Click, click. Flashing lights, no matter where you looked.

He knew you hated these galas. They were usually fundraisers or something alike; meant for good. But lord, did you hate them.

Bright flashes and clicking of cameras everywhere you looked, and multiple journalists drooling for any kind of content to get on the newspaper. Whether it was Bruce's thoughts on the latest Joker drama (for whatever reason) or something related to his personal life, he couldn't escape the questionnaire. It was unbareable.

"Just smile." Bruce spoke through gritted teeth, lightly squeezing your hip. Don't speak unless he tells you to, that's what you knew.

You were more than just a publicity thing to him, but it was inevitable now. You had been seen with him once. One picture, and that's all it took for the Gotham Gazette to blow up with that same image. You're sure you haven't been able to step outside without being bombarded yet.

And still, even though he knows you hate the publicity and the social aspect of galas, he insists that you must go. Because if not, it's only going to be 50,000 other questions about 'the person in the picture.'

Bruce's arm remained around your waist, his grip a bit too tight for comfort. You didn't complain, though. So long as he stayed by your side, they wouldn't bother you much.