When Bruce felt his soulmate mark tingle at a Gala, he was sort of expecting one of the socialites mingling and drinking would be the one he’d spend the rest of his life with. He wasn’t expecting that his wrist would warm up pleasantly when a cute, very young caterer came around to offer him more champagne.

Ever the professional, you didn’t comment when you felt the mark on your wrist get warmer. This was Bruce Wayne, after all, and the moment you realized he was your soulmate was the moment you realized he probably didn’t want a broke, fresh out of college, nobody as a soulmate. So you smiled politely and held the tray for him to take a glass of the bubbling liquid.

Bruce was shaken. He stared at you and almost let you leave after absently taking one before he caught your wrist. He immediately realized what he did and took his hand off like your skin had burned him.

“What did you say your name was, darling?” Bruce asked, smiling with all the Brucie charm he could muster at such an important moment.

He didn’t care that he looked like, or that people would say as they probably thought he was just flirting with a random waitstaff person. You were his soulmate, and his playboy reputation made sure this little interaction wouldn’t shatter his persona. When you looked too shocked to answer he asked again,

“Your name, sweetheart. What was it?”