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It was early in Gotham, though that never meant much in the city that never slept. Outside, the sky held that persistent ashen tone, along with a cold that seeped through cracks and bones, making you wonder if the sun had ever existed.
In the hallway of the building, Jonathan Kent stopped in front of a very familiar door. 14B. He didn’t need to knock, he had just reached for his emergency key, the one with the Superman keychain, when a soft, almost whiny meow surprised him from below.
“Amélie?”
The white cat looked up at him from the rug, sitting with her usual exaggerated dignity, her tail swaying side to side. She meowed again, as if scolding him for taking so long.
Jon crouched down, scratched her behind the ears, and she responded with an immediate purr. She was freezing, like she’d been there for quite a while.
“Let me guess.” he murmured, a half-smile forming on his lips. “You figured out he came back before any of us did.”
He finally pulled out the key he’d been searching for, a very much not officially authorized one and unlocked the door quietly. The cat slipped inside like it was her kingdom, heading straight for the main bedroom.
The apartment was dark and quiet, just as expected.
Damian was asleep face down, one hand hanging off the bed, hair messy, and still wearing his signature green boots. He hadn’t bothered to unpack, or even turn on the heat. It looked like his body had simply given out.
Amélie jumped onto the bed without hesitation. She settled right in the space between his arm and chest, with the confidence of someone who’d always belonged there.
Damian barely grunted. He didn’t open his eyes, but he spoke.
“Your insufferable scent of sunscreen and good intentions won’t let me sleep in peace, Kent.” Jon laughed from the entrance, closing the door with his foot before settling into Damian’s desk chair.
“And you still smell like sarcasm, emotional repression, and broken dreams. Glad to see you’re back.”
Damian let out a sound that could’ve been a laugh, or just a condescending sigh. He pushed himself up just enough to lean against the headboard. Amélie shifted strategically so he’d pet her, and Damian obeyed.
“Did you tell her you’re back?” Jon asked casually, like it didn’t matter, like it was just a thought in the air. But Damian knew exactly who he meant.
His fingers froze on the cat’s back. “Not yet.”
“You know she’s going to figure it out any second, right? I don’t think she’ll find it funny that the first thing you did wasn’t go see her. Especially after you didn’t send a single message during the six months you were away.”
Damian exhaled sharply. Jon knew it wasn’t that simple. As far as his neighbor knew, he’d been gone on business, some major international deal to close for Wayne Enterprises. The truth? Batman had sent him on a classified mission halfway across the world. Something that required all his focus and left no room for trivial questions like how their shared cat was doing, or if her internship had gone well that day.
But at the same time, he understood that from Marinette’s point of view, it made zero sense that he hadn’t checked in even once if he was just away for work. And honestly, for the first time, he had no idea how to get out of this unscathed. So, he decided to do what any mature man would.
Postpone it.
Postponing was better than seeing her angry, frustrated, or even crying. Or worse, seeing her completely fine because she was happy with a new boyfriend or some idiotic admirer.
“How is she?” was all he managed to say.
“I’ve seen her a couple times a month.” Jon replied, this time without sarcasm. “Not because she asks me to… I just like seeing her. She drags me to buy plants for her balcony or to watch weird movies with Korean subtitles. She’s got this energy that makes you feel like no matter what, everything’s going to be okay. Sometimes I think she might be my long-lost sister or something, but asking Dad feels like too much of a stretch.”
“Hm.” That was all Damian said. It was either that or throw a katana at his face.
“She broke up with the blond guy she was dating when you left. She’s had a few dates since, obviously, not that you care, of course. Guys who were poets or photographers, from what I gathered. Nothing serious. I think she’s doing it more out of social obligation than genuine interest.”
Damian didn’t move. Jon studied him and kept talking.
“She asks about you sometimes. Very casually, like she’s trying to make it seem like it’s just politeness. But I know she really does care about you.”
Damian nodded slowly, as if that small piece of information had embedded itself deeper than it should have. At that moment, Jon’s phone started ringing to the tune of “Superman” by Taylor Swift. A detail Damian unfortunately recognized because Marinette had once asked in front of them what they imagine Superman feels, knowing that THE Taylor Swift had written a song about him. A question Jonathan had taken to heart and investigated thoroughly. And since then, that song had been a staple every time the three of them hung out at Marinette’s apartment.
