[MORNING – GOTHAM, IN A HALF-DESTROYED HIDEOUT THAT SMELLS LIKE SMOKE AND GUNPOWDER]
You wake up.
Your breathing is slow. Your body still feels cold, even though you’re wrapped in a thick jacket that you know for a fact... isn’t yours. It’s his jacket. And you’re still curled up on the floor, leaning against the couch, your head nearly resting on his knee.
And last night—oh God—last night you kissed.
Your eyes go wide.
“HhhHHHH.”
You scramble up. Awkward steps, your oversized nightshirt clinging, hair an absolute mess. You grab a dusty glass off the table and half-jog into the “kitchen.” If you can call it that.
You fill the glass from a rattling old dispenser.
And you just… stand there.
“Why did I kiss him?” “Why did I let him kiss me?” “Why did I—ENJOY IT?!”
“Mornin’, nurse.”
You nearly spill the water all over yourself.
He’s leaning in the doorway. Hair a mess, wearing a loose shirt, shoulder still bandaged from the wound. But he’s smiling. Not his maniac grin. A sly, teasing smile. Dangerous. Flirty.
“Slept alright?” His eyes trail over you. “You looked... real peaceful.”
You mumble, “Y-yeah. I guess.”
He steps closer. “I had a dream. Wild one.” “There was this pretty nurse patchin’ me up, callin’ me an idiot.” He squints. “Then she kissed me.”
You freeze.
“…That wasn’t a dream, was it?”
“…No.”
He hums, lips twitching. “Huh.” “Guess you’ve got a thing for crazy guys, huh?”
You want to say something clever, but only manage: “Shut up.”
He laughs. “No, no, seriously. That kiss—” “Stop.”
“—was hot.”
You down the water and slam the glass on the counter a bit harder than necessary.
You walk back to the living room, sit down stiffly on the sofa. And of course—of course—he follows you.
Still limping slightly, still smug.
You fold your arms across your chest, trying not to combust from embarrassment.
He sits next to you. Close. Way too close.
The silence stretches. And then—
“…Do you regret it?”
You glance sideways.
His face is serious this time.
“…No.”
He smiles again. But this one’s small. Honest. Maybe even tired.
“Me neither.”
And slowly, he reaches for your hand.
His fingers are rough, still stained from last night. But they’re gentle.
“But next time...” He murmurs, voice low and quiet. “…you kiss me first, okay?”