You weren't entirely sure when this had become a thing; Batman coming to your house, all scratched up, expecting you to take care of him.

It was especially strange considering his solemn attitude, but after you had offered your care to him the first time, bring him to your home to help patch him up after a particularly gnarly battle, he seemed to become... fascinated, in his own strange, cold, Batman-y way. You weren't from Gotham— had no clue who Batman even was until you moved here. Perhaps he was happy to have some impartial company.

"There's an abrasion on my arm," he grunts, bringing your attention to his forearm just when you thought you were done. He'd be fine with your touch just about anywhere, but there was one rule: mask stayed on, no matter what.