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Jon and Damian were used to acting older than they were.
Damian had grown up in an environment where childishness was discouraged. By the time he was allowed to act his age, he’d already trained the instinct out of himself.
Jon had more time to just be a kid — at least until he learned, at ten, that his dad was Superman. Now, with eighteen approaching, he was under pressure to grow into the role he’d one day inherit.
Between the two of them, it was easy to forget they were still teenagers.
And normal teenagers? They rebel, sneak around, keep secrets. Jon and Damian were no different — they just happened to be doing it in an alleyway between classes.
Jon pushed Damian against the wall, kissing him. Damian didn’t resist. He liked the way Jon towered over him, pinning him in place. The height difference wasn’t huge, but Jon still had to look down, and Damian had to rise on his toes when he wanted to deepen the kiss. Jon’s baseball excuse hid the fact that his strength came from Kryptonian genes. Damian had the kind of muscle you only noticed when it was used.
Jon pulled back, his hand under Damian’s chin. “So… this counts as skipping class for fun, right?”
“Jon, we’ve skipped class countless times for hero work,” Damian said, tilting his head just enough for his green eyes to catch the light.
“Well, yeah. But now we’re skipping on purpose.”
“Everyone does it at least once,” Damian replied, glancing toward the street to make sure no one was passing before meeting Jon’s eyes again.
Jon hummed, satisfied. “True.” He leaned in to kiss him again.
×
When Damian got home, Alfred was waiting in the entryway.
“Good evening, Master Damian.”
“Good evening, Alfred.” Damian removed his shoes and set his bag aside.
“Master Bruce would like to see you in his office.”
“I’ll go see him soon enough.”
“He would like it to be immediately.”
That made Damian pause. Alfred didn’t press urgency unless it mattered. He nodded once and headed upstairs.
He knocked before entering. Bruce sat behind his desk. Dick lounged on the sofa.
“Sit down, Damian,” Bruce said, his tone giving away nothing.
Damian sat. “What is this about, Father?”
“I got a call from your teacher. You were seen leaving with an unknown boy today,” Bruce said.
Damian leaned back in his chair. “It was the student I tutor in math.”
“He was described as tall, strong, and very… mature looking,” Bruce continued.
Of all the things Damian expected to hear in this office, this didn’t even crack the top ten.
- Skipping school? Sure.
- Caught making out in an alley? Also sure.
- The talk? Eventually.
- Hidden hickeys? Maybe.
But Jon being mistaken for some suspicious, older guy? Absolutely not.
“He’s a sports guy,” Damian said flatly, one brow raised. “Of course he’s bulky.”
Bruce’s gaze stayed steady, the patented I can out-stare you into confessing your sins look.
“And this… student you tutor,” Bruce said slowly, “what’s his name?”
Damian met his father’s eyes with the kind of calm only someone truly committed to selective honesty could manage. “It was just Jon.”
“I’m not sneaking around with some mysterious stranger,” Damian continued. “You know him. You’ve met him. Multiple times.”
Dick grinned. “Ohhh. That makes so much more sense. I was picturing some shady college guy in a leather jacket.”
“Your imagination is disturbing,” Damian said, standing. “If we’re done here, I have homework.”
Bruce sighed a bit, “Right. Go.”
×
Damian lay on his bed, pinned beneath Jonathan. They were kissing — more urgent than gentle. One of Jon’s hands gripped the sides of Damian’s neck, squeezing just enough, knowing exactly how much it drove him crazy.
Damian bit Jon’s lower lip, catching him off guard.
Jon’s other hand steadied himself above Damian, while Damian’s hands slipped under Jon’s shirt, his nails digging in as deep as they dared.
They were about to continue when a sharp knock broke the moment. Before anyone could try the handle, they found the door locked.
Damian rolled his eyes and gently pushed Jon off. “Hide in my bathroom,” he whispered.
Jon nodded and scrambled off the bed, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
Damian sat up, fixed his hair and shirt as best he could, then opened the door.
Jason stood there, arms crossed.
“What do you need, Jay?” Damian asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“I want my copy of Emma back. I know you handed in your assignment yesterday,” Jason said.
“Couldn’t you wait until tomorrow?” Damian asked.
“Nope. I’m leaving the manor tonight,” Jason replied.
