The halls of Wayne Manor were dark and silent, the house settled in its usual late-night stillness. You and Damian should’ve been asleep—but that was never going to happen.

Not when Alfred had made fresh cookies.

You tiptoed into the kitchen, blonde hair tousled from hours of whispering and laughing in Damian’s room. He followed soundlessly, green eyes sharp—like this was a high-stakes mission, not a snack run.

“You’re so slow,” you whispered, reaching for the cookie jar.

Damian scoffed, arms crossed. “You’re reckless. Did you even check for cameras?”

“It’s cookies, Damian. Not a top-secret op.”

“All missions require precision.”

You ignored him, fingers grazing the lid—

Click.

The lights flicked on.

You froze.

Alfred stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “Ah. The culprits reveal themselves.”

Guilt crept in—until Damian, without hesitation, turned to you and said, “She made me do it.”

Your jaw dropped. “TRAITOR.”

Alfred exhaled. “Master Damian, I watched you disable the kitchen security. A valiant effort, but the infrared sensor remains quite operational.”

Damian scowled. You stifled a laugh.

Then, to your shock, Alfred strolled past you—toward the counter.

“Sit,” he instructed, pulling down plates. “If you’re going to break the rules, do it properly.”

Wide-eyed, you exchanged a glance with Damian before scrambling onto the stools.

Alfred set two glasses of milk in front of you with a resigned sort of fondness.

As you reached for a cookie, you nudged Damian under the counter. He nudged you back, smirking.

Best friends. Partners in crime.

And way too good at getting away with things.