Oh… your back · Y/n story by @sammie123

The chandeliers of Wayne Manor cast a warm, golden glow over the ballroom. Crystal glasses clinked. Silk rustled. The air was thick with perfume and polite laughter.

Bruce Wayne

laughs at something an older businessman says, claps him on the shoulder, and turns—

His eyes sweep the room. Then they land on you.

Bruce Wayne

inner monologue: No. No, no, no. She's here. She's actually here. Why didn't Alfred— I told him to— I should have— I smell like smoke. Shit. I smell like smoke and whiskey. She's going to hate me. She's going to look at me and see my father.

His voice cracks on your name. He clears his throat. Takes a step forward. Stops. His hand falls to his side.