Chapter Text
Two weeks had passed since Damian first joined the band and sang with them.
Two weeks since something in his life had shifted.
School had become… bearable.
Not enjoyable. Damian would not go that far, but no longer something he endured in silence. He had people now. A place to sit. Voices that called his name without hesitation or mockery.
Lunches were no longer spent alone.
Instead, they were loud.
Chaotic.
Alive.
Like now.
The band was gathered around their usual table, trays half-touched, conversations overlapping in a way that would have driven Damian mad not long ago, but now felt oddly comfortable.
“Alright,” T was saying, leaning back in his chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs, “but who is Stacy’s mom, and why does Chris Collingwood care so much?”
Quin snorted softly into their drink.
“You’re mixing bands.”
“I am not.”
“You literally are.”
Myra wasn’t there to argue,which meant T was wrong, because Myra never missed an opportunity to prove him wrong.
Ethan laughed, shaking his head.
“Man’s creating a cinematic universe of early 2000s songs.”
Damian, seated beside Ethan, raised a brow slightly.
“I fail to see how this conversation holds any relevance.”
T pointed at him immediately.
“Because, D, this is important cultural knowledge.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
“It is not.”
Quin leaned in slightly.
“It kind of is.”
Damian stared at them.
“I am surrounded by incompetence.”
Ethan grinned.
“You love it.”
Damian didn’t respond.
Which, at this point, was basically a yes.
Before anyone could continue the argument,
A blur of motion came racing across the cafeteria.
“IT'S HERE!”
Myra practically skidded to a stop at the table, slightly out of breath, hair even more chaotic than usual. She slammed her hands down on the surface, eyes bright with excitement.
“THE PARTIES THIS WEEKEND.”
The table went quiet for half a second.
Then–
“Oh no,” T muttered.
“Oh yes,” Myra shot back immediately.
Quin raised a brow.
“…Which ones?”
Myra grinned like she had just been handed the keys to chaos.
“All of them.”
Ethan groaned, dropping his head onto the table.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Damian looked between them.
“…Clarify.”
Myra turned to him instantly, grabbing his shoulder like he was now her personal project.
“Okay, so,Gotham Academy has this thing,” she started, already talking too fast, “where like every few weeks someone throws a party, and then it turns into a chain reaction, and suddenly there’s like five happening at once, and they all try to outdo each other–”
“It’s stupid,” T cut in.
“It’s amazing,” Myra corrected.
“It’s loud,” Quin added calmly.
“It’s chaos,” Ethan mumbled into the table.
Myra pointed at him.
“And you love it.”
“I love sleep.”
“Liar.”
Damian listened, expression neutral.
“…And this concerns us how?”
Myra’s grin widened.
“Because,” she said slowly, “we’re going.”
Damian blinked.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I will not attend a ‘party.’”
Ethan finally lifted his head, smirking slightly.
“You haven’t even heard the details yet.”
“I do not require them.”
Myra leaned closer, eyes sparkling.
“There’s music.”
Damian didn’t react.
“There’s food.”
Nothing.
“There are people who are not from our school judging you for being weird.”
Damian paused.
“…Continue.”
T laughed.
“Got him.”
Quin rested their chin on their hand.
“There’s also a chance for us to play.”
That got Damian’s attention.
He looked at them.
“Explain.”
Ethan sat up properly now.
“Some of the parties have setups,” he said. “Like, small stage, amps, open mic kinda thing.”
Myra nodded rapidly.
“And bands sometimes just… show up and play.”
Damian’s fingers tapped lightly against the table.
“You are suggesting we perform.”
“Not suggesting,” Myra said.
“Planning,” Ethan corrected.
Damian considered that.
A public performance.
In front of strangers.
Not just the band.
Not just a closed room.
His chest tightened slightly at the thought.
Excitement.
And something sharper underneath.
T noticed his expression shift.
“You don’t have to,” he said, tone casual but not dismissive. “We can just go, hang out.”
Quin nodded.
“No pressure.”
Myra leaned back, though her eyes still sparkled with hope.
“…But it would be really cool.”
Damian looked at them.
All of them.
Waiting.
