Damian Wayne | Robin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neverbatman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sheridan2016-01-10 02:18 am
neverbatman) wrote in sheridan2016-01-10 02:18 am
[closed] tale as old as time
[After their near disaster of a gala, Damian knew he had to make it up to Midii. Christmas was the best possible way to make it up, he figured. Gifts were a normal part of the holiday season, and he'd gone out of his way to shower his friends with material goods, whether they wanted it or not.
Some of his friends had resigned themselves to the inevitable and asked for reasonable gifts - Jai, for example, got season tickets for the local basketball team, and Iris got one of those fancy Fitbits that could (reasonably) calculate a speedster's rate.
Midii, though, needed something better. After much deliberation and arguing with a local calligrapher + screen printer, Damian ordered two things: one, for Midii to come meet him on the second floor of a coffee shop that his family owned, and two, a set of custom-printed Arabic calligraphy t-shirts. Nothing religious, for the Muslims who might cry cultural appropriation, but cultural sayings & shapes.
He's not expecting her super early, but he's looking a little nervous as he stares down at the gift bag he'd wrapped the latter in. Just once, he wishes the coffee shop could sell boosts of confidence with their lattes. He'd buy their entire stock out.]
Some of his friends had resigned themselves to the inevitable and asked for reasonable gifts - Jai, for example, got season tickets for the local basketball team, and Iris got one of those fancy Fitbits that could (reasonably) calculate a speedster's rate.
Midii, though, needed something better. After much deliberation and arguing with a local calligrapher + screen printer, Damian ordered two things: one, for Midii to come meet him on the second floor of a coffee shop that his family owned, and two, a set of custom-printed Arabic calligraphy t-shirts. Nothing religious, for the Muslims who might cry cultural appropriation, but cultural sayings & shapes.
He's not expecting her super early, but he's looking a little nervous as he stares down at the gift bag he'd wrapped the latter in. Just once, he wishes the coffee shop could sell boosts of confidence with their lattes. He'd buy their entire stock out.]
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So when she smiles, like she might've enjoyed that, he lets out a sigh of relief. Thank God. Thank God, he wasn't useless at this romance thing.]
Sure. [He returns that smile, glancing over at the fireplace] I'll see if our barista can't deliver our usuals up here.
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I'll see if I can pick out a book by the time you get back.
[...admittedly, it would be a challenge; she had no idea what system had been used to sort all those beautiful books, or in what order.]
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[He reluctantly pulls back, because he really doesn't want to leave her - not now, not when he's finally realized how much she means to him - but the siren song of coffee is too strong to ignore. He'll be greedy, and pull back with a light kiss on her forehead.] I'll see you really soon.
[And he's off, though like he said, it won't be for long.]
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[This...was happening. This was really happening. If she closed her eyes and opened them again, this would still be happening. Damian would still have just kissed her--twice, now--and headed back downstairs just long enough to get drinks for them to have while they spent the afternoon sitting by the fire with a book.]
[It was almost too perfect.]
[...of course, not enough that she didn't still wander over to the first bookshelf she saw, fingers lightly running across the spines. Much to her surprise, she recognized almost all the titles instantly. This was the History section, it seemed. Tales of long ago that helped shape the world as it was today. Had he known, or was it sheer coincidence?]
[She eyed one of the titles hinting towards a history of Ancient Rome. One she was almost certain she hadn't read before, and so, she pulled it down and began idly flipping through it to make sure it was appropriately unfamiliar.]
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It wasn't a dream. It wasn't induced or forced through brainwashing or a villain of the week - it was real, and sincere, and everything a guy could've dreamed of. Which honestly makes the butterflies in his stomach that much worse.
So when he steps back inside, with his arms folded, he can't quite help his smile as he realizes what section she's browsing.]
I should've known.
[He says without a single trace of his usual smug arrogance. He means it genuinely, like he should've expected this but didn't.
So he gives her a wave before he goes to tinker with the fireplace and build a proper, roaring fire in the room. They don't technically need one, but it fits the mental image in his head too well for him to argue otherwise.]
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[Sometimes, she said. As if she didn't have her own habits--such as a certain drink order--and routines that he would no doubt have become familiar with. Even if he wasn't obsessively observant most of the time.]
[Book in hand, she made her way over to the sofa and plopped herself down on the cushion nearest to the fire. It really was mostly unnecessary, especially given she had always had a high tolerance for cold given her size and weight, but the crackling embers were soothing enough that she would be willing to sacrifice a pleasant chill for that sound. And the smell. Wood burning. Very pleasant, indeed.]
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His tolerance for the cold is less than hers, which may be why he pulls out a fuzzy white blanket. (His own, rather than something that would stay in this space forever.)]
It's a good kind of predictable. [He says, pulling the blanket around him like he's a Damian burrito.] It's the legitimate mysteries you've gotta watch out for.
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[Everybody gets one, it seemed.]
[But that afternoon...she simply leaned into the Damian burrito and held out the book for him to see. Flipping to the list of chapters, which gave a pretty decent indication of what they were in for.]
Unless they're in stories.
Then they're mostly harmless.
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True. They can't always come right out of the page.
[Though he's sure some supervillain has tried, knowing the world they lived in.]
You gonna start from the beginning?
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Would you rather I start at the end so you know what happens first?
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[His smile's too big for him to play that seriously, like he actually reads books backwards. Most of the time, he's a stickler for going in order - there's a rhyme and a reason and a time and a place.
Except now, he has no time or place or rhyme or any of that, because he's exactly where he wants to be.]
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Get used to living in suspense, then, because we're starting from Chapter 1. The beginning of Chapter 1.
[Suffer.]
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[His ensuing groan might've been heard by the very barista that's delivering their drinks. Might've, because that would also require Damian admitting that he made that almost inhuman noise that universally meant 'I'm suffering so much right now.'
Except he's not, because he's right where he wants to be.]