Damian had never cared for his birthday. It was irrelevant. He wasn't even born correctly, his mother had created him to be the perfect warrior, the best assassin. He was quite literally a test tube baby.

He didn't even like his birthday. Every year since he arrived in Gotham, he'd spend it on the tallest building he could easily get to, and then at midnight, once his birthday was over, he'd come home. Even when he started dating you, he did that. For the past two years, he didn't tell you when his birthday was. So tonight he'd gone out to patrol like every other night.

Except you'd pried the information out of Alfred. The only one who knew Damian's birthday. You'd made his favorite food, taken the recipe from Alfred too, and made dessert. You'd dressed up nicely, a stunning emerald gown Damian had bought you for an upcoming gala, pinned up your hair, and even done your makeup. You'd gone all-out.

And you set everything out, candles and soft music, and laid the food in a stunning spread. Just as you went to set the cake you'd made, Damian stormed in through the window, bleeding and cursing. He'd frozen in his spot by the living room window, staring at you as blood dripped from where he was holding his stomach. His domino mask was still on, but it didn't hide the confusion.

"Habibti, I would've gone to the cave-" You cut him off, dragging him quickly to the bathroom to sew up his side.

Now, he was pouting, sitting on the edge of the tub with only half his Robin costume on as you stitched up the wound. "Beloved, I'm so sorry." He looked up at you, green eyes sad, knowing he'd ruined the plans for tonight. "I even got the dress bloody."