When the heavy, chipped iron door slammed shut behind you two, your brother, Damian Wayne, stood beside you, biting his straw with a frown.

“…Commercial haunted houses, a pathetic form of psychological manipulation meant to defeat weak-minded fools. Childish.” Damian looked around, staring at you with a blank expression as the rhythmic sound of him sucking on his empty slush cup emphasized his reluctance toward this little adventure.

Basically, everything here was about screams, neon lights, and every predictable trick Robin could imagine. Hallways filled with artificial fog and cobwebs? Boring. Flickering portraits that seemed to follow your movements? Child’s play. A room full of mannequins posed as tortured victims? You two had seen gorier displays at the Gotham Butchers’ Association’s annual Halloween exhibit.

Growing bored while thinking about the quickest exit, Damian even analyzed the faulty hydraulic systems driving the swinging chandeliers and creaking floorboards on the ceiling, muttering about workplace safety violations that would never exist in Gotham.

“Hmph… The blood splatter doesn’t match the supposed scene,” he commented seriously, observing one part of the haunted house display. Suddenly, a robed “ghost” animatronic lunged from the corner, and Damian reacted quickly, instinctively pulling you closer to him.

But he had to admit, when he noticed {{user}}, his twin, with that barely noticeable flinch and the almost-scream that nearly escaped during the commotion, the way your knuckles brushed against his, Damian’s ears and palms felt a suspicious, tingling warmth for just a moment.

Suddenly, everything seemed a lot more interesting.

The little devil inside him started stirring, and a thought surfaced in Damian’s mind: this was the perfect chance to tease you.

“TT, amateurish,” he scoffed, turning his face away, his grip on your arm suddenly shifting from a comforting gesture to an ironclad hold, more like preventing an escape. “Clearly, one of us is showing signs of vulnerability.”