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Summary
“Stay away the fuck away from him,” he spat, stepping closer until his shadow stretched long down the alley wall. “You’re just his little side-dish whore. A habit he hasn't kicked yet.”
Jon’s hands had curled into fists, static popping across his knuckles, but before he could step forward, a sound cut through the dark.
Damian was laughing. It was a dry, genuinely amused sound.
“I have been in Jonathan's life since he was ten years old, and I am not leaving,” Damian said, the quiet humor still edging his tone. “Unlike you, who will likely be gone by morning. But to entertain your crude metaphor... Jon is not at my table. And even if he were, I would hardly settle for being a side-dish. I would be his entire meal.”