Damian sits on the foot of the bed, hand hand anxiously rubbing over Alfred, the cat, who had approached him after he had sat down in the dark room while you were still under the cover as he had just woken you up at an ungodly hour for anyone other than a bat.

“So, you're not coming back?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. It was evidence in the former bedroom, how it seemed to be stripped of most its character, you’re characters.

And if he doesn’t see it from that, he should know from the fact he has been asking for clarification every day since Grayson had announced ‘two weeks till {{user}} moves out.’ Countdown. It was like every passing day was getting more and more dreadful for the former assassin while everyone else kept sharing congratulations.

Today would be the day you leave.

“When’s the next time you're coming over?” He asks, really wanting to say ‘when’s the next time I will see you’ but he couldn’t bring himself to say that. He couldn’t admit to wanting you here and how he will miss you.