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icarusignite · 13 hours ago

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the sickness you foster, your favourite addictions (p.4)

Pairing: Colonel Caleb Xia x Non-MC Reader

Summary: After your brother was killed under the command of newly appointed Colonel Caleb Xia, you swore you'd never forgive the man who returned from the mission when your brother did not. But when you're forcibly reassigned as his second-in-command, you're pulled into a cold war of secrets and bloodstained power plays.

Assigned to spy on the colonel by the same institution that decorated your brother's grave with empty honours, you find yourself caught between two monsters, one who watches from above, and one who stands too close. But there's more to Caleb than perceived cruelty. He’s calculating, obsessive, and far too interested in what lies beneath your controlled fury. The closer you get, the more you begin to wonder: Is this grief? Hatred? Or the start of something far darker?

Warnings: pathetic yearner Caleb agenda. Caleb on his knees.

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: This was very much a self-insert because if Colonel Caleb Xia was on his knees for me, I'm smooching him, idc what he's done in the past LMFAO. But I've tried to give reader her own reasoning and motivations, so I hope it makes sense. If this were a longer fic, I'd spend more time building the slow burn and exploring the entanglement of grief and longing for something that no longer exists, but I think it turned out alright, all things considered. Also, I just needed them to kiss in the last chapter.

This is as close to a happy-ish ending I could do for now lol. Neither of them actually loves each other at this point tbh. Caleb loves the idea of the reader and what she represents (an emotional tether to her brother and, by extension MC, because Caleb likes to be needed and he wants to have people in his life who need him and to whom he can be of service). Reader, on the other hand, is lonely and angry, and Caleb fills a void (sorry, I may have self-inserted too hard and written her as emotionally unavailable/avoidant attachment style, lol). They're just trauma-bonded and fulfilling roles in each other's lives that other people previously took up. Neither of them actually knows each other outside of a workplace setting.

That being said, I did enjoy writing their dynamic, so I will do more lighthearted snippets of their future together once they actually get to know each other, because they have potential (he falls first AND harder core). Marking this fic complete because technically it is done, and anything I add later will be bonus chapters.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts so comments are encouraged and appreciated <33

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

The end-of-year Fleet gala felt like a cruel joke—polished floors, chandeliers blazing with artificial warmth, and a suffocating press of formal wear. You smiled when required, made civil conversation when cornered, and endured the endless parade of self-important men measuring themselves in titles, missions, and sheer decibels.

In the past, you'd attended with your brother, and the two of you would drift to the quieter corners of the hall, sharing whispered gossip. Together, you'd make bets on which officers would go home to their spouses, and which ones would detour toward mistresses, gambling dens, or other clandestine sins.

Tonight, however, your date was another engineer on your team. Lieutenant Avery Holt's name was familiar but unremarkable, and his manner polite. He wasn't a close friend, but he'd asked you to accompany him, and you'd agreed out of courtesy because turning him down might have made things awkward at work. To his credit, he never once let his hand stray from the crook of your elbow and kept a respectable distance befitting the cordial company of a colleague.

While the two of you took a slow turn about the room, Avery talking your ear off about upcoming aircraft trials, you felt a prickle at the back of your neck. Someone was watching you, and you didn't need to look to know who it was.

Colonel Xia's gaze had been on you since the moment you'd stepped through the venue doors, steady as a spotlight you refused to acknowledge. You could feel it tracking you as you moved, his line of sight carving your silhouette from the crowd, but you didn't dare turn around and acknowledge it.

It had been months since your last confrontation in his office, and after that, he had all but vanished from your life. No more coffee deliveries or extra assistance slipped into your workdays, and certainly no sudden appearances in your lab.

You were grateful, of course, but you would be a liar if you said you didn't think of him every now and then, especially when you had to make your own after-hours coffee.

You had also conducted your own investigation on the matter of your brother's death, and though you hated to admit it, Caleb's report had been correct. There was no forgery or falsehood presented, and the black box footage was a testament to how thorough he had been. It gave you closure of some sort, but it also made you feel just the tiniest bit guilty because you had been blaming an innocent person for something that wasn't their fault. Well, Caleb was the furthest thing from innocent, and you still thought him a meddlesome, arrogant, tyrant, but for all his faults, being your brother's murderer was not one of them.

