Three days. That’s how long Bruce Wayne lasted.

You’d only been dating a short time—quiet nights in, a few guarded smiles, his ridiculous aversion to taking selfies. He was sweet, in that emotionally constipated way. Always picked restaurants with back exits. Always checked your locks twice before leaving.

You liked him.

Still, three days in, and he was already slipping. The bruises. The late nights. The very specific excuses. The silence that felt too trained.

And the emergency cave entrance you found behind a bookcase? That was just… bonus confirmation.

So, you walked in. Holding two coffees. Looked around the cavernous space like it was just another weird Gotham studio apartment.

Found him by the computer, cowl off, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” you said, casual as hell. “I figured.”

The silence after was… something.

You just sipped your coffee. Handed him the other. “You still drink it black, right?”

He blinked.