BREAK IN ; [ damian wayne ]

xii. charlotte

08/16/22
9:21 a.m.

He's ethereal.

Gorgeous in a way Charlotte didn't know people could be. His green monolid eyes are veiled under the black baseball cap's lip, and his black hair furls around his ears. He's wearing a gold jacket that reflects the fluorescent lights, and Charlotte laughs at how fitting that is for him.

He's yet to notice her, and Charlotte stares unabashedly at the boy she's been texting for months.

He's taller than she expected, which makes sense considering his confident demeanor. His face raises and he makes eye contact with her in such a way that her stomach becomes a jungle gym of dragonflies.

His smile is faint, but it warms Charlotte from the inside out. Damian walks over with his hands in his pockets, black vans clicking against the costly exhibit's marble floor.

Charlotte meets him in the middle, and they simply stare at each other for a moment. His gaze is pulled to the bumpy bridge of her nose and the gloss-coated cupid's bow of her lips.

In response, she drags her gaze from his awfully long eyelashes and captivating serpentine eyes. Something like recognition rings through her brain like a school bell, and she takes a sudden intake of air - nearly choking at the realization that the boy she's been texting is Damian fucking Wayne.

"Oh my god." She says plainly. Her pupils dilate as she wrings her hands in front of her plaid dress. Charlotte has never been an insecure person.

She embraced her acne scars and stretch marks, as well as the flare of her nose and the thickness of her thighs. But standing next to him, she felt like soot in an emerald mine.

She's seen him in magazines wearing suits that are more expensive than her rent. Damian Wayne, the son of a multibillionaire playboy, has some enigmatic ability to defend himself and deter intruders.

Damian Wayne saved her life.

Damian Wayne came to an art exhibit to go on a date with her.

"It's nice to meet you, Charlie." Damian adopts a sheepish expression that Charlotte never imagined he'd wear. He seems anxious, and his leg bounces in place.

"Nice to meet you too, Damian Wayne."
He nods, "Getting a feel you wish I had told you before."

Charlotte glares at his shoe and kicks it. "Yeah, I do. If you had, I wouldn't have worn my stupid plaid dress that makes me look like Dorothy!"

"I think the Dorothy look suits you," Damian says with a wolfish grin. "All you need are two braids to go down the yellow brick path."

"Shut the fuck up trust fund baby," she smacks his arm.

"Oh, we are not doing that nickname."

"It suits you; God, I should be asking for a lot more child support than I am!"

He gives her a piercing gaze, but it's soft around the edges, and she just shakes her head. They walk towards the Van Gough exhibit with pleasant banter. Charlotte brushes her hand against his, hers warm and soft, his cold and calloused.

"Tell me about yourself."
Damian raises an eyebrow at her, "I'm seventeen, and I have a dog named Titus."

"That's all? That's the life of one Damian Wayne?" She inquires, nudging him.

"Nothing you can't find in the Gotham Gazette." Damian feels a tightening in his chest. Now that she knows, everything feels different.

"I want to know about you," Charlotte says. She takes a step back and waits for him to turn around.

"I want to know about you. I don't care about your birthday or favorite color. I wanna know how you know so much about self defense and why you're always such a damn grump."

Damian bites back a wide smile. His body relaxes at her words. It's Charlotte, it's not some reporter or interviewer. It's the girl he likes. The girl he's on a date with. "I am nothing of the sort." He argues.

"Sure." She agrees jokingly.

"I'm much more interested in you."

Charlotte blushes despite herself, "Guess you dad isn't the only Wayne playboy."

Damian scowls at the mention of his father, "This your idea of flirting? Mentioning my father?"

"Nah my idea of flirting is making out behind bleachers but we're in an art museum so the best bet is behind the nude statues."

"How romantic."
"Chilvary isn't dead when I'm around, Damian."

"What a luck guy I am, Charlie." Damian means it too, "You smell lovely."

She does, like a fresh passion fruit, sweet pineapple and juicy peach that are blended with soft amber.

Charlotte chortles, "Oh my god you're such a freak!"

Damian scowls, of course Stephanie's advice fell flat. That dumb blonde really pepertrates the sterotype. "It was a compliment!"

"No I know it's just a funny compliment."

Damian lets out a tt noises and crosses his arms. He looks away from Charlotte petulantly. "I revoke the compliment."

"Nope, afraid that's not how it works."

Damian glares at her, "I'm rich. Rich people make the rules and that's the rule. I can revoke compliments."

Charlotte kicks his leg, "You're such an asshole. Lay off the cool kid act cause it's not impressing me."

"You think I'm trying to impress you?"

She tilts her head, "If you are, it's not working."

That pulls a smile out of him at least. He replies, "Guess I'm not to adept at this whole date thing."

Charlotte wraps her pinky around his, "Hm. So you know ten different ways to hurt someone but not how to impress a girl?"

"I almost brought flowers."

"I would've preferred a new perfume considering what happened last time."

They stop in front of the Starry Night and her breath catches. It's an explosion of oil colors in hues of yellow and blue and Charlotte marveouls at the way they dance together.

She was never very into art, always said it was pencil on paper. But now, staring at the large painting with the boy she likes beside her maybe Charlotte's starting to see the appeal. Damian is still, eyes darting across the canvas with a critic's eye.

"It's breathtaking."

Charlotte turns, but Damian isn't staring at the painting anymore. Instead he's looking at her with so much fondness she thinks she might burst.