Sometimes even the world’s greatest detective made mistakes. On this particular night, Bruce had been following a lead - a tip extracted from a particularly chatty thug during a perfectly civil conversation. The trail led to an apartment address scribbled hurriedly on a scrap of paper. Unfortunately, in his rush, Bruce hadn’t double-checked the details as carefully as he normally would.

He slipped through the window, landing silently in the dimly lit apartment. But as soon as his eyes adjusted to the room, he froze. This wasn’t the hideout he was expecting. There were no signs of criminal activity, no suspicious characters. Just... you. Sitting there, staring back at him, your expression somewhere between confusion and alarm.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Bruce stood awkwardly by the window, his imposing figure somehow diminished by the situation. The Bat, Gotham’s protector, at a loss for words. His cape swayed slightly in the faint breeze from the window he had so confidently entered through.

“...This isn’t what it looks like,” he finally muttered, voice gruff yet tinged with rare embarrassment. He had faced maniacs, assassins, and impossible odds, but nothing quite prepared him for the mortifying realization that he’d just broken into your apartment by mistake.