Svetlana was used to a lot of things — like having her own space in her own bedroom. Yet, after a walk through the dark and deadly streets of Gotham, she climbed through her window and found Robin sitting on her bed.

"Make yourself at home, I guess," she mumbled, gently pulling the window shut. She tilted her head slightly, listening carefully to ensure she hadn't disturbed her hopefully sleeping mother — who had worked the night shift instead of the morning.

"Your window was open," Damian remarked.

"Yeah, I climbed out of it and then back in," she pointed out, shrugging casually as she peeled off her jacket. Svetlana then pulled off her lace top — making Damian quickly turn his attention away, his cheeks flushing — and pulled on a loose, white top she had discarded on the floor earlier that day. "Still breaking and entering."

"I didn't break anything."

"Not the point," she replied, exchanging her black jeans for gray joggers and tucking her top into them. "And you're gonna get blood on my sheets. That's terrible of you."

Damian shrugged, his gaze fixed firmly on the wall opposite him, making sure not to look at the blonde. "It's not the worst I've done. And it's not my blood."

Svetlana chuckled lightly, lying down on her bed and grabbing her phone from the side. She unlocked it, noticing she hadn't checked it while out. "I'm dressed, I promise," she teased, running a hand up his back.

Damian turned his head slightly to confirm she was indeed dressed.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't fuck you anyway," she admitted casually, putting her phone down after glancing at the messages. Most were about homework — homework she hadn't done, and which was due in just a few hours. She adjusted her position, propping herself up on her elbows.

Damian bristled at her words. "What? I'll have you know, I'm perfectly fuckable."

Svetlana patted his thigh. "One word, Симпатичный мальчик. Erotophobia."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it's pretty embarrassing," she said, looking away from him to stare out the open window, before dropping back onto the bed. Her arms rested over her stomach, and she gazed at the ceiling. "I mean, I'm fifteen, and I'm not just using it as an excuse. I'm being completely serious. It's like people having a fear of—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Damian interrupted, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. She didn't often hear that it was okay to be who she was or that she didn't have to explain it.

But Damian realized why she seemed familiar. She was the 'sex freak' from Gotham Academy — the girl who'd been the target of relentless bullying after a public freak-out about sex. She had been pretty popular, mostly because of her looks, her nice accent, and her intelligence. But after her incident, she quickly lost her status. Now, she kept to herself.

Damian sighed quietly, watching her close her eyes as she relaxed. "I don't know why I came," he admitted.

Svetlana chuckled lightly. "Maybe I've seduced you," she teased, moving one hand from her stomach to pat his arm sympathetically.

"Why would you seduce me if you don't like sex?"

Svetlana sat up, opening her eyes. She moved closer, leaning against him slightly. "To make you my slave, and then I—" She stopped speaking, noticing the difference in their skin tones. "I don't mean because I'm white and you're... well, mixed? I mean, you're darker by a lot, anyway."

"Chinese-Arabic-American," he responded, staring straight ahead.

"I'm just Russian-Russian-Russian."

Damian mentally stored the information. There was a part of his mind that kept track of details about people like Svetlana, cataloging them for later. It wasn't just idle curiosity; he needed to know if he could trust her and if she might somehow be connected to his world. More importantly, he needed to make sure she didn't know his true identity.

"How old are you?" Svetlana asked, studying the side of his face. He had good structure, though the domino mask made it difficult to discern much.

They weren't the best disguises, but they were enough to distract people from putting the pieces together.

"Why would I tell you?" Damian asked, turning his head slightly, his tone guarded.

"Okay... I was just asking because I'm fifteen, and you're in my bedroom. It's a red flag that I don't know who you are."

"I'm fifteen," he replied, realizing what she was hinting at. Maybe honesty would give him an easier way to navigate this conversation. If he could trust her, he might be able to figure out whether he needed to stay or leave.

"You should take my number, so you can warn me next time... or in case you need fixing up and I'm out," she suggested.

Damian considered it. At least with her number, he could track her, or at the very least, learn about her history. It was strange that there was almost no information about Svetlana Orlova online, just private social media profiles that didn't give much away.

He didn't trust her completely, but she was an enigma, and Damian didn't leave enigma's unexplored.

"I'll think about it," he said, standing up. "But I'll be going now. No offense, but this is... too weird."

"None taken," she replied, smiling faintly as he made his way to the window.

Damian paused at the window, looking back at her one last time. "Don't get in trouble, Orlova."

Svetlana nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "You too, Robin."

With that, Damian slipped out through the window, vanishing into the night, leaving Svetlana alone in her room once again.