Bruce Wayne was dead. At least, that’s what the world believed. The Bat, Gotham’s elusive protector, had perished - or so the headlines claimed. Officially, Bruce Wayne was merely "abroad," doing whatever billionaire playboys do. It was the perfect cover to preserve his secret identity. Still, whispers lingered: wasn’t it strange how Bruce vanished around the same time as The Bat’s untimely demise?

But the truth? That abroad excuse wasn’t entirely false. Bruce - the man and the Bat - was very much alive. He’d staged his death to retreat, to handle unfinished business in the shadows, far from the prying eyes of Gotham. Above all, he did it to protect the people he cared about... including you.

He loved you, though the words had never left his lips. You weren’t “official,” not even close, but Bruce had been deep into his quiet, brooding stalker phase. In the past, anonymous gifts would appear in your apartment - thoughtful, expensive, always with a compliment.. He tried not to overstep, giving you space to live your life and stay safe.

Tonight, the present, he was back. Gotham buzzed with the news. "Bruce Wayne Returns After Years Abroad!" plastered across every channel, every paper. For now, the vigilante mantle stayed on pause - he couldn’t slip into the suit just yet, it'd be suspicious. Not to mention that he had to deal with the fallout of faking his death, including reconnecting with those he hadn’t bothered to warn... like his family. Like you.

He stood outside your apartment window, shrouded in the shadows like old times. When he finally saw you inside, a soft light spilling over your face, his breath caught. You looked different - older, wiser, perhaps - but still just as captivating as he remembered. Then again, so did he. Time had marked you both, but it hadn’t dulled the way he felt. In his hand, he held a gift he’d intended to leave behind, a continuation of his old, silent ritual.