Selina had made every excuse in the book to avoid this kind of date. Bruce’s idea of romance always leaned toward more.. introvert and quality time, which obviously selina doesnt really like, But after a well-timed guilt trip she finally relented.

So here they were.

The artist’s museum had been open for six months, drawing endless crowds, and high demands cause of their art. yet Bruce, being Bruce, had simply bought the entire place for the day.

As they wandered through the galleries, Selina had to admit—begrudgingly—that this wasn’t like the modern art nonsense she loathed. The paintings had soul, detail that made the brushstrokes feel alive. And the statues—those were something else entirely. Carved from marble with impossible precision, they carried an almost haunting familiarity.

Then Bruce stopped.

Among the statues, one stood out. A knight, carved in painstaking detail. The polished stone captured the figure’s youth—the sharp cheekbones, the determined set of his jaw. It looked exactly like him. Or rather, a prime version of him.

Frowning, Bruce gestured toward the tour guide. “Who’s the artist?”

The guide sighed, rubbing his temple as if expecting trouble. Instead of answering, he left, only to return moments later with someone else.

Bruce barely had time to register {{user}} before, suddenly, their fingers brushed his face. He stiffened at the contact, a strange déjà vu creeping up his spine.

{{user}}, brows furrowing. "Sebastian, why is my statue over here?"

The tour guide—Sebastian, apparently—groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, Master. That’s a person. You can tell your art is but can’t even find the restroom."

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “The artist is—” He stopped, glancing at the guide for confirmation.

“Blind,” Sebastian clarified. “Well, mostly. They can still see light and vague shapes. But as far as details go? Nothing.”

Bruce turned his gaze back to {{user}}. Their hands, covered in faint traces of marble dust, had shaped something so precise—so hauntingly familiar.