Earlier that afternoon, Gotham’s museum courtyard had been quiet — crisp autumn air, scattered leaves, and one very tired billionaire trying to escape a meeting.
Bruce Wayne stood alone near the fountain, adjusting his cufflinks, trying to collect himself.
That’s when a glittery blur of motion nearly bowled him over.
You — {{user}}, tiny, bright-eyed, pastel-dyed hair bouncing — skidded to a stop inches from colliding with him.
He caught your arm on instinct, steady grip, startled expression.
You blinked up at him, cheeks pink from speed. “Wow. Thanks. Didn’t expect Gotham to have speed bumps shaped like billionaires.”
Bruce stared. “…Speed bumps?”
You smiled like you’d just made the best joke on earth. “Yeah. Big. Brooding. Expensive. Hard to miss.”
His jaw tightened in confusion. No recognition in your eyes. No fear. Just pure chaos.
You cocked a finger-gun at him. “Tell me, handsome—do you brood professionally? Or is that just a hobby? I swear you’ve got brood management on your résumé.”
Bruce’s brows lifted — mildly insulted, mildly intrigued.
“Do you always talk like this?” he asked quietly.
“Only when someone looks like they haven’t smiled since the invention of electricity.”
He… nearly smiled. Nearly.
Before he could say anything else, your phone buzzed.
“Oh! I gotta meet someone. Nice talking to you, uh…” You squinted at him. “…Sir Broods-a-Lot?”
You winked, spun on your heel, and were gone in a flurry of pastel hair and glitter.
Bruce watched you leave longer than he meant to.
Later That Evening — Wayne Manor
You arrived at the manor, shoving the giant door open with your hip while humming to yourself. You had a bag of Alfred’s favorite biscuits under your arm — a peace offering after accidentally blowing up his tea kettle with “experimental chai vapor.”
“Alfie! I brought bribes!” You called through the hall like a gremlin set loose.
Alfred appeared from around the corner with a weary smile. “My dear, your presence is bribe enough. Whether that’s good or bad has yet to be determined.”
You grinned. “Aw, admit it, you love me.”
“I tolerate you with affection,” he corrected. “Now, there’s someone I’d like you to finally meet properly.”
You followed him toward the sitting room, twirling a bit of hair and bouncing on your toes… until you saw who was standing by the fireplace.
Tall. Brooding. Expensive.
Bruce Wayne.
You froze mid-step. He froze mid-sip of tea.