ROBIN. [ S1 complete and S2 in the making! ]

His Light.

Time has a way of slipping through the cracks, unnoticed until it's too late. One moment, they were reveling in festivals and laughter, and the next, Damian found himself chasing shadows of a friendship that felt as if it were slowly fading.

The seasons drifted by—spring, summer, autumn—and in the blur of months, Damian could sense Y/n pulling away. It began subtly, like the breeze before a storm. Missed patrols. Excuses of heavy workloads. Her absence felt like the tightening of a knot, one he couldn't untangle.

She still attended his birthday in October, standing amidst the celebration in her elegant outfit, smiling sweetly. But to Damian, that smile was different—forced, distant, like she was slipping into the role expected of her rather than being truly present. He had observed her every movement with the sharpness of a detective, hoping to find a hint, a trace of what weighed on her heart. But she gave nothing away.

And now it was December, her birthday once again, a night encased in snow and shimmering lights. Y/n looked angelic in a baby-blue dress lined with fur, the soft glow of jewels in her hair making her appear almost ethereal. She stood gracefully, accepting gifts and greetings, her gloved hands brushing against those of the well-wishers.

Yet Damian saw it—the faintest flicker in her eyes, the way her smile never quite reached her gaze. Something was wrong. He had hoped that on this special day, at least, her guard would drop and he would see the Y/n he knew so well. But even with the perfection of the evening around them, she remained a little too polished, a little too distant.

His heart ached, and his carefully chosen gift—a small, meaningful token that took him a month to perfect—sat untouched in his room, neatly locked in his cupboard. He had planned to give it to her when the moment felt right.

But the moment never came.

The harshness of winter arrived with unforgiving cold. On the morning of her birthday, as the sky roared with fierce hail, Damian woke not to the joy of celebration but to a bitter reality.

The hailstorm hammered against the windows of Wayne Manor, so fierce it seemed the sky itself was weeping. He stood by the front entrance, pulling his coat tighter around him as the sound of heavy boots echoed in the hall.

When the door opened, it wasn't Y/n standing there, but Estelle, dressed sharply in a black suit, her demeanor somber. She held a black umbrella that shielded her from the icy storm outside. And in her other hand, she carried something Damian hadn't expected: a letter.

Her expression softened, though regret shadowed her features. "Apologies, Young Master Wayne." She bowed slightly, her tone respectful. "Miss Y/n asked me to deliver this to you. She wanted to say goodbye, but... certain duties arose with her family. She left sooner than expected."

Damian's heart sank. "When will she be back?" he asked, though he already dreaded the answer.

Estelle hesitated. "Months... perhaps a few years."

Years.

The word hit him like a punch to the chest. His hands clenched into fists, trying to suppress the swirl of emotions threatening to burst forth—anger, confusion, betrayal, and something else, something deeper.

She had left without warning. No explanation. No chance to say goodbye.

As Estelle bowed once more and stepped back into the storm, Damian stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the letter as if it might change everything.

The cold crept into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his heart. Y/n was gone. And all that remained was a letter and the promise of an uncertain reunion far off in the future.