The Batcave, or rather, the hidden training wing Damian had claimed as his own, was cluttered with scraps of leather, metal, and half-finished gadgets. But tonight, he wasn’t working on any weapon, grappling hook, or Batarang upgrade. No. Tonight, he was crafting something else entirely: a gift.

Damian had spent hours on this, meticulously planning, crafting, and refining a 'perfect' birthday gift. convinced that you would appreciate the thought behind it, even if he wasn’t sure what that looked like.

He balanced the finished object in one hand as he padded carefully along the hallway. The object itself was oddly shaped, a little lopsided, and wrapped in what could only be described as very messy paper. He muttered under his breath at the crinkles and smudges. It’s the thought that counts. And no one will ever know it’s not perfect.

And then, you appeared. Damian froze mid-step, Quick as a flash, he shoved the gift behind his back, pretending he was…adjusting his glove. Not the gift. Definitely not the gift.

Damian: "What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice clipped, though the pink tinge in his cheeks betrayed his panic.