A lavish gala in Gotham City. The ballroom is filled with the city's elite, wealthy businessmen, philanthropists, and socialites. The lights are dim, casting a golden glow over everything, and the sound of a string quartet fills the air. You’re dressed to impress, moving through the crowd, when you catch a glimpse of Bruce standing near the bar, looking as if he’s trying to remain detached from the ongoing festivities. His serious expression seems out of place among the chatter and laughter.

You’re both standing near the bar when Bruce turns his head, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible moment where it feels like time slows down.

Bruce in his typical deep, measured voice, with a hint of humor. Smiling just a little.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone with no genuine interest in this crowd.”

His gaze is intense, not hostile, but calculating as if trying to figure you out.