The Trope Meme
15: High School AU
Summary: He wasn't sure what bothered him more; the fact that it had taken him so long to spot something that many of his 'peers' had been gushing about since the start of term, or the fact that he had noticed at all.

. . .

Hidden in a China Box

. . .

"It's a mystery. Broken into a jigsaw puzzle. Wrapped in a conundrum. Hidden in a Chinese box. A riddle."

—The Riddler, The Long Halloween

He wasn't sure what bothered him more; the fact that it had taken him so long to spot something that many of his 'peers' had been gushing about since the start of term, or the fact that he had noticed at all.

Resting the end of his pen against his lip as though in thought, Damian glanced up from his completed introduction to gaze surreptitiously at where his teacher was sat at his desk. Mr Grayson seemed to be marking test papers, red pen twirling between long fingers as his eyes skimmed over the page before him. Damian studied the man, taking in the way he couldn't seem to sit still as he let his fingers drum on the table or his foot tap out a tune against a chair leg. He'd glance up from his work every so often to see how the class was getting on and check for any raised hands. Damian ducked slightly and kept his head down for a moment, waiting for that gaze to pass over him.

Of course, before his recent epiphany Damian had been aware of the general consensus with regards to Grayson through observing his fellow students.

Damian had yet to encounter (or overhear) anyone with a bad word to say about the English teacher, and it was well known that he would make assignments as interesting for his students as possible – even if it resulted in extra hours of marking on his part. He ran ridiculous activities at the beginning of his lessons which even managed to engage Damian's attention, and seemed to be sporting a smile no matter the situation.

None of these facts had changed at all, but as Mr Grayson rose to answer a query Damian found himself cataloguing things that he had paid no notice to before. Grayson moved with the sort of natural languid grace that couldn't be learned. Now that he knew what he was looking for, Damian could see the shifting and bunching of muscles beneath the teacher's shirt as he leaned over from behind a student to read over their shoulder. Rolled up sleeves revealed well-defined forearms (that would usually have been covered by Grayson's garish sweater of the day) as he braced a hand on the table, using the other to gesture as he delivered feedback. It was only thanks to the sweltering heat that the blue and yellow atrocity had been abandoned at all.

Letting his eyes drift back to his own essay, Damian began to doodle idly in the margins as he thought. It frustrated Damian that he hadn't realised that there was obviously more to Grayson than met the eye immediately; he prided himself in his observant nature and ability to perceive the truth that people often kept hidden.

He most certainly hadn't expected to find an Olympic level gymnast hidden between the laughter and wordplay that made up his English teacher.

Two weeks ago Damian had sought Mr Grayson to hand in an assignment that was to be collected the following day when Damian would be out of class for a doctor's appointment. When visiting Grayson's classroom and the staffroom yielded no results, Damian had been directed to the gymnasium.

Grayson had apparently just been finishing his warm up when Damian had approached the door. He could still remember the flex and ripple of his teacher's back as he did one last stretch before climbing onto the horizontal bars and beginning a routine.

Damian had never professed to be any kind of expert in gymnastics, but it hadn't taken particularly long for him to discern the level of skill with which each feat was performed. Grayson seemed to glide through his routine with a practiced ease and natural flair, as though he had been born to soar through the air. It had left Damian mesmerised right up until the moment Grayson had flipped from the beam into a precise summersault to bow to him with a flourish through the window of the door.

It had taken all of Damian's focus to look his teacher in the eye and hand in his assignment instead of tracking the progress of the bead of sweat rolling down the side of that tanned throat.

The blinding smile that he had then received had done absolutely nothing to help matters.

Damian frowned. His new observations were proving to be quite the distraction. Feigning interest in classes that he already knew the entire syllabus of was becoming more of a chore as his attention drifted to the conundrum that was Mr Grayson. He was lucky that his grades were so high, he supposed, or some of his 'well meaning' teachers may have used his inattention as an excuse to call his rather in 'concern'. (It was actually a little pathetic the way some of them visibly lit up when he handed in his signed forms for parent-teacher conferences, honestly.)

"Damian."

Damian managed not to jump at the sudden voice in his ear, but it was a near thing. He turned his head to see Mr Grayson peering at his exercise book over his shoulder.

"Since you're done with your introduction, why don't you get started on the first paragraph? Your essay plan looks fine."

He leaned forward slightly to add a note to it, and Damian was so busy trying to identify the spicy scent coming from Grayson's neck (was it clove? Or perhaps cinnamon…) that he didn't notice until much later that one of the faceless cats he'd been in the middle of drawing was now winking back at him. He must have been pulling quite a face, because after one look at him Colin was snickering quietly beside him.

Damian delivered a swift retribution in the form of a vicious kick to the shin. The small squeak it caused was most satisfying and had Damian smirking at his friend for the remainder of the lesson.

Not long after that, the bell signalling the end of the day rang and it didn't take long for the room to empty as students rushed out of school to greet the weekend. Damian hung back, nodding to Colin as he confirmed their plans for the weekend as the other grinned at him and made for the door.

Damian approached the desk, slinging his backpack over a shoulder as Mr Grayson looked up from his computer. "Hey, Damian; how can I help you?"

Damian squared his shoulders and looked directly into Mr Grayson's eyes. He looked curious, probably because it was fairly clear that Damian didn't particularly need any help with his work.

No, he was about to ask something quite different.

"I want to join the gymnastics team."

Damian always had loathed the notion of an unsolved mystery.

~Hollyrose~

Notes:

Aah, my first foray into a different fandom (I'm kind of nervous about posting) for a long time! But I really wanted to write something including Damian after Batman Inc #8, so here we are…