Competition | ❧Damian Wayne X Reader☙ |

Part 17

What the fuck was that?

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in an impotent attempt to stifle the chatter of Gotham Academy's halls during passing time. A group of boys scampered past your locker, a brisk breeze and delicate aroma exuding from their haste; though you hadn't made any attempt to face them, they made their presence known by clamoring about: "Hot soup coming through!" Be quiet.

Then it came to you, an image of the elder, notably clad in his mauve ensemble, arriving home the previous night bearing the utmost malicious intent towards his pupils—I'll torture them, he likely conjectured during a fit of hysteria. Professor Lilac's hour-long lecture could very well have been given in a tongue foreign to your ears, and the probability of unraveling its meaning would have been greater than comprehending it in the very language in which it was spoken.

You slumped against your locker, utilizing its interior as a makeshift lectern to review the illegible scrawl of your hastily recorded lecture notes in hopes that you'd become fluent in the undecipherable–seriously, what the hell are parametrics?

What with your locker becoming you and your friends' unofficial rendezvous, it became customary for you to anticipate fortuitous visitors. "I burn, I pine, I perish," a voice said from behind you. So, how it was possible for Damian to, on multiple occasions, seemingly materialize at the locus remained an enigma.

As he loomed behind you, his body radiated a pleasant warmth that dispelled the chill of the north wing, one of the numerous halls reluctantly warmed by ancient radiators. Gradually raising your gaze, you become acutely aware of how curiously he eyes the object of your scrutiny, as if by understanding its charm he'd be able to harbor your regard to the same degree as it did. He craned his neck to do so, razing his pristine posture, his breath tickling your neck like the fingers of an amicable apparition—your faces only inches apart.

You found yourself yearning for eye contact. "Punctual as always," your quip warranting his stare to flicker. But, perhaps, you were in over your head. "I'd surmise you're the only one in our class that feels that strongly about parametrics," you divulged, becoming ensnared by a pair of verdant eyes; your face warmed and you hoped he hadn't discerned the tire in your eyes.

His fingertips caressed the bare beginnings of your jaw, beckoning you to face him fully. Damn it. His brows drew together, allowing the rest of his expression to melt into that of a soft plea: "You look exhausted," he spoke softly, his thumb brushing the dark circles beneath your eyes. Sheepishly, you avert his touch. An audible sigh escaped your lips as you shut your locker, "It's just been a long week." Your shoulders sagged, your gaze drifting to the checkered floor; it seemed to stretch out like a dull, monotonous sea. "I need to understand this" you stress, flailing your lecture notes. Damian watched you with silent regard, "perhaps a study group?"–it was less a question than a certainty. He knew you'd perk up.

Seeing as neither Jon nor (B/F/N) were anywhere to be found, you intended to notify them of the study group via your group chat—that's when you noticed her.

By now the halls were nearly barren, other students having scurried off to their classes in fear of being tardy. She sauntered just across the hall from you, halting before one of the countless stone busts that riddled the north wing: you were drawn to her sequined carmine bra first, its subtle sheen catching your eye, then to the mesh crop top, she had layered atop the bra that worked so minimally to conceal it, down to how her low-rise jeans accentuated the areas of skin left exposed.

"... and this is the north wing," Colin Wilkes beamed from beside her, splaying his arms towards the decrepit hall in a fashion much too enthusiastic for the scene. You ascertained that she was about your age. "So, what do you gargoyles do for fun?" she looked bored, glancing up at the vaulted ceiling to avoid Colin's eager eye, "–between the clown killings and the bat sightings."