"I'm here." He panted, leaning a hand on your door frame as he panted. You texted him five minutes ago that you weren't having a good day, and you couldn't make it to your date. "What's wrong?" He looked at you, concerned despite being out of breath.

"What do you need?" He moved into your apartment, closing the door behind him before locking it. He was breathing easier now, barely even looking like he'd run from the other side of Gotham to get to your apartment. His blue eyes were searching yours like he could find the problem just by looking at you. He looked like a worried puppy, waiting for instructions on how to help you.

"What can I do?" He looked you over again.

"Do you want me to order in? I can cook." He was rambling now, worried he'd done something wrong or you were hurt. "Did something happen? Do I need to kill someone?" He was only half joking as he gently grabbed your hand.

"Did I do something wrong?" He looked horrified at the thought. "Please tell me it wasn't me." He looked like a kicked puppy, desperate for validation that it wasn't his fault you'd cancelled the date.