You still didn't believe it was an accidental death though, but every time you tried to seek the Colonel out and interrogate him, he was nowhere to be found. It was like he was actively avoiding you, which was utterly ridiculous. For someone who was always hovering just out of sight, for him to not be there when you actually needed him irritated you to no end. But the fact that you kept thinking about him, that he had taken up residence in the corner of your mind, well, even the Fleet couldn't waterboard that confession out of you.

Avery, always one to sniff out an opportunity to network, suddenly veered toward a group of higher-ups standing near the marble column. The three men were flushed with drink, their laughter too slurred to be discussing something of real importance.

"Evening, gentlemen," your partner greeted brightly, slipping into the circle with an easy grin and outstretched hand. "Heard the war stories from the other side of the room, and figured I ought to come hear them straight from the source."

The men chuckled, shaking his hand in turn, while you lingered a step behind, smiling politely when their eyes skimmed over you. Their words swam around you—half-jokes, half-boasts—and you answered when needed, but otherwise let them fade into the background. Your heels ached, your toes were threatening mutiny, and you were already picturing the comfort of your bed when you finally got home.

Until you heard your brother's name.

"...damn pity we lost a good officer," one of the men sneered, his smirk curling in the direction of the far end of the grand hall where Caleb stood with a drink untouched in his hand as he listened to someone else speak. "And yet the good Colonel is still with us."

His colleague snorted. "If only Admiral Harkins didn't get too trigger-happy. Impatience ruins even the best-laid plans, and now we're right back where we started, but with one less junior pilot. What a waste."

"Well, the admiral didn't seem too torn up about it, so I suppose it doesn't matter. They're all replaceable anyway."

Your stomach lurched, heat prickling behind your eyes, and for a moment, you swore the entire hall tilted, not from champagne, but from the sheer agony coiled behind your ribs.

Avery glanced at you mid-laugh, his smile faltering when he caught your thunderous expression. "Hey," he murmured low enough for only you to hear, "you good?"

You almost stumbled, your knees threatening to buckle, but you locked them in place. You would not make a scene here in front of them. Even if every muscle in your body screamed to find Harkins and drive a screwdriver into his throat.

"I need air," you said flatly, already walking away.

When you exited, the night air hit like shards of glass in your lungs, but not nearly as sharp as the thoughts tearing you apart from the inside. You walked without seeing, not registering the gala building fading behind you or the traffic blurring past in streaks of neon.

They had called your brother replaceable. The word reverberated through bone and blood until your teeth ached. They'd laughed and smiled as though the end of your world was something to fold neatly into their collection of callous anecdotes, a garnish for their next glass of whiskey.

How dare they speak his name like it meant nothing?

Your fists clenched, the hot sting of broken skin blooming in your palms. A part of you wanted to walk straight back and tear every one of them apart until they choked on their own smug words. You could almost feel their blood warm on your hands.

Through it all, another poison dripped steadily in the back of your mind—Harkins. You'd always known he was up to no good. The way he'd planted seeds of suspicion and watched with barely hidden satisfaction when you took the bait. You'd given him information—nothing of importance, sure—but that didn't absolve you. Every word you'd ever spoken to him sat rotting in your gut, and you wanted to rip them out of yourself.

When the bile finally rose, you stumbled into a shadowed corner a few streets away, doubled over, and dragged air into your lungs to keep yourself from drowning. It didn't help. Your breathing hitched, and your vision narrowed. All that rage and grief tangled into a knot so tight you thought your chest would crack under it. You didn't even notice you were shaking until something warm settled over your shoulders.

You froze. It was your coat, the one you'd forgotten back at the venue in your haste, and when you turned, you saw the last person you expected to see. The Colonel himself stood awkwardly in front of you, his gaze searching yours with a mix of concern and hesitation, like he wasn't sure if you'd accept the gesture or throw it back in his face. His breath puffed faintly in the cold, and you realized he'd run here.

"I'm probably the last person you wish to see," he began earnestly, "but I saw you leave without your coat and thought you might need it."

His voice was uncharacteristically soft, a rare note you'd never heard from him before. Outside the stifling confines of his Fleet uniform and his looming office walls, he looked different, less authoritarian and more boyish. His hair was wind-tousled, sticking up in disobedient wisps from what must have been a brief run to catch up with you, and making him look like a well-mannered, if slightly roguish, gentleman.

