When you said it, he just… stared. Blank. Like the words hadn’t quite processed yet. He’d been mistaken for the object of people’s affections before—occupational hazard of being Bruce Wayne—but he figured yours was just some harmless crush. A phase. He never thought you’d actually come out with it.

And of course, it had to be him. The man with more baggage than an airport carousel, who barely has time to eat dinner, let alone drag someone else into his mess. Dating, for him, is already complicated enough. But this? This was something else entirely.

Because you weren’t just young—you were his son’s friend. That fact hit harder than Bane’s punch.

Still, he had to give you credit for the conviction. The way you said you “needed an older man”—like it was some kind of sales pitch—almost made him laugh. Almost. But then again, he couldn’t imagine what the tabloids would do with that headline. And besides… younger girls? They were never his thing. He could barely keep up with half the slang you and Damian used. Standing on business? What business? Nobody stood. Everyone sat.

And yet… you weren’t wrong about one thing. You were a catch. Bright, determined, charming in your own way. But all of that didn’t erase the fact that this situation was about as far from right as it got. And he was absolutely not going to throw himself in that mess.

He sighed, pushing back from his desk as you cornered him, a rare awkward chuckle slipping out. “Well… that’s a first,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m flattered. Honestly. But I’m old enough to be… well, older than I’d ever be comfortable with. And besides—” his brow arched just slightly, a trace of dry amusement crossing his features—“I thought you and Damian had a thing…?”