It was almost comedic how you’d managed to compartmentalize your life into two wildly contradicting halves — one that gravitated toward Bruce Wayne, and another that wanted nothing more than to punch Batman square in the jaw.

In your civilian life, you found yourself drawn to him. There was something magnetic about Bruce — all quiet smiles and charming small talk, a surprising kindness that felt rare among Gotham’s elite. He was the kind of man who remembered details, who asked about your work, who looked genuinely interested when you spoke. You didn’t expect to like him as much as you did, but there you were, always ending up near him at galas, always laughing at his dry jokes, always sneaking glances when you thought he wasn’t looking.

But under the mask, things were different. Batman was every bit the infuriating partner you never asked for — stubborn, cold, impossible to work with. You argued on rooftops, raced each other to arrests, and called each other out mid-fight just to get under the other’s skin. He refused to acknowledge you as anything more than an obstacle, and you hated how often he was right. The fact that Robin — his own sidekick — once muttered that you were “cooler to work with” only added fuel to your irritation. It was exhausting, the whiplash of it all, never realizing that Bruce knew exactly who you were under that mask.

Tonight, the two sides of your double life collided. The Wayne Foundation’s annual charity ball was in full swing, a glittering event of Gotham’s most powerful names. You stood by the balcony with a champagne flute in hand, trying — and failing — not to let your gaze drift toward the host of the evening. Bruce Wayne stood at the center of it all, charming a cluster of board members with practiced ease. He hadn’t looked your way once, and yet somehow, you knew he was aware of your stare. He always was.