When you didn't answer, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Do you have a ride home?"

The question made your heart sink. Stupid, opportunistic Avery had been your ride, which in hindsight was a spectacularly foolish decision. You would sooner walk barefoot across the city in the freezing dark than go back in there to ask him to take you home. But where was home anyway? You didn't want to return to the apartment that had begun to feel like an echo chamber for every loss you'd suffered. Especially not after tonight, after the undeniable proof that your brother's death had been nothing more than collateral damage in someone else's war.

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. "I don't want to go home."

Then, your body betrayed you, and a single tear slipped free, trailing a scalding path down your chilled cheek. Caleb's hand lifted immediately, as if drawn by some instinct he couldn't fight. His thumb hovered in the space between you, close enough to catch the tear, but he didn't make contact, waiting for permission to touch you.

Instead, you flinched away. The reaction was minute, barely more than a twitch of muscle, but he caught it, and his eyes clouded with hurt.

"I'm not here to... pry," he said eventually, lowering his hand. "You just looked—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "You looked like you needed someone."

The words rippled through your already unsteady heart. You didn't want him to notice. You didn't want anyone to notice. But here he was, unflinching in the face of the anguish you couldn't hide, not trying to fill the silence with pity or platitudes.

You hated him for it, but you also hated the treacherous part of you that was grateful.

"I don't need anything from you," you snapped.

"I know," he replied quietly, almost like he'd expected your resistance. "But maybe..." His shoulders shifted under his suit jacket, not the calculated posture you knew from the Fleet, but something loose and uncertain. "After everything, I figured I owed you this much at least. To be here, if you need it."

A flash of anger sparked through the grief. "Don't you dare—" you began, but your voice broke before you could steady it, and the rest of your outrage fizzled out.

Caleb didn't antagonize you further. He simply stepped to the side, keeping enough distance to give you space, but not far enough to disappear into the night. He had the forlorn look of someone trying very hard to bridge a chasm but finding it too wide, and in that moment, the idea of him leaving felt worse than the idea of him staying.

Before you could summon the will to tell him to leave you alone, it began to rain. It started softly, the faintest misting drizzle that you might have mistaken for damp air, but within minutes, the clouds split wider, and the water came in earnest, pelting the streets with a rhythm that felt both cleansing and accusing. You made no move to find shelter because if you stayed there long enough, maybe the rain would erase you, blurring the edges until you bled into the concrete, your shape unrecognizable, and your existence washed down the gutters.

Following your lead, Caleb remained under the same weeping sky, his hair flattening against his forehead. "Come," he said at last, his voice almost swallowed by the rainfall. "Let me take you home. This is no weather to be outside, you'll catch a cold."

"I don't want to go home," you repeated solemnly.

He let out a disgruntled sound, and you thought, with a messy tangle of hope and disappointment, that he'd finally take the hint. That he'd finally decide you were a hopeless case and leave you to your self-inflicted undoing, to spend the night dripping on some lonely park bench while the city forgot you existed. You'd dissolve quietly, like sugar in tea, and no one would notice until you were gone entirely.

But to your surprise, Caleb only tipped his head, rainwater running down the curve of his jaw. "Fine, let's go, then," he urged gently. "I won't take you home, but we need to get out of the rain."

"We?" you echoed skeptically.

The corner of his mouth twitched, halfway between a smirk and a dare. "Can't have our head engineer wandering the streets of Skyhaven in this weather. The Fleet needs that brain of yours in peak condition."

Without waiting for you to argue or giving you the chance to shrink back, he placed his hand lightly at the small of your back. Even through your coat, his palm was warm and grounding, and somehow, you didn't flinch, letting him steer you toward wherever he'd parked his car, your footsteps falling in unspoken agreement with his.

You didn't know why you let him. Maybe you were too drained to resist, or maybe you had started to wonder what it would be like if you stopped running from the one person who seemed determined not to let you disappear.

If someone had told Caleb this morning that you'd be in his apartment by nightfall, he would've laughed at the cruel joke. For months since your last outburst, he'd been careful not to stain your life with his presence. He had drawn a line, and then forced himself to stand on his side of it, even when it felt like swallowing glass, pretending to be content with the crumbs he gathered of you through his surveillance feeds.

He told himself he had to forget the memory of you in his proximity, the way your fingers brushed his when you passed him a document and the cadence of your voice, even when your words tore into him like shrapnel.