“One sec.” Jon pulled the phone from his pocket with a grin and, without asking, put it on speaker. “Mari?”
“Amélie’s gone.” Damian felt his whole body tense at the sound of her voice for the first time in what now felt like an eternity. She didn’t sound worried or stressed. On the contrary, she sounded irritated, almost frustrated.
“What? Amélie? The cat?” Jon asked with a ridiculous overacting voice that made Damian silently thank every undercover League related missions had nothing to do with the Super family.
“Yes, the cat! My cat! She’s gone. And she didn’t eat breakfast. Do you know what that means?”
Damian opened his eyes, exhaling slowly. Jon brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“She went out for some air?” Jon suggested, trying to lighten the mood.
“Amélie is not just any cat, Jonathan! She doesn’t wander off, she doesn’t disappear. She demands breakfast. She demands attention. She demands her expensive, gourmet food before 9 AM sharp.”
“So…” Jon dragged the word out, curious to see where his friend was going with this.
“So there’s only one explanation. There’s only one thing more important to Amélie than her royal breakfast. Her stupid favorite human.”
Damian closed his eyes again. “He’s back. And he didn’t tell me.”
The sentence hung in the air like a perfectly thrown dart. Jon could barely breathe from holding back laughter. Damian, on the other hand, wished he could sink into the mattress and cease to exist.
“I’m coming to get her,” Marinette added, her voice razor-sharp. “And my idiot neighbor better be there when I arrive.”
She ended the call.
Jon leaned back, finally letting out his laugh freely.
“Well… at least she still cares about you, right?”
Damian didn’t answer,he just threw a pillow at him, which Jon dodged with ease.
“Come on, things could be worse,” Jon added as he walked over to pet Amélie, as if seeking backup in his argument. “She hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed. Maybe the cat’s the most mature one out of the three of you.”
“You came all the way from Metropolis this early just to make fun of me, didn’t you?”
Jon smirked. “Brother, I wouldn’t miss the moment Marinette walks through that door for anything in the world. If I hadn’t had patrol at dawn, I probably would’ve camped in the hallway with the cat.”
Damian didn’t reply. He stood up with fake composure and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Jonathan just smiled to himself and stood up to help his best friend a little, tidying up the place.
First, the open suitcase still unpacked. He figured closing it properly and tossing it into the closet was good enough for now. The katana on the desk? Now under the bed. Perfect. The cape draped over the desk chair? Thrown out the window. Done. A small black box with clearly illegal gadgets? Vaporized with his heat vision. Best friend in the world, or what?
When Damian came out, his hair still damp, wearing a simple black shirt, and lacking his usual arrogant look—though clearly trying to recover it, Jonathan looked him closely.
“I’ve never seen you this nervous. Not even when you gave a global Justice League debrief on behalf of your father. Chill, man.”
Damian growled and ran a hand through his hair. Amélie jumped from the couch backrest and nestled against his leg, as if she too sensed his nerves and was trying to comfort him.
“And what am I supposed to say to her? Hi, Marinette. Sorry for not telling you I left on a classified mission where I risked my life multiple times instead of a business trip. Want some tea?”
Damian ran both hands down his face, as if trying to scrub the stress off his skin. He was pacing now, barefoot, the tension in his shoulders betraying just how unprepared he felt for the moment to come. Amélie, loyal as ever, followed each of his steps with quiet feline judgment.
“You know what? I like it.” Jon leaned against the desk, arms crossed, smirking. “There’s something raw and moving about that kind of desperate honesty.”
“I’m not joking, Kent.” Damian stopped, giving him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
Jon didn’t flinch. He just shrugged and gestured vaguely around the room.
“Well I am,” he said, tone light but eyes kind. “Because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to cry over how ridiculously stubborn you two are.”
Damian sighed. He walked over to the window and stared down at the street below, as if mentally mapping out an escape route. His hands gripped the windowsill, knuckles pale, breath slow and deep, an attempt at collecting himself.
And just as he was about to speak, the doorbell rang.
Amélie padded gracefully toward the front door, tail high, as if she knew exactly who it was.
“It’s her,” Jonathan whispered, standing frozen for a beat.
“Don’t open it” he snapped. Damian’s voice came out sharp, almost panicked. He hadn’t turned around yet, still frozen in front of the window, as if the view might offer him a way out.
