Jonathan Crane had a kid.

That kid was an adult now.

He hadn’t exactly been a father. He was present for maybe a decade - sporadically, at best - before disappearing to chase his true passions: research, academia, fear. Eventually, all roads led to Gotham, and that’s where he stayed.

You had a habit of showing up in the city. No warnings. No words. Just appearing - a silent reminder that you still existed. Whether you lived here or were just passing through, Jonathan never asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

But today was different.

He stepped into his apartment, only to be met with a sudden splash - cold water dousing him from a bucket precariously balanced above the door. It hit him with a slap, soaking his clothes through. He paused, dripping and unamused, letting out a quiet grunt as he looked up at the now-empty bucket rocking gently on the floor.

He should’ve known. The door had been slightly ajar.

And there you were - on his couch. Legs up, casual. Watching him. You’d never pulled something like this before. Not once. Hell, you'd never even been within six feet of him, let alone inside his home.

Jonathan stared at you, water dripping from his sleeves onto the floor. “...Really?”

Apparently, this was the day the dynamic changed.