Damian rolled his eyes, grabbed his bag, and pulled out the book.
Jason shifted in the doorway. “Also— since when do you lock your fucking door?”
“I had a migraine. Was trying to sleep it off,” Damian lied smoothly, taking a slow breath beforehand.
“No wonder you look like such a mess,” Jason said. “You know you could’ve asked Alfred for meds.”
“I know. It’s not bad enough to need them,” Damian said, handing over the book. “Here. Your book.”
Jason took it and started to leave, then paused. “And for the record, if you’re sneaking someone in, make sure they don’t leave visible clothes on your floor.” With that, he left.
Damian shut the door and locked it again. His eyes immediately landed on Jon’s shoes tucked under the table and his favorite jacket sprawled across the floor. Damian muttered a curse under his breath.
×
Damian sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. It might have been 4 am, and sure, he was dressed in a turtleneck and tailored pants, but it was breakfast nonetheless.
Tim entered, poured himself a cup of coffee, and passed by Damian. “Morning, pipsqueak.” He was only a few inches taller.
“Morning, Tim,” Damian replied quietly, focused on his food.
As Tim waited for the coffee machine to finish, he glanced up and down at Damian. “Why are you fully dressed at 4 am?”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Tim blinked. “It’s 4 am.”
Damian blinked back.
They stared at each other, silently questioning the other’s sanity.
Once the coffee machine finished, Tim grabbed his cup and headed down to the cave without another word.
Damian was suddenly very glad he’d chosen normal clothes over pajamas — his neck was covered in hickeys and a handprint.
×
Damian was studying for a test when his phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced down and saw he'd been pinged in the family group chat.
The message read: House meeting, in the living room. Now.
He groaned and set his book aside.
Downstairs, Damian sat in an armchair, waiting as the others trickled in. Tim took the couch, Cass and Steph burst in shortly after, and Duke arrived a moment later.
Bruce entered with Alfred close behind. “The culprit has one chance to confess,” Bruce announced, locking eyes with everyone.
“Confess to what?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Who’s been using the attic recently?” Bruce said flatly.
Confused glances passed around the room.
Bruce sighed. Alfred stepped forward and placed a clear plastic bag on the table — inside were 5 to 7 empty condom wrappers.
“I was relieved not to find any used rubbers,” Alfred commented calmly.
Damian blinked, staring at the bag. He smoothed his expression — Jon must’ve forgotten them up there.
Steph laughed. “Can’t be Cass or me, but I’m dying to know which one of you it is.”
“I have my own apartment for stuff like this,” Tim said nonchalantly.
“I’m single,” Duke added.
“So am I,” Damian said smoothly.
Bruce sighed, looking around the room. “I won’t press further this time, but please remember to fully clean up after yourselves — if you’re doing anything in any crevice of the house.”
He and Alfred left the room shortly after.
“I’m surprised Alfred didn’t burn down the manor after that,” Steph said, shaking her head.
“He’s probably seen worse,” Duke shrugged.
“Well, he didn’t find the used condoms,” Tim said thoughtfully, “which means they’re either still up there or the culprit was smart enough to dispose of them but forgot the wrappers.”
“I wonder how old those wrappers are,” Steph added, eyes narrowing.
Duke shrugged again. “Hell if anyone knows.”
Tim smirked. “Newer brand. Five years tops.”
Steph and Cass exchanged a side-eye glance.
“I do my own damn grocery shopping with Bernard,” Tim said, scoffing.
Damian rolled his eyes and stood. “I have a test tomorrow. I’m returning to studying,” he said, leaving the living room.
×
Jon and Damian were walking through the park, enjoying the warm Metropolis evening.
“I’m telling you, that hit was so good the ball couldn’t even be tracked,” Jon said.
“I don’t doubt you,” Damian replied evenly. “You’ve been playing baseball for nearly ten years now.”
Jon chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze, adjusting his fake glasses with the other.
“It’d be weirder if you weren’t good at base—” Damian was cut off by a voice from the sidelines.
“Fags!” someone yelled.
Both of them turned to see a group of five boys lounging near a bench. Their outfits were an assault on fashion itself. They were laughing and threw the slur around a bit more.
Damian didn’t have the patience. He raised his middle finger without breaking stride.