He'd almost skipped tonight's gala. The thought of seeing you on another man's arm was an image he couldn't bear, but in the end, he'd gone anyway because as much as it hurt to see you with someone else, the alternative of not seeing you at all was worse. Then you'd gone barreling out of the venue, your eyes bright with unshed tears, and he was glad he was here after all, in the right place at the right time to pick up the pieces.

Now, somehow, you were in his apartment, sitting gingerly at the edge of his couch, like the furniture might swallow you whole if you leaned back. He was in the kitchen, going through the ritual of making you a warm drink, while he watched you take in his place from the corner of his eye.

It was tidy, though only because he was never home long enough to make a mess. When you'd first stepped in, he'd taken your sodden coat from your shoulders, and now your formal wear clung damply to your frame in ways that made his eyes want to linger, but he averted them respectfully. You were drying your hair with one of his towels, the soaked tendrils falling forward in a curtain he wanted to brush back, and he kept stealing looks over the counter as he tried to think of something safe to say.

Eventually, he brought over your drink and a first aid kit. You took the mug without a word, but then you took a sip and your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"How'd you know how I take my tea?"

Caleb didn't miss a beat. "Lucky guess."

You rolled your eyes, but kept drinking, until your gaze found the first aid kit. "What's that for? Are you hurt?"

"No, but you are." He crouched down in front of you, close enough that he could see the rain still beading on your lashes. "May I?" he asked, nodding toward your shoes.

A faint flush tinged your cheeks before you nodded, and he didn't look away as he slid them off, each motion deliberate. The skin at the back of your heels was chafed from too many hours on your feet. He smeared ointment on the wounds before placing bandages, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. His fingers brushed your ankle and the edge of your calf, long enough that the contact burned your skin, but he pretended not to notice the way your muscles twitched in response.

When he was done, he didn't rise, content to kneel before you, looking into your face to search for something he wasn't sure he would find.

You broke the silence first, putting down your mug and pointing to the wall. "I didn't know you two were close."

He glanced at the photograph of him and your brother from their academy days, laughing at something just out of frame. He nodded slowly. "He was a good friend."

You swallowed thickly. "He was a good person."

Suddenly, Caleb couldn't stop himself. Maybe it was your proximity, close enough that your perfume wrapped around him like a memory he'd never escape, or the way your face was near enough to see every faint blemish and human detail that made you real. Whatever it was, the words broke loose before he could weigh the consequences.

"I apologize."

You arched a brow. "You have a lot of things to apologize for. Which are you referring to?"

He exhaled slowly. So you weren't going to make this easy for him. Fair enough, he didn't deserve easy.

"Everything," he clarified. "Whatever you think I need to be sorry for, I am. But mostly for that day in your workshop. I shouldn't have done what I did."

"Good to know you're self-aware."

"I should have apologized sooner. I'm sorry for that, too."

"Careful, Colonel," you drawled. "Keep going on like that and someone might mistake it for actual sincerity."

Caleb frowned. "I am trying, and I am sorry. I mean it, I swear."

Your eyes dropped to your open palm, where the cut he'd pried open had long ago healed into a jagged scar. You shrugged, like it meant nothing. "Whatever. No point complaining about it now. What's done is done."

Instinctively, he reached for your hand, and to his surprise, you let his fingers brush over the scar, a faint shiver racing up your arm even as you tried to mask it.

"I hurt you," he murmured. "And I will never be sorry enough. You have to know, I never meant to take it that far."

You pulled your hand back abruptly and rose to your feet. "God, I don't know why I'm even here. This is weird."

Caleb remained on his knees like a supplicant at an altar, his gaze fixed on you with a reverence that made your heart rate skyrocket. His hands caught your clenched fists before you could retreat further.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you tried to haul him up. "Oh, come on, get up. This is even weirder now."

When you tugged again, he tightened his grip. He recognized the restlessness in your limbs and the way your gaze darted toward the door. You were contemplating leaving, and he knew with sickening certainty that if you left now, you'd be gone forever.

So he stayed on his knees, his every muscle taut with a barely contained panic. Oh, the universe loved to torment him. It had a cruel rhythm, pushing you into his orbit just long enough for him to breathe you in, then yanking you away and depriving him of your intoxicating presence. He wasn't sure how many more games of push and pull he could survive before something in him finally snapped.

