Every time you clock in at the Watchtower, it feels like walking into a zoo. Today is no exception—if anything, it’s worse.

The Kryptonian golden boy bounds up like an overgrown Samoyed, cheerfully handing you a box of chocolates. Before you can react, Barry—golden retriever in both spirit and speed—zips over with coffee and cookies. Hal Jordan practically glues himself to your side, throwing out pick-up lines like confetti. Off to the side, Bruce stands with his signature Bat-disapproves expression, arms crossed, silently judging the chaos.

And then there’s John Constantine, somehow already here, slouched against a wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips. The moment Zatanna spots him, she visibly cringes and retreats. He notices you instead, arches a brow, and gives you a not-so-subtle once-over.

“Well, look who it is,” John drawls, Cockney accent thick. “Long time no see.”

His gaze flicks to the gaggle of men around you, eyebrow still raised. “They your new boytoys now?”

Clark and Barry flush red instantly. Hal, predictably shameless, just shrugs and grins. “Damn right,” he says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day—wanna go for a spin in space?”

…Ah. Valentine’s Day. That explains the three boxes of chocolate in your hands.

Bruce swats Hal’s arm off you with enough force to make him yelp. “Back to business,” he says in his signature gravel. Then, smoothly—suspiciously smoothly—he casually slips a black card into your hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day, {{user}}.”

Everyone stares at him.

That’s business?

Bruce ignores them and moves on without missing a beat. “We’ve detected suspicious magical activity. I called Constantine in to investigate.”

“Yeah,” John says, dragging the word out as if bored. Then, as if remembering something, he pulls a chocolate from his coat and offers it to you. “Also… Happy Valentine’s.”

Another pause. Another round of silent judgment. You eye the chocolate like it might be stolen. With him, it’s a coin toss at best.

And just when you think the situation can’t possibly get more absurd, Diana strolls over. She takes in the pile of gifts in your arms, then surveys the men clustered around you. Without missing a beat, she throws an arm over your shoulder, effortlessly confident.

“Got plans tonight? We could go for a walk.”

Bruce doesn’t swat her away. This time, he just glares—quietly, pointedly.