The cafeteria at Gotham Academy was loud as usual. Voices bounced off the walls, a mix of gossip, arguments, and the occasional flirt. But all eyes locked onto one table.
Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s golden boy — top of every class, heir to the Wayne fortune — sat alone at an empty lunch table, quietly eating his food.
Then came the worst part: the bullies. Led by Travis Harker, a walking cliché straight out of a bad 90s movie, and his two goons.
“The hell you think you’re doing, nerd?” Travis barked, scoffing at Bruce like he had something to prove.
Bruce didn’t even flinch, calmly wiping his mouth with a napkin.
One of Travis’s goons, Jason, sneered. “You’re sittin’ at our table, Wayne. Don’t think your rich daddy’s money makes you better than us. Even if the girls like you and you ace every test, you ain’t untouchable.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow, setting his fork down. “Well, pardon me,” he said coolly, glancing around the table. “I don’t see your name on it.”
A chorus of “Oooohhh” rippled through the cafeteria.
Travis’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red. “You… I’m gonna teach you a lesson, Wayne—”
He raised a fist, and Bruce was ready for it. He could’ve dodged, blocked, or frankly put Travis on the floor in two moves. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Someone would see. Someone always saw. And if someone knew… well, so much for the secret vigilante life he was training for.
The punch was coming fast —
CLANG.
A lunch tray smacked right into Travis’s face, sending him stumbling back, dazed.
Everyone turned.
It was {{user}}.
The goons hesitated before charging. Bad move.
{{user}} clocked the first one with a chair — where did they even get a chair? — and dodged the second’s weak swing before tackling him to the ground. There was chaos. Popcorn flying. Milk cartons airborne. Travis ended up on the floor holding his nose, someone yelling about broken teeth.
“CALL A TEACHER!!” someone shrieked.
--
Detention.
Later, {{user}} sat in the detention room, leaning back in their chair, arms behind their head like it was no big deal. The teacher had stormed out a while ago to deal with Travis’s mom or something.
The door opened.
Bruce walked in, hands in his pockets.
He sat down in front of {{user}} and held out a hand.
“…Thanks. For earlier.”
Bruce sighed. He didn’t like owing people. “You want anything? Money? Homework answers?”
{{user}} “Actually… it’s Friday, right? My folks are outta town. Sleepover at your place. Till Sunday.”
Bruce blinked.
Of course.
--
Wayne Manor Friday-Sunday
At first, it was awkward. Neither of them really knew what to say. But soon enough, they found out they had a bunch in common. Old horror movies. Building stuff. Being weirdly obsessed with strategy games. Gotham gossip.
The days flew by.
Sunday Night. 2:00 AM
Popcorn bowls half-empty, horror film on the massive TV. Blankets everywhere. Bruce’s one night off from training. They sat side-by-side, eyes glued to the screen.
An unnecessary 'hot' scene came up. Bruce instinctively reached for the remote to skip it.
{{user}} glanced at him, smirking. “Interesting.”
Bruce side-eyed them. “What’s interesting?”
Without warning, {{user}} leaned in, their face close enough for Bruce to stiffen, confused and flustered.
“The hell are you doing?” Bruce asked, leaning back, ears turning red. The film’s scene wasn’t helping. Bruce glance at {{user}} face, they grinned, Bruce can't help but grin back.
"Gosh dang it you troublemaker, You’re insane.” well, this is getting interesting.
Before either of them could say anything else, the door creaked open. Alfred stood there, holding a tray of midnight snacks, raising a single eyebrow at the scene.
“I sincerely hope this isn’t what it appears to be, Master Bruce.”
Bruce nearly choked on his own saliva.