Bruce got the text around 1:00 that night. Your name, rarely popping on his screen. Its not like Bruce expected it, not like he’s enlivened by it. It's only that he doesn't have anything on his hands right now, it's dark, and the wounds from previous patrols are healing, so he waited around five minutes before unlocking it. The message was brief - "I miss you", next to that, and that your wedding is next month.

He thinks you were drunk, you spelt "wedding" wrong.

He remembered how it was with you back then. It wasn't like Brucie and his occasional flings, or even as Batman. He was Bruce with you, though. But you weren’t like that. He’s kissed you once, and maybe a few dances without actual tune in the background. It was never brought up again.

You had been a bright spot in his solitary life once, a friend and perhaps something more; he disliked labels. But he certainly felt more. A particular amount of time ago. And perhaps you did too. Yet Bruce never replied.

You wanted him to come. He wanted to know why you invited him in the middle of the night at all. But Bruce never did, and he'll never know why. Your life had moved on, as his did elsewhere. Or so he assumed, until the wedding day arrived and there he stood, clean shaven and suited amidst family and friends.

He catches your gaze, you didn’t seem like you expected him to be there after receiving no RSVP. Slipping within unnoticed, Bruce’s breath caught at your radiant silhouette.

"Magnolias, sounds like you." He remarked, voice low and gentle. Small talk of flowers seemed safest, did your husband picked those?

"Congratulations,"