Chapter Text
“Chin up just a little— yes, like that. Hold it.”
The camera flashes. The world sees the Prince of Gotham at his best.
Damian stands against a sleek, minimalist backdrop, dressed in an expensive all-black suit, tailored to perfection, chest open. The set is quiet except for the click of the camera and murmuring praises from the crew. The flash illuminated the space in stark, white light. Damian doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch.
“That’s it. Hold that. Perfect. Just like that, Damian.”
He doesn’t react to the words, compliments don’t hold weight when they’re expected. He knows how to be what they want. It’s muscle memory at this point. Every angle, every expression, was calculated. Flawless.
His beauty is unheard of. His features are more feminine than masculine. But, never less sharp. Face card never declines. They say he looks more like his mother than he does Bruce.
The final shot is taken, and the moment the camera stops, the world shifts.
“Alright, let’s switch it up. Lose the blazer, sleeves rolled. Let’s get something more effortless.”
Assistants rush in, adjusting his outfit, fixing stray hairs, murmuring to each other as they adjust the collar of his crisp white dress shirt.
The next set of shots flow seamlessly, Damian seated now, one arm draped over the chair, gaze lowered as if the world isn’t worth his attention. The pose is meant to be relaxed, but there’s tension in his shoulders, an unreadable composer. And the camera eats it up.
“That’s the look—” the photographer snaps his fingers. “Untouchable.”
‘Untouchable.’ That word stuck.
The next set ends. The crew began moving again, voicing more casual chatter, the energy melting into something ordinary. The illusion dissolves.
Damian barely listens. He’s too busy looking at his phone. No messages. Nothing from Jon. He turns off his phone, exhaling through his nose. He shouldn’t expect anything.
“Damian, darling, come with me. We must change to the next set.” A stylist perks up, ushering Damian to follow her. Damian composes himself, slipping back into his role. Back to perfection.
“Oh, Darling, are you alright? You look rather exhausted.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Damian continued, walking to the dressing rooms.
The crew is still talking, still praising, but the moment he steps off the set, he’s already gone.
Damian walks through the sleek hallways of the studio, past assistants carrying garments, bags, and other high-luxury items. Stylist chatting over racks of designer clothes. It’s all a blur to him.
The photoshoot lasted longer than expected–makeup, wardrobe changes, constant reshoots from lighting problems, and endless praise.
As he exits the building, the city greets him with its usual Gotham chaos. A car awaits by the curb, Alfred patiently holding open the car door for Damian to step inside and take his seat. The moment he’s inside, the noise is gone. The car is quiet and insulated, the tinted windows shielding him from the outside world.
The ride back home is quiet.
Damian sits in the back, elbow propped against the window, finally letting the weight of it all press down on him. He sank into the leather seat, his posture rigid despite the fatigue settling into his bones.
His phone is in his lap. Face down.
He hasn’t touched it since the photoshoot ended. Hasn’t checked it, not really. His fingers twitch, brushing the edge of his phone before pulling away. It was so easy back then, wasn’t it?
There was a time when Jon was always there. It started with consistent check-ups and pulling all-nighters with Damian on the phone.
A year. One whole year since they last spoke.
But Damian shouldn’t care. He tells himself that constantly, like a mantra. Jon is in college now. Busy with exams, journalism, with Jay Nakamura. Jay Nakamura was always close by.
Why would Jon be worried about Damian?
Damian knows why. He was always a difficult one. Too harsh. Too condescending. Too cold. Too hard to love. Jon’s life is moving forward, full of bright things.
Jon looks happy. With Jay.
Damian tells himself he should be happy for him. That the distance between them was bound to happen. That he has his own life to focus on, his path carved out before him in runways and magazine covers, where he’s meant to be someone else’s vision of perfection.
Yet, somehow, it still hurts.
“Master Damian?” Damian snapped out of his thoughts, looking up to meet Alfred's gaze in the mirror.
