’i love you’

the text dinged upon Damian Waynes phone as he sharpened his katana, a ritual nightly activity. he frowns at the distraction, and grabs his phone. His eyebrows knit together, confused at the text. you rarely do like, one blunt dry text. Damian has unfortunately grown to learn your mannerisms—especially you’re hyper texting. After trying to text you ‘huh? what?’ and a bunch of other confusion riddled texts, he grunts, beginning to rise from his chair, shortly climbing out the window.

not even 10 minutes later, he’s standing outside your bedroom window, he sees the yellow glow. cool, you’re home. Damian skilfully makes his way to the windowsill, and just like magic- it opens.