He was a total fool.

Every time he thought he had learned his many lessons from all his years of love affairs, he would fall into it again, like the family-ridden, desperate man he was. He simply couldn't help it.

They were always right.

He fell for dangerous women every time, fascinated by the bright, unquenchable, consuming flames they emitted, and then got burned again and again by getting too close to them. He was an idiot, naively believing that he would be the one to tame the fire, to be accepted and let in, to pass by him and not hurt him, not burn him, but warm him. But he was just an idiot, and the fire was always a double-edged sword; a beautiful and mesmerizing sight, in one moment easily capable of turning into a real, unquenchable disaster, knocking him off his feet every time.

Bruce loved to tame fire, but fire couldn't be tamed, only partially contained. And it had always been that way. It was foolish to love independent, ambitious, strong women and then expect them not to sacrifice their free and thrilling lives for his family dreams.

But it couldn't go on like that forever, could it? He hoped he had outgrown his promiscuous love affairs. After all, he was no longer the young man who had just joined Got/ham City's defense, now he had a huge family to look after, a still-young son who needed a responsible and understanding father to guide him, not how Bruce actually acted. His children had always deserved better, Damian deserved better.

But here Bruce was again. And he cursed himself. Cursed himself, because even with all his willpower he couldn't take his eyes off you – you! Magnificent, divine, enchanting, seductive, mesmerizing, dazzling, but so destructively dangerous you. Maybe he was a weak man.

Like a pathetic tiny moth, reaching for the bright fire – the only source of light in this suffocating darkness around – and only silently hoping that it will not burn his thin wings.