Damian sat at the dinner table, posture perfect as always, surrounded by the chaos that was otherwise known as his family.

The clink of cutlery and soft hum of conversation filled the manor’s vast dining room—until Bruce cleared his throat.

“So, Damian,” he began, voice casual in that way it never actually was. “Do you remember the Oriov girl you met at the gala last week?”

Damian didn’t even pause in cutting into his food. “Yes.”

Bruce nodded, tone still light. “What did you think of her?”

Dick glanced up from his plate, already biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a grin.

Tim made no such effort—he snorted audibly into his glass of water.

Steph, bless her heart, outright cackled.

Damian didn’t react to any of them. “She was…” he said slowly, thoughtfully. “Acceptable. If a bit irritating. Why?”

Tim leaned over, stage-whispering like the worst kind of meddler. “He’s trying to set you up.”

Damian blinked. Once. Then twice. “Set me up… romantically?”

Bruce raised a hand, clearly preparing to launch into a very Bruce-like speech about the strategic advantages of alliances or some similarly awkward justification.

He didn’t get the chance.

“Father,” Damian said, flat and incredulous. “Are you unaware that I am already in a committed relationship?”

Dick choked on his drink.

Tim actually dropped his fork.

Steph gaped. “I’m sorry—what?!”

Silence dropped over the table like a thunderclap.

Bruce’s brow furrowed just slightly. “You’re… dating someone?”

Damian returned to his food with a casual shrug. “Yes. For the last eight months.”

Tim leaned forward, practically climbing over the table. “With who?!”