“What?” Jon turned his head slightly, confused but already halfway to the door.
“Don’t open it. Not yet, I need thirty more seconds.” His hands were now clenched into fists, knuckles white. He looked like someone about to defuse a bomb, one that was ticking far too loudly in his chest.
“Thirty seconds for what?” Jon asked it gently, though the corner of his mouth twitched with a smile he was trying to hide.
“I don’t know! To stop shaking like an idiot!” There was a wild edge to his voice now, frustration and nerves tangled so tightly he didn’t know where one ended and the other began. He hadn’t felt like this in years, maybe never. And of course it had to be her who made him unravel this way.
Jon just laughed softly and took a step toward the door. “Too late.” And with that, he turned the handle.
Marinette stepped inside in small, quiet strides. She looked far calmer than she had sounded on the phone. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, efficiently…until they landed on what she had clearly been pretending to search for, Amélie, now curled up against Damian’s right foot like she owned the place.
Jon leaned against the doorframe with a knowing smile on his face and both eyebrows raised, as if he were expecting fireworks, emotional chaos, or at the very least, a loud argument. But Marinette didn’t give him the satisfaction.
She knelt down slowly to pick up the cat, her movements precise and practiced. As she stood, her eyes met Damian’s.
His hair was a little longer than before, and that ever-present tension in his brow hadn’t softened. There were a few visible scratches near his jaw and a small cut on his lower lip that looked fresh.
“Well,” she said, her voice perfectly measured, neither too warm, nor too cold. Her smile was soft, polite, almost unreadable. “So you did come back.”
Damian gave a single nod, but said nothing. Of course he didn’t.
Marinette tilted her head just slightly, the way someone does out of habit rather than out of affection or obligation.
“I’m glad,” she added quietly, her eyes dropping to Amélie as she stroked the cat’s back with a gentle hand. The feline stretched lazily in her arms, seemingly content now that she had blessed both of her humans with her royal presence. “See you around.”
Damian’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. He took a step forward, just one, but no words came out. Marinette was already turning, already halfway to the door, cat held securely in her arms.
“Don’t forget to buy her expensive diva food,” she added over her shoulder, not even glancing back. “I’ve already done my part these past months.”
And before either of them could say another word, she was gone. Jon looked at him, then let out a low whistle.
“Well… that was subtle. For her.”
Damian didn’t answer. He just ran a hand over the back of his neck, eyes still fixed on the door she had just walked through.
“Don’t worry,” Jon added, attempting what he thought was a soothing tone. “That was just her version of ‘I missed you, idiot.’”
He gave him a light punch on the shoulder, an honest little smile—and then stepped out towards apartment 13B, Marinette’s.
The door closed behind him, and silence returned to the apartment like fog settling after a storm. Damian remained standing in the middle of the living room, shoulders tense, hands deep in his pockets, his gaze frozen on the floor, right where Marinette had stood just minutes ago.
There had been no dramatic scene. No shouting. No tears. No embrace. And somehow… that hurt even more.
Maybe because there wasn’t a fight. Because there were no loud accusations, no heartbreak poured into words. Just that quiet, polite “I’m glad.” And like a damn fool, he’d let it happen.
He let out a breath and dropped onto the couch, head falling back over the edge as he stared at the ceiling. He had no idea how to fix this. Well, Not just this. Everything.
They had met five years ago, the day she moved into the apartment across the hall. He’d already been living there for a few months.
It hadn’t started with some grand conversation. No sparks, no obvious connection. At first, they’d simply passed each other in the hallway, exchanging the smallest of nods. Sometimes, they shared the elevator, standing in opposite corners, not really looking at each other.
Neither of them made an effort to break the ice. And neither of them seemed to mind.
One day, without thinking, he held the building door open for her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wait for a “thank you,” didn’t even look at her directly. It was just a reflex, almost mechanical. And yet, she noticed. A few days later, he found a small box of cookies left at his apartment door. No note. Just the gesture. And he noticed that too.
A few weeks later, he saw her crying in the hallway. He didn’t ask what was wrong. Didn’t offer comfort. He just left on the table next to the elevator, his handkerchief embroidered with his name in one corner, and walked away. She never gave it back. To this day, she still keeps it.
