It had been almost two full months since Damian had met Svetlana. She considered him a friend, despite not knowing his identity. He didn't want to admit it, but he quite enjoyed her company.

He liked how gentle and sophisticated her touch was when she stitched up the side of his face or tended to any injury. He liked how human she was, how she didn't idolize him or treat him like some perfect superhero. He liked how she led the conversations, always steering them in new directions. And, most importantly, he liked that it never felt like she was coming onto him — at least, not in a sexual way. He liked that he could just exist around her without the weight of his other identities and expectations. He liked how human he felt around her.

Despite having her number, Damian had not yet used it. He tried to only show up when he knew she was home, preferring to keep his visits a mystery.

Svetlana enjoyed the enigma of Robin. She liked that he kept his identity hidden. It made talking to him so much easier. How could he judge her if she couldn't put a name or a face to the alias? It was almost as though he wasn't real, but he was — she could feel the side of his face resting in one of her palms as she angled his head to inspect the wound.

"This is becoming a little too normal," she commented softly, her breath brushing his skin as she leaned closer to examine the cut.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"It's not," she replied, cleaning the wound carefully. "Having you around makes me feel wanted." An apology in Russian left her lips when she winced as the cut flared in pain.

Damian shifted slightly, realizing the position she had placed his head in was beginning to hurt. His neck felt like it might snap from the angle.

"What are you doing?" he muttered, uncomfortable.

"Ending the world," she said without looking up.

"Please, I'd easily let you end mine," she added in a low voice, flicking his nose lightly.

Damian grimaced and swatted her hand away. "Disgusting."

"Stop moving your head," she scolded, her tone more impatient now. "It's already hard enough with the mask, but you're just making it worse. Deal with the neck cramp if I have to work around it."

Damian huffed as she jerked his head into a more stable position, harshly positioning him until she found the perfect angle for the light.

Svetlana wasn't as gentle with her movements as she usually was. Something was clearly bothering her, but she didn't care for personal space, not that it was a surprise. It was also fair to say that the lighting in her house was terrible, making her movements a little more awkward than usual.

Her bent leg ended up resting on his lap, and her knee dug into him.

Damian did his best to shut off his mind and ignore the discomfort. The last thing he needed was to let his thoughts wander.

Svetlana cleaned the blood mixed with sweat in his hairline with more precision now. "You know," she said softly, her eyes focused on the cut. "You don't have to keep getting hurt to see me."

"Tch. Don't think so highly of yourself," Damian shot back, his tone dry.

"Need I remind you who's in control here?"

"Me. I am always in control."

"Okay, Симпатичный мальчик," she smirked, her teasing tone clear. Pretty boy.

Damian narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you calling me?"

"It's been two months," she said, still cleaning the wound, "I haven't told you yet. Give up."

"You will eventually," Damian said confidently, though it was laced with impatience.

Svetlana paused, looking at him as if reconsidering something. "Is this an enemies-to-lovers romance book?" she asked, her tone half-joking.

"No," he answered flatly.

"Then I won't," she replied, continuing her work without skipping a beat. "Could you not bleed and sweat so much before coming here?"

Damian pulled a face. "Sorry, so inconsiderate of me."

"You sound like someone... I can't place who," she muttered to herself as she worked.

"You don't know me," he replied, watching her carefully.

"Whatever you say," she muttered, lightly patting his chest with the back of her hand.

Once she was satisfied with cleaning the blood and sweat from his hairline, she relaxed her posture — but it ended up with her straddling his lap.

The two teens sat in an unusual silence. Svetlana narrowed her eyes at him, trying to place something in her mind, her gaze studying his features as if trying to connect dots.

Damian placed his hands on her waist, gently moving her off his lap. He wasn't going to let it continue like this — the situation was getting too familiar, too strange.

Svetlana, still in a state of concentration, didn't immediately notice. Her breath was held, a habit she had recently picked up in her math class. It had started when she was waiting in anticipation, but now it was simply how she concentrated on things that were difficult to figure out.

Damian clicked his fingers in front of her face. No response. She was in a trance, holding her breath, and it left him confused and, admittedly, a little concerned. Not that he'd ever admit that.

To say the least, Damian was surprised at how long she could hold her breath. But he didn't want to test it. He didn't want to be responsible if something happened, especially if she collapsed or fainted on him. He was the one who would have to explain it all.

In a rare moment of tenderness — though he wouldn't call it that — Damian cupped both sides of her face in his hands and blew gently, startling her back into the present.

Svetlana blinked a few times, looking at him with confusion, but she returned to breathing almost normally. It hadn't been the first time she'd held her breath, and she was well-practiced at it.

"Hi," she whispered, her hands moving to grasp his wrists.

"I don't want to kiss you," Damian stated flatly.

"I never said you did," she replied with a mischievous smile, her tone teasing as she sat back a little, her hands still resting lightly on his.

The two shared a brief, almost comfortable silence as the weight of the moment settled between them, though neither of them was sure what came next.