"I am sorry for everything else, too. For giving you all those menial tasks you despised, and for interfering with your life. For every intrusive act you hate me for, I am sorry for it." He sounded even more pathetic now, a pitiful creature begging at the feet of the divine.

There was something almost holy about this. Most people believed that worship was for the gods, but to him, you were the closest thing to sacred, despite being so achingly human. His devotion burned feverishly, something manic flickering in the shadows of his gaze. He would have kissed the hem of your dress if he thought it would absolve him.

Unfortunately for him, you did not understand the fervour of his devotion, and the longer he held his position, the more baffled you looked.

"Don't be like this," you snapped exasperatedly. "You're going to get sore knees, Colonel. I'm not a monster to keep you like this. This evening has been odd enough."

He shook his head, almost violently, as if the title were a curse. "Not that. Just Caleb. Please."

His tone was raw and pleading, making you falter. Your gaze raked over him, as if seeing him for the first time, or at least seeing this side of him for the first time. He had shed his coat earlier, leaving him in his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top two buttons undone, and the tie loosened. His hair was still in disarray from the storm, the damp strands making him look too human for someone who commanded so much of your life. Gone was the unyielding colonel you'd known, and in his place was a man you did not recognize.

So you gave in, just a little. You blamed the bizarre events of the evening for your behaviour, but maybe the truth was, you were lonely, and no one had ever presented themselves to you so utterly. If you weren't so flabbergasted, you might even have been flattered.

The man who commanded rooms with his presence alone, who never so much as looked at anyone with softness, was on his knees for you. The sight sent an electric thrill up your spine, and you half wondered if he was drunk, but there was no sharp tang of alcohol on his breath, and you hadn't seen him touch a drink all evening. Maybe you were drunk then, and this was all a hallucination.

"I'm sorry too, I guess," you admitted reluctantly. "I may have said things that...crossed a line. And I never got to thank you for the report. You gave me the truth about my brother when no one else would. I shouldn't have held you accountable for something that wasn't your fault."

Caleb's response was instant. "I deserved it."

"Some of it, sure." Your lips quirked in a wry half-smile. "You were an arrogant asshole, but I shouldn't have gone about it the way I did."

"No," he countered firmly. "You were right to do it like that. I needed to be called out."

"Now you're just agreeing with me for the sake of agreeing with me."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't allow himself a smile.

You exhaled, trying to untangle your hands from his once more. "Look, come on, get up. We've both done things we're sorry for, and we've apologized, so maybe, moving forward, we can be civil at work. Things won't have to be so awkward."

Caleb's voice was fragile when he asked, "Are you going to leave if I let go?"

You shrugged. "It's the logical thing to do, isn't it? We've sorted out our issues. It's been a productive evening, I'd say."

His gaze locked on yours, unblinking. "Don't go. Please. Not yet."

It wasn't a command, or even a plea, but an invocation. A prayer spoken aloud from a man who never prayed, and for one dizzying heartbeat, you couldn't tell if it was your own pulse or his you were feeling in your throat.

You glared at him. "What do you want from me?"

"You." As if the answer wasn't already obvious.

A humourless scoff left your throat. "You don't even know me. We don't know each other. Your... attachment is rather odd, and frankly, it feels disingenuous. I'm nobody."

"You're the only person who matters." His tone was unwavering, but the zeal in his eyes threatened to unravel you.

Your gaze slid from him to the wall, scanning the framed photographs he had on display. Most of them featured the same smiling girl, her arms always wound around him, familiar and comfortable. "Somehow, I don't think that's true."

You didn't pause to examine the unwelcome pang in your chest. Of course, he had a life outside the Fleet. Everyone normal did. You were the only pathetic person who didn't.

Caleb followed your gaze, and when his eyes landed on the photos, something fierce and miserable flashed across his face. He shook his head vehemently.

"Relic of a past life," he half lamented. One I can never again have. "But you—" He leaned closer, his nose a hairsbreadth away from pressing into your sternum. "You are the here and now. You are the only person now."

And damn it, some stupid part of you wanted to believe him. It had been long enough for your hatred to have cooled into something else entirely, and in the vacant space left behind, you'd realized it had never been hatred at all. It was mostly frustration—at him, yes, but also at your own inadequacy.

