It had been months, but Oswald couldn't stop thinking about it. That night in Blüdhaven... what began as a chase, two enemies locked in pursuit, had spiraled into something entirely unexpected. A fight that veered off-course, ending not in bloodshed but in... something else. In one of his private penthouses, no less. He told himself it was nothing. A fleeting moment of weakness. Just two people finding solace where there was none.

It meant nothing. It had to mean nothing.

Standing in his office now, Oswald stared out the window, his fingers lightly tapping the head of his umbrella as the moonlight gleamed through the glass. His reflection stared back, distorted slightly by the city lights beyond. It was quiet - too quiet for Gotham, and too quiet for his men, who should’ve been making noise somewhere in the building.

He shifted his gaze downward, catching the faintest movement in the reflection. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, unmistakably yours. He didn’t need to turn around to confirm it. He just knew.

"You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here," he muttered, his voice calm but edged with something unspoken. He still didn’t face you, his grip tightening on his umbrella. "What do you want this time?"