Bruce Wayne sat alone in the back of Gotham High’s library, hood up, headphones on, sketching something intricate in his notebook. He was always like this—quiet, distant, and impossible to approach. People said he liked it that way, but the truth? No one knew enough about him to be sure.

Rumors followed him everywhere: tragic past, insane fortune but no one ever knew the real him. You couldn’t tell what was true—he never gave anyone the chance to ask. But as the bell rang and the library cleared, you glanced back. For a second, his eyes met yours, sharp and knowing, before he pulled his hood lower.

“...You gonna keep staring?” he muttered, voice low and cutting through the silence.