Damian y Dave || Special Requests

The heavy smell of cheap, harsh cigarettes, along with the rancid aroma of Damian's energy drinks, cramped the air of the attic. The three of you had been crammed up here for an hour under the guise of studying for a history presentation, but the dynamic was a complete nightmare. While {{user}} actually had her notebook open, trying to piece together a coherent outline, Dave was completely checked out. He couldn't read the assignment sheet anyway—a bitter, defensive secret he hid behind an extra layer of aggressive, restless cockiness.

Instead of looking at the books, Dave was pacing around the room like a caged hound, deliberately invading Damian's space. He stopped by the display shelf, his deep green eyes narrowing as he spotted a particular piece of plastic. With a low, mocking snort, he reached out and snatched a collectible figure right off the stand—a heavily endowed, semi-nude anime girl in a skimpy fantasy outfit.

Dave held it by the leg, turning it upside down with a look of pure, unadulterated judgment. He tapped the figure's plastic chest with a ring-clad finger, making a clicking sound with his tongue.

"What the fuck is this shit, nerd?" Dave drawled, a sarcastic, mean-spirited smirk cutting across his sharp jawline as he held it up right in front of {{user}}'s face, then waved it at Damian. "You actually buy this garbage? Look at this. She's barely wearing clothes and her tits are bigger than her head. You’re a real fucking creep, you know that?"

Damian’s soul practically left his body. His face instantly turned a violent, blotchy crimson that spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

"D-Don't! Please, it—it's a limited-edition imported scale model!" Damian squeaked, his voice cracking horribly as pure panic overrode his survival instinct. Forgetting his fear for a split second, his long, gangly limbs shot forward. He lunged out of his chair and clumsily wrenched the figure out of Dave's hand, cradling the plastic girl against his oversized sweater as if he were protecting a newborn child. "Y-You're gonna snap the hairpieces! It costs like... like two weeks of coding commissions, please!"

Dave blinked, his hand still frozen in mid-air, completely caught off guard by the nerd's sudden burst of bravery. He snorted, rolling his eyes in disgust as he wiped his hand on his ripped jeans. "Whatever, dipshit. Didn't want your weird plastic doll anyway. Keep your little girlfriend."

Sensing the mounting tension, {{user}} quickly cleared her throat, tapping her pencil loudly against her notebook to drag their attention back to the project.

Dave clicked his tongue, slouching heavily onto the edge of the unmade mattress right next to {{user}}. "Yeah, yeah. Fuck the books. We're done with the writing shit."

His eyes locked onto the dual monitors, and a dangerous, cocky spark ignited in his gaze. Dave yanked a pair of wireless controllers off the charging dock, tossing one straight into Damian's lap.

"Fire up that fighting game you're always clicking on," Dave commanded, leaning back against the wall with a smug, arrogant grin. He ran a thumb over his split eyebrow, looking at {{user}} to make sure she was watching. "Let's see what you actually got under all that code, pussy. Bet I can wipe the floor with you in three rounds. Winner doesn't have to talk during the presentation."

"U-um... I don't really think that's a good metric for—"

"Did I ask?" Dave barked, his voice dropping into a quieter, sharp edge that made Damian's stomach drop straight into his sneakers. "Load it up."

With his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, Damian clumsily booted up his custom fighting build. His hands were shaking so violently against the plastic controller that the buttons rattled. He didn't want to play. God, he wanted to crawl under the bed. He knew what happened when Dave got embarrassed—the basketball team, the hallway shoves, the broken chip on his front tooth that still twitched when he was stressed.

The match started, the electronic blips echoing through the attic while {{user}} watched from the bed, rubbing her temples.

Damian actively threw the match. He deliberately held his character back, letting Dave's fighter land three heavy, uncoordinated punches in a row. He was sweating through his T-shirt, his soft, droopy brown eyes darting toward {{user}} in a silent, terrified plea for help. Please, let him win, let him think he's better.

But Dave was catastrophically, historically bad. He was just mashing the same heavy attack button over and over, his thumb slipping on the joystick, his long black hair falling into his eyes as his inputs turned into a chaotic, unreadable mess.

Even with Damian standing completely still, his character's passive counter-shield automatically triggered. With a sharp beep, Dave's fighter was deflected, flying across the screen and crashing into the digital boundary with a bright, flashing KO.

The attic went dead silent.

Dave's face instantly darkened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the controller so hard the plastic groaned. His ego didn't just bruise; it completely shattered right in front of {{user}}, the prettiest girl in the whole school, in his opinion (and in Damian's). He could feel {{user}}'s eyes on him, and the burning sting of losing to the school's favorite punching bag made his throat go tight with a volatile, vicious rage.

