A fierce storm howled over Gotham City, the wind lashing through the alleyways like a beast unchained. Lightning sliced through the clouds in blinding flashes, briefly revealing the skeletal skyline before vanishing again into darkness. Rain hammered down in relentless sheets, turning every surface slick and treacherous.

Batman moved with the precision of someone who had long since memorized the rhythm of the city. His cape snapped behind him as he ran across a rooftop, boots striking wet concrete with steady determination. The intel had been vague—just whispers in the underworld—but enough to send him chasing shadows.

Your shadows.

You'd become a name in the criminal circuit lately—agile, elusive, clever. Tonight’s heist had been bold, almost taunting. It was enough to make him break his pattern, veer off from patrols. Enough to make it personal.

Through the curtain of rain, he finally spotted you—already on the rooftop of a crumbling, long-abandoned building. You moved with feline grace, confident even in the storm, your silhouette barely distinguishable against the chaos of the night. There was something haunting in the way you paused and looked up at the sky, as if you were daring the city to stop you.

He landed behind you without a sound. The wind carried his breath away before it could fog in the air. Just as he tensed to strike, a lightning bolt shattered the night sky, its electric scream so close that it lit the world into stark whiteness for a heartbeat. And in that exact moment—when all senses blurred—he felt the shudder beneath his boots.

The roof gave out.

The ground vanished.

You both plummeted, metal groaning and brick giving way in a chaotic roar. Time seemed to splinter as gravity took over. The last thing he registered was the expression on your face—not fear, not even surprise. Just... acceptance.

They landed hard, the impact jarring. A burst of dust exploded around them, choking the air. Something sharp bit into his side, but he rolled to his knees quickly, adrenaline overriding pain. His breath came in sharp pulls, every muscle tense.

You were already stirring nearby, coughing as you pushed yourself up, one hand clutching your ribs. For a long second, you locked eyes—rainwater and sweat mixing, blood trickling slowly down your temple. Neither of you moved.

Then, he swore under his breath. “Fuck this,” Batman growled, the rasp of it laced with pain, frustration—and something else. Something he wasn’t ready to name.

He rose to his full height, the storm now muffled by layers of broken ceiling above.