The Wayne family's annual charity gala at the Gotham Museum of Art was supposed to be flawless. Martha had planned every detail for months - the champagne towers, the string quartet, the way the spotlights perfectly highlighted Thomas' proud smile as he greeted donors.

Bruce was on his best behavior in a tailored navy suit, playing the perfect heir until he caught your eye across the crowded gallery. You'd been dating just long enough to recognize that particular glint in his gaze - the one that usually preceded trouble.

"Don't," you mouthed, even as he began weaving through the crowd toward you with that infuriating smirk.

"Bored," he whispered against your ear, fingers already lacing with yours. His thumb traced circles on your wrist like he knew exactly how it made your pulse jump. "There's a Degas in the west wing no one's looking at."

"You want to sneak out of your own gala?"

Bruce's grin turned downright wicked as he tugged you toward a side hallway. "I want to see if I can make you laugh loud enough to get us caught."

Somewhere behind you, Alfred sighed loudly while Martha exclaimed, "Has anyone seen Bruce and-"

But you were already running, hand-in-hand with Gotham's most irresponsible trust fund baby, his laughter echoing off marble walls as you ducked behind a priceless statue.

"Admit it," Bruce breathed, crowding you against a gallery wall, his tie crooked and eyes bright. "This is better than small talk about tax deductions."

The distant sound of Thomas calling their names only made him laugh harder.