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Well. This hadn’t gone to plan.
Damian Wayne had never been one for romance, and if there were a scale measuring his skill or comfort level in such matters, it would register firmly in the negative infinity zone. The entire notion was, frankly, ridiculous. Emotions, affection, butterflies in the stomach—they were messy distractions best avoided. And yet, somehow, here he was. Clutching a soggy teddy bear, his suit soaked through, standing in the middle of a park turned swamp.
It had started with the butterflies, which he initially ignored. They were inconvenient, unreliable, and frankly, embarrassing. But then they grew persistent, flapping wildly every time he thought about her—Marinette. The girl with the warm smile that could melt his icy defenses and the eyes that seemed to look right through all the bravado and weapons-grade arrogance he wielded daily.
So, he'd done the only logical thing a Wayne heir could do—he’d asked his brothers for advice. Of course, the “advice” was thoroughly unsatisfactory, bordering on ridiculous from his perspective.
“Dress nice,” Dick had said with a grin. “Nothing screams ‘date’ like a sharp suit.” Damian had reluctantly complied, donning his finest tie and jacket, feeling conspicuous and foolish.
“Bring gifts,” Tim had added, smirking. “Flowers, chocolates, maybe a teddy bear. It’s classic.” The bear was the one he thought utterly childish, but the brothers’ insistence finally wore him down.
“Be yourself,” Jason had said with a laugh, the most asinine advice of all, in Damian’s opinion. If “being himself” worked, he wouldn’t be standing here drenched and miserable, questioning everything.
So, he’d stood at the park, under the shivering canopy of a leafless tree, waiting. The rain had been gentle at first, a mere drizzle, but it had grown steadily, until it felt like the heavens had opened with the express intent to ruin his carefully laid plans.
He didn’t leave. Not immediately. What if Marinette had been caught in traffic, or lost her way? What if she was struggling to get here, soaking wet and worried? He could not—would not—be the one to give up first.
Hours passed. The drizzle turned into a deluge, and the soil beneath his feet turned to mud, ruining his polished shoes. The bear was drenched, its fur flattened and sticky. The box of chocolates was a sad, soggy mess. The flowers drooped pitifully, their petals bruised and muddy.
Finally, teeth clenched and jaw tight, he had left—sulking, though he would vehemently deny it. His brothers would tease him mercilessly, but they hadn’t been there, standing soaked to the bone, feeling every bit the fool.
At home, he’d pulled out his phone to text her, to apologize or ask what had happened—and that’s when he realized the truth.
The date was yesterday.
He had been the one who stood her up.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng sat at her kitchen window, staring out at the flooded streets. Yesterday’s storm had been merciless, turning Gotham's quaint parks and cobbled lanes into streams and puddles too deep to cross easily.
She hadn’t cared. She had waited.
The whole day, she’d sat under the large oak tree at the park, soaked to the bone, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers she’d picked on the way. She’d thought Damian would come, that despite the rain and floods, he would find her.
But he hadn’t.
Hours passed. The rain poured harder, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her skin. The wildflowers wilted, their colors bleeding into the muddy water. Still, she waited, heart pounding with a mix of hope and confusion.
After sunset, she had left, shivering but resolute.
Her phone buzzed then—Damian’s message.
“This will sound like an excuse, but I thought our date was today. Can we speak? In person? I have a wet bear for you. And wet chocolates. And partially destroyed wet flowers.”
Marinette stared at the message, blinking back tears she didn’t want to admit were there. He hadn’t stood her up. He had just gotten the date wrong.
The next afternoon, the sun peeked timidly through patches of thick clouds, drying the last puddles in the park. Marinette stood by the oak tree, clutching the soggy remnants of her flowers. Damian appeared a moment later, suit still damp and shoes muddied, his expression a complicated mix of frustration and embarrassment.
Neither spoke at first.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken apologies and awkward vulnerability. Finally, Damian cleared his throat, voice rough.
“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Marinette smiled softly, the kind of smile that reached her eyes and warmed the coldest parts of his soul.
“It’s okay. I waited.. not because I was desperate, but because I was worried you had got caught in the storm.” She added sheepishly
His scowl softened into something that almost looked like tenderness. “I was told to bring gifts.”
She laughed, the sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I can see that.”
He held out the bear—now thoroughly waterlogged and bedraggled. “For you.”
She took it gently. “Thank you.”
Damian looked down at the muddy ground, his voice quieter. “I’m not good at this. At… feelings. But I want to try. For you.”
Marinette’s heart fluttered, and this time the butterflies didn’t hurt or confuse—they felt like hope.
“I want to try, too.”
For Damian, love was taught to be a complicated web of duty, expectation, and unyielding discipline. Something to be earned, not given. From birth, he had been trained to be a warrior, a leader, a tactician—never a boy allowed to indulge in childish things like love or weakness.
The lessons he had learned from his father, Ra’s al Ghul, had been merciless. Emotions were liabilities. Sentimentality was a trap. Strength came from control and detachment.
Yet, beneath that armored exterior was a boy desperate to belong, to be understood, to connect. His growing feelings for Marinette were unfamiliar territory, a maze of uncertainty and vulnerability he didn’t know how to navigate.
As he stood soaked in the park, clutching a teddy bear he deemed ridiculous, he was fighting an internal battle more fierce than any combat training. The fear of rejection, the weight of failure, the longing to be accepted—all of it coiled in his chest like a living thing.
For Marinette, love had always been a delicate dance between hope and fear. She was used to being the girl who put others first, who hid her own feelings beneath a smile and kindness.
Damian was different. His guarded nature, the way he challenged her but also protected her, intrigued her. Beneath his gruff exterior, she saw glimpses of a boy longing for connection, for warmth.
Waiting in the rain, soaked and shivering, she felt every droplet like a test of her resolve. Was it worth the heartbreak? The uncertainty?
Her answer was yes. Because love, she believed, was messy and imperfect—and sometimes, it came wrapped in wet bears and muddy chocolates.
They walked slowly to the park’s center, where a once majestic fountain now overflowed with rainwater. Damian’s jacket hung off one shoulder, his usually impeccable hair plastered to his forehead.
“I know I’m not what you’re used to,” he said, eyes downcast. “I don’t smile much, I’m awkward, and I tend to bite first and think later.”
Marinette nudged him gently. “That’s part of your charm.”
He looked up, surprised, and for the first time, smiled—a small, genuine curve of his lips.
“I want to learn how to be better. Not just at this… but at us.”
She squeezed his hand. “We’ll figure it out together.”
The rain outside might have flooded the city, but inside them, a storm was breaking too—fear, hope, embarrassment, and something tender and fierce: the first fragile buds of love.
They didn’t know where this would lead, or how messy it might get. But for once, Damian was willing to face the unknown. Not as a warrior on a battlefield, but as a boy daring to be vulnerable.
And Marinette was there, ready to be with him every step of the way.
Even if they had to walk through the mud.