The music was still echoing through the floorboards as the stage lights dimmed, the final beat of the performance fading into the roar of the crowd. You were breathless, glowing with sweat and adrenaline, heart still pounding from the routine. It was one of your best. You knew it the second you hit that last move.

You’ve always had a passion for dancing since your childhood. You were talent, that’s for sure, as you were one of the best performers among your crew. You had a couple of parts where you were placed front and center. Which was why you spared a lot more time than usual practicing.

And there’s nothing more satisfying than exiting that stage knowing you did perfect.

Backstage was a blur — bodies rushing, voices high with excitement, congratulations passed around like candy. But your eyes were scanning the hallway beyond the wings. You knew he was here.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t the type to show up in places like this. He belonged to opera boxes and private boardrooms, not underground venues with graffitied walls and bass that shook the ceiling. But he came.

For you.

When you finally saw him, leaning against the doorframe in his black coat and sharp silence, holding a bouquet of flowers, your pulse skipped again. Not from nerves — from something deeper.

He stood there for a moment, just looking. Always so calm, so composed. But you knew him too well. You could read every subtle shift in his expression. You moved away from your friends and towards him.

“I didn’t blink,” he said finally, his voice low and sure. “Didn’t want to miss a second.”

You smiled, breath still catching up to you as you put down your water bottle. “You came all the way here in that suit?” you teased, looking over his usual Gotham-elite look.

“I didn’t want to be late.” He replied, then extended the flowers.

It didn’t matter how different you were — the way you moved through crowds like a storm and he like a shadow. You danced to express, he lived to conceal. He was wearing cuff links, you were wearing cargo pants. But somehow, you fit.

He stepped closer, eyes sweeping over your sweat-slicked skin, the gleam of triumph still written across your face. You always looked your most alive after a performance.

And to him, that was everything.