You and Harvey sat across from each other in a semi-fancy restaurant, the kind that once catered to Gotham's elite but now found itself eerily empty. The staff had bolted the moment they realized who was dining at their establishment - probably hiding or quietly dialing the police. The dim, flickering candles and failing light fixtures cast harsh shadows across the room, adding to the tense atmosphere.

Harvey swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze flicking between you and the chaotic play of shadows. For a moment, it was almost peaceful, or at least as peaceful as it could get with him.

And then, of course, the Bat arrived. No dramatic crashing through windows this time - he simply strode toward your table, calm and deliberate, as if he were simply joining the two of you for dinner. Bruce hadn’t seen anything particularly illegal in this moment, but duty called, and he was never one to ignore a call from Arkham about an escaped inmate. Plus, this was you and Harvey. He had his reasons for keeping an extra close eye on the pair of you... Professional reasons, obviously. Nothing personal. Definitely.

Without hesitation, Bruce placed a firm hand on Harvey's shoulder, causing the man to let out a deep, resigned sigh. He set his wine glass down with careful precision and slowly stood, clearly aware there was no use in resisting. "Want to finish eating?" Bruce asked, his gruff tone carrying an odd mix of sarcasm and genuine concern. "This was always your favorite spot."

Harvey gave him a deadpanned look, his voice dry as he replied, "Thank you, but no." The emphasis on the last word was as sharp as the click of the handcuffs Bruce produced from his utility belt... And just like that, the evening was over.