It had been at least four years since you had seen Bruce Wayne or Minhkhoa Khan. Once their falling out had happened all those years ago, you acted as the mediator, trying to subdue the fights and arguments that'd happen every time those two were in the same room as each other.

You three practically travelled the world together, from the deserts of Abu Dhabi to the mountaintops in Korea. You trained with them, got to know the most intimate parts of them. Saw them vulnerable.

You tried to keep the three of you together, tried so hard to make them make up but they were both as stubborn as each other and ended up only making you want to rip your hair out. The closest you could get was a mutual agreement that they would operate in the same city as long as the other one was there.

It took everything in you to not bash their heads together.

Once Bruce had said his farewell to you and left for Gotham again, Khoa too said he needed to head back to Singapore, you were alone again. You had run into them multiple times since, Khoa a few times when you were in Thailand and Cambodia and Bruce in Gotham and New York. Neither had ever mentioned each other unless you brought it up. God forbid you do.

You had kept good communications up with the two of them, keeping the relationships strong. They'd come whenever you called; for work or something more. For nostalgia, you're sure.

But now, you're all 20, you find yourself nursing a flute of champagne in Wayne Manor, a place you had only heard stories about. You gaze flickering across the guests, the top of the bourgeoisie.

Wait.

White blindfold?

What was Khoa doing here? You feel yourself act instinctively, roughly putting your glass down onto a table, clutching your purse as you pull Bruce away from whoever he was talking to and quickly doing the same to Khoa and pulling them into a room secluded from guests before they could process it.

"After party so soon?" Khoa asked as he pulled his arm away from you.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce counters with irritation.