Work Text:
Damian tried to remember how he’d gotten himself into this situation as the shower ran just nine feet away, the sound carrying through the criminally thin walls of his dorm room. He shuddered at the thought.
The very notion that he was in a dormitory was disgusting, but having both a private room, personal bathroom, and access to his motorcycle made being ‘off at school’ more tolerable.
He’d been placed according to his father’s influence on the budget, as well as to give him the best possible experience. His father claimed that forcing him to live away from the Manor would instill in him a better appreciation for the charity work the family engages in as well as some worldly experience. Todd had mentioned ‘ragers’ and ‘getting laid’ before Grayson had shut him up and helped decide on an economics major. Of course, he’d had the education necessary for a degree in such a program at an early age, but his past among the League was not recognized as legal schooling by any government or reputable news outlet.
Economics suited him as well as any other degree might, with an art minor to allow him to express himself on the side.
The dorms had been the worst part of the experience- the RAs believing they had any authority over him until they saw his name on their roster, the loud music from 43, the laughter in the halls at all hours of the night and the walls like aluminum siding on a shed. If he tried, he could probably break into 43 from his room through the wall with a single kick.
Instead of taking his anger out on the walls, Damian spent as much time as possible outside of his room for the first six weeks. He drew on the quad, ran at the gym, read in the library, wearing headphones the entire time. If his professors sounded like idiots, he couldn’t imagine what the students were like.
Every day at 2200, he went back to his dorm to sleep and shower, and every day at 2200 hours, he saw his across-the-hall neighbor, 44.
44 was tall, broad, and bright. His smile was as white as polished ivory, his eyes an odd shade of blue, almost a purple. He had a terrible accent to his voice- as Damian had heard in a phone call to “mom”- Metropolis, mixed with somewhere further south and westward. Stupid glasses, poorly-tailored clothes, scuffed red converse. How a kid like that afforded a single room was beyond even Damian’s freshly-reviewed economics expertise.
Being across the hall from such an undeniably hot boy-next-door type made him- well not nervous- al ghuls never got nervous, just… anxious. Anticipatory.
For those six weeks, the routine hadn’t changed. Damian went out at 0500 and didn’t come back until 2200- where he’d see 44 on his own way into his dorm, never perfectly synced, but usually in the hall at the same time. It was enough socialization, right? A quick smile, a muttered ‘good evening’ when it seemed appropriate?
It was like a salve to Damian’s regrettably affection-starved mind. He never thought he’d miss Grayson’s easy smiles, fond touches, tight hugs, or even his random wake-up calls.
Six weeks.
The pattern had to break eventually, and so of course it did. Around 1300 on a Wednesday, between microecon and life drawing, Damian realized he’d left his graphite pencils on his desk, where he’d been redrawing a landscape. He hurried out to the dormitory and retrieved it, only to step into the hallway and forget about life drawing.
Next-door boy, 44, was laughing. He was walking side by side with a beautiful blonde woman, heading back to his dorm. She had her hair in twin plaits, and she was laughing with him, a backpack slung over her shoulder.
Quickly, so as not to arouse suspicion, Damian nodded at the pair and brushed past them. He had a class to get to.
After that, he started making it more of a point to stop by during the day, to see more of 44’s friend group, perhaps make his dorm more of a place to stay than a shelf to sleep on. Turns out 44 came home around 1300 hours on MWF, as well as 1100 and then again 1600 hours on TTh. Probably coming ‘home’ after lunch and other classes. He had several friends, but the blonde woman was a favorite to visit him, probably a very close friend.
Another six weeks passed in this new schedule, just waiting to be broken.
Which came to the circumstances tonight.
Damian had come back at 2200, as routine, and put on the kettle to make some tea to drink while he worked. He had a drawing to finish for his drawing course, his supplies strewn over his desk, the easel rigid and the figure staring back at him. The assignment had been to draw someone you’d never seen before- taking people you were familiar with and blending or altering them until they were unrecognizable.
Grayson’s hips melded seamlessly into father’s ribcage, scars and all- not that anyone would recognize them, of course- Drake’s hands on the ends of Todd’s wrists, equally delicate and severe. Mother’s nose, Pennyworth’s immovable frown on lips Damian was sure he’d seen in a movie somewhere. Ears like the gardener the Manor’s garden relied upon. Behind the figure was Goliath, facing away. He was strange enough that the instructor would have to assume he was an amalgam of animals himself. The bats that plagued the Manor grounds, Titus, Alfred, with human arms and chains. The instructor would love it.
The final detail Damian was having trouble with- the ones that stared back at him- were the eyes. 44’s eyes, to be precise. Unburdened by the terrible frames, with delicate lashes and a color that resembled lavender the more Damian worked them.
It was as he was deciding the hot water should be warm enough for herbal tea, before boiling, that there came a knock at his door.
