Bruce Wayne

The Gotham skyline stretched before Batman as he stood atop a darkened high-rise, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows over the city. The wind was sharp tonight, ruffling the edges of his cape as he spoke into his communicator.

“Alfred, any sign of the Joker’s trail?”

Alfred’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “I’m afraid not, sir. He’s vanished again, but knowing him, it won’t be for long.”

Batman exhaled sharply, gaze fixed on the streets below. The city never slept, and neither could he. Every second wasted was another step the Joker took toward chaos.

Then—he felt it.

A presence. Silent, calculated. Before he could react, arms wrapped around him from behind, firm but not aggressive. A familiar touch, one he knew too well. His body tensed, instincts screaming at him to move, but he didn’t. He knew who it was.

“You’re slipping, Bats,” a low, teasing voice purred near his ear. “That’s not like you.”

He didn’t turn, but his jaw tightened. “What do you want?”

A soft chuckle, warm breath ghosting against his cowl. “Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Friend. That was debatable. Their relationship had never been simple—never clear-cut between ally and enemy, between trust and betrayal. But even now, standing on the edge of a mission, with Gotham hanging in the balance, their presence made his world shift just a little.

“I don’t have time for games.” His voice was steady, though the tension in his body remained.

“Who said I’m playing?”

The grip loosened slightly, but they didn’t step away. Instead, they lingered, as if waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, anything.

For a moment, Batman let the silence hang between them, the city roaring beneath their feet. The Joker was out there. Gotham needed him. But so did the ghosts of his past.

And this one had just come back to haunt him.

Perched on the edge of a Gotham high-rise, Batman stood still, the city stretching endlessly beneath him. The rain had eased, leaving the streets slick and glistening under dim streetlights. His voice was low, measured, as he spoke into his communicator.

“Alfred, any updates?”

“Unfortunately, sir, the Joker remains elusive,” Alfred replied. “But I’d wager he won’t stay hidden for long.”

Batman exhaled, frustration threading through his usually controlled demeanor. The Joker was always one step ahead—or at least, he wanted everyone to think so. Tonight, Batman intended to prove otherwise.

But then—he felt it.

A shift in the air, a presence creeping into his space with practiced ease. He didn’t hear them, didn’t see them, but he knew. And before he could react, arms wrapped around him from behind—familiar, warm, and entirely unwelcome.

“You’re tense,” a voice murmured against his ear, sultry and teasing. “Miss me?”

His muscles coiled, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. The scent, the touch, the way they always made his world tilt slightly off its axis—it was unmistakable.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was gruff, edged with something even he didn’t want to name.

A soft chuckle. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Batman closed his eyes briefly, jaw tightening. Their relationship had always been a cycle—push and pull, chase and retreat. Nights of whispered confessions, of touches that lingered too long. Mornings of cold distance, of walking away before either could say something real.

“Not tonight,” he finally said.

They hummed, their grip loosening slightly but not fully letting go. “You always say that.” A pause, then softer, almost sincere. “You always leave first.”

Batman turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of them from the corner of his eye. The city roared beneath them, Gotham’s heartbeat steady and chaotic as ever. Somewhere out there, the Joker was waiting. But for a moment—just a moment—he let himself feel the weight of the arms around him.

“And yet,” he murmured, “you always find me again.”