Not forcing.
Not demanding.
Just… offering.
That alone made the decision feel different.
“I will consider it,” Damian said finally.
Myra gasped dramatically.
“THAT’S A YES.”
“It is not.”
“It basically is.”
Ethan laughed softly.
“We’ll take it.”
The conversation shifted after that, moving into speculation about which parties were worth going to, who would be there, and which ones to absolutely avoid.
Damian listened more than he spoke.
But he was there.
Included.
Part of it.
And for once, that didn’t feel strange.
After school, the band room felt like it always did now.
Warm.
Loud.
Familiar.
Myra was already behind the drums, tapping out a fast rhythm. T tuned his bass lazily, Quin adjusted settings on the keyboard, and Ethan strummed absent chords while watching Damian out of the corner of his eye.
Damian set his bag down, rolling his shoulders slightly.
He had changed.
Not drastically.
But enough.
The paint-stained black hoodie sat comfortably under his Gotham Academy blazer, sleeves still rolled to his elbows. His usual polished loafers had been replaced with heavy combat boots that thudded softly against the floor when he walked.
The look hadn’t gone unnoticed.
It had earned whispers.
Stares.
But also,
Approval.
From the people that mattered.
Myra noticed immediately.
“Okay, but the boots??”
T nodded.
“Upgrade.”
Quin smiled slightly.
“They suit you.”
Damian glanced down briefly.
“They are functional.”
Ethan smirked.
“Sure they are.”
Damian ignored him.
“Are we practicing or not?”
Myra slammed her sticks together.
“YES.”
They started with something easy.
Then something louder.
Then something faster.
Time blurred.
Damian stood there, chest rising slowly, the echo of the music still humming in his bones. The room didn’t fall into silence this time; instead, it buzzed with energy, like something had just clicked into place.
Myra was already bouncing slightly where she stood.
“Okay, so we’re definitely playing,” she said, pointing her drumstick at the group. “No backing out now.”
T nodded, slinging his bass over his shoulder more securely.
“Agreed. Question is, what’s the set?”
Quin tapped a few thoughtful notes on the keyboard.
“We shouldn’t rely on just one song.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little now, that same excited spark back in his eyes.
“We open strong,” he said. “Something loud. Grab attention right away.”
Myra grinned.
“Then we hit them with something emotional.”
Her gaze flicked toward Damian for half a second.
Not pushing.
Just acknowledging.
T chimed in, “And close with something chaotic.”
“Obviously,” Myra said.
Damian listened, arms loosely crossed, watching as they all began throwing ideas back and forth.
Songs.
Artists.
Tempo.
Energy.
For once, he wasn’t standing outside the conversation.
Ethan turned to him suddenly.
“What do you think, D?”
Damian paused.
Then, slowly,
“I believe,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “if we are to perform… it should be intentional.”
They all looked at him.
“Each song should serve a purpose,” Damian continued. “Not just noise. Not just volume.”
Quin nodded slightly.
“A progression.”
“Yes.”
T leaned forward.
“Alright, strategist. What’s the plan?”
Damian hesitated for only a moment.
“Begin with something that demands attention,” he said. “Something undeniable.”
Myra grinned wider.
“I like where this is going.”
“Then transition into something that… resonates.”
His voice lowered slightly on that word.
Ethan’s gaze sharpened.
“And end,” Damian finished, “with something that leaves them unable to ignore us.”
Silence followed for half a second.
Then–
“…yeah,” Ethan said quietly.
“Yeah,” Myra echoed.
T smirked.
“Okay, that’s actually solid.”
Quin smiled.
“That gives us a direction.”
The room shifted again, this time not just with energy, but with purpose.
They weren’t just messing around anymore.
They were building something.
Together.
Damian glanced down briefly, then back up at the group.
The faintest hint of a smile touched his expression.
For the first time, he wasn’t just finding a place to belong.
He was helping shape it.
And whatever they chose to play–
It wouldn’t just be music.
It would be something people remembered.
That night, Damian had gone home in mostly a daze.
