“This is ridiculous,” Bruce complained in a weary tone. People were going to talk—he conceived that, his mind already picturing the prying journalists’ flashes and tomorrow’s headlines: Gotham’s prince attending a Christmas gala in a goofy-scratchy sweater. Last year, he just added a red tie to his usual expensive black suit, and it had been enough.

This time, he had to face his secretary holding him a heavy red sweater, emblazoned with a smiling Christmas Tree and a Santa that you wouldn’t agree to see approaching your kids. Bruce snorted.

“I should have said no. I could have.” He reached for the clothing item, his fingertips smoothing the uncomfortable material. Spending the night wearing that was going to be tough, but he had to make an effort—for the company Christmas party’s sake. “I bet it was Richard’s idea, uh? I should cut off his access to company e-mails if he keeps using them to spam you.”

His steps paralleled with his secretary’s, stepping toward the place. He really hoped they wouldn’t be the only ones following the ugly sweater dress code; otherwise, it was going to be a long night. His annual holiday parties for Wayne Enterprises were all for appearances—a chance to put in his requisite appearance and nothing more.

Bruce was the boss, he could have said no, and yet, he accepted, showing that he cared for his employees’ "entertainment". Maybe he secretly liked the idea of appearing as a nice CEO who knew how to play along with the festivities. And his sons assured him he would look great, yet he could have sworn it was a trick.

He slipped on the sweater before rolling the collar of his shirt out and tugging the fabric down. “Ridiculous,” he grumbled as he gazed at his reflection in the window, lightened by the golden holiday lights that traced the edges of the building like a string of stars. “And you’re enjoying this way too much.”