❝ 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦 . ❞ [ Batfam x reader headcanons & one-shots ]

a petsmart | d. wayne, fluff

prompt: (Y/n) works at a pet supply store, of which, Damian is a regular

warning: none

word count: 1k

pronouns: she/her

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second-person point of view. . .

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There were many "regulars" in your line of work. You knew them not by name, but by appearance. A tiny elderly woman with short, curly gray hair came to pick up the biggest bag of dog food you had in stock. Every Wednesday, a man who weighed as much as an elephant in muscle mass alone would purchase some dog food. A rather impatient woman had a prescription for her hamster you routinely filled out. The list went on.

Most customers bled together into faceless blurs, though. You meant just about nothing to them, so they meant just about nothing to you. It was not anything personal, you rang them up at the cash register and they ensured you got paid minimum wage.

Regardless of how mind-numbing the occupation was, there was one regular that stood out like a sore thumb. He was younger than anyone else who shopped at your chain store, probably around your age. His hair was dark and always styled up and away from his face to display his sharp, tan features. His eyes were quite distinct, intelligent, and a mesmerizing color that was between blue and green.

Sometimes he dressed as though he came directly from a Vogue photoshoot. Other times, baggy clothes as if he were trying to hide something. He had peculiar buying habits--cat food, dog food, hay. What was even more alarming that the zoo this boy was apparently feeding, were the bruises and the cuts that would appear on his face.

Minutes before the end of your closing shift, he walked through the automatic doors. He sported a big red hoodie, a black eye, and a split open lip. He was the only customer on the floor, and your manager had drifted into the backroom. The boy wandered through the aisles silently, his hands deep in his pockets.

A few minutes later, he approached the counter and placed atop it a dog collar and chew toy set. You looked at him under the fluorescent lights and smiled crookedly.

"Wow... you look worse than some of the strays that are dropped off here," you remark playfully.

"How kind of you," he deadpanned sarcastically.

You took the first item and scanned it with a quiet ding.

"A new pet I sense?" You kept the conversation going casually.

"A dog, yes," he replied briefly.

"Really?" You raised your gaze to look at him. "Don't you already have like three pets?"

"This will make four," he stated, his lips in a persistent frown.

You let out a chuckle, reaching for the second item on the counter.

"Pick out a name yet?" You asked curiously and the boy nodded.

"My father decided on it," he explained, usually chatty this evening. "Ace."

"Is your dad from the fifties?" You snickered.

You watched in awe as his frown faltered, the ghost of a smile cracking its way onto his face. The boy shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps when it comes to names," he admitted lightly, uncharacteristically choosing to engage in banter. "My brother Richard is called Dick."

You let out a harsh laugh, one that caused your eyes to squeeze shut. The boy observed your reaction, finding it rather amusing. Amusing was not the right word. He found it pleasing, though he admitted it not even to himself. Your smile was pleasing. Your sparkling eyes were pleasing. Your voice and your laugh were pleasing. He found you, as a whole, pleasing.

It was an odd feeling. The boy had never been simply attracted to someone before, so the sensation was foreign. So foreign, he was not able to identify it when it made itself painfully present in his chest. The nauseous feeling he tried to attribute to hunger was butterflies.

"That's awful," you commented. "I feel very bad for him."

"As do I," he agreed with a small smirk.

With the press of a button, you provided him with his total. He pulled his wallet from his pocket as you tossed the products into a plastic bag with the company's red logo printed on it. He slid the cash across the counter and you popped open the cash register drawer. Instinctually, you gathered his change. With a bill and a few coins, you held out your hand to drop it into his open palm.

As you released the change, you felt the warm graze of his fingertips on the side of your pinky finger. It had been unintentional, truly, the boy had not meant to touch your hand. Your grip freed the money and the tips of your fingers brushed against his calloused palm.

You swiftly withdrew your hand as the strange sensation echoed throughout your ligaments. For just a moment, it had felt as if your hand sparked like it had fallen asleep. The jolt made the skin of your cheeks and ears heat up. Your eyes dropped to the counter as you completed the sale on the register.

The boy took the plastic bag you had put on the counter. Your eyes flickered up to look at him for a fraction of a second. He kept his head low, his stare drifting aimlessly. No, it was not aimless--its aim was to avoid anything that was you.

He swiftly turned on his heels and headed straight for the exit. He thought for certain he was going to faint from whatever pit in his stomach had decided to become a black hole. The automatic doors slid open when they sensed his weight with a robotic noise.

"Have a good night!" You called out.

He paused in the doorway. He looked back over to you, seeing your tense expression. You had pursued an impulse. Sure, you had been trained to thank every customer that came in and you were supposed to tell them to have a good day. For some odd reason, however, this felt different. Maybe it was because the conversation had ended so abruptly, but you had been nervous to speak up. Your nerves only skyrocketed when he stood there, in the doorway, silent.

"You too," he responded flatly before slipping out into the night.

You let out a heavy sigh of relief. Next time you would ask for his name. Maybe the time after that, you would ask for his phone number. He would be back, you knew he would. You just had to be patient.