BREAK IN ; [ damian wayne ]

xxiv. damian

10/11/22
2:01 p.m.

As if guided by a constellation, her eyes sparkle.

Damian had arranged for them to have a quiet evening at the Gotham Field Museum the night before the opening of the new Wayne-funded dinosaur exhibit. When they stepped into the emptying building, Charlotte was irate, complaining about how much money it had to have cost him.

Charlotte quickly stopped talking when she saw the enormous canvas painting intended to be a likeness of a scene from the Jurassic period, and she gripped his hand as they walked through the surreal display.

Damian had to admit that the exhibit was beautiful, but staring at the beautiful woman gave him more delight and awe. Her hands float over the enormous Velociraptor's rough skin.

"You can touch it, you know." He says this with a snicker.

"That's what she said," she grins wickedly.

"You're the least amusing person I've ever met."

"That's a lie, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, and you know it." His complete name cascades down her tongue like caramel in a saucer. Turns the name that so many people have said as their final words into something joyous and earnest. She speaks the infamous Al Ghul name without fear or dread, instead letting it sweeten the atmosphere. Red, but not like blood, like cherry.

He tuts and pushes her hand so that she can feel the dinosaur's faux-leather skin. "Damian!" she exclaims, ripping her hand away and whirling on her heels to look at him. "Literally right there is a DO NOT TOUCH sign!"

"I guarantee you we can bend the rules just this once," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"See, I knew you were a criminal," she laughs warmly as she smacks his shoulder.

"You'd be dead without me." He snips, still holding her warm hand in his.

She twists until their chests are virtually plastered against each other, their feet inches apart. It makes him flush, and he chastises himself for not being able to maintain his cool in her presence. From the time he could walk till the day he was brought to Gotham, he was trained seventeen hours a day. Damian could stand up to seasoned swordsmen, but this teenage girl turns him to mush at her feet, flushed color so bright it almost reflects the tiled flooring.

Charlotte rests her palms on the lapels of his jacket. Damian savors the opportunity to gaze at her, etching her face in his thoughts to transfer to a notebook at the manor. He isn't sure he can do her justice. Couldn't match her brow line's precise creases or the little red scars from adolescent puberty. He so relishes his flawless vision of her.

Charlotte straightens his lapels, sending shivers up and down his spine as if static from a screen were vibrating his body with alarming velocity. It reminds him of the night he was blasted by Frayed a few days ago - a new villain who'd appeared and knocked out half of Gotham's power.

"You're a whole lot prettier than those magazines give you credit for." She murmurs into the bubble that separates them from the improvised world of waterfalls and dinosaurs.

"Boys can't be pretty." He deflects the flattery because it somehow means more to him coming from her than from anyone else.

"Shut up and take the compliment." She laughs, her head tucked into the nook of his neck. Damian feels her eyelashes on his pulse point like spiders. Her thin lashes are lengthened with thick mascara, emphasizing the beauty mark on her temple.

"Besides, you're undoubtedly the most gorgeous person here." He says it with such conviction that she almost believes him.

Her lips are full and enticing, coated in raspberry-scented lipgloss. They split slightly as she exhales a short breath of air. Damian only had kissed one other assassin in the league who was training alongside him. He kissed her out of responsibility; right now, his entire body feels as though it may collapse if he does not touch her.

Damian has spent his entire life to doing things for others. Killing for his mother, being robin for his father. He recalls how difficult it was to come to Gotham when not even his own father trusted him. The culture shock of it all. ("Do you realize how hard I am working? How difficult is this for me? I have come to a foreign house, in a foreign country, am forced to speak a foreign language and live with people who despise me? I'm trying, but you're not responding. I've been working so damn hard, but nothing happens!")

It took him years to acquire their trust; with Charlotte, it took only minutes. That could be why his hands cup her jaw and softly pull her lips to his. She doesn't draw away even though she has plenty of time.

It's a little sloppy and jumbled, but it's nevertheless perfect. Perfect because he's kissing Charlotte Solstice and there's nowhere he'd rather be than in her arms. When Charlotte pulls away, it feels like an eternity. Fall faded to winter, leaves died, and pages turned from their bookmark as if an era had gone between them. Everything was reborn in the shape of their pressed cupid bows.

Their heads lean together, and she lets in short gusts of air to regain her breath before mumbling something Damian doesn't expect: "I can't be with you, Damian."

He is grateful for his training since it allows him to mask the shock and pain that floods over him in waves. "You said it yourself Damian, we aren't dating," she says before he can ask. " You can't go in public with me. I can't put you on Instagram for fucks sake."

Damian doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing.

Charlotte takes them to the next dinosaur, dropping his hand.