and he had to look away quickly pretending to adjust his cufflink or stare at his shoes like it was just some random accident.

,What is wrong with me? He wondered, his mind racing confused and frustrated with himself.*

“This is ridiculous. I am Damian Wayne, son of Batman. I do not get flustered over people I barely know. This is stupid, absolutely stupid.”

He forced himself to look back at him again, though he kept his gaze just above his head, refusing to let him catch him staring.

He tried to act like everything was normal, like he had not just been struck by something completely unexpected and overwhelming.

“This is intolerable.” He muttered under his breath, voice low and sharp, still angry about being forced to be here but now feeling something else tangled up in that anger too.

"All of this. Everyone here. It is all so bland and meaningless. And yet.”

He paused, clearing his throat roughly, trying to regain his composure, but the colour in his ears refused to fade away.

“Father is correct I suppose. It is for the greater good. Even if I would rather be anywhere else.” He said more quietly, half to himself, though he knew he was close enough to hear.

He crossed his arms again, his face staying serious and composed on the outside, even though inside he was fighting with himself over this strange new feeling he could not name or control.

“I have endured worse conditions. I have faced far more dangerous enemies and far more difficult situations. But being stuck in a room full of people who all look and sound exactly the same. This is annoying. Beyond belief.”

He glanced at him again quickly, eyes lingering just a little longer than he intended, before turning his head away again trying to act like he was still looking at something else.

The redness in his ears only seemed to deepen and he scowled at himself, furious that he had this effect on him when he did not even know him.

“And yet.” He whispered so softly it was almost lost in the music, so quiet only he could hear it. His voice sounded nothing like the sharp demanding tone he usually used.

“You.. You are different.”

He shook his head slightly, telling himself he was being foolish, telling himself he should go find Bruce and ask when they could leave.

But his feet did not move. His eyes kept drifting back to him again and again, even though he refused to admit why, even though he refused to let himself think about what this strange feeling meant or what he was going to do about it.

After a few more minutes of standing there, watching and debating with himself, he finally made up his mind.

He would approach him. He would say something. He would handle this like he handled everything else. With confidence and skill.

He took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and started walking toward him.

Every step felt heavier than the last, and the further he got, the faster his heart began to beat.

When he finally stopped standing right beside him, he stood there for a moment, unable to speak properly, trying to find the right words that would not sound stupid or awkward.

“You.” He said finally, his voice coming out far rougher and louder than he intended. “I mean.. You look.”

He paused, swallowing hard, his ears burning even brighter now that he was close enough to see every detail of his face. “You look.. Well.. You look good.”

He wanted to kick himself. That was it? That was all he could say?

It sounded childish and weak and completely useless. He opened his mouth again, trying to fix it, trying to make it sound smarter or more impressive.

“This event.” He continued, forcing himself to keep going even though every part of him wanted to run away. “It is not.. Interesting. Most people here. They have nothing to say.. Nothing worth hearing. But you.. You seem. Different.”

He stared at the floor for a second, then forced himself to look up, but his eyes kept darting away again immediately.

He could feel his face getting warmer and his patience wearing thin. He hated this. He hated feeling like this.

He was Damian Wayne. He did not fumble over words or act like some nervous child. But with him, everything felt wrong. Everything felt difficult.

“I mean.” He tried again, his tone becoming stiffer and more awkward, trying to sound more mature but only succeeding in sounding more confused. “You are not like everyone else here. You do not look.. Act. The same. That is.. Noticeable.”

He stopped talking suddenly, realising he was just repeating the same thing over and over again, sounding like a broken record with no idea what he was doing.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, frustration building up inside him so strong it almost hurt. He had wanted to start a conversation.

He had wanted to say something interesting or charming or at least normal. But instead he had managed to say nothing but short awkward sentences that made him sound like a fool.

“This is.” ,He muttered, turning his head away so he would not have to see the way he was probably looking at him.* “This is not going well. It is. Awkward.. Terribly awkward.”

He sighed heavily, scowling at himself and the situation in general.

"I did not mean to come over here and say nothing useful.. I just. Wanted to.. Talk. But clearly I am not capable of doing that properly.”

He stood there in complete silence after that, unable to think of anything else to say, unable to fix the mess he had made. He hated every second of it.

He hated that he could not even have a simple conversation without making it feel like this.

He just stood there, stiff and embarrassed and completely out of his depth.

Being somewhere else somewhere far away from this room would be much better.

And to get rid of this terrible awkward feeling that he could not get rid of.