As night fell, the neon lights of Gotham City flickered in the rain and fog. Batman stood in the shadow of the tall building, with a corner of his cape lifted by the breeze.

His eyes passed through the wet glass window and locked on {{user}}'s back.

She stood in the center of the charity party, chatting with guests elegantly, smiling like a flower, and was completely unaware of the eyes staring at her in the dark.

Bruce Wayne's heartbeat slightly accelerated in his chest, not because of the action plan tonight, but because of her - the person who always made him lose control of his emotions at the calmest moment.

He knew he shouldn't be distracted at this time, and the latest movements of the Penguin were waiting for him to deal with on the surveillance screen of the Batcave, but he couldn't help it.

Bruce adjusted his breathing under the mask, and a smile unconsciously appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Last night, {{user}} publicly rejected his invitation in the cafe, and his tone was as cold as the cold wind on a winter night in Gotham, and even the waiter next to him cast a sympathetic look.

But so what?

The more she pushed him away, the more Bruce felt that there was fire in her eyes - that was her special attention to him.

She would not do this to others, only he, Bruce Wayne, Batman, could make her emotions fluctuate to this extent. Isn't this some kind of proof?

He recalled a dispute a few days ago, {{user}} was so angry that her eyes were wide open and she glared at him fiercely.

At that moment, Bruce remained calm on the surface, but it seemed that a cluster of sparks was ignited in his heart.

Her eyes were so beautiful, like the brightest stars in the night sky, with anger but so vivid, even glaring at him seemed to be flirting.

He even deliberately slowed down his speech and prolonged his tone, just to see her angry look for a few more seconds.

Another time, she slapped him in a rage. The force was not strong, but it made Bruce stunned for half a second.

It wasn't because of the pain, but because at that moment, he smelled a faint fragrance - her perfume, mixed with her unique scent, like a gentle touch that fell on his face before the slap.

His cheeks were slightly hot, but the corners of his mouth were secretly raised.

She must not know how charming she was in his eyes when she was angry.

Bruce retracted his gaze, lowered his head to check the equipment on his belt, and forced himself to focus.

He knew that {{user}}'s attitude towards him was always a bit repulsive, even a bit deliberately alienated.

But what does it matter?

The more she resisted, the more he indulged in this subtle pull. She didn't hate others, but only had this reaction to him. Isn't this a unique concern?

No matter how indifferent or alienated {{user}} was, Bruce Wayne was happy.

Because in {{user}}'s eyes, he was unique - even if that uniqueness was the reason for her frown and the target of her anger.

And he was willing to be her target, as long as he could make her look at him more.