He had walked with Ethan to the train station, the noise of the city settling around them as the sky dimmed into evening. Their conversation had been light, random, easy, nothing that required too much thought, but it stayed with Damian anyway. When the train finally arrived, Ethan had grinned, giving him a lazy wave.
“See you tomorrow, D.”
Damian had hesitated, just for a second, before returning it.
“…Yes. Tomorrow.”
Then he boarded the train.
The ride itself was quiet. Damian sat by the window, watching the blur of lights streak past, his reflection faint against the glass. His mind replayed everything: practice, the conversation about the setlist, the way they had all looked at him when he spoke.
Wanted.
Included.
It still felt… strange.
But not unwelcome.
By the time he stepped off and made his way up the long driveway to Wayne Manor, that feeling had dulled into something quieter. Something more controlled.
The doors opened before he could reach for them.
Alfred stood there, as he always did.
“Good evening, Master Damian.”
“Good evening, Alfred.”
Alfred’s eyes lingered on him just a moment longer than usual, taking in the later hour, the softened edges of the boy in front of him, but he said nothing of it.
“Dinner will be ready shortly.”
Damian nodded.
“I will prepare.”
He stepped inside.
The manor was the same as always, quiet, composed, untouched by the chaos of the outside world.
And yet, Damian felt… different walking through it.
He hadn’t talked to his family about what he had been doing.
He knew, without question, that his father would not understand.
Music.
A band.
Performing.
It would be seen as a distraction at best.
A weakness at worst.
And he still hadn’t been given back Robin.
That thought lingered longer than the others.
Damian couldn’t tell if that bothered him.
Or if something else had started to take its place.
He pushed the thought aside and made his way upstairs.
After washing up, Damian changed into something simpler.
A plain hoodie.
Plain sweats.
Relaxed.
Comfortable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
When he finally made his way downstairs again, Alfred had just begun bringing out the food, placing each dish with practiced ease.
Conversation had already started.
Damian took his usual seat, across from where Dick normally sat, though his chair was empty tonight, and next to Duke.
A quick glance around confirmed it.
Cass. Jason. Steph. Dick.
All absent.
Which left only three at the table.
Tim.
Duke.
And Bruce.
Damian suppressed a quiet sigh, tired eyes settling on his plate.
After a few moments, the conversation picked up, mostly between Tim and Duke. Something about school, something about a game, easy back-and-forth that filled the silence without demanding attention.
Damian ate quietly.
Content to remain unnoticed.
Until–
Bruce cleared his throat.
“How has school been, Damian?”
Damian didn’t look up.
“Same as usual, Father. Boring and uneventful.”
“Interesting.”
That single word made Damian pause.
Subtly.
“So,” Bruce continued, “is there a particular reason why you failed to turn in your midterm paper for AP History?”
Damian stilled.
“What?”
He thought… that wasn’t due until next week.
He had it drafted.
Saved.
Ready.
His hand moved almost automatically, grabbing his phone. He checked the date.
It was next week already.
Time had slipped.
Completely.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
“Language,” Bruce said evenly.
Damian locked his phone, setting it down beside his plate. His thoughts were already racing, recalculating, reorganizing.
“I was under the impression the deadline was later.”
“That impression would be incorrect.”
Tim glanced up.
Duke shifted slightly in his seat.
“You missed a major grade,” Bruce continued. “That is not like you.”
Damian exhaled through his nose.
“It will be completed tonight.”
“That does not change the fact that it was late.”
“I am aware.”
The air at the table shifted, subtle but noticeable.
Tim leaned back slightly, watching.
Duke poked at his food, quiet but attentive.
Bruce studied Damian.
“You’ve been distracted.”
“No.”
“No?”
“My responsibilities are being managed. This was a miscalculation. It will not happen again.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Damian’s eyes flicked up.
Sharp.
“Then clarify.”
Bruce set his utensils down.
“What has been occupying your time after school?”
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Damian kept his expression neutral.
“I have been attending to my studies.”
Tim’s gaze flicked toward him.
Duke didn’t look convinced.
“You’ve been coming home later than usual,” Bruce said.
“I informed Alfred.”
“That is not the same as informing me.”
Damian’s patience thinned.
“I fail to see why my exact whereabouts require constant supervision.”