You searched for the words that would push him away for good. That would be the sane thing to do, to burn the bridge, walk out, and forget this whole insane evening. Forget that you'd seen Colonel Caleb Xia on his knees like some penitent at a shrine.

But the words that left your mouth were anything but sane. "Would you do something for me, then?"

Caleb's chuckle was desperate, indicative of a man already in too deep. "For you? Anything."

"Kill Harkins for me." Maybe this was a better way to push him away. Prove to him that you were more trouble than you were worth, that you were unreasonable and deranged in your grief.

His head tilted, as if he hadn't heard right. "What?"

"I mean it. I want him dead. Not reassigned, or quietly retired. Dead. I don't care if it's an accidental explosion or if he's found strangled in his bed with a silk tie. Hell, poison his wine if you like. I want him gone. You know what he did, and he deserves it. You cannot tell me otherwise."

Caleb's eyes narrowed. "You don't know what you're asking me to do."

"I do. And I know you can do it. I've heard the whispers. The people who vanish, and the accidents no one investigates."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "No, you don't know what you're asking of me...because I'd do it. For you, I'd do anything."

That caught you off guard. "No, you wouldn't."

"I would." No hesitation. No qualifiers. No price. He didn't even blink, staring at you like you were the only star in his sky.

"Why?"

This time, he really did smirk. "And here I thought you were the most brilliant mind in the Fleet."

You sneered, heat rising under your skin. "That's not an answer."

"I already gave you one."

"So... you'll do it?"

"I said I would." He leaned forward a fraction, professing it like a vow. "So I will. For you."

If he spoke like that, how could you be held responsible for your actions?

You moved before you could think better of it. When you pulled your hands free from his, Caleb's expression darkened with disappointment, certain you were about to leave. But then you leaned down, threaded your fingers through his already dishevelled hair, and kissed him.

The act was messy and uncoordinated, more hunger than grace. His mouth found yours like he'd been holding his breath for years, and now you were the air. You didn't want to admit it, but a guilty part of you knew you were using this to fill a hollow space inside yourself. You didn't want to be so achingly alone anymore. You simply wanted to forget, to drown in sensation, and finally have someone who looked at you with such relentless devotion. You wanted someone who belonged to you completely. You'd never had that before, and a dark, reckless part of you wanted to know what it felt like.

Caleb rose from his knees in one smooth motion, not breaking the kiss, hands framing your face like he might lose you if he let go. His lips were desperate, almost frantic, and you could feel him practically vibrate with relief. He was ecstatic that you were the one who had closed the distance, that you were touching him, wanting him.

Some part of him could tell your heart wasn't fully in it yet, but he didn't care. He had all the time in the world to win you over thoroughly. This was the opening he had been waiting for, the crack in the wall he had been battering at for months. You had finally let him in, and he would spend the rest of his life proving that doing so was the best decision you'd ever made. That giving yourself to him would be your favourite mistake.

Taglist: @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @mi-yaw @userjunhuii @yahumankdj @twismare @missybabes @elielielira @kazbrkker @sylusgirlie7 @velvtcherie @potania @lyn-auxcord @rjreins @applecaviar @dramaticalsachan @iwantsomepotatoxx @inzanekillian @unbaed-you @poisonpomme @jisodior @risagichi @san-axa0 @killcxm @oxamarok @applepi405

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icarusignite · 4 days ago

Text

❆ INTEREFERENCE

PAIRING : aged up!damian wayne x gn!reader

ONESHOT request : he doesn't allow you to become something more, you aren't sure why

A/N : i don't know why i have been enjoying hurt/comfort lately... my brain just craves it, like a fly to a light... thank you anon for this request, a lovie piece to write <3 taglist : @6000-fandoms

masterlist

ON NIGHTS like this, when the city felt too quiet, you learned to trust the stillness less. It wasn’t until the soft hum of your comms fell completely silent that you realized something was wrong. Not a glitch. Not interference. Silence.

You tugged at your earpiece, fingers working with quiet frustration, until the line finally sparked back to life. Only to be met with a burst of voices, urgent and alarmed.

“Where have you been? They’ve been fighting Two-Face for over an hour,” Oracle’s voice snapped through, sharp but relieved.

“My comms got shut off,” you said, blinking as your feet slowed on the rooftop. “Someone disconnected me.”

