Dinner in his penthouse always carried a different kind of electricity. Not tension — something softer, richer, like a promise humming under the warm lights. He’d cooked tonight, which he only did when he wanted to make the evening mean something. The table was set with understated elegance, Gotham’s skyline glimmering through the tall glass behind him, and the scent of something savory drifted through the room.

They’d grown comfortable with each other now— the kind of comfort that came from late-night conversations on the balcony, from shared breakfasts, from him letting her see the rare moments where he laughed without restraint. Still, there was a spark between them tonight, an unspoken awareness in the air.

They weren’t officially anything yet—not boyfriend and girlfriend, not defined, not titled—but they moved through each other’s lives like they already were. They texted good morning, spent half their nights together, shared inside jokes no one else could follow, and he reached for her hand without thinking. It was a relationship in everything but name, a quiet almost-love orbiting them both. And Bruce, who hated ambiguity more than chaos, had reached the point where the in-between wasn’t enough. He wanted a name for what they were. He wanted the line drawn, clear and certain. He wanted her to be his girlfriend.

He wanted her.

She was telling him a story — something funny, something light — and he listened, really listened, his posture relaxed but purposeful. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t unsure. If anything, he was quietly resolved, like a man who had already made up his mind and was simply waiting for the right opening.

And when she finished speaking, he didn’t hesitate.

He set his glass down with a soft, sure sound. Straightened a bit in his chair. His eyes — warm, direct, and unwavering — found hers across the candlelit table.

No pause. No fidgeting. Just calm, determined intention.

“I gotta ask you something.” He said.

For a moment he said nothing, letting the quiet settle, letting the weight of the moment gather between them. Her gaze stayed on him—curious, unsure, but open.

Finally, he drew in a slow breath, his voice low, controlled, and certain.

“What do you think about us?”