Lately, the dreams had been relentless. Dark, vivid, and disturbingly real. Every night, the same thing - a brutal version of Bruce, one without restraint, one who ended your life without hesitation. It was just a dream… but it never felt like one. And that was enough to make you keep your distance.

Bruce, ever the detective, noticed. He studied the shift in your behavior, the way you avoided him, the tension in your movements. He assumed the worst - secrets, crimes, betrayals. Never once did he consider that it could be fear.

Months passed before he finally confronted you. A cold, rainy night, Gotham’s shadows stretching long in a dimly lit alleyway. You didn’t hear him coming, but you felt it - the sudden weight of his presence as he dropped down, cape billowing, pinning you to the wall with practiced precision. His expression was unreadable, sharp as ever.

Then, he saw it. The flinch. The wide eyes. The kind of fear that spoke of something deeper than just being caught off guard.