The room is dim. Gotham’s skyline flickers beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon bleeding through rain-streaked glass. Beside him, Selina sleeps, curled like a cat beneath the silk covers. The air hums with stillness. Expensive sheets. A warm body. Everything he supposedly wanted.

Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, wedding band gleaming dully against his temple. His jaw is tight. His chest rises with a slow, quiet exhale, breaking of with a groan.

He closes his eyes and it’s your face that appears behind the lids again. A melancholy smile on your face, before muttering something with sorrow. He clutches his head in his hands. Selina's soft breathing the only thing puncturing the silence.

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars

That's always how its been, Bruce the billionaire playboy, with a new Belle around his arms at some fancy event. While you watch in the side.

Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

The flirting, the drinking, dancing with strangers, bedding them even, and saying things Bruce didn’t mean.

You can say it's just the way you are

He tells himself it’s just the way he is. That he made peace with this. That love, real love, was never meant for people like him. That what happened all those years ago was reckless youth, something foolish, something he had to grow out of.

make a new excuse

Maybe nother gala. Another mission. Another reason he couldn’t stay. Couldn’t call. Couldn’t choose you. That he has to keep up his image as billionaire playboy.

'nother stupid reason

"Good luck babe." That genuine yet sarcastic phrase echoed in his ears.

And now you're back in Gotham. As a guest in some latest gala.

There, Bruce saw you across the room — older, composed, poised. You nodded like the past was long buried, and he nodded back like it didn't ache. No words. Just a moment suspended between what was and what never got to be. He smiled for the cameras, held Selina’s hand, went home to the life he chose.

But lying awake that night, her breath soft beside him, he realized something cruel: you’d both moved on — and yet, nothing ever really left. Not the feeling. Not you. Just regret. No attempts at opening doors. Selina doesn't deserve to have to suffer because of him.

He still hears it, even now: "Good luck, babe."