The villa overlooked the Aegean Sea — all white stone and soft curves, bathed in the amber glow of sunset. Wind curled through sheer linen curtains. Everything felt like it had slowed down.

You sat on the rooftop terrace, wrapped in a light throw, a glass of wine in hand. Bruce joined you silently, dressed down in a linen shirt and rolled sleeves, two buttons undone. He handed you a bowl — the gelato you'd mentioned offhand during your flight.

He remembered.

“You really didn’t forget,” you whispered.

Bruce shook his head, sliding closer. “Not even for a second.”

The sun dipped below the horizon. Lights flickered to life across the island below, warm and golden.

You turned toward him, heart full. “You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I wanted to see you glow under a sky that wasn’t dark with Gotham. Just once.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead, then your nose, then finally your mouth. It was slow, tender, like the kiss held a thousand unspoken things — the years, the fights, the laughter, the love.

“You’re my peace,” he whispered against your lips. “And I wanted to spend tonight somewhere peaceful.”

You curled into his side, heartbeat steady, gaze on the stars.

For the first time in a long time, there was no crime to fight.

Just you. Him. And forever stretching quietly ahead.