“Because you are my son.”
“And I am capable of managing myself.”
A pause.
Tim spoke, trying to ease the tension.
“It’s not that deep, B. He’s probably just catching up on stuff, midterms, projects–”
“I do not require you to speak for me, Drake.”
Tim held up his hands slightly.
“Wasn’t.”
Duke leaned back.
“School’s been rough for everyone lately.”
Bruce didn’t look away from Damian.
“Be that as it may, your academic performance does not slip. Not without reason.”
There it was again.
Expectation.
Assumption.
Control.
Damian’s fingers curled slightly against the table.
“It will not slip again.”
“That is not the point.”
“Then what is?” Damian snapped.
Silence fell.
Brief.
Tight.
Bruce’s voice lowered slightly.
“The point is that something has changed. And instead of addressing it, you are choosing to deflect.”
“I am not deflecting.”
“Then explain it.”
The words sat there.
Heavy.
Waiting.
Damian felt the answer rise–
The band.
The music.
The way something in him had started to shift.
But just as quickly, he saw the outcome.
Dismissal.
Disapproval.
Restriction.
His shoulders squared.
“There is nothing to explain.”
Tim’s expression changed, just slightly.
Duke frowned.
Bruce leaned back.
“Very well.”
And just like that–
The conversation ended.
Not resolved.
Just… stopped.
Dinner continued in a quieter tone.
Tim and Duke picked their conversation back up, more subdued now.
Damian finished his food in silence.
Mind elsewhere.
When he stood, his voice was controlled.
“Excuse me.”
No one stopped him.
Upstairs, his door shut with a soft click.
Damian exhaled.
His bag dropped onto his desk. Laptop open.
The unfinished paper stared back at him.
Half-done.
Half-formed.
Normally, this would have been simple.
Efficient.
Easy.
Now–
His mind wouldn’t settle.
It kept drifting.
To the band room.
To the music.
To the way they had looked at him, not expecting perfection, just… wanting him there.
He dragged a hand down his face.
“Focus.”
He sat.
Typed.
Forced himself through it.
Paragraph by paragraph.
Argument by argument.
Time passed.
The paper took shape.
Clean.
Structured.
Correct.
And yet–
It felt hollow.
A buzz from his phone pulled him from the screen.
He ignored it.
Another.
And another.
Annoyance flickered.
He grabbed it.
The group chat lit up the screen.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
~Ethan needs a leash~
ETHAN: HEY D CHECK OUT THIS IS OUR GROUP PLAYLIST SO U CAN GET MORE ACCUSTOM TO OUR KINDA MUSIC AND AN IDEA OF THE SONGS TO SING
ETHAN: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7x9possiblesets
Damian huffed softly despite himself.
He typed back.
Thank you, Ethan. I will look it over tonight.
Almost immediately–
MYRA: LOOK AT HIM BEING ALL FORMAL
T: bro said “thank you” 💀
QUIN: let him live
Another message came through.
ETHAN: but seriously
ETHAN: think about what YOU wanna sing
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Damian stilled.
What he wanted.
Not what was expected.
Not what was required.
What he wanted.
He set the phone down slowly.
Leaning back in his chair.
The paper still glowed on the screen.
The expectation.
The standard.
The version of him everyone knew.
And then–
The other side.
The music.
The stage.
The voice, he was still figuring out how to use.
Damian exhaled quietly, gaze drifting toward the window.
For so long, everything in his life had been decided before he even had the chance to choose.
What he would be.
How he would act.
Who he had to become.
But now–
There was something else.
Something undefined.
Uncontrolled.
His.
He glanced back at his phone.
Then at the screen.
Then away again.
Damian reached up, pulling one earbud from his desk and placing it in his ear, then the other.
He opened the playlist.
For a moment, he just stared at it.
Then–
He pressed play.
The crashing of drums and the roar of voices filled his ears as he leaned back onto his bed, letting the sound take him over.
And for once–
He didn’t try to control it.
Damian didn’t sleep that night.
The paper sat open on his laptop, technically finished, but barely. The arguments were there, the structure intact, but the precision he usually demanded of himself was missing. Sloppy by his standards.
