Lost in the Void, Found in the Stars | Damian Wayne Oneshots

I miss you, I'm sorry | Reader

Angst straight ahead.

Summary: Damian stares off into the distance as he contemplates his life choices.

.・。.・゜✭・»»--⍟--««.・✫・゜・。.

Damian had always loved the night.

It was an endless stream of stars that twinkled on the darkest parts of the sky, a sea of white light that stretched beyond the limits of reality.

The night was filled with secrets and mysteries, with stories no one would ever believe. They existed in a world where nothing were as it seemed.

But that night, he didn't find it at all beautiful. It was simply cold, and dark, and empty.

He stood at the edge of a cliff staring off into the sky for hours, his eyes glued to the distant starry horizon as he waited for someone else to join him.

They never came.

He knew they wouldn't; after all, he had asked for this alone. But still, Damian felt as if his loneliness were reaching out to that one person who promised to be there.

But he didn't turn around.

If he turned and saw that no one was there, he'd know for sure what he'd already known: that he was completely, utterly alone.

The moon crawled slowly across the sky, slipping behind clouds, dipping low over the mountains. He breathed in the icy air, his chest rising with the smallest inhale, his fists clenched tight enough to hurt.

No one told him it would feel this way.

He'd always thought loneliness was supposed to feel... distant. Something people only imagined with the rain and empty sidewalks, where they stared out windows and wondered if anyone really knew them at all. But here, on this cliff, with only the stars bearing witness, loneliness sat thick in his throat, like he had swallowed it whole and couldn't spit it out.

He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the wind cross his face, sharp as any blade. He didn't want to think about why he was here. Didn't want to think about the words he'd held back, or the chances he let slip. It was easier to be the one who didn't care.

Damian wanted to believe he was strong enough to push people away, like it was some mark of honor. Like he'd made a choice, and not a mistake.

But tonight, with the silence pressing in from every angle, he realized it wasn't strength at all. It was fear.

The stars continued to glimmer, little specks of light against a backdrop that seemed to stretch forever. Damian had told them he would be fine. He didn't need anyone. He'd laughed when they tried to stay, brushed it off when they insisted, dared them to see right through him-to catch the moment of truth in his lies. But they didn't, and maybe he'd convinced even himself, for a moment, that he meant it.

Hours passed, but it felt like seconds. Damian could've been standing there for a lifetime, staring out into the night, holding onto some thread of hope that maybe, if he waited long enough, that person would find their way back to him. But even he knew that wasn't how it worked. If he pushed them away, they'd stay away. He'd seen it happen enough to know.

And still, he waited.

The chill seeped through his jacket, his skin growing numb to everything but the weight of his own silence.

Finally, as the sky began to lighten, Damian took a step back from the cliff's edge. His fingers felt stiff, his muscles tight. He took one last look at the stars, hoping, praying, for something-anything-that might break this emptiness.

But all he saw was the same cold, indifferent light.

He turned, his shoulders tense, his head bowed. He didn't want to think, didn't want to feel. Maybe next time he wouldn't push so hard.

But as he walked away from that cliff, the stars at his back, he knew he'd be standing there again, one night soon, staring out at the sky, waiting for someone who would never come.

And maybe he'd never find it beautiful again.

End