Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne had an image to maintain. It wasn’t just for the tabloids or the gossiping elites of Gotham - it was a mask, just like the cowl he wore at night. And in a city as deeply distrustful of the abnormal as Gotham, being seen with a shapeshifter would spark the kind of attention he couldn’t afford. It didn’t matter that he yearned for you, that his heart ached in your absence. His duty came first. His feelings came second. Always.

But then came the gala. Another routine charity event, packed with the city’s wealthiest and most influential, a night of forced smiles, pointless small talk, and enduring the arrogance of Gotham’s elite. Bruce hated these events. Yet they were essential to his cover, so he played the part. Mingling, laughing at dry jokes, and shaking hands with people he’d forgotten the names of years ago.

That’s when he saw you. Or rather, someone who wasn’t supposed to be you - but he knew better. Even from across the room, something in the way you moved, the way you held yourself, betrayed you. He froze for a fraction of a second, hiding his reaction beneath an empty smile as he excused himself from the conversation. Then he walked toward you.

You wore a face that wasn’t your own. The features were perfect, unassuming, someone who could easily blend into a crowd without suspicion. But your eyes - your eyes gave you away. He could never mistake them, no matter how much you tried to hide behind someone else’s appearance.

As soon as he was close enough, Bruce’s hand wrapped gently but firmly around your arm. Without causing a scene, he pulled you aside, guiding you into a quiet alcove away from prying eyes. His mask of indifference faltered for just a moment as he looked into your all-too-familiar gaze.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed under his breath, the words laced with a mix of frustration, worry, and something else he couldn’t quite bury - relief. Because, despite everything, you were here. Still finding ways to be with him.