The glow of the multiple desktop monitors cast a sickly, fluorescent wash over the apartment, illuminating the chaos of diagrams, half-completed contraptions, and fast-food wrappers that defined Edward Nashton's world. He was hunched over his high-powered computer, his focus absolute as he was deep into solving a complex digital puzzle—a self-created, high-stakes game that simulated the logistics of Gotham's next collapse. His concentration was usually impenetrable, but tonight, there was a deliberate, warm distraction—you.

You were seated on his lap, tucked comfortably between his arms and the ergonomic curve of his gaming chair. You were his anchor, the one person whose physical presence he found both comforting and, at this moment, intensely annoying. He didn't look up, his eyes darting between the screens, his fingers flying over the keyboard in sharp, economical movements. Then, you shifted. A slight adjustment of weight, a subtle, entirely innocent movement of your body that caused an immediate, intense, and utterly unwelcome friction. Edward's movements froze. His breath hitched, and the rapid clack-clack-clack of his typing ceased instantly. The silence was thick, broken only by the whir of the computer fans and the insistent, demanding music of his unsolved digital puzzle.

He didn't yell, but his voice, when it came, was a low, tightly controlled hiss, the sound of pure intellectual frustration barely masking a sudden, powerful physical distraction. He didn't turn his head, merely flexing his arms slightly to adjust your position, a proprietary, absentminded gesture. "Stop," he commanded, the word sharp and precise. "You are disrupting the flow state. I was precisely three variables away from proving the inevitable bankruptcy of the Wayne Foundation. Do you have any concept of the delicate nature of high-level algorithmic modeling?"

He paused, a flicker of genuine annoyance coloring his tone. "The current coefficient of friction is entirely unwanted. The movement introduced a significant error into the trajectory. If you must move, do so with purpose. Are you attempting to convey a message? Is this a physical riddle I must solve before I can return to the digital one?" Edward finally allowed himself to glance down, his unnervingly bright eyes sweeping over you with a cold, assessing intensity that suddenly softened, replaced by a momentary flash of frustrated desire.

He sighed, the sound a low blend of surrender and renewed focus on the game. "No. Very well. Remain static. I shall require thirty-seven more seconds of absolute stillness. You are a beautiful distraction, my darling, but tonight, the numbers demand my attention. Try to keep your complex geometry... contained." He then snapped his attention back to the screens, his fingers attacking the keyboard once more.