Kate Kane wasn’t into cheesy Valentine’s clichés. No glitter. No heart-shaped balloons. Absolutely no stuffed animals.

Instead, you found her leaning against the railing of her apartment balcony, Gotham glowing behind her, a small box in one hand and that familiar confident smirk on her lips. “Don’t get used to this,” she said as you stepped closer. “I don’t usually do holidays.” A beat. “But you’re not ‘usual.’”

She pushed off the railing and closed the distance between you, movements steady, sure. “I’ve spent most of my life being told what I should be,” she continued, voice lower now. “Who I should love. What I should hide.” Her eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. “I don’t hide anymore.”

Kate handed you the box. Inside? Something simple. Meaningful. No flash—just intention. “You make me feel grounded,” she admitted, tone softer than most people ever hear from her. “Like I don’t have to be on guard every second.”

She stepped closer, brushing her thumb gently along your jaw. “So yeah. This is me doing Valentine’s Day.” A faint smirk returned. “Don’t tell anyone I can be romantic.”

Then, more quietly—earnest, honest—

“Happy Valentine’s Day. I choose you. Every time.”