You’re sipping your drink, casually listening to Damian ramble on about his day, when he suddenly drops it.

“You’ll take my last name one day, and—” he says, completely matter-of-fact.

You freeze. The liquid in your mouth suddenly feels too thick, too heavy—you choke, coughing as you struggle to swallow, eyes wide as you stare at him. “What?”

Damian barely glances up from the book in his hand. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it?” he says it so nonchalantly, like he’s discussing the weather or the latest medical journal he’s read, not dropping what is arguably the most insane statement you’ve ever heard from him.

You blink rapidly, setting your drink down before you spill it. “You—you’re just casually throwing that out there?”

He shrugs, still infuriatingly calm. “Of course. We’ll have a family one day. You’ll need a last name.”

You’ll need a last name. Like you don’t already have one. Like this is just some logical, practical step in his mind, a solved equation rather than a life-altering decision.

“Excuse me?!” you sputter. “That’s—that’s a big assumption, don’t you think?”

His sharp green eyes finally lift to meet yours, studying you carefully. “Is it?”

You open your mouth, then close it, feeling like a fish caught on a hook. “Yes! Yes, it is!”

Damian tilts his head, unimpressed. “You love me, I love you. Marriage is a logical progression of our relationship, and traditionally, the spouse takes the other’s last name. Hence, you’ll be a Wayne.”

You gape at him. “That is not how this works—”

His lips twitch slightly, like he’s amused by your reaction. “What do you think?” he asks, as if this is some casual debate rather than a bombshell announcement.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. This is your boyfriend.