Jon laughed, calling back, “If you’re so worried about us, try a cock. It’s great!”
That earned an instant reaction — the group went from smug to furious, all of them standing at once. The one in front, clearly their ringleader, stalked closer. “What the hell did you just say?”
Damian stopped, forcing Jon to halt too. His voice was flat. “You heard him.”
Jon smirked. “I think they’re mad we didn’t invite them.”
The leader stepped right into Jon’s space, fisting a hand in his collar. “Shut up, fag. Why would we ever want to hang out with the likes of you?”
Jon lifted his hands in a mock surrender — not because he couldn’t fight, but because he didn’t have to. “If I were you, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh yeah? Why, fag?” The leader feinted a punch, stopping just shy of Jon’s face.
Jon gave a convincing flinch, then glanced at Damian. “He’s got a short temper when it comes to bigots.”
The guy snorted. “What’s that twink gonna do?” Then he spit in Damian’s face.
The world didn’t give him time to process his mistake. One second he had Jon by the collar — the next, Damian’s fist cracked against his jaw, sending him staggering back, ears ringing.
He swayed, blinking like the ground was trying to tilt out from under him.
A low, angry growl tore from his throat before his four lackeys rushed in, thinking numbers would be enough to overwhelm Damian.
They were wrong.
Jon stayed where he was, watching as Damian moved through them like clockwork — fast, precise, and merciless. A sharp elbow to the ribs, a sweep to the legs, a hook to the jaw. Two teeth went spinning across the pavement before anyone realized they’d already lost.
The fight ended only when flashing red-and-blue lights cut through the evening, the Metropolis police shouting for everyone to stand down.
×
The two of them — along with the gang they’d fought — sat in a stiff, silent line at the entrance of the police station.
The parents of the other teens had already arrived, pacing and muttering under their breath, irritation simmering.
Damian, refusing to call Bruce, had asked for his brother instead. The officers allowed it. Jon, meanwhile, didn’t have to call anyone — the cops confirmed he hadn’t thrown a single punch.
Damian sported a split lip and a nose still bleeding sluggishly, but compared to the others, he looked untouched.
The gang didn’t fare as well. The leader had a concussion and missing teeth. His lackeys wore swollen faces, crooked noses, and deep-purple bruises. Damian had gone for the face every time, and it showed.
“When will he finally get here?” one parent muttered.
“God, how long does it take for one kid’s guardian to show up?” another huffed.
Their complaints tangled together in low, frustrated murmurs — until the front doors swung open.
All conversation died.
Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne stepped inside, hands in his pockets, sharp eyes scanning the room. And somehow, without raising his voice, without even breaking stride, the whole station felt quieter.
Tim strolled over like he had all the time in the world, eyes flicking from Damian to the bruised and battered line of teens across the room. He gave Damian a light tap on the shoulder, more like a quiet well done than a scolding.
“Glad to see you won,” Tim said dryly.
Damian swiped the blood from his lip with his thumb. “I didn’t start it.”
“I know,” Tim replied evenly, then turned to the officer stationed between them and the rest of the room.
“Mr. Drake,” the officer began, “would you like a rundown of the events?”
“No, thanks,” Tim said, his voice flat but polite. “Just tell me what I need to pay to walk out of here with my brother.”
The officer shook his head, glancing at a stack of paperwork. “Unfortunately, this can’t be solved with money alone. It appears all of these teens’ parents… work for Wayne Enterprises.”
Damian didn’t have to look at the group to know they’d all stiffened. He could feel their flinch hanging in the air.
Tim arched an eyebrow, finally letting his gaze sweep over the row of nervous faces. “Huh,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Small world.”
The parents’ muttering resumed, quieter now — half glares, half concerned side-eyes.
Tim let out a soft sigh before asking, “So, how many of you want to press charges against me or my brother?”
The room fell silent.
He blinked, glanced at Damian who simply nodded, then sighed again. “This won’t affect your jobs.”
“I wouldn’t want to press charges,” a mother finally said. “Compensation will be fine.”
Tim’s gaze swept slowly over the parents and their kids. “For everyone asking for compensation,” he said evenly, “I want your children to explain how this fight started.”
“Mr. Drake, I can just tell you,” the police officer offered.