And then, the elevator. A dumb malfunction. They got stuck for a few minutes and, for the first time, they talked. Not about themselves. Not about anything deep. Just about a stray cat that used to sneak into the building. An innocent distraction.
From there, the post-it notes on the door began. She complained sarcastically about him training like a lunatic at three in the morning. He replied with ridiculous drawings, usually of her with an ogre face and a giant cup of coffee. Then, as if they had synchronized without saying it, they started leaving food for the cat, one in front of each door. Until one night, both of them came out due to insomnia and ended up talking in the hallway until sunrise.
From then on, they became… something. Something that maybe didn’t have a name, but looked a lot like a friendship. They found out they both thought they had adopted the same cat. They argued, of course. “She’s mine,” “No, she’s mine,” “I bought her a little bed!” Until they decided to share her. They named her Amélie.
They started little traditions without realizing it. Impromptu Sunday night dinners in pajamas, watching bad movies. Grocery runs together on Wednesday afternoons, according to Damian, the optimal time to avoid people. Small things that started to add up. That felt comfortable. That started to matter.
And just when it all began to feel like more than routine, he left.
Now he was back. And he wasn’t sure what was left of all that. Or if he even had the right to miss it. But he did.
But after the way Marinette had acted when she came to his apartment? He’d definitely dropped a few levels. And clearly, he couldn’t blame her.
Damian had thought about her many times during those six months. More than he wanted to admit. Coming back to that apartment had been a heavy decision, one he hadn’t made lightly. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get her out of his head. But at the same time… what right did he have to drag her into his world? Into his impossible schedules, his poorly explained scars, the times he vanished without warning. He forced himself not to cross the hallway, find her, and tell her he hadn’t gone a single day without thinking about her. That he ached to stay, to have the quiet life they pretended to have when they were together. But he couldn’t. Not entirely.
And yet, here he was. Again. Living just a few steps away. With the cat they shared. With her half-smiles and those eyes that saw everything, even if they didn’t ask.
He reached for his phone on the coffee table. Hesitated. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Finally, he hit send. Threw the phone onto the other couch before he could see if she had read it and got up to start unpacking.
Marinette was in the middle of complaining about him while Jon made pancakes in her kitchen when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out without really looking, unlocking it with a lazy gesture, expecting a calendar reminder or maybe her mom asking how she felt that morning.
But no.
“Sorry for not reaching out. It was harder than I thought. I’m glad you’re okay.”
The message was short. Precise. And so him, she couldn’t help but smile, no matter how hard she tried not to.
She let out a little snort as she tucked the phone away again. Her pulse quickened a bit. Because of course she’d spent all morning waiting for him to say something. Not that she’d ever admit it, not even to herself.
She made herself wait before replying. Not because she was angry, but because she knew how to play the rhythm. She’d learned how to handle Damian Wayne a while ago.
Sometimes she wondered when exactly Damian had become part of her routine.
Because it hadn’t been immediate. Not when they met on the stairs, not when he helped her fix the damn faucet that wouldn’t stop leaking, not when he left her that stupid embroidered handkerchief. It hadn’t been just one moment. It had been many.
It had been the times he showed up at her door with the excuse that “Amélie was already bored of him.” When they both knew it was just an excuse to come see her. It was when he started leaving coffee on the little table beside their doors because he’d found out she hated having to make it herself early in the morning before work. It was when she realized he trained too hard, sometimes so late that she could hear him on the roof at 2 or 3 a.m., like insomnia was chewing on his bones.
And it was also when she realized that, no matter how much Damian locked himself away, he always ended up looking for her. Her voice, her company. As if it reminded him he was still human.
They didn’t talk about deep things. They didn’t touch on the big topics. But he knew she secretly hated kiwi and had a ridiculous allergy to strawberries. And she knew he had trouble trusting, that he didn’t let anyone get too close, and that he never complained about pain, even when it showed in every step.
They weren’t best friends. They weren’t a couple. They were almost nothing… almost. So when he left and didn’t say a word, Marinette didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene. Didn’t ask. She just let him go. But she didn’t forget him. Not for a single day.
Because even if she’d never told him she needed him close, she had felt it. And even if they never put a name to what they had, losing it, even for a while, had hurt more than she was willing to admit. Now he was back. With that same serious stare. With that same dumb half-smile he used when he didn’t know what to say.
