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

On the House | Conner Kent

Summary: Hot Barista flirts with cute Customer

.・。.・゜✭・»»--⍟--««.・✫・゜・。.

The limited-time charity event hosted by the heroes of Metropolis and Gotham-Mint & Marvels Café, was chaos in a cup. Or at least that's how it felt to Damian when he stepped inside, trying to blend into the crowd. He hated crowds. But he hated thirst more, and he'd been craving something sweet and minty ever since patrol ended.

The café had a cozy charm, the kind that didn't feel corporate but also seemed a little too polished to be genuine. Posters of capes and masks adorned the walls, and a makeshift menu boasted drinks with names like Flash Freeze Mocha and Kryptonian Karamel Latte.

Damian ignored the décor and approached the counter, his expression as neutral as always. He didn't bother glancing at the menu. "Mint tea, no sugar," he said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.

Behind the counter stood Conner Kent, looking far too comfortable in his Super Servers for a Cause apron. His black curls were tucked under a cap, but the unmistakable S-shield on the café logo gave him away.

"Mint tea, huh?" Conner asked, grabbing a mug and flashing an easy grin. "That's fancy. You sure you don't want to add a little honey?"

Damian's brow twitched. "No. Just tea."

"Coming right up," Conner replied, unfazed. As he reached for the tea bag, Tim Drake sidled up to the counter, balancing a tray of mugs and glaring at Damian like he'd just tracked mud across the Batcave.

"Why are you here?" Tim asked, setting the tray down with a clatter. "I thought the whole point of this café was to be approachable. You're not exactly the warm and fuzzy type."

"Perhaps I should let you handle the customer service, then," Damian replied sarcastically. "You seem to excel at making people feel welcomed."

"I do make people feel welcomed," Tim shot back. "Just not you."

Damian gave Tim the deadliest stare he could muster, but Tim just raised an eyebrow in defiance.

"Boys, boys," Conner interrupted, sliding a steaming cup of tea across the counter. "Let's not scare away the crowd. They're here for charity, not your sibling rivalry."

Damian reached for the tea, only for Conner to casually block it with a plate of toast.

"Here," Conner said, smirking. "Toast. On the house. Carb up, little prince."

"I didn't order toast," Damian replied flatly.

"Yeah, well, you're getting it anyway," Conner replied, crossing his arms. "It's a package deal. You know? Hero fuel."

Damian eyed the toast like it had personally offended him. "This is absurd."

"What's absurd," Tim cut in, "is you thinking you can walk in here, drink our tea, and not contribute to the ambiance. Smile or something. You're scaring the customers."

"I don't need to scare them," Damian retorted, glancing pointedly at the nearby table where a couple of patrons were already whispering and shooting him awed looks. "They terrify themselves."

Tim rolled his eyes and disappeared behind a curtain labeled Staff Only.

Conner, however, didn't seem fazed as Damian's eyes narrowed at him. "I can pay."

"And I can refuse," Conner countered easily, leaning on the counter. "Now take your order before Tim comes back and starts deducting tips."

Damian scowled, grabbed the tea, and left without another word. He didn't notice the slip of paper Conner had slid beneath the toast until he was halfway down the block. When something fluttered loose as he adjusted the plate, landing on the sidewalk.

He glanced down, frowning as the scrap of paper caught his eye. Bending to pick it up, he unfolded it with the care of someone who had learned to never take unknown notes lightly.

In Conner's bold, looping handwriting. The hastily scribbled note read:
"Mint tea anytime, on me-C.K."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The smirk vanished, of course, the moment he crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket as if that would erase it from existence.

"Ridiculous," he muttered. But the note stayed on his mind the entire walk back to the manor.

Later that night, after Alfred's clockwork routines had ensured everyone else was asleep, Damian found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room. Goliath snored softly nearby, one wing draped lazily over a pile of Damian's sketches.

He pulled the note out of his pocket, unfolding it again like it might reveal a hidden message. He stared at the words, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Mint tea anytime," he muttered to himself, mimicking Conner's casual tone. "What does that even mean? Is it an invitation? A joke?"

Goliath cracked one eye open, huffing through his nose as if to say, You're overthinking this, as usual.

Damian set the note on his desk, beside the half-empty cup of tea he hadn't finished. His mind whirred, cataloging all the possibilities, from harmless flirtation to an elaborate scheme involving Drake and his perpetual need to meddle.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

It didn't matter.

The note didn't matter.

But when he fell asleep later that night, the crumpled paper was still sitting neatly on his desk, smoothed out and placed just so-where he could see it the next time he looked.

End