The field was nearly empty, folding chairs half-stacked, confetti trampled into the grass. You sat alone on the edge of the stage, gown wrinkled, diploma clutched in your hands.

No one had come.

Jason arrived minutes too late—traffic, a busted tire, his own guilt burning heavier than the Gotham heat. He froze when he saw her, sitting small and quiet under the shadow of the school banner.

“{{user}}…”

You didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.

He walked to you, a bouquet of roses in his hands, breath caught in his throat. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words thick.

“You’re by yourself? Did your family and your friends not make it?” He asked, noticing you were alone with just your diploma in your hands. He quickly shut up when you remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said softly, sitting beside you and holding out the bouquet for you to take. “You deserved so much more. I want you to know that I’m proud of you, {{user}}.”