Archive of Our Own ^beta

“IT NEEDS TO BE thrown out.” Damian had said, staring at the piece of clothing with disgust. At the time, you had agreed, staring at the clothing like it had offended you. There were small burns on it—some worse than others—and no less than three small holes scattered on it. “It’s disgusting.”

“Well let that be a lesson,” Tim, who had drove here with Damian about half an hour ago, said. “No getting involved as a civilian.”

You snorted loudly and tilted your head at Tim. “Yeah. How many pieces of burnt clothing did you have to go through for that to finally get through your head?”

Tim stuck his tongue out at you. “Don’t let him fool you, Beloved.” Damian said, wiping blood off his hands casually. “His hoodie was burnt to a crisp.”

“This isn’t about me.” Tim rushes out. “Respect your elders. Both of you.”

“Yeah, okay.” You take the hoodie which was on the counter, all of you had been staring at it like it committed a sin. “I’ll throw it out when I go to the dump later.”

“Don’t forget it.” Damian said.

“When have I ever forgotten anything?” Damian gives you a pointed look. “Alright, alright, I won’t. Geez. The little faith you have in me is showing.” You turn to Tim then, with a raised brow. “You need any patching up?”

Tim said “No. I’m fine.” At the same time Damian said “Yes, he does.” They stare at each other, both looking annoyed.

“You got stabbed.”

“I got grazed.” Tim corrected easily.

“Your hoodie was red.”

“I just like the color.”

“It was meant to be white.”

“Tim,” You say with a sigh. “Sit down. Don’t be so stubborn.”

“It’s just easier for me to do it at home,” He complains. “You know, cause I’m spleen-less.”

“I’ll be cautious.” You assure him.

“He’s not worried about that.” Damian says. “The clone is going to his apartment in less than thirty minutes and his place is more of a wreck than my hoodie.”

“Damian, do you ever shut up?”

“Sony be stupid, Drake. Her and I have no secrets.”

Tim glares at Damian’s words. “Is that so?”

“Her and I have one secret.” He amends easily and you roll your eyes.

“Barbados?”

“Barbados.” Damian confirms and you’ve suddenly loss all interest. You’re not sure what happened in Barbados, just that it was a need-to-know within the family and you weren’t included in it. This didn’t particularly upset you. You weren’t need to know on a lot of things, unsurprisingly, given you’re not a vigilante like the rest of the family.

You stitched Tim up as quickly as possible, and he was out the door immediately after.

If you were honest with yourself, you think about that day a lot. You never did throw away that hoodie. Not after he had reminded you to several times. And definitely not after he left you a month ago.

If Damian knew you still had it, he’d think you were crazy. He’d take it and burn it himself, probably. Or he’d give you a disgusted look and let you keep it out of pure pity. You could remember the not so rare occasions that he’d wear it, before it got ruined seven months ago. Your hand in his hoodie pocket trying to beat the Gotham blizzard that one time you forgot your gloves. Placing your head on his shoulder as the scent of his cologne, which was soaked into the hoodie, filled your lungs.

You bring the black hoodie to your face. It still smelt like him. A permanent scent, it seems. You wish you hadn’t washed your sheets the day he left. If you had know he would leave, you wouldn’t have touched anything he had. If only to keep him there longer.

You slip the hoodie over your shoulders. Automatically, you felt better. You slipped the hood on and one of your hands went to the pocket, the other fiddling with a hole near the bottom. The hole was once barely noticeable, but had now doubled in size from you messing with it and from the three times you had washed the hoodie.

With a frown you moved to your bed, rolled up in a ball. This was a disgusting habit. An addiction you couldn’t quit. Your hand leaves the hole and you start to mess with the broken zipper.

Damian Wayne was—is everything to you. He’s someone you’ll never get over. No matter how broken he leaves you, no matter how much distance he puts between you, no matter anything.

The hoodie was the only thing of his you had left, and by now its days were limited. You’ll keep it even then. When it’s nothing more than a frayed piece of material, when the scent is gone, when it’s nothing more than a piece of garbage.

Because a part of you will always love Damian Wayne and, despite giving him everything you could, this was the only thing of his you could keep. You could hardly recall the look of love in his eyes when spoke to you. The touch of his lips against yours was a phantom pain too often experienced.

You close your eyes, the scent of Damian present, and let yourself fall into sleep.

Maybe one day you won’t need to do this to fall asleep. Maybe one day Damian will just be ‘that one boy’.

You dream of two months ago, when everything was perfectly fine, when there were no signs of a breakup, when the two of you had no distance. When you didn’t need to wear his hoodie to fall asleep because he was right next to you.

You wake up crying.