( he's watching bruce carefully still. watches how he moves, observing every physical tick along with every verbal one he can catch onto. damian could identify his father at a large party among countless rich fools before he had ever met the man based off of his facial structure and the way he held himself: memorizing every detail of this man is less hobby and more an ingrained need to understand. he pinches his nose, and damian considers whether that's a sign of irritation (it's likely), stress, exhaustion, or a subconscious motion he goes through when he's processing information. is it something damian does, too? he's mastered the art of being unreadable when necessary, of hiding tone, intent, removing the ability for others to read his next action before he takes it, but it's a conscious effort on his part to upkeep that kind of control.
yet he's quiet as he observes bruce go through the motions. he remembers all the questions he'd wanted to ask his father, long before they had met. when he had been a figure to look up to, an image to strive toward. yet everything is different now.
just like this is.
bruce looks back to him, and damian looks to the bookshelf. not necessarily to hide that he'd been staring intently, just - )
No.
( but he's tucking the laptop under an arm regardless, to free up a hand so he can reach for the picture of thomas and martha wayne. takes it in hand so he can cart it along with him as he moves to find a space of wall that is unoccupied by furniture so he can press his back to it and lower himself to the floor there.
because the floor is plenty comfortable enough for a catnap. )
( Damian goes to take his spot in the room β does so with the picture he takes down from the bookshelf and he stands there, watching him, quiet as he does. Jacket already removed, he takes his shirt off then, body covered in scars. Some fading, some still needing the time to. Skin pale yet muscles toned as he pulls a black shirt on after dropping the other to the floor. He doesnβt bother with the pants β opts to just slowly sit himself down on the bed there and he looks over his shoulder to Damian against the wall. After a moment, he thinks to speak. )
You can sleep in the bed. Thereβs enough room.
( More than enough really. Easy enough for him to disappear into and sometimes wonder if he ever wants to come out of it. At least, thatβs how itβs been as of late. Though heβsβ¦ been trying. Slowly. A work heavily still in progress some days. )
( for a moment, he considers telling bruce that he's just as comfortable here as he would be on a mattress. maybe even more so, given he's much more accustomed to sleeping on firm mats than mattresses. his nose scrunches, half irritation half contemplative, before damian's rolling his eyes and pushing up onto his knees then his feet.
shoes get kicked off, left in the middle of the walkway because clearly that's where they go, and damian sits himself down on the bed before scooting himself across the mattress enough to press his back against the headboard. )
I am more accustomed to mats over mattresses, but I will make due.
Bruce remains sitting there on the edge of the bed for a little longer before he finally goes about shifting around and getting himself more centred in the bed. The sheets are pulled back, legs dipping beneath them, and his head gently presses back against the pillows behind him as he finally lets himself just lay there. In a way, itβs too familiar, what with having found himself here more often than not, but. The difference is that Damian is with him now. Heβs not alone.
He lays there in silence for a good while β doesnβt think to close his eyes and yet, he finds them falling shut every now and then, but only for a couple seconds if that. )
( he's sitting on the bed, at least. even if he's opening the laptop and tucking the picture into the crease between the screen and the plastic around it, leaving it there while he toggles through documents. less because he's interested in what's in them, more because he's waiting for bruce to go to sleep before damian tries to take a nap.
though the question has him pausing, for a moment. eyes look to the picture, squinting at it for a moment while he tries to think of an answer that doesn't sound entirely pathetic. )
You look happy in it, as do your parents. ( it's quiet, contemplative. ) I wanted to memorize it so I can replicate it later.