Incomplete.
And for once,
He didn’t care.
The realization should have unsettled him more than it did.
Instead, Damian simply stared at the screen for a long moment before closing the laptop with a quiet click.
His grade didn’t matter.
Not tonight.
Not compared to the restless energy buzzing under his skin.
He reached for his notebook instead, flipping it open to a blank page. His pen hovered for only a second before he started jotting things down, words, fragments, lines that didn’t quite make sense yet.
Then he grabbed his phone.
The playlist.
Ethan’s playlist.
He put his earbuds back in and pressed play.
Another song started.
Then another.
Then another.
Damian lay back against his pillows, one arm thrown over his eyes as the music washed over him. Each track felt different, some loud and chaotic, others slower, heavier, filled with something deeper.
He listened.
Really listened.
Not just to the sound, but to the meaning.
To the emotion behind it.
To the way the voices cracked, pushed, felt.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
His notebook slowly filled with random thoughts, lyrics he liked, things that stood out, things that stuck.
“…say it louder…”
“…don’t hold back…”
“…make them hear you…”
Damian frowned slightly at his own handwriting.
It wasn’t neat.
It wasn’t calculated.
It was… raw.
Around midnight—
A knock sounded at his door.
Damian stilled.
“…Enter.”
The door opened quietly, and Tim Drake stepped inside, already dressed down for the night, hair slightly messier than usual.
His eyes immediately went to the open notebook.
The earbuds.
The still-lit room.
“You’re still up,” Tim said.
“Yes.”
Tim leaned lightly against the doorframe.
“...You alright, from dinner?”
Damian didn’t respond right away. He pulled one earbud out, letting it hang loosely.
“It was inconsequential.”
Tim hummed softly.
“Didn’t seem like it.”
“I am fine.”
And the thing was–
He meant it.
That was what made it strange.
Tim studied him for a moment longer before pushing off the door and stepping into the room.
“You don’t look fine.”
“That is your interpretation.”
Tim huffed a quiet laugh.
“Yeah, well, I’ve known you long enough to have a pretty decent one.”
Damian didn’t argue.
He just looked back down at his notebook, pen tapping lightly against the page.
Tim’s gaze followed.
“…What is all this?”
Damian hesitated.
Then–
“Music.”
Tim blinked.
“…Music.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then Tim nodded slowly, like he was filing that away.
“…Okay.”
He didn’t question it.
Didn’t push.
That alone made Damian glance up briefly.
Tim walked further into the room, hands slipping into his pockets.
“When I was your age,” he started, tone casual, “I dropped out of high school.”
Damian’s brow furrowed slightly.
“That seems… ill-advised.”
Tim smirked faintly.
“Yeah. It kinda was.”
A beat.
“But I thought I had everything figured out,” he continued. “Thought I didn’t need it. Thought I was ahead of everyone else.”
Damian watched him now.
Actually listening.
“I wasn’t,” Tim said simply. “Not really.”
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… real.
Tim glanced at him.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he admitted. “And honestly? I’m not gonna pretend I do.”
Damian’s grip on his pen loosened slightly.
“But I do know you,” Tim added. “And you’re not the kind of person who just… lets things fall apart.”
Damian looked down again.
His notebook.
The scattered thoughts.
The unfinished lines.
“I trust you,” Tim said.
That made Damian pause.
Really pause.
Tim shrugged lightly.
“You’re a smart kid. Probably smarter than all of us, which is annoying, but whatever.”
A faint, almost nonexistent twitch touched Damian’s expression.
“So if something’s changing,” Tim continued, “I’m gonna assume you’ve got a reason for it.”
A beat.
“And that it matters.”
He didn’t ask for an explanation.
Didn’t demand one.
He just–
Left it there.
Damian swallowed quietly.
“…It does.”
Tim nodded once.
“Good.”
He pushed off the desk he’d leaned against.
“Then that’s enough for me.”
He moved toward the door, pausing just before stepping out.
“And, uh–”
Damian looked up.
Tim glanced back.
“…Don’t tank your grades too hard. B’s are a slippery slope.”
Damian huffed softly.