“Is everything alright?” Alfred's voice fills the silence.
“Everything fine. It’s just been a long day.”
Alfred gives Damian a gentle, knowing nod before his eyes go back to the road. Damian turns his head back to look out the car window. The city lights blur past in streaks of gold and white, casting long shadows inside the luxury vehicle.
The car continues down the empty road, the manor’s looming gates growing closer.
The car pulls into Wayne Manor. As both Damian and Alfred walk into the grand entrance of Wayne Manor, the sound of voices– loud voices– echo through the halls. Damian and Alfred waltz into the kitchen and see Jason stealing Tim’s food. Dick trying his best to mediate the situation.
Dick Grayson, the eldest, is the first to spot Damian as he walks into the kitchen. He grins, as always, flashing his signature smile. “Damian! How was the shoot?”
Damian barely glances at him, his exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders. “Business as usual.”
“Did you do the broody, smoldering look?” Tim chimed in as he struggled to reach for his plate.
“I do not smolder,” Damian said flatly.
“You say the same thing every time. Don’t you have that Milan thing happening tomorrow?” Jason asks as he fights off Tim from getting the food he technically stole.
Damian says nothing, trying to hide the exhaustion creeping up his spine. He doesn’t feel like engaging, not today. Dick notices Damian’s unresponsive attitude before snatching the plate of food from Jason.
“Here, want something to eat?”
“Hey! That was mine!” Jason and Tim exclaim, halting their fight as Dick offers Damian food.
“I appreciate the offer, Grayson. But I fear I’m on a constraint until Milan is over.” Damian said, softly pushing the plate back. Dieting is common in the fashion industry, but in Damian’s case, it’s something more concerning–he’s been refusing food ever since Jon left for college.
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.” Dick places the plate ontop the island table, to which Jason and Tim go back and fight for it.
“You look like you need a break. Good thing it’s movie night.” Dick nudges Damian.
“It is?” Damian raises an eyebrow.
“It is now.” Jason shrugs, finishing off Tim’s half before they drag Damian to the living room and sit beside him on the couch.
“No documentaries. I swear to god, I will pass out.” Tim grabs the remote from the coffee table before leaning back against the couch and turning on the TV. Titus, Damian’s dog, joins them under their feet.
Damian leans back against the couch, not fully participating in the discussion but instead taking in the familiar sounds of his family. It felt oddly soothing to be in the middle of all this noise after the empty hours he spent at the photoshoot, alone with his thoughts as he posed for hours.
His brothers continue their banter as the movie starts, but Damian’s attention is less on the film.
Despite himself, Damian exhales, the tension in his shoulder easing, the warmth from his brothers surrounding him. He still feels the weight of everything–his career, his relationship with Jon, the upcoming trip to Milan–but for now, just for tonight, he lets himself sink into the warmth of his family.
The light from the TV screen flickers over his face as he stares blankly ahead. His eyes flutter closed just as the first few minutes of the movie began. He doesn’t try to fight; he’s exhausted, emotionally drained from the shoot, from everything. Before he knew it, Damian has drifted off to sleep, his head gently leaning towards Dick’s shoulder.
Dick gently smiles as he motions to Tim. Drake leaps off the couch, beelines for the closet, comes back with a blanket, and throws it across his brother’s lap. Tim joins the others under the blanket, glancing at Damian and then at Dick, both of thems silently acknownledging the way their younger brother has withdrawn. They’ve all seen the subtle shift in Damian since he started modeling and when Jon left for college. He’s quieter and more distant, and it’s clear to everyone but him that he’s not handling it well.
Bruce enters the living room after a long work day, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. His gaze lingers on Damian, his sleeping form as he leans against Dick while the others enjoy the movie. Bruce says nothing, but Alfred, standing nearby, catches the glance.
“How was he?” Bruce lowers his voice to Alfred.
“Tired. And distracted.”
Bruce sighs, taking note. He continues to stand in the doorway with Alfred as the movie continues to play.