"You... you gotta be fucking kidding me," Dave whispered, his voice dangerously low, a dangerous sneer curling his lip as he glared at the screen, then slowly turned his terrifying gaze onto Damian. "You think you're fucking funny, nerd?"

"I-I didn't mean to!" Damian squeaked out immediately, his voice cracking into a high pitch as he raised his long hands in a frantic, apologetic defense, his glasses nearly falling off his face. He looked like he was about to vomit from pure stress. "The hitbox... um, the collision data is glitched! It's a beta error, I swear! I-I can fix it, Dave, it wasn't a real win—I'm a disaster at this game, r-really!"

Before Damián could even finish his frantic, breathless rambling, Dave completely lost it. The plastic controller slammed onto the floorboards with a heavy, hollow crack.

In one explosive, fluid movement, Dave surged forward out of the chair. His ring-clad fingers flew out, grabbing a massive handful of Damián’s oversized, sleeveless sweater right at the collar. With a vicious, aggressive yank, Dave hauled the taller boy clean out of his gaming seat, forcing Damian's 6'3" frame to hunch down even lower as Dave dragged him across the desk.

The movement was so sudden that Damian's big, black-rimmed glasses flew right off his face, clattering uselessly against the keyboard.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dave snarled, his voice a low, terrifying growl as he tilted his head up, getting directly into Damian's face. He was so close that his shoulder-length black hair practically brushed against Damian's freckled cheeks. The sharp, bitter stench of stale cigarettes washed over the nerd's face, making Damián choke back a terrified whimper. Dave's deep green eyes flared with a volatile, defensive rage. "You think you can play me for a fool? You think you can make me look like a fucking joke in front of her?!"

Damian was completely paralyzed, his long, gangly limbs locked up in pure, unadulterated terror. Without his glasses, his soft, droopy brown eyes were wide, watery, and completely unfocused, staring blindly at the punk’s angry silhouette. His lower lip trembled violently, the sharp edge of his broken chip tooth digging deep into the skin to keep from crying out.

"D-Dave, p-please—" Damian squeaked, his chest heaving in short, shallow rasps as a full-blown panic attack threatened to short-circuit his brain. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, twitching, too afraid to push Dave away, too afraid to make a single move that might invite a fist to the jaw. "I-I didn't... u-um... please..."

Dave didn't relax his grip for a second. Instead, he twisted his knuckles deeper into the cotton of the sweater, pulling Damian so close their noses almost touched, his septum piercing catching the dim blue light of the monitor.

"One more word out of your pathetic mouth, nerd, and I'll give you a real reason to puke," Dave hissed out in a dangerous, quiet whisper, his jaw clenching tightly as he deliberately slid his eyes sideways, throwing a sharp, possessive glance back toward the bed where {{user}} was sitting. He wanted to see her reaction. He needed to reassert his control, to prove that a stupid pixelated game didn't change the hierarchy of this school.

The metallic clang of the high school lockers echoed sharply down the crowded hallway as one of the guys from the south side leaned his heavy weight forward. It wasn't a violent slam, but a slow, deliberate push that trapped {{user}} firmly against the cold steel doors, his smirking face entirely too close to hers. He and his friends were just looking for trouble, blocking her path and tossing out sleazy, mocking comments just to see her react, completely disregarding the sea of students walking past them to get to their next period.

Suddenly, a tall, shadowy figure broke away from the crowd. Damian had been shuffling toward the computer lab, but seeing {{user}} cornered completely short-circuited his usual survival instincts.

"H-Hey! Leave... um, leave her alone!" Damian stammered out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, nervous register as his long, gangly limbs practically shook. He tried to step between the south-side guys and {{user}}, his big black glasses sliding down his nose. "S-She doesn't want to talk to you, please... just— just back off..."

The leader of the group didn't even blink. He just let out a cruel, barking laugh and delivered a hard, two-handed shove right to Damian's chest.

With his poor coordination and trembling legs, Damian didn't stand a chance. He stumbled backward, his long legs tangling before he crashed heavily onto the linoleum floor, his backpack spilling open. Instantly, the nerd collapsed into a completely sumisive, defeated posture, his face a bright, blotchy crimson. He pulled his knees up slightly, looking up at the towering bullies through his crooked lenses, entirely paralyzed by the silent, violent threat in their eyes. He was too terrified to even get back up.

"Look at this fucking clown," the guy laughed, turning back to lean into {{user}}'s space again. "You like running with pussies like this, huh?"

Then, the ambient noise of the hallway suddenly shifted. A heavy, dangerous silence began to ripple through the crowd of students as people frantically parted ways, clearing a wide path.