No one ever knocked, and 43’s music still played, so- Maybe it had been from the wall? He had to check, either way. He opened the door.
44 himself was standing at the door, wrapped in a towel. He had a small bundle of clothes under one arm. He looked up from under his dripping wet bangs sheepishly- the effort it took for him to even look ‘up’ at someone so much shorter than him was impressive- and spoke in that horrible honeyed accent.
“Uh. Hey! I know we don’t talk much, but my shower broke and I’ve got a date, do you mind if I-?” He gestured to the bathroom door.
It took about three seconds for Damian to fully process his meaning. Maintenance in the dorms was notoriously slow. Date tonight. Possibly with that blonde woman- but it was too early to assume that much. Likely with that blonde woman.
“Don’t touch my belongings and you may borrow my shower.”
“Thanks so much! I owe you one. I’m Jon, by the way.”
Jon walked into the bathroom as he spoke, letting the dorm door fall closed behind him.
“Damian.”
Stepping back, Damian tried to get over his internal dialogues. Part of him that sounded like Grayson chanted ‘hot boy’ over and over. Part of him that sounded like Todd mentioned abs and pecs and the probability that this guy worked out regularly, wondering how he’d never seen him at the campus gym. The part that sounded like Drake was listing sexuality statistics and ranking the likelihood that this guy was straight. Mother reminded him not to get so attached to strangers that something like this threw him for even so small of a loop as it had.
The part that sounded most like himself mentioned that the purple of Jon’s eyes was more intense than his drawing currently reflected and that he’d need to change it.
And they all quieted when the shower actually started.
Damian sat, controlling his breathing, on his comfier chair- a beanbag Grayson had insisted on carrying into the dorm for him and setting up under his lofted bed as a ‘guest seat’, which had seen very little use even from him, until this very moment.
Something sounding very much like Father’s voice was reminding him to regain composure and assess the situation.
His sweet neighbor boy-next-door was not only very hot and very naked and in his bathroom, he was preparing for a date. There was a high chance he was straight and had little to no second thoughts about Damian. Not to mention there was a drawing in Damian’s room that reflected Jon’s eyes.
Damian stood quickly and threw a light blanket over his easel, then shoved all his blue, white, and purple pastels back into his supply box, turning to the mirror in his closet to clean streaks of light pastel off his face and hands. Perfect. He’d answered the door looking like someone applying face paint for the first time.
Something fell off a shelf in the shower and Damian had to force himself not to imagine Jon bending over to recover it. He’d snap.
Deflect, don’t Dwell, something sounding like Steph mentioned, so Damian did just that. He grabbed the next assignment for microecon and began working out the price of bananas for a midwestern grocery chain in the next couple months, given the winter months starting in the Northern hemisphere, shipping hurdles, and the stock provided already.
That occupied his mind until the shower cut off, at least.
Jon stepped out of the bathroom, using that towel he’d come in to dry his hair off and wearing something… uniquely unflattering. Who bought suits tailored that poorly? And checkered shirts? And ties that… disgusting? For a DATE?
“Hey, tha-”
“I thought you said you had a date.” Damian stood from his desk chair, dropping his mechanical pencil sharply.
“-I mean, yeah, wha-”
“Are you trying to scare them off?” He didn’t think about using ‘them’ rather than ‘her’, but it was definitely some sort of wishful thinking.
“What d-”
“I’m lending you some clothes. Sit down.” He pushed Jon into his Desk chair, then opened his closet.
He hadn’t brought too many clothes with him- it would be impractical to do so, given the limited space and lack of reasons to really dress up. It wasn’t like anyone here mattered more to father’s charities than perhaps the dean. She was a bit of a bosom buddy who approved of Bruce’s charity work and allowed him to place fliers for volunteers, his tutoring program, and his job-search program around campus. She mattered a little, but Damian hadn’t seen her since she showed up to welcome him personally to school out of courtesy for the Wayne name.
Either way, that left him with-
“Take off your jacket, you’re going without it. It’s tailored wrong and all of mine are tailored to me. Wear this shirt, this tie, and for god’s sake, wear actual dress shoes.” Damian threw a plain white dress shirt and a black silk tie at the anxious Metropolis native.
“What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“Everything. Take it off, burn it maybe. Red and white checkers- what are you, a tablecloth?”
Jon laughed at the remark, surprised more than actually amused. He took off his glasses, tie, and shirt, leaving him in a white undershirt that didn’t really hide anything. He shrugged the white shirt on and began to button it neatly. It was much better fitting than the checkered one, though maybe a little small. Then, he fumbled with the tie.
To make this all go faster, Damian batted his hands away and tied a full windsor. No point letting him fail at even that detail.
He stepped back and cursed himself for having to fix this poor man’s fashion sense. Now Jon was too hot. Whoever he was going on that date with would no doubt want to make it very serious very quickly. In making Jon look good, Damian had lost even the slim chance he might have had in his own hopeful delusions.
