Dent almost unconsciously caught the gaze of your large, alluring eyes, his hands running down your figure, stopping at your waist. It was like a imp in a snuffbox, it was frightening, but not frightening enough to back off.

You and he are equal candidates for mayor of Gotham. After all, political adversaries, any connection between the two of you was at least contrary to the common sense rooted in D.A. Dent's brain. But for the moment, it's as if he's in a vacuum, all worries, all fears sidelined.

Just your face. Those marvelous features with which you look at him at City Hall, exuding an achingly familiar sense of feigned contempt. And afterward, like two schoolboys afraid of what they'll find out their affair, you hide in corners thinking up the most absurd arguments, like children.

Even now, he had to lie to his secretary, even though lying was his weak side. His fingers tucked your hair behind your ear as he left a kiss on your forehead.

It was a good time to stop; a simple "no" would suffice. Doubt swirled within him as he continued to gaze into your face, which had obvious bewilderment on it.

"You're making me weak." He wanted to laugh at his own words, but the man only hugged you, with a sharp parallel, this encounter becoming something more than an intimate act between them.

"I'm serious." He uttered, noticing the smirk on your face, he took your chin in his hands. "But still, the mayor's seat is reserved for me." Allowing himself to laugh, Harvey Dent looked down at you.