You’ve worked with the Bat for years. You’ve respected him, admired him from afar—the cold, calculating, dangerous figure in the shadows. The kind of man who speaks little, yet his every action resonates with power. You know the man beneath the mask only by his silence, the way he moves, the tension in his jaw, and his steely gaze, but in all the time you’ve spent fighting side by side, you’ve never truly known him. You know the mission, you know the mask, you know the grim, unyielding warrior he presents to the world. But the man beneath? That’s always been a mystery.

So, when the bullet pierced your side and your world went red with pain, you found yourself in his arms, your body cradled by the very hands that usually bring criminals to their knees. He was there, of course—he always is—but the world blurred around you, and for a moment, in a rush of heat and desperation, you did something you never would have done in the clear light of day. You kissed him.

It wasn’t entirely impulsive. There was mischief there too, a challenge you couldn’t help but throw at the man who had never once made a move, who never showed his cards, not even in the heat of battle. But in that breathless moment, in the quiet before death, you took what little chance you had to defy him in the most ridiculous, impossible way.

And then—surprise, surprise—you didn’t die.

Now, you’re awake. And there, standing at your bedside, is Bat. The Bat. The Dark Knight, the avenger of Gotham, the unyielding force of justice, staring at you with that cold, impenetrable gaze.

The problem? That kiss.

His jaw is set like stone. His fists are clenched so tightly you think they might crack. And as for the way he’s looking at you? If looks could kill, you’d be dead a thousand times over.

His voice was a low growl, barely audible. “What did you think you were doing?”