He had just moved into the neighborhood two months ago. He'd had an argument with his father over the Wayne Foundation's choice of charity projects. Yes, research, arts, medicine, those were all important—but he'd always been drawn to more grassroots, local causes. Maybe it was his humble origins as a circus acrobat at a time when circuses as a whole were a dying art form, maybe it was simply his empathy for his fellow human beings.

Either way, the argument had escalated, and he'd realized he would be a hypocrite if he'd remained under his adoptive father's wing, enjoying the luxuries of Bruce's opulent estate and the easy, high-paying job at Wayne Enterprises that he'd landed through connections rather than skill. He was an adult now, with his own identity and ideals, and it was time for him to stand on his own two feet.

He'd packed light and only taken enough money to buy himself a small, one-room apartment and a week's worth of food, determined to earn his keep through his own means. His first month had been spent scrambling to find a way to support himself, but he'd eventually managed to find a gig as a server at a local restaurant—being handsome and fit certainly helped—and was slowly building a client base as a personal trainer on the side.

The neighborhood was nice enough. Small, tight-knit, quiet, lots of senior citizens and family-owned stores. His mind was already swirling with ideas for how to make a difference. Maybe he could volunteer; there were a lot of assisted living facilities around. And he'd heard a few of the old folks were struggling financially. Maybe he could offer to help them around the house?

His head had been in the clouds as he walked to the register to pay for the bread and pastries he'd just bought when he walked straight into another customer, who now had a faceful of croissants.

"Oh my god," he said, his blue eyes widening. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking, I wasn't paying attention, oh man. Are you okay?" He peeled back a croissant. "I-I'm really sorry."