“I guess I’d better take your advice on the clothes, I’ve never seen you in anything that didn’t suit you perfectly. I’ll get these back to you after I wash them, yeah?”
Sounded like- but no, there was no way Jon had taken notice of him, not really. It was probably just a passing observation.
“Your date is lucky to get to see you in something I coordinated. Don’t bother giving those back, the shirt’s already stretched and you’re going to need a plain black tie, everyone does.” He closed up his closet and sighed to himself. The stillness of the night outside mocked his internal turmoil.
“I noticed- you never called my date ‘she’. I appreciate that, thanks for not assuming anything.”
Damian nodded and restarted the kettle, now that the water had long since boiled and cooled.
“Makes me wonder- feel free to laugh if I’m wrong- but, are you…?” Jon leaned against the desk, pointing with one hand gesturally.
“If you’re asking if I’m gay, then the answer is yes. I trust this will not be an issue with our neighborly rapport?”
“Of course not! I’m bi, so it’d be dumb of me to think weirdly of you for being gay. Kathy had her suspicions, but I didn’t want to assume you’d be into me just ‘cause you dress well and give off not-straight vibes.” After a moment, his eyes widened behind his glasses, “Not that I think you’re into me!”
Damian almost rolled his eyes.
“Kathy is the blonde woman you are close with?”
“Yeah, she’s my best friend. I’ve known her since I was eight. Funny how we ended up being so similar when we were just neighbors in Hamilton County then.”
“She is bi as well?”
“Lesbian, actually.” Jon looked around Damian’s room as he spoke, “She set me up with this date tonight, some gay guy she met in her ethics course.”
Damian fought the urge to be self-conscious. His room was clean, save for his desk and the easel. He had his mug out beside the kettle, waiting for water. His corkboard was full of his schedule, pictures of his pets and family, and gestural planning sketches for larger assignments- including the compositional thumbnail for his current drawing. String lights graced the corner around his easel, strung up by Grayson when he’d excitedly decorated the room. A poster for Wayne Enterprise was tacked up by the corkboard, more of a joke than an actual endorsement of his father’s company.
“I hope you have a lovely night, Jon. I have work to be doing, so if that’s all…”
“Oh no, yeah, sorry, I’ll head out. Thanks again for letting me borrow your shower, I owe you one. Or two, for the clothes.”
“Just one. You asked to borrow the shower, I gave you the clothes. Change your shoes and we can call it even.” Damian frowned. It would be too tempting to collect on a favor from Jon just to talk more with him.
Jon laughed.
The vibrancy with which he did made the world seem brighter. Less crowded with threats, less cynical. A laugh like that was dangerous.
“I’m changing my shoes but I still owe you one- my Mom would never forgive me for leaving this room two favors up with no debt. Do you have class tomorrow? Do you have plants for breakfast?”
Damian’s morning routine included a lot of gym time. He usually went to the cafeteria after training for coffee and an omelette around 0800. As tomorrow was a Saturday, Damian didn’t have a class to go to. If he wanted to really get cleaned up after his workout, he could push that back a little and return here.
“I have no plans. I assume you want to meet for breakfast?” -though he couldn’t figure out why.
“Yeah! Around nine? Meet me and Kathy outside, we always go to the cafe a little early on Saturdays to escape the late riser crowd, but get behind the early risers. I never see you around, though, so I guess you’re more of a late riser?”
No he just ate quickly and left before it got noisy.
“Something like that. I’ll be there, though I’d appreciate a reason why I'm suddenly invited to join you and your friend.”
“Well,” Jon titled his head, “I guess… I’d like to get to know you and I need more gay friends.”
“That’s two reasons.”
“Pick whichever you prefer. See ya around, Damian!”
And like that, the Metropolis Monolith was gone.
Damian took a deep breath and uncovered his easel, pulling out a violet pastel and working it into the eyes. He stayed up until the piece was finished, wiped his brow, and sighed. Practically, he knew he’d have to shower at some point tonight, but he was avoiding it subconsciously, burying himself in the details of Jason’s elbow to prevent himself from moving forward.
He sighed, set his warm ochre pastel down, and prepared for his shower.
Consciously, he prevented himself from slipping into routine. He’d rather be thinking about this already rather than ‘come to’ in the shower already and surprise himself. Jon had just been in his shower. It was still wet. The whole room smelled like cheap body wash. The man hadn’t even washed his hair.
Damian remembered this and accepted it and turned the fan on to get the smell to go away faster. He showered off meticulously, ignoring the myriad reminders that someone else had been there. That someone so beautiful had conducted what must have been the least productive shower ever in there.
He spent no extra time on his shower and settled in to sleep.
The best thing to do would be to follow his routine closely.