Edited (finds typos over 12 hours later) 2025-07-25 18:57 (UTC)
( It's a slightly odd thing to say, but. Then again, Damian can be just that at times... not like he himself isn't capable of it either, especially with his still being a little on the socially inept side of things. Still, he blinks in confusion β gently looks over to Damian then. )
( there's a scowl on his face, but it isn't as if the expression is all that abnormal on damian's face. because bruce's proposed answer is irrational, one cannot replicate happiness, even if damian likely would try if he thought it was possible. happiness is a complex emotion, and not one damian would claim to know all that well. it's the sensation of flying through gotham's skyline, the freeing sensation of having his feet off the ground, grayson's hand against his shoulder, it's - this. the trust displayed between them. but he wouldn't say it's something that he could attempt to replicate based off of an image in front of him, even if he does understand where the confusion could have come from.
he also understands how his phrasing could throw one off. he isn't a normal person by any means, something that has caused strife between him and the rest of his father's menagerie. )
( It's... still a little unexpected with what he wants, but. That's Damian for you. He stares to the boy after he clarifies β lets his gaze drop down to the photograph in question before he's looking back ahead. Silent. Untilβ )
( why is bruce asking him so many questions about his intentions. damian looks to the photo, then back to bruce, then - untucks it from the laptop's frame and tosses it over toward him. closes the laptop after, and sets it down beside him before rolling over onto his side, facing away from the man. )
( The framed photograph gently hits him in the chest and he blinks slowly as he watches the way Damian moves about. Quiet again, he stares off across the room β mulls over what to say before he finally mutters a gentle: )
( it's an apology that bruce doesn't need to provide but does regardless. it's that which gets an answer from damian, rather than the rest of it. bruce is trying, damian is - making an attempt at improving himself, it's only right that he does so in return. )
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yet he's quiet as he observes bruce go through the motions. he remembers all the questions he'd wanted to ask his father, long before they had met. when he had been a figure to look up to, an image to strive toward. yet everything is different now.
just like this is.
bruce looks back to him, and damian looks to the bookshelf. not necessarily to hide that he'd been staring intently, just - )
No.
( but he's tucking the laptop under an arm regardless, to free up a hand so he can reach for the picture of thomas and martha wayne. takes it in hand so he can cart it along with him as he moves to find a space of wall that is unoccupied by furniture so he can press his back to it and lower himself to the floor there.
because the floor is plenty comfortable enough for a catnap. )
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You can sleep in the bed. Thereβs enough room.
( More than enough really. Easy enough for him to disappear into and sometimes wonder if he ever wants to come out of it. At least, thatβs how itβs been as of late. Though heβsβ¦ been trying. Slowly. A work heavily still in progress some days. )
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shoes get kicked off, left in the middle of the walkway because clearly that's where they go, and damian sits himself down on the bed before scooting himself across the mattress enough to press his back against the headboard. )
I am more accustomed to mats over mattresses, but I will make due.
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Bruce remains sitting there on the edge of the bed for a little longer before he finally goes about shifting around and getting himself more centred in the bed. The sheets are pulled back, legs dipping beneath them, and his head gently presses back against the pillows behind him as he finally lets himself just lay there. In a way, itβs too familiar, what with having found himself here more often than not, but. The difference is that Damian is with him now. Heβs not alone.
He lays there in silence for a good while β doesnβt think to close his eyes and yet, he finds them falling shut every now and then, but only for a couple seconds if that. )
Whyβd you take the photo?
( Of his parents from the bookshelf, he means. )
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though the question has him pausing, for a moment. eyes look to the picture, squinting at it for a moment while he tries to think of an answer that doesn't sound entirely pathetic. )
You look happy in it, as do your parents. ( it's quiet, contemplative. ) I wanted to memorize it so I can replicate it later.
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Replicate what? ( A beat. ) Being happy?
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he also understands how his phrasing could throw one off. he isn't a normal person by any means, something that has caused strife between him and the rest of his father's menagerie. )
I wanted to make a copy of it.
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Why?
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Nevermind.
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Iβm sorry.
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I don't know what you want me to say.
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( Because he, himself, doesn't even know what to say. )
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( he won't. but he will lay here and pretend to. )
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Alright. ( A beat. ) If you need anything, I'm here.
( He always will be. )