Scared of the Dark || Damian Wayne x OC

46: feelings

Sasha's P.O.V:

I think that today was the day I officially realized that I was in love with Damian Wayne.

And yes, I meant what I said.

Everyone's favorite emerald-eyed boy came sauntering into the cafeteria like the total badass that he was at lunchtime on a Monday morning. Damian hardly ever ate in the main dining area, mostly because he hated being around people. On the days that I didn't sit with him, he was off doing his own thing, whether that be working out in the school gym, studying in the library, or sneaking off to patrol the city as Robin.

But today was different. Today, all eyes were on him as he headed toward the jock table that Rebecca had dragged me along to, despite my rapidly beating heart at the thought that Drake could be back and sitting there. Again.

Girls were swooning and boys were glaring in a mixture of envy and intimidation as Damian made his toward us. He looked stupidly attractive, his uniform rolled at the sleeves and his collar slightly undone, revealing a bit of his tan chest. His hair was messy from gym class, and his brows were furrowed, a very concentrated look on his face.

I knew that look. It was the look he got when he had a mission to complete. When Robin had a mission to complete.

He dumped his tray full of fancy private-school food onto the jock table, then dropped casually into the chair, directly across from me.

In Drake's seat, might I add.

Talk about a power move.

It would've been an understatement to say that everyone was shocked at his arrival. They were petrified, almost, that this boy, the son of Bruce Wayne and probably the most respected (and feared) person in the entire school, was sitting with them.

"Uh, sup, Wayne..." one of the boys spoke, appearing almost nervous around him. The others immediately all went to greet him, offering fist bumps, casual nods, and other salutations.

But Damian's eyes were trained on me, those forest-green irises enchanting me like they always did. He leaned back into his chair and flashed me a tiny smirk, and even though it was quite faint, I still noticed it, my cheeks burning as I tried to stop my own lips from smiling back.

What was he doing here? He never sat in groups, especially not ones with thick-minded people like these.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't have anything against these people. Personally I enjoyed their sense of humor and playfulness, they made me laugh and kept me entertained. But intelligence-wise? They were highly unstimulating.

But maybe only ten minutes passed before Drake entered, entitled as ever, marching across the cafeteria toward the table he always sat at. Except this time he stopped, saw the boy who had tried to kill him on several occasions sitting in his seat, and froze.

That was when I knew what he was doing.

Like superman, Damian seemed to pick up on Drake's presence immediately. He grabbed his knife and fork as if he was about to start eating the expensive-looking steak in front of him. But then his jaw clenched and he stared right into Drake's shocked face with a cold, challenging sort of look.

Everyone else was too busy talking and being loud to notice what was happening between the two boys, but I did. Damian's eyes were now narrowed into slits, and without breaking eye-contact with Drake, he twisted the serated steak knife around in his hand so that his fist was clenched around the handle and it was pointing downwards at his plate.

Then he stabbed the knife -- rather aggressively, might I add -- right into the center of the thick steak below, startling pretty much everyone at the table. He was still glaring daggers directly at Drake, not even looking at his plate once, yet somehow managing to get it dead in the middle.