“No, no,” Tim cut in, his voice calm but firm. “I want to hear from them. Because I know for a fact my brother doesn’t throw the first punch.”
The parents turned to their teenagers, nudging, glaring — but now none of them seemed able to open their mouths.
Finally, one boy exhaled sharply and muttered, “We… called him a fag. He and Jonathan threw a couple insults back, then Terrance went up to them. He grabbed Jonathan by the collar and… spit in Damian’s face.”
“Dude!” the boy next to him hissed, punching his arm.
The leader of their little gang looked ready to explode. But the parents? They looked furious for an entirely different reason — because it was public knowledge that Tim Drake was openly bi. And now their sons had hurled slurs at the younger brother of their CEO.
Tim didn’t speak right away. He let the confession hang there, heavy in the air, his gaze sweeping over the boys like he was filing their faces away for later use.
“Hm,” he said at last, “So — unprovoked harassment, physical assault, and spit. Classy.” His tone was mild — which somehow made it worse.
He turned to the parents. “I assume you’re all aware Wayne Enterprises doesn't support the harassment of LGBTQ even outside of the workplace.”
A few parents shifted uncomfortably.
Tim looked back at the boys. “You didn’t just pick a fight with my brother. You embarrassed your families. You embarrassed your parents and risked their jobs. And you made it very easy for me to remember you the next time internship applications cross my desk.”
Damian, still leaning back in his chair, smirked faintly.
The leader’s face went pale, his earlier bravado gone.
“Now,” Tim said, turning to the officer, “what’s the paperwork look like so I can get my brother out of here?”
The officer cleared his throat. “Uh— right. Will you be paying out those compensations?”
“Might as well,” Tim replied casually. “I may be a fag, but I’m not heartless.”
The officer nodded. “Follow me, Mr. Drake.” He turned and led Tim toward a separate room to handle the paperwork.
Jon reached out, gently tilting Damian’s chin so their eyes met. With his thumb, he brushed away the blood at Damian’s lip. “Your nose is bleeding,” he murmured.
“I’m aware,” Damian said with a faint hum.
Jon started wiping the blood from Damian’s nose with his sleeve.
Across the room, the gang sat slouched with their heads down, avoiding eye contact. Above them, their parents loomed — faces tight, jaws set. The unspoken we’ll talk about this at home hung thick in the air.
×
Tim left the police station with Damian and Jon trailing behind.
“So… you and Jon?” Tim asked, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“This is not how I intended for you to find out I’m dating him,” Damian said flatly.
Tim stopped in his tracks, glancing between them. “How long has this been going on?”
Jon shrugged. “Uh… five months? Six?”
“Six months, nine days,” Damian corrected without hesitation.
Tim clicked his tongue. “Huh. Funny— that’s about when you started wearing more turtlenecks.”
Damian elbowed him. “That’s none of your business.”
Tim stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just one last question — the attic?”
Damian said nothing. But Jon’s sudden blush, peeking out from behind him, told Tim everything he needed to know.
“As long as you’re staying safe,” Tim said with a smirk, striding ahead toward the car.
Damian huffed, forcing his expression into something neutral, but he could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He knew Tim had noticed, and that smugness would linger for weeks.
×
Damian was tucked away in one of the quieter manor libraries, legs folded in an armchair, nose buried in a book. The warm lamplight and the faint crackle of the fireplace made the room blissfully still — exactly how he liked it.
Which, of course, meant it wouldn’t last.
“Dami!” Dick’s voice rang out even before he crossed the threshold. A moment later, he dropped onto the couch beside him like he owned the place. “My youngest brother, how are you doing? How’s school?”
Damian didn’t look up right away. He finished his paragraph, closed the book with a finger marking the page, and said evenly, “It’s fine. The same as usual.”
“Oh really?” Dick tilted his head, giving him that older-brother smile that was half-friendly, half-interrogation. “Because Bruce got a call today saying you’ve been skipping more classes than usual.”
Damian’s eyes flickered, just for a second, before returning to the page. “Perhaps their attendance system is faulty.”
Dick raised an eyebrow. “Funny, because the same system works just fine for everyone else. Care to explain?”
Damian stayed quiet, letting the pause stretch — the same tactic he used in fencing bouts, waiting for his opponent to make the first overreach.
Unfortunately, Dick knew how to wait, too.
