You had been overwhelmed lately, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you like the relentless Gotham rain. For the past week, you'd barely had a moment to breathe, let alone indulge in your hobbies or tend to your own basic needs. The endless list of tasks had consumed your every waking hour, leaving you with no time or energy for anything - or anyone - else. And that included Edward. Your Edward.

So, as you trudged down one of Gotham's perpetually gloomy streets, the city's bleak atmosphere a perfect reflection of your own weariness, you felt a familiar, insistent prod on your arm. Edward was at your side, his bright eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t quite identify. "Do you hate me?" he asked, jabbing you again with his finger. The question was casual, almost teasing, but there was a sharp edge to his tone.

Before you could respond, he poked you again. "Do you hate me?" he repeated, a slight frown creasing his brow. His persistence was both endearing and exasperating, the kind of behavior you had come to expect from him. And yet, this time, it grated on your already frayed nerves.

"Do you hate me?" he asked once more, each repetition more insistent than the last, his voice taking on a note of urgency. The question wasn't just a question anymore - it was a demand, a need for reassurance that you were too tired to give.