“I am aware.”
Tim smirked.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The room fell quiet again.
But not the same kind of quiet.
This one felt… steadier.
Damian looked back down at his notebook.
At the mess of thoughts and half-formed ideas.
At the evidence of something shifting inside him.
I trust you.
The words lingered.
Different from Bruce.
Different from expectation.
This wasn’t pressure.
It was belief.
And somehow,
That meant more.
Damian exhaled slowly and reached for his phone again, pressing play.
Another song started.
He listened.
Carefully.
Then another.
And another.
Until,
One track began.
The opening hit different.
Sharper.
Confident.
Unapologetic.
Damian sat up slightly, eyes narrowing as he focused on it.
The lyrics came in–
Bold.
Defiant.
Demanding to be heard.
Something in his chest clicked.
This wasn’t just sound.
This was a statement.
A refusal to be ignored.
A refusal to be controlled.
A refusal to be anything less than loud.
Damian reached for his notebook quickly, flipping to a fresh page.
His pen moved faster this time.
Certain.
Decisive.
When the song ended, he didn’t move right away.
He just sat there.
Breathing.
Thinking.
Then,
A small, sharp smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“…Yes.”
He knew.
Exactly what they would open with.
Something loud.
Something undeniable.
Something that made it clear–
He wasn’t going to be quiet anymore.
Damian glanced at his phone, the track still displayed on the screen,
Yeah, that was it. Perfect.
He leaned back again, letting the music replay.
And for the first time that night–
Damian felt completely certain.
Whatever happened next,
They were going to hear him.
Damian hadn’t slept that night.
Not even for a moment.
But he wasn’t tired.
If anything,
He felt more awake than he had in a long time.
Clear.
Focused.
Alive in a way that made his thoughts sharper, his movements more precise.
He dressed quickly, paint-stained black hoodie, uniform blazer thrown over it, and combat boots laced tight. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
He didn’t go downstairs.
Didn’t sit through breakfast.
Didn’t feel like answering questions he already knew would come.
Instead, he grabbed his phone.
A quick message to Alfred:
I will be heading to school on my own today. There is no need for a car.
Sent.
Then the group chat.
Ethan needs a leash.
Damian stared at the screen for half a second before typing.
I have selected our opening song. Meet me in the band room.
He didn’t elaborate.
Didn’t explain.
He simply locked his phone and left.
The morning air was colder than usual, biting slightly against his skin as he made his way toward the train station. The city was just beginning to wake, cars passing, people moving, the low hum of life building steadily.
Damian moved through it all like he always did.
Purposeful.
Controlled.
But there was something different now.
Something lighter beneath the surface.
The train ride was short.
The walk to school even shorter.
By the time he reached the building, the halls were still relatively empty. A few early students lingered, conversations quiet, footsteps echoing faintly.
Damian didn’t stop.
Didn’t slow.
He headed straight for the band room.
Inside, it was silent.
Still.
Waiting.
He set his bag down, pulling his notebook out and placing it carefully on the stand in front of him. His phone followed, screen lighting briefly as he opened the track.
Then he waited.
Minutes passed.
The quiet stretched.
But it didn’t feel heavy.
It felt… anticipatory.
Like the moment before something began.
Around nine, the door burst open.
“OKAY WHAT DID YOU PICK–”
Myra stopped mid-sentence when she saw him already there, standing like he’d been waiting all morning.
“…you’re scary,” she added, grinning.
T followed behind her, hands shoved in his pockets.
“He’s been here for hours, hasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Damian said simply.
Quin slipped in next, offering him a small smile.
“You look… awake.”
“I am.”
Ethan was last.
Slightly out of breath, curls messier than usual, guitar slung over his shoulder.
He slowed when he saw Damian.
Took him in.
The posture.
The stillness.
The focus.
“…You’re serious,” Ethan said.
“I always am.”
Myra clapped her hands once.
“Alright, mysterious man, what’s the plan?”
Damian glanced at each of them.
One by one.
Waiting.
Trusting.
Ready.
He reached for his phone.
“I considered what would be… effective,” he began. “What would establish presence. Demand attention.”
