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If asked, he would say it was all Todd’s fault. If Looked at by Pennyworth, he’ll admit that he might have had something to do with it. Just a sliver of a chance. That’s all anyone would get out of him, because running underground fight clubs meant you had to run them well. And no matter what Todd might say otherwise, an unorganised fight club was a failed fight club.
And Damian Wayne does not fail.
He’s still unsure of how exactly it happened, only that one moment he was complaining about English homework and the next he was standing in the school’s unused basement. He didn’t even know the school had a basement. How Jason of all people knew about-
Actually. If anyone knew about “secret” rooms, it would be Todd. Even if Damian will never admit it.
(“It’s hardly a secret, any basement would be on the floor plan.”
“You’d think,” Jason says, leaning forward like he’s trying to be mysterious. “But it isn’t.”
“Hmph. We’ll see.”)
It isn’t on the floor plan. He won’t breathe a word of it in fear of Todd’s endless I told you so’s. And apart from needing several coats of paint, it's serviceable enough. There’s a leak in the corner of the ceiling, and certain sections of the walls have questionable stains on them, but it’s serviceable. Originally, there had been a rickety table and chairs that could have collapsed if you so much as breathed on it. Now, there’s newer furniture and a fresh pile of ashes hastily brushed into the bushes behind the school. And the test that Damian hadn’t done so well on has disappeared.
Strange.
After breaking and entering—
(“It’s not a crime if we don’t get caught!” Jason declares, as they drop two tins of paint down the other side of the window. They land with a quiet thud on the worn tiles.
Damian scoffs, and scrambles through. “Not for me, because I’ll say it was all your idea.”
“Hey!” )
—After breaking and entering in the middle of the night to paint, the walls are a slightly more appealing shade of grey. Actual working lights have been secured to the ceiling in a less-than secure way, and the leak has been lessened to the occasional drop landing in a bucket. It’s...decent. It’s decent. And no one ever knew what they were doing.
(Drake frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Damian huffs, closing the window. He hides the smudges of paint on his hands behind his back. There’s a beat of silence, in which Drake narrows his eyes suspiciously.
Finally, he just yawns. “Whatever,” he mumbles, already leaving. Damian begins to sigh in relief. “By the way, everyone can tell when you scale down the wall like a damn monkey.”
Behind him, Jason cackles.)
Not even his maybe-we-haven’t-really-talked-about-it-yet boyfriend knew, although perhaps Jon deserved an explanation for why he’s fallen asleep in the middle of the library twice this week. Maybe. He’ll add it to the list of things they should probably talk about.
*
Around the basement are various pairs either sparring or practising skills, but at the moment, Damian can’t care in the slightest. Jason stands behind him and Jon, who he doesn’t believe found them by accident for a second. “Whoever hits the ground first loses. Five,”
Jon smiles, the sort of expression that means he’s scheming and Damian’s going to like it. “You? Tackle me to the ground? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Four.”
“Three. Start!” Jon looks at Jason in surprise, and within seconds he’s landed hard on his back. Damian grins from on top of him, the faint hum of adrenaline running through his body like every time he gets a move just so. Later, it’s the adrenaline he’ll blame it on. Damian looks at John’s startled expression, to Jason beginning to referee another fight, and back again. He kisses Jon.
Just a peck on the nose really — over before it’s actually begun — but a first kiss all the same. Jon goes cross eyed for a moment, before smiling that stupid sappy smile of his and presses his lips to Damian’s cheek.
Damian stands up to try and hide the fact he has no idea what he just did and this is all Jason’s fault somehow, he knows it. “Your stance could be better,” he finally says, extending a hand to pull Jon to his feet.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll show you now, if you want.”
Jon smiles again, and the fluttery feeling in Damian’s stomach definitely isn’t butterflies. “I’d like that,” he says, and oh—
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.