Damian finally sighed, “I fail to see why this is relevant. My grades remain excellent, my assignments are completed ahead of schedule, and I have not once been reprimanded for behavior.”
Dick leaned back, draping his arms across the couch like he owned it. “It’s relevant because skipping classes is out of character for you.”
“I fail to see how this is cause for alarm,” Damian replied evenly. “Am I not allowed to be bored? I’m nearly in my senior year.”
“Do I need to call Jay in here to give you the ‘drugs are bad’ speech again?” Dick asked, half-teasing, half-serious.
“I’m not using any substances,” Damian said without hesitation. “I’m neither foolish nor desperate enough to dabble in that nonsense.”
Dick narrowed his eyes, studying him. After a beat, he leaned back. “Okay… not drugs. Smoking? Drinking in clubs?”
“I think the tabloids would have had a field day if I’d been caught in a bar,” Damian said dryly. “And smoking isn’t my vice.”
“Then what is your vice, Dami?” Dick pressed, frowning now. “Because you’re not cutting class to sit in the park and feed pigeons.”
Damian’s eyes flicked down to his book. “You’d be surprised.”
Dick tilted his head. “So? What are you doing?”
Damian didn’t look up. “Nothing worth your concern.”
“Uh-huh,” Dick said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Feels like you’re dodging the truth.”
“I am not avoiding anything,” Damian said with perfect calmness.
Dick’s gaze drifted over him again — when something caught his attention. A purplish mark peeked out from under Damian’s turtleneck.
He leaned in, brow furrowing. “Is that a bruise on your neck?”
Damian immediately shut his book with a snap and stood. “It’s none of your concern.” Without another word, he strode out of the room.
×
Dick found himself heading straight to Bruce’s office, barely bothering to knock before pushing the door open. “Dad, I think Damian’s gotten himself into something serious.”
Bruce looked up from the papers in front of him. “What makes you say that?”
Dick paced, restless. “For the past five months, he’s been wearing more turtlenecks. He’s skipping classes more often. About a week ago, Tim had to pick him up from a police station. And today—” Dick paused, his voice dropping slightly, “—I saw a bruise on his neck. He wouldn’t explain it.”
The air in the office tightened.
Bruce’s jaw flexed. “…You think he’s involved in something dangerous?”
“I don’t want to assume,” Dick said, his voice low but taut. “But if it’s not a fight, and it’s not training-related…”
Bruce’s eyes darkened, his tone dropping into something almost grim. “You’re worried about exploitation.”
Dick exhaled heavily. “I’ve seen the signs before in Blüdhaven. I can’t ignore it if it’s possible.”
Bruce leaned back, thinking. “How could he even end up in that situation?”
“He’s a teenager, Bruce. It could be peer pressure. Someone older. Someone manipulative.”
Bruce’s expression hardened — that particular shift in his face that meant the conversation had just gone from concern to mission parameters. “We need to intervene.”
“But we can’t spook him,” Dick warned, leaning forward in his chair. “He’ll just get better at hiding it.”
“We’ll have to confront him quickly—” Bruce began.
“—and carefully,” Dick cut in.
Bruce gave a short nod, but the tension between them remained thick.
×
Damian entered Bruce’s office with a quiet, exasperated sigh. “Yes, Father?” His gaze flicked briefly to the sofa, where Dick sat forward, elbows on his knees, looking both tense and uneasy.
Bruce was standing behind his desk, hands folded neatly in front of him, the very picture of calm authority — but Damian, trained as he was, spotted the telltale tightness in his stance.
“I assume this is about me skipping school,” Damian said, walking over to a chair and lowering himself into it with deliberate poise. He crossed his legs and folded his arms. “If so, I should inform you that it is none of your concern. My grades remain excellent.”
Dick’s jaw tightened, and Bruce’s eyes narrowed just a fraction — a silent confirmation that this was about far more than just school attendance.
Neither Bruce nor Dick said anything right away. The silence was heavy, deliberate. Damian arched a brow, waiting.
“Grades aren’t the issue,” Bruce said finally, voice low but firm. “We’re concerned about… other choices you’ve been making.”
“My choices,” Damian repeated, voice flat, his eyes narrowing. “Such as?”
