Status update.
Damian was hunched over the table in his apartment, meticulously reviewing his pathology textbooks to maintain his standing as the top student in his class. His focus was absolute—until the temperature in the room dipped ever so slightly. He allowed himself a small, knowing smile.
Without lifting his head, he glanced toward the living room and, as expected, found his beloved standing by the couch. She was shaking out her ponytail, the last remnants of her ghostly form fading as her coloration shifted back to her more human hues. Despite the years they had spent together, she remained a deceptively small creature, barely reaching his shoulder—an observation that never ceased to amuse him, given her unparalleled capacity for destruction should she ever feel so inclined.
She stretched, the quiet series of pops from her joints prompting a disapproving huff from him. She merely cast him a glance, that rare, breathtakingly soft smile gracing her lips—the one reserved solely for him. The sight made his chest tighten in that irritatingly unquantifiable way.
Without hesitation, she strode toward him, and he wasted no time pulling her into his lap. His arms encircled her instinctively as he asked, “How was the Watchtower? Did you manage to resolve whatever anomaly Father detected?”
She chirped an affirmative, utterly unbothered. “It was just a scout from an attempted alien invasion,” she said lightly, as if discussing the weather. “I simply reminded him not to come to Earth.”
“Oh, really?” he asked, allowing her to rock back and forth in his lap. He knew she struggled with stillness—if he let her go, she would either float aimlessly or disappear to another continent on a whim. Damian understood the significance of being her tether to the earth, an anchor keeping her grounded. She had never explicitly asked him to fill that role, but he had chosen it for himself. It was the first duty he had taken upon himself—not assigned, not inherited, but something he had claimed as his own.
Just as Danielle had taught him the value of letting go.
Of stepping away from relentless responsibility, of occasionally packing a bag and vanishing off to the Dominican Republic for a month without a second thought. She had shown him that duty and discipline did not have to be chains—that sometimes, abandoning obligations for a while made returning to them all the more bearable.
She hummed softly, finally settling after pressing a few fleeting kisses against his lips.
“Yup,” she murmured, purring with contentment. “They’ll be back, of course. About a month from now—right after you finish finals. As a treat! You can beat up some alien bastards to get rid of the stress.”
Damian exhaled through his nose, shutting his textbook with a decisive thud. He had wasted enough time poring over pages of material he had already mastered. There were far more pressing matters at hand—such as ensuring his beloved was properly held and adored.
Without a word, he stood, keeping Danielle securely in his arms as she instinctively wrapped herself around him. She weighed next to nothing, and though she could phase through him at will, she never did. He liked to believe she enjoyed being carried as much as he enjoyed carrying her.
With effortless grace, he carried her to the couch and sat, adjusting their position until she was curled against his chest, her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns along his collarbone. She was already chattering animatedly, her words tumbling out in an excitable stream, her boundless energy a stark contrast to his usual composure.
“So, anyway, the Ghost Zone is still a disaster.” She huffed, waving a hand in an exaggerated motion. “The Eyeball Council locked Danny up again—five days this time, no breaks, no rest. You know how he is, just smiling through it like it’s fine—idiot.”
Damian’s grip on her waist tightened slightly, his expression darkening. “And what justification did those imbeciles give this time?”
She snorted. “Some ‘highly important deliberation’ about whether he should be ‘more available’ for ruling.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “And obviously Tim was having none of it.”
At that, Damian’s brows arched in interest.
Danielle grinned. “Oh, Timothy went full ‘Gotham menace’ on them. Stormed into the chamber, absolutely ripped into them for running Danny into the ground, grabbed his hand, and dragged him out in front of everyone—just marched him right out like it was a board meeting that had gone on too long. And Danny? Danny just followed along with that dumb, lovestruck look on his face, like getting manhandled out of a high-stakes political tribunal was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him.”
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, half in exasperation, half in reluctant amusement. “Of course he did.”
Danielle cackled, nuzzling into his neck. “I swear, Danny looked like he was about to swoon. If he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging.”
Damian exhaled, shaking his head. “Timothy may be insufferable, but at least he understands efficiency.”
She laughed, and Damian closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to enjoy the warmth of her presence, the steady cadence of her voice. His textbooks could wait—there was nowhere else he would rather be.
Danielle shifted slightly in his arms, resting her chin against his shoulder as if she were merely commenting on the weather.
“Anyway,” she said, as if the next words weren’t about to shatter the foundation of Damian’s entire thought process, “we need to update your status in the Infinite Realms as my consort before the Council decides to get me one themselves.”
Damian’s brain screeched to a violent halt.
His grip on her waist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough that she glanced up at him in mild confusion. He forced himself to swallow, to process, to breathe—because she had said that so casually, so effortlessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
He stared at her, unblinking. “Are you—” He stopped, recalibrated, then tried again. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
Danielle frowned, tilting her head as if he had just asked whether water was wet. “Uh, duh. Obviously. You’re my boyfriend. If we don’t, the Council is going to be absolutely insufferable.”
His heart, treacherous and undisciplined, clenched in his chest.
She meant it. She truly meant it. And she hadn’t even realized the magnitude of what she had just said. His brilliant, ridiculous, utterly oblivious beloved had just proposed to him in the same tone one might use to suggest grabbing takeout for dinner.
And the worst—best—part?
He wanted to laugh. Desperately.
Because for the past month and a half, he had been meticulously crafting the perfect proposal. He had weighed every possibility, every variable. Should it be grand? Should it be quiet? Should he request Father’s assistance in securing a rare, one-of-a-kind ring, or would she prefer something simple, something only between them? He had agonized over every detail, determined that when he finally asked for her hand, it would be flawless.
And here she was, curled up in his lap, throwing the question at him as if it were an afterthought—utterly unaware that she had just undone him completely.
He could do nothing but stare, caught between swooning and outright laughter.
She blinked at him, brow furrowing. “What?”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You are… unbelievable.”
She grinned. “And yet, you love me.”
He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut as he let out a breathless chuckle. “More than you could possibly fathom.”
And just like that, all of his carefully laid plans unraveled—because, really, had he expected anything less from her?