Y/n was a warm weight against his chest, small and curled inward like a creature seeking shelter. Their breathing was slow, even, and entirely human-sounding for something that wasn't.

Which was ironic, Damian thought. Because for all their supernatural speed, their claws, their fangs—they slept like a kitten. A very small, very clingy kitten.

Outside, the manor was quiet. The others were asleep, or at least pretending to be. Todd was probably still awake, brooding somewhere. Grayson was dead to the world. Father had been in his study for hours, but that was nothing new.

But here, in the dark, with Y/n's cold breath ghosting against his collarbone, Damian felt something settle in his chest. Something soft. Something he refused to name.

His fingers tightened, just slightly, around them.