Dick slammed the front door, the sound echoing through the silent manor. "Movie marathon it is, then," he muttered, already carrying a a lot of snacks. He walked to your bed, a symphony of rustling bags and crinkling wrappers. "Bruce is in a mood, he said he ain't letting you go to the party." he hummed, pulling out a family-sized bag of chips.

Thanks to me, of course. He thought. Of course it was his fault, of course he spent the last three days bothering Bruce and putting him in a bad mood so he wouldn't let you go out.

A self-satisfied smirk played on his lips. He grabbed a selection of DVDs, mostly action flicks and cheesy sci-fi. "Hope you like explosions," He settled onto the bed, already halfway through a handful of chips before the opening credits even started rolling. "This is going to be epic," he declared, a triumphant glint in his eye. He knew you were going to a party, but you hadn't been hanging out with him lately, and his melodramatic heart was like 'You prefer me over your friends, oh the pain!'

He knew that you had the right to live your life and hang out with your rich friends that you met at the absurdly expensive school that Bruce put you in, and that it was normal for someone your age to be interested in parties, but it had always been you and him, the two of you against the world. It hurt him to know that your movie Saturdays were constantly interrupted because you already had plans, and lately you had distanced yourself from him. You're always on a call with some of your friends when he comes into your room to ask to do something together, so you just wave him away.

Did he feel guilty for ruining your date? Yes. Would he do it again? Definitely.