“You know emotions don’t come easy for him. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t burn this whole city down if you asked him to,” Jon said with a soft chuckle, not turning to look at her, more focused on flipping the pancake perfectly in the pan.
Marinette gave a small smile, taking a huge bite of the pancake Jon had just put on her plate. “I don’t need him to burn the city down. I just need him to send a damn ‘I’m alive’ every now and then.”
It had been a few days since Damian returned to Gotham.
The clock on the kitchen wall read 11:53 PM. Marinette looked down at her frosting-covered hands. The small cake, decorated with vanilla icing, a few silver sprinkles, and four colorful candles, trembled slightly on the ceramic plate with hand-drawn cupcakes that she had made years ago. The candles were still unlit.
It wasn’t that she missed talking to him. She just… well, she did miss him. She had no idea if he’d be awake. Or at home. Or if he’d even open the door. But she couldn’t not do it.
At 11:59, wearing her pink floral pajamas and fuzzy slippers, she stepped out into the hallway.
Three soft knocks. The door opened just as the clock hit 12:00 AM.
Damian stood in front of her, wearing dark sweatpants low on his hips, shirtless, his hair still dripping at the ends. Steam from the shower still floated in the air, and for a second, she completely forgot what she was going to say.
He seemed equally speechless.
“Are you here to exorcise me with fire or is this your weird way of celebrating?” he murmured, voice hoarse.
“Who says I can’t do both?”
She walked in without waiting for a response. The apartment was dim, except for the warm light coming from the kitchen. Amélie was asleep on the back of the couch like it was her throne. Marinette walked to the counter and carefully set the cake down, lighting each candle one by one.
“Happy birthday, Dami” she said softly, not looking at him.
He didn’t answer right away. He walked over until he was standing right behind her. Her breath caught in her chest. The touch was gentle, warm, as intimate as a memory. His hands settled on her waist with quiet certainty, wrapping around her in a way that didn’t ask permission, but didn’t demand either. A way that simply… made sense.
Marinette didn’t turn around. She held the little cake against the counter, frozen on the inside. Not from fear. From the invisible weight that had built up in her since the last time she saw him. Since the last message left on read. Since the last night she told herself she had to forget him.
But she couldn’t.
She felt his breath against her neck, the heat of his chest on her back, the precise pressure of his fingers sinking slightly into the fabric of her pajamas. And when he lowered his head to brush her cheek with his lips, it was like her entire nervous system silently collapsed.
“I didn’t know if you wanted to see me” he whispered, voice caught between the words he’d swallowed for months.
“I didn’t know if I should come” she replied, and the tremor in her voice didn’t bother hiding itself.
He kissed her cheek. Slowly. Like time had stopped. One of those kisses that don’t have an agenda, but definitely have intention. Marinette closed her eyes. Because she couldn’t not to. Because it was too much.
“I missed you.” he confessed, like it was the first truth he could allow himself to say.
And that was enough to make her entire body tense with a sharp ache.
“I did too.” she said, and it came out as a breath.
They stayed like that. Anchored to each other, not moving, not breaking the moment. The clock kept ticking in the kitchen, indifferent, but for them, time had stopped.
“I thought distance would help me clear my head.” he murmured, now resting his forehead on her shoulder. “But it just confused me more.”
Marinette felt a knot forming in her throat. She could hear him so clearly, feel him so close… and yet, there was a distance still between them. Invisible, but impossible to ignore.
“I got tired of pretending I didn’t feel the emptiness.” She answered. “Everything tasted different without you.”
He tightened his arms around her gently, like that clumsy, unconscious motion could make up for all the silences, all the miles.
“I know this doesn’t change anything.” he said, exhaustion thick in his voice like he’d been carrying it all day. “That we still haven’t figured it out. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t care.”
Marinette lowered her gaze. She didn’t cry, but she was close. The cake in her hands felt heavier now. Everything did.
“We don’t have to figure it out tonight.” she whispered. “Just… don’t leave again without saying goodbye.”
He didn’t answer right away. His breath against her neck was the only sound in the room.
“I never wanted to leave.” he finally murmured. And it wasn’t an excuse. It was a secret.
She nodded, very slowly.
And there was no kiss. No promises. No declarations spoken aloud.
Just a cake between them, still warm. And an embrace that didn’t say “let’s start over,” but did say “we’re still here.”
Which, sometimes, was more than enough.