There was a pause, just long enough for suspicion to grow roots.

“Robin,” Batman’s voice cut through, cold and unmistakably stern. “Care to explain how their comms were cut the moment we got word of the robbery?”

A beat. Then Damian’s voice, smooth and too carefully measured, “I don’t know what you mean, Father.”

But there was a smile in it— not in tone, but in texture. You heard it. The way you always could. A quiet triumph he didn’t bother to hide.

“Robin,” Batman warned again.

The cold wind bit a little sharper at your cheeks. Your jaw clenched, but not from the cold.

Every mission— every single one— since you started this work had somehow unraveled at Damian’s hands. Whether it was cutting your line, rerouting you with false intel, or fabricating some sudden “emergency” a few blocks away… it was always something. Always him.

You weren’t sure when it stopped feeling like coincidence and started feeling deliberate. But tonight… tonight it didn’t matter. The damage had already been done.

Their voices blurred around you now, fading into a low murmur in your ear, as if you’d dipped your head beneath water. You stopped listening. You didn’t want to hear excuses, or worse, the sound of him not offering any at all.

Because it left you wondering something you hadn’t let yourself think too hard about before: Did he not believe in you? The question sat heavy on your chest, tightening with each breath. You weren’t angry anymore. Just... tired. Tired of trying to prove you deserved to be there. Tired of wondering if the person who claimed to love you was the very one keeping you from growing.

“I’m going home,” you whispered.

You cut the line before anyone could answer. The silence that followed was different this time. Not empty. Not lonely. Just… yours.

And later that night, when you heard the soft tread of booted steps nearing your room, you felt your heart twist. Part of you wanted to rise, to cross the room and turn the lock before the door could open. To make the silence stretch a little longer, not deal with this confrontation tonight.

Yet you still allowed the door to open, creaking with uncertainty. You didn’t look up from the bed, eyes fixed on the same spot you’d been staring at for the past hour— a wrinkle in the blanket, a place where the fabric folded like waves in a storm.

“Beloved,” he shuffled forward, sounding like a child caught with a hand in the candy jar.

“Don’t,” Your voice cut through the quiet. Not loud, but sharp. Fragile in its own way. You lifted your gaze slowly, meeting him, the weight of your stare enough to stop him in his tracks. “Don’t apologize unless you mean it Damian.”

He didn’t flinch, but something in his shoulders fell— like armor slipping off.

“I’m sorry, my beloved, I did not mean to make you feel inferior,” You looked away as he stepped closer.

You ignored how the bed molded to the weight placed next to you. But you didn’t feel his warmth on your skin, he was careful not to touch. As if he knew he’d already crossed too many invisible lines tonight.

“You are strong,” he continued softly, “and brilliant. I don’t doubt that. Not for a moment.””

“Then why do you keep stopping me?” you whispered and though your voice barely carried, it hit harder than any scream. “Why say you believe in me… but never let me prove it? Do you know how that feels?”

His silence wasn’t empty. It was filled with every word he didn’t know how to say. So you allowed yourself to continue.

“I hate it,” you breathed, turning away. “It makes me feel like I’m just something you want to protect… not someone you trust.”

Damian exhaled, he slouched forward, yet did not allow himself to place his head in his palms. He felt the weight of your words. He felt the crack in his heart. Finally understanding the weight of his actions, his decisions.

“Because I’m scared,” he admitted. “I care about you more than I know how to handle. And every time you walk into danger, I imagine what it would be like if you didn’t walk back out. That fear… it gets ahead of me at times.”

You turned toward him slowly, his face finally visible beneath the shadows. No bravado. No mask. Just a boy trying, and failing, to love someone without breaking them.

“You don’t get to control me just because you’re afraid,” you said, softer now.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry. Not because I got caught. But because I hurt you.”

For the first time that night, he looked truly unsure— hands curled in his lap, head bowed ever so slightly. You could feel his restraint. Not reaching for you, not demanding forgiveness, not defending himself. Just… waiting. Hoping.

You breathed out slowly, and the weight on your chest lifted. It hasn't gone, but it is lighter now. And even though nothing was fixed, not completely, you let your fingers brush his knuckles.

“I don’t need you to protect me from the world,” you said. “I need you to stand beside me in it.”

Damian looked up, and this time, his eyes held no tragedy, only quiet reverence.

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