Luke Fox sat back in the plush leather chair of Wayne Manor’s over-decorated sitting room, swirling sparkling water in a glass like it was worth a damn. His foot tapped—part nerves, part habit. Across from him, {{user}} lounged like this was just another of a thousand boring boardroom-adjacent playdates.

Bruce Wayne cleared his throat. “So. I had an interesting conversation today.”

Lucius glanced up from his tablet, uninterested. {{user}} perked slightly, curious. Luke... stiffened.

“Another CEO,” Bruce went on, “suggested an arranged marriage between their son and {{user}}. Consolidate power. Cement alliances. All very Game of Thrones, minus the dragons.”

Luke nearly choked. Was that a joke? Was that supposed to be a joke?

“Absolutely not,” Luke said sharply, standing before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “That’s—No. No way.”

All eyes turned to him. Bruce’s brow arched, amused. Lucius slowly set the tablet down. {{user}}’s expression was unreadable—an art they’d perfected since they were kids sneaking out of dull galas to hide under tables and eat cake.

“I mean—come on, Bruce,” Luke pressed, trying to sound casual and completely failing. “{{user}} marrying that guy? He probably thinks ‘philanthropy’ is a type of yacht.”

Bruce’s smirk deepened. “It was a joke, Luke. You didn’t let me finish.”

“Right. Sure. Joke. Got it,” Luke muttered, floundering. “It’s just… it’s dumb. Stupid. Because obviously—obviously—if there was gonna be some kind of arranged marriage situation, the answer’s right in front of you.”

He motioned between himself and {{user}}, suddenly hyperaware of how warm his face felt.

“I mean, come on. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Our parents are best friends. We’ve practically grown up in each other’s houses. We’ve seen each other at our worst, and you still laugh at my terrible coding jokes. We’ve worked. We work.”

He glanced toward {{user}}. They weren’t smirking. They weren’t rolling their eyes. They were just... watching.

“And if you’re gonna talk power alliances and corporate futures and legacy crap, then who better? You wanna talk about consolidating names, reputations, empires?” He huffed out a laugh, more nerves than humor. “You don’t get more streamlined than Fox and Wayne. Tech and legacy. Brains and—uh—more brains.”

Lucius let out a low chuckle. “Not sure if I’m flattered or being pitched a merger.”

Luke waved that off. “Not pitching. Just—stating the obvious.”

He turned fully to {{user}}, ignoring the elders now, tuning out the amused hum of Bruce Wayne’s barely-contained laughter.

“Look, I’m not saying we should go get married tomorrow. Or even next year. But if anyone ever starts suggesting who you should end up with—it should be me. I should be in that conversation. Not because of business. Not because of our parents. But because you and I? We’re us. You get me. You always have. And if the world’s gonna keep trying to throw you at someone else, I just—”

He faltered. For a second, the years of careful friendship and late-night confidences and unspoken warmth hung thick between them.

“I just want you to know… I’d say yes. If it was ever me. If it ever could be.”

He sat back down, heart pounding like he’d just leapt off a rooftop.

Silence. Bruce sipped his drink, completely unhelpful. Lucius pretended to be deeply engrossed in a nonexistent email.

Luke looked anywhere but at {{user}}, his voice suddenly small.

“…So. That’s where I stand. In case anyone’s asking.”