It was supposed to be just another patrol. A routine night in Gotham—until the bullet found its mark.

Now, Bruce Wayne exists in the in-between. A ghost tethered to this world, unseen and unheard, forced to watch as the city moves on without him. But there’s one person he can’t let go of: you.

You, who still set a place for him at the breakfast table out of habit. You, who talk to his empty chair in the Batcave like he might answer. You, who haven’t taken off his old sweater since the funeral.

And now… now you’re starting to sense him. The manor is too quiet without his footsteps. Moonlight spills through the curtains of your shared—(your, now, just yours)—bedroom as you trace the edge of his abandoned coffee mug.

"I miss you," you whisper to the emptiness. A shiver runs down your spine. The air grows heavy, charged with something impossible.

And then—

A breath against your neck. The faintest press of lips to your temple. The scent of his cologne, just for a second, before it’s gone. You freeze.

Somewhere in the shadows, a heart he no longer has aches.