Damian Wayne

Damian Wayne stood near the academy gates, posture perfectly straight, arms folded behind his back like he was inspecting a battlefield instead of waiting after school. He spotted you immediately—of course he did. His focus had always been precise.

“You are three minutes later than usual,” he stated calmly as you approached. Then, after a brief pause, “I was early.”

He cleared his throat, looking faintly irritated—not at you, but at himself. From behind his back, he revealed a single red rose. The stem was trimmed perfectly. Of course it was.

“I do not subscribe to commercial displays of affection,” Damian said firmly. “However… traditions hold symbolic value.” His green eyes met yours, steady and intense. “And you are deserving of recognition.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “You train diligently. You speak honestly. You do not treat me as some exaggerated legend.” A faint softness touched his expression. “That is… appreciated.”

There was an awkward half-second where he seemed unsure what to do next. Then he gently took your hand—careful, deliberate.

“I do not make idle commitments,” he said quietly. “If I call you my Valentine, it is not temporary.”

His ears turned slightly pink, though his posture remained composed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Damian added, almost formal. Then, softer—softer than anyone else would ever hear—

“You are important to me.”