The rooftop is quiet, Gotham’s skyline stretching out in shades of steel and blue. You’re sitting on the ledge, knees pulled to your chest, watching the faint mist rise from the streets below. You don’t hear him land you never do but you feel him before you see him.

“Hey,” comes his voice, low and easy, the kind of warmth that cuts through the cold.

You glance back to find him pulling off his domino mask, hair damp from the rain. There’s that faint smirk part reassurance, part exhaustion. He drops down beside you, legs dangling over the edge, silent for a moment before speaking again.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone.”

You shrug. “Neither should you.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Touché.”

A few seconds pass. The city hums beneath you both the distant sirens, the flicker of a neon sign, the heartbeat of Gotham itself. Then he says, quieter

“You don’t have to keep standing on your own, you know. I’ve got you.”

You turn toward him, but he’s already looking at you that earnest blue gaze that never feels like it’s asking for anything, just offering. “Seriously,” he adds, a little more playful now. “I’m pretty good at catching people who fall.”

You huff a laugh. “Occupational hazard?”

“Occupational specialty,” he corrects with a grin.

He shifts closer, the faint brush of his gloved hand against yours grounding you both. “The city’s heavy. I get it. But it doesn’t have to crush you. You let it out, we breathe, then we go back down there and keep fighting.”

You meet his eyes again, and something unspoken hangs there trust, comfort, a quiet promise.

“Besides,” he murmurs, tone softer now, “if you fall, I fall. Deal?”

And when you nod, he smiles like the night just gave him back the stars.