Work Text:
Despite being buried under paperwork, contracts, and deadlines, Damian found his focus slipping—again and again—back to you.
An employee.
An employee who, for some inexplicable reason, had captured the internet’s attention over something as simple as a smile—paired with a professional and kind demeanor.
He found it all ridiculous, really.
Smiles, in general, were ridiculous to him.
It was around afternoon, with Gotham's skies being unnaturally clear and blue, with no sign of rain.
Even though he was in Gotham, his mind still lingered on the island hotel they owned.
The island where you and he did a live promo interview and photoshoot—the same live interview and photoshoot his father forced him to do.
The island where you both spent a week together.
The island where his mind lingered on the events that happened between you—that definitely weren’t professional.
If anyone could say that almost getting scammed and stuck on a neighboring island to wait out the storm was professional—he’d like to hear it.
He let out a sigh, his finger hesitantly clicking on the drive his secretary sent him—labeled "Photoshoot with Ms. [Name]."
Damian peeked over the top of his laptop, making sure his buffoon of a secretary wouldn’t enter his office.
The first photo was formal; it was you and him on the porch overlooking the sea view.
The wind pushed your hair back, adding a careless and somehow even more elegant charm to you. Your smile came easy—soft and unguarded, lighting up your face in a way that felt completely natural.
Damian always drowned in praise when it came to his looks—but he couldn't help but think that he looked painfully mediocre next to you.
The next picture was similar, just shot at a slightly farther distance.
He pressed the arrow on his keyboard again.
This time, it was a slightly romantic pose requested by the Gotham netizens who insisted you and he had "chemistry" based on just the live interview.
You and he stood side by side, both facing the camera. Your head was slightly tilted, with one arm raised above your head, curving to form half of a heart shape.
Damian, on the other hand, lifted his arm above his head more stiffly—not quite mirroring you. His hand was angled outward, forming a loose arch—almost like a half-hearted wave.
He remembered almost feeling a flicker of frustration (admiration) at how effortlessly you managed the poses, while he had to endure a few gentle redirects from the photographer (which, of course, he didn’t exactly follow).
Your warm, natural smile softened the moment, while his composed, constipated expression added contrast.
He pressed the arrow again.
This shot was taken from a low angle, looking up at the two of you.
You were standing close together, framed by tall trees that curved inward, their leaves forming a heart-like opening in the sky above.
It was a known tourist spot for couples—hence the photoshoot promotion.
The sunlight filtered through, giving everything a bright, dreamy glow.
You held up a small peace sign near your face, smiling gently, while he stood next to you like a stone statue, posture rigid and shoulders tense—as if a war could break out at any moment.
Another click.
It was you doing the same pose as two pictures ago, but this time Damian was holding his hands up—attempting to form what looked to be a heart (it looked like a burger).
Click.
The next photo was of you.
It was a side-profile shot, catching you mid-smile as you looked slightly off-camera, like your attention was drawn to something—or someone—just out of frame.
He slightly zoomed in on your face.
Your smile was bright and genuine, the kind that reached your eyes, making them crinkle ever so slightly.
Hm, he supposed you looked adequate.
"What are you doing?"
Damian swore he had never acted so fast before, his finger haphazardly pressing on the keys of his laptop—anything to get your picture off the screen.
His inept secretary moved beside his desk—wanting to see what his boss was looking at.
"What's making you smile like that? Lemme see."
A photo of Damian. Shot similarly to yours.
Damian secretly sighed in relief. His secretary's expression was obviously displeased.
"This isn't the time for you to indulge in narcissism."
"Did you even knock?" Damian shot a glare at his secretary, who pretended to be oblivious by looking off into the distance.
"Over ten times. You couldn't hear me because you were so entranced."
Damian's eyes looked forward to his laptop again.
"Also, the PR team already selected the photos, so you don't have to look at them."
"Here. Why don't you review this first?" the middle-aged man said, placing a file on his desk.
"I put this report together myself." He put his hands together with a proud smile.
The secretary went on, "I hear you'll be attending the board meetings from now on."
Damian rested his cheek on his hand, looking dazedly at the spacious room in front of him.
"I compiled profit and loss statements from the past three years, a comparative analysis—"
He was sure his secretary babbled on, but everything went in one ear and out the other.
"You're not listening to me."
"So the PR team already chose the photos?"
It's only right he checks them. Obviously, to make sure they hadn't made a fool out of him. Not to see your pictures, no.
"Yes, sir."
"Why don't I take a look?"
Damian held an iPad in his hands, the PR team's chosen pictures displayed on it.
At first, he didn't notice.
All he could see was the fish that had been edited to be ten times its original size when you and he caught it.
"Is this a fish or a whale?" A crease formed on his eyebrows at every swipe.
"The fish hardly matters. You should look at your face."
Damian stopped at one of the pictures he was looking at earlier—you looked the same with the peace sign, but he looked cross-eyed and idiotic, with his lips pulled upward.
"The photographer was kind enough to photoshop your face," the secretary said, trying hard to refrain grinning.
He zoomed in on his face, and his absurd, smiling, photoshopped face stared back.
"What is this."
"That one was the most natural out of all the photoshopped photos." His imbecile of a secretary looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh. "Maybe you should've smiled when they asked."
Damian shoved the iPad into his secretary's arms. "Bring him to me."
"The photographer?"
He shot him a disbelieving look. "Bring. Him. To. Me."
"Yes, sir." The secretary scurried away with the tablet in his hands.
Damian clicked the back arrow on his laptop, his photo now replaced with yours. He leaned closer to his desk, fingers laced together as they pressed lightly against his lips.
He almost smiled.
Before forcefully tugging his lips downward again. He leaned back in his chair, wondering what life choices he had made to end up here.
An ad on the side of his laptop screen stopped that thought.
"UNBELIEVABLY ACCURATE PSYCHOLOGICAL TEST."
Damian leaned down closer, reading the words: HOW DO YOU TRULY FEEL ABOUT THEM?
He peeked from over the top of his laptop again.
Damian simply wanted to truly know where you stood in his life—just as his mother always said, you must never remain uncertain.
He clicked the ad.
"I am always waiting for that person's text." was the first question—with yes, no, and maybe options below it.
He thought for a moment before pressing maybe.
"I have set up an appointment to meet this person in private before."
Hm. He always called you into his office—but he had never set up an appointment to meet with you.
He clicked no.
"This person's number is saved in my phone with a nickname."
He clicked yes—you were saved as Phony [name]—because you were indeed a fraud for tricking everybody with that smile of yours.
Damian's brain froze at the next question.
"I can't help but think about them even when I try not to."
His jaw tightened as he slowly read the words again.
The cursor slowly inched toward "Yes" before moving to "No."
He clicked the option "Yes."
"I can't help but smile when I see this person smile."
His mind went to earlier—his secretary asking him why he was smiling, and when he caught himself smiling again at the same picture of you.
He clicked "Yes."
The page loaded for a moment—before showing big pink text with the words:
"You have a crush on them!"
Damian stiffened, reading the text underneath it.
"You are dealing with unrequited love—don't keep it bottled up. Go to that person and ask them how they feel about you!"
He leaned back in his chair, arms resting on the armrests as one hand lifted to support his cheek.
Damian supposed he could buy the macaroons you've been eyeing as the first stage of his courtship.