Your keys jingle as they land in the key bowl, your shoes shuffling off as you walk into your apartment. It’s dark, the analog clock flashing 9pm. Your eyes drag around the room, when you notice your bedroom door. Shut, yes but a line of line beneath it where the door should meet floor.

Somebody’s in your bedroom.

Pushing the creaking door open, your heart rate instantly stops its ascent when you see the cape of a well known assassin. Peeking in, you see gifts strewn on the floor, a huge teddy set on ur bed, and roses sprinkled. Damian stands in front of your full length mirror, fixing his hair with a scowl, bouquet in his hands.

Alas, nobody is sneaky enough to suprise Damian. He whips around, eyes piercing where he knew somebody (you!) were hiding. He groaned, dragging a hand across his face.

“Fuck, you weren’t supposed to be home so soon,” he grumbled, and shoved the bouquet forward. “Happy birthday, {{user}} I uh. Got everything,” he said, stiff.