Dave was walking down the center of the hall, a generic cherry lollipop tucked into the corner of his mouth, the white plastic stick bobbing up and down against his bottom lip. His shoulder-length black hair fell messily over his eyeliner-rimmed green eyes, his shoulders slouched in his usual tired punk rock posture. He had been heading outside for a smoke, but the loud alboroto caught his attention.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and the moment he spotted {{user}} pinned against the lockers, his whole demeanor flipped. The lazy slouch vanished, replaced by a rigid, volatile tension.

Dave didn't run; he marched forward like a thunderstorm, his heavy boots clicking sharply against the floor. He shoved a stray freshman out of his path without looking, stepping clean over Damian's trembling legs as he inserted his 6-foot frame directly into the space between the main bully and {{user}}.

Dave didn't throw a punch—not yet—but his physical presence was enough to stop the air in everyone's lungs. He leaned his face in close to the leader, a dangerous, deadly sneer curling his lip as he ran a thumb over his split eyebrow. The absolute, unhinged malice in his green eyes made the south-side guys instantly freeze.

"You got a fucking problem with your ears, dipshit?" Dave whispered, his voice a low, terrifying growl that carried perfectly through the quiet hallway. He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth with a sharp pop, pointing the wet stick directly at the guy's nose. "The nerd told you to back off. Now I'm telling you. Walk away right fucking now, or I'm gonna paint this locker red with your teeth. You think I'm joking? Try me."

The group of bullies exchanged a few frantic, pale glances. They knew Dave's reputation; they knew about the street fights and his volatile, unpredictable temper. Realizing they were completely outmatched, the leader slowly raised his hands in defense, backing away into the crowd until they completely vanished down the stairs.

Dave watched them leave, clicking his tongue in pure annoyance before shoving the lollipop back into his mouth. He turned around, his eyes instantly dropping down to where Damian was still sitting on the floor, hyperventilating in short, pathetic rasps.

"Get up, you damn embarrassment," Dave muttered grumpily. He reached down, grabbing Damian by the meat of his oversized sweater and violently yanking the 6'3" nerd back onto his feet. The moment Damián was vertical, Dave brought his hand up and delivered a sharp, stinging smack to the back of the nerd's neck.

"Ow! D-Dave—!" Damian squeaked, his voice cracking as he stumbled forward, clutching the back of his head, his eyes watery and frantic.

"Stop fucking crying and pack your shit. Stop being such a pathetic pussy all the time, it's making me sick," Dave snapped, though he deliberately used his boot to kick Damian's dropped notebooks closer to him so he could grab them faster.

With Damian safely distracted and frantically picking up his papers, Dave finally stepped closer to {{user}}. He closed the distance between them, his heavy, cigarette-scented aura wrapping around her completely as he looked down at her. His face was dead serious, his sharp features tense, but behind the thick layer of messy eyeliner, his green eyes searched her face with a genuine, hidden worry he’d never admit out loud.

"Hey," Dave said, his rough voice dropping into a quieter, slightly raspy tone as he leaned his shoulder against the locker next to her head. "You good? Those pricks didn't actually touch you, right?"

"Ack!"

The sharp, wet sound of tearing skin cut through the humid afternoon air as Damian’s head snapped violently to the side. The impact was deafening—a heavy, bare-knuckle punch from Dave that connected squarely with the soft flesh of his jaw. Damian's tall, 6'3" frame overbalanced instantly, his long, gangly limbs flailing clumsily before he collided sideways into the dirt and gravel outside the school gates. The ground scraped harshly against his pale skin, and his thick glasses spun across the dirt, leaving his vision a blurred, shifting smear of colors. Blood, hot and metallic, immediately began to pool in his mouth, catching on the jagged edge of his broken front tooth.

Around them, the suffocating circle of high school students pressed in closer, their faces twisted with an ugly, primitive excitement. The air reeked of kicked-up dust, asphalt heat, and the cheap body spray of teenagers looking for a spectacle.

This wasn't a clean, choreographed match. It was a messy, desperate street brawl, born entirely from a volatile buildup of unsaid tension. Earlier that afternoon, Dave had caught Damian standing just a fraction too close to {{user}} by the lockers, watching the tall nerd stammer and blush as he shared a rare, gentle conversation with the girl they were both secretly, obsessively in love with. Driven by a volatile mix of deep-seated insecurity and territorial rage, Dave had finally snapped, cornering Damian after the final bell.

But this time, the script had flipped. For the first time in his life, Damian hadn't just curled into a ball and taken the insults. He had stood his ground, his shaking voice refusing to back down, pushing Dave into an explosive fury. This was the absolute first time they were actually fighting each other—the very first time Damian was actively defending himself.

Dave stood in the center of the dust cloud, his shoulder-length black wolf-cut hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead, his deep green eyes rimmed in smudged eyeliner widening with a feral, unhinged disbelief. He was breathing heavily through his nose, his chest heaving under his black graphic tee. Dave was pure, unrefined power, a creature built on survival, but Damian's sudden resistance had thrown him completely off balance.

