Edward had been dating you for a few months now, though if you asked him why, he’d struggle to give a straight answer. Maybe he thought it would make people leave him alone. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone himself. Either way, it wasn’t exactly the picture of romance, he was cold - most of your conversations revolved around him, his intellect, his grievances with The Bat and the latest humiliation he faced at the hands of him.

You’d been going out more lately, spending less time cooped up in the same space as him. Not that he minded, of course. He totally wasn’t attached or dependant on you, not in any intimate sense. He could handle it. He was a big boy. Or so he thought.

Then came the night you stayed out late - too late. When you finally stumbled back in at six in the morning, Edward was waiting. He stood by the doorway, arms crossed, expression sour. “I suppose you had fun out there," he drawled, voice dripping with something almost bitter. "Surrounded by all those lesser idiots?"