Dick shifted in his seat. “Such as disappearing during school hours. Getting picked up from a police station. And…” he hesitated for just a beat, “…showing up with unexplained bruises.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “If I were in any danger, I assure you I could handle it.”
“That’s not the point,” Bruce said, his voice sharpening slightly. “We’re not asking if you can handle it. We’re asking what you’re involved in.”
It clicked then — the nervousness, the edge in their voices. Damian’s eyes narrowed further, and his lip curled into a faint sneer. “You think I’m being exploited,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain.
Neither Bruce nor Dick confirmed it, but their silence was answer enough.
Damian set his jaw, leaning back in his chair like a king on trial. “That is absurd.”
“Is it?” Dick asked, voice rising despite himself. “Because all the signs are there— secretive behavior, physical marks you won’t explain, and you get angry when anyone asks.”
“I get angry,” Damian said, voice dangerously calm, “because you are insulting my intelligence and my autonomy.”
Bruce’s tone softened, but the steel in it remained. “Damian, we have to make sure no one is hurting you. You might think you’re in control—”
“I am in control,” Damian cut in sharply.
“Control can be stripped from you in one second if you're not careful,” Bruce said seriously.
Damian scoffed a bit, “I know that, and I know he wouldn't hurt me” he said.
“Who wouldn't hurt you?” Bruce asked.
“Jon.” Damian said with a raised eyebrow, “this is what we're talking about, no?”
Dick blinked a bit.
Jon.
Tim had picked up Damian and Jon from the police station.
Damian and Jon were both skipping classes in their respective schools.
The empty condom wrappers in the attic.
The turtleneck shirts. Bruises.
The bruises were hickeys.
It slammed into place — Damian wasn’t in danger. He was in the middle of a full-blown teenage hormone phase.
“Oh my god—” Dick muttered as he turned to Bruce, “He's sexually involved with Jon.”
Damian blushed and huffed, “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out I’m dating Jon.”
Bruce blinked, leaned back in his chair, and cleared his throat. “So that’s how it is.”
Damian’s blush deepened until it burned. He shot to his feet. “I’m going back to my room,” he muttered, and walked out before anyone else could say another word.
×
Back in his room, Damian had buried himself under his blanket, door locked, phone silenced. He’d texted Jon an excuse about homework, but the truth was he wanted to disappear into the mattress.
The conversation replayed in his head like a loop, mortifying every time. He pressed his face into the pillow and let out a silent scream, fists clutching the fabric tight.
A knock at the door froze him. His chest went cold. He wasn’t in danger, but shame made him want to vanish.
“Damian?” Dick’s voice. A pause, then the careful creak of the door opening as if it was never locked to begin with. “I just wanna talk.”
Damian didn’t move, curling up tighter instead.
Dick sat down at the edge of the bed. His hand rested on Damian’s blanketed shoulder, rubbing slow circles. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Or force you into saying something before you were ready.”
Silence. Damian stayed hidden.
“I was worried,” Dick continued, his tone soft. “I jumped to conclusions I shouldn’t have.” His hand traced gently down Damian’s back, soothing, steady.
“If it helps— Bruce and I… we’re glad you’re acting your age. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s teenagey.”
Damian’s shoulders eased despite himself. He took a quiet, steadying breath.
“As long as you stay safe and keep your grades up, you can… do all the rebellious teenage stuff you want.”
Dick nudged, coaxing Damian into a hug. At first stiff, Damian finally turned and clung to him, burying his face in his shoulder.
Dick wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his back in one of his trademark hugs. “I’m sorry again. I didn’t want to make this harder for you.”
Damian’s voice was muffled but clear. “Forget it. I’ll have plenty of time to be embarrassed later, with Jon. I’m just… glad no one’s angry.”
Dick chuckled, relief in his chest. “Concerned? Definitely. But angry? Never. You’re being smart and safe, and that’s what matters.”
Damian pulled back to lie down again, still pink in the face.
Dick smirked, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Trust me, you’ve got it easy. Bruce once caught me in bed with Roy when I was fifteen. That was… way messier.”
Damian groaned, kicked him in the shin, and tugged the blanket over his face. “Enough. Out.”
Dick laughed as he stood, heading for the door with a grin. And soon with his older brother out of the room, Damian felt a bit lighter. He was happy and glad that his brothers and fathers didn't care that much.