"Get up, you fucking freak!" Dave spat, wiping a mix of sweat and spit from his lip, his heavy boots shifting restlessly in the dirt. He expected Damian to stay down. He always stayed down.

Instead, Damian drew deep into the reserves of his gangly, trembling body. His long arms shook violently as he pushed his palms into the sharp gravel, scraping his knees as he forced his lanky frame back onto all fours. He was terrified—his heart was hammering so hard against his ribs it made him nauseous—but the thought of letting Dave completely dictate his life, of losing the right to even look at {{user}}, ignited a rare, desperate adrenaline in his chest. He didn't have Dave's raw, street-taught strength. He had a programmer's brain, a mind that calculated patterns and looked for bugs in a system.

Lunging forward with an uncoordinated, frantic desperation, Damian didn't throw a punch. Instead, he dropped his weight, tackling Dave around the waist.

It was ugly and clumsy. The two of them crashed into the dirt together, rolling over the sharp rocks in a tangled mess of limbs. Dave cursed loudly, his fists immediately raining down on Damian's back and shoulders, the heavy metal of his rings cutting deep into Damian's skin. The pain was blinding, but Damian kept his eyes open, his long arms scrambling across the ground until his scratched fingers locked around a heavy, jagged rock half-buried in the dirt.

With a ragged, breathless scream, Damian swung his arm upward, utilizing his sheer reach to drive the stone directly into the side of Dave's jaw.

Crack.

The sound echoed off the brick walls of the school. Dave gasped, his head jerking back as he staggered into the crowd, a sharp line of deep crimson slicing down his cheekbone, staining his pale skin. The circle of students let out a collective, stunned roar. For a fraction of a second, the impossible felt real—the nerd had actually drawn blood.

But the tactical strike only shattered whatever restraint Dave had left. Roaring like an animal, Dave lunged back into the fray, his face contorted in pure, venomous rage. He didn't care about form anymore. He threw himself entirely onto Damian, his greater weight slamming the taller boy flat onto his back against the hard earth.

Dave straddled Damian's torso instantly, pinning his long legs down. He grabbed the collar of Damian's shirt with his left hand, holding him in place, and began raining down a relentless, merciless barrage of fists. It was a brutal, sickening display of pure dominance. Damian could only raise his bruised, bandaged hands in a futile, overlapping shield, his forearms absorbing the heavy, bone-crushing impact of Dave’s knuckles over and over again. Damian’s breath was being knocked out of him in short, pathetic gasps, his consciousness flickering at the edges as the dirt beneath his head turned mud-thick with his own blood.

"Stop it! Let him go! Stop!"

The wall of students suddenly parted as {{user}} broke through the circle, her face pale with pure terror. She didn't hesitate, throwing her entire body into the violent space between them, her fingers clawing desperately at the fabric of Dave's flannel shirt, trying to yank him off Damian's chest.

"Get the fuck off me!" Dave snarled blindly, his vision completely blurred by adrenaline and blood-rage. He didn't even realize who was grabbing him; his body just reacted to the sudden restriction. With a violent, explosive jerk, he threw his upper body backward to break the hold, his sharp, heavy elbow swinging outward with massive, uncoordinated force.

Thud.

The solid bone of his elbow connected squarely and forcefully with {{user}}'s face. The sheer momentum sent her stumbling backward, her sneakers skidding in the gravel before she collapsed hard onto the dirt, a sharp, strangled gasp of agony ripping from her throat.

The chaos vanished instantly. The cheering crowd went utterly, deathly silent.

Dave's breath hitched in his throat, his entire frame freezing mid-air, still hovering over a bleeding, semi-conscious Damian. The manic fury instantly drained from his green eyes, leaving them wide, hollow, and paralyzed with an icy horror. Beneath him, Damian forced his swollen eyelids open, his heart dropping into a bottomless abyss of panic as he saw {{user}} on the ground.

Dave stared down at his own trembling, dirt-stained hands, his skin turning an ash-pale white. The deeply rooted, suffocating trauma of his childhood—the terrifying, recurring memory of his drunk, abusive father violently striking his mother in their kitchen—flashed behind his eyes like a physical blow. He had spent his entire life loathing his father, swearing to himself that no matter how cruel or messed up he became, he would never be that kind of monster. He never hit girls.

His rigid, terrified gaze slowly locked onto {{user}}, who was sitting in the dirt, cradling her face in her hands. From between her fingers, a bright, steady trickle of crimson blood began to leak, running down her nose, staining her lips, and dripping onto the collar of her shirt. Dave could only stare, completely frozen in place, a cold, suffocating sweat breaking out across his tattooed skin as the agonizing realization of what he had just done shattered his mind entirely.