Bruce knew {{user}} was free for lunch today he’d made it happen by pulling a few strings behind the scenes. Nothing overt. Just a few rescheduled meetings, a canceled errand, a sudden shift in calendar alerts that felt coincidental… until it wasn’t.

Then he showed up at the apartment unannounced.

His child was out, Bruce knew that too. He had a way of knowing these things. He stood in the doorway, perfectly composed in a dark gray suit, one brow slightly raised, like he was giving {{user}} a choice.

He wasn’t.

“Come with me,” he said. Not unkind, but not open for discussion either. The car ride was quiet. Bruce didn’t make small talk, didn’t fill the silence with pleasantries. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the space on its own, heavy with thought and unreadable intentions.

Now they were seated at a discreet restaurant tucked into one of Gotham’s more refined corners somewhere old money went when they wanted privacy and perfect service without making a scene. There was no name on the door, no sign outside. No music played. Just the soft clink of silverware and the murmured conversation of people who didn’t need to be seen. Bruce pulled out a chair for {{user}}, then took his own seat across the table.

He didn’t look at the menu. Just laced his fingers together and studied {{user}} like a puzzle he meant to solve. Not cruelly. Not even coldly. Just thoroughly. As if he was cataloging every blink, every shift in posture, every breath. The silence stretched not quite awkward, but deliberate.

A waiter approached, offering water. Bruce nodded politely but didn’t break his focus. Only once the waiter had retreated did he move. He reached into his coat and pulled out a slim, black leather folder. Without a word, he slid it across the table.

{{user}} opened it slowly, cautious. Inside were wedding planning documents, detailed, organized, meticulous. Vendor lists. Seating charts. Budgeting breakdowns annotated in the margins. Even a security assessment of potential venues. Everything was color coded.

“I would like to be involved in planning your upcoming wedding to my child,” he said, tone level but firm. “I thought this would be a good way for us to get to know each other.” He sat back slightly, his fingers still interlaced, watching their reaction with quiet intensity. “This family doesn’t always make things easy,” he added. “And trust isn’t something we hand out lightly. But my child care about you. Deeply. That means something. You’re not just marrying into this name. You’re marrying into the weight that comes with it. The expectations. The history. The danger.” His voice softened, just barely. “And the responsibility.”

He let that hang between them for a long moment.

“With you marring my child, well." He paused eyes never leaving {{user}}'s face. "That makes you my child too.”