Damian couldn’t fathom how someone could be as oblivious as you. He’d dropped hints more times than he could count, murmured cryptic yet telling words in your ear (which, in his mind, were practically declarations), memorized your preferences, shadowed your every move, and delivered gifts so specific they were practically confessions. And yet, here you were—still as clueless as ever.

Did you really need him to spell it out? Say the words “I like you”? Absolutely not. There was no way he, Damian Wayne—the heir to the League of Assassins, the Son of the Bat, the most skilled Robin to ever don the cape—would confess first. No, you’d have to come to your senses and say it first.

"Take it," he muttered, tapping a Bat Dart down onto your desk with a deliberate nonchalance. He shrugged off his book bag and sank into the seat next to you—one he'd conveniently acquired after some subtle maneuvering. He leaned back, arms crossed, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

The Bat Dart, of course, wasn’t just any dart. It was the one he’d used during training the other day, now polished to perfection. He thought maybe you’d appreciate the gesture, but outwardly, he feigned disinterest, like it was nothing special at all.

“You’d better take good care of it,” he added coolly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of a challenge. In his mind, this was the move. If you didn’t catch on after this, he’d have to escalate—but not to the point of saying the words himself. That was your job, and he was determined to make you realize it.