T nodded slightly.
“Good start.”
“And I have come to a conclusion.”
He tapped the screen.
The opening notes filled the room.
Bright.
Punchy.
Immediate.
Recognition hit almost instantly.
Myra’s face lit up.
“Oh–”
T let out a short laugh.
“No way–”
Quin’s eyes widened slightly.
“That’s–”
Ethan just stared at Damian for a second.
Then,
A slow grin spread across his face.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Damian held their gaze.
“This,” he said, voice steady, certain, “is how we begin.”
The energy in the room shifted instantly.
Myra grabbed her sticks.
“OH, we’re so doing this.”
T moved to plug in without another word.
Quin adjusted the keyboard, already thinking through transitions.
Ethan stepped closer to Damian.
“You sure?” he asked, not doubting, just checking.
Damian met his eyes.
“I am.”
A beat.
Then Ethan nodded.
“Alright.”
He turned, lifting his guitar into place.
“From the top.”
Myra counted them in–
“1, 2, 3–”
And just like that,
They started.
The sound exploded into the room, loud, fast, alive.
Damian stepped forward, the lyrics already sitting at the edge of his tongue, his grip steady, his voice ready.
This wasn’t hesitation.
This wasn’t uncertainty.
This was a decision.
A statement.
And as the music surged around him–
Damian didn’t hold back.
After they finished, time had slipped away from them.
The last note faded, but the energy didn’t.
It lingered, buzzing in the air, in their chests, in the way none of them moved right away.
They were late.
Halfway through first period, late.
And not a single one of them cared.
Myra was the first to break, letting out a loud laugh as she dropped back onto the drum stool.
“Okay, yeah, we’re definitely doing that.”
T ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a grin.
“No question.”
Quin nodded, still a little breathless.
“That’s the one.”
Ethan didn’t say anything at first.
He just looked at Damian.
And smiled.
That settled it.
No vote needed.
No debate.
They had their song.
Eventually, reality crept back in.
“Alright, alright,” Myra said, hopping up. “We should probably go before someone notices we’ve been gone for like– ever.”
“Too late,” T muttered, grabbing his bag anyway.
Quin gave Damian a small nod as they passed him.
“See you at lunch.”
One by one, they filtered out of the room, the energy still clinging to them as they went.
Until it was just Damian and Ethan.
Damian turned, moving to pack his bag with his usual precision. But he noticed it immediately.
Of course he did.
Ethan hadn’t left.
He lingered a few steps away, shifting his weight slightly, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself.
Damian didn’t look up right away.
“Yes, Ethan.”
Ethan blinked, clearly caught off guard.
“Oh– uh… yeah.”
His voice faltered for a second, like it got stuck somewhere between thought and speech.
“You were amazing,” he said quickly. “As always.”
He let out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I just, uh.. I just wanted to let you know how happy I am you’re here with me—”
He stopped.
Winced slightly.
“I mean—us,” he corrected, laughing it off. “With us. The band. Obviously.”
Damian finally looked at him.
Brow raised slightly.
He didn’t quite understand the nervousness.
But he recognized the sincerity.
“…Thank you, Ethan.”
That was enough.
It always seemed to be enough.
Ethan’s face lit up instantly, that same bright, boyish smile spreading across his features.
“Of course, Dames. Always.”
There was a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks, but he didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to acknowledge it.
Damian slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Come. We are already late.”
“Right, yeah… class,” Ethan said, falling into step beside him.
They walked through the halls together.
Ethan talked.
About nothing.
About everything.
Random thoughts, small jokes, things he noticed, things he didn’t think twice about saying out loud.
Damian listened.
Occasionally responding.
Mostly just… present.
There was something unspoken between them.
Not heavy.
Not uncomfortable.
Just…
There.
And strangely enough…
It felt nice.
As they reached Damian’s classroom, Ethan slowed, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“Well, uh–” he started, suddenly a little less sure. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”
Damian paused.
Looked at him.
There was the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes.”
A beat.
“See you at lunch.”
Ethan grinned.
Then turned, heading off down the hall.
Damian watched him go for half a second longer than necessary.
Before turning and stepping into class.