【 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊 】

tim drake winces at the clatter of ceramic against wood. he reaches over, swiftly snatching the invitation from damian.

"fancy," he murmurs, gliding his fingertips across the weighted paper. he types the name written next to yours into the search bar of his laptop.

"marriage is supposed to be about love and partnership," dick laments, "in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part!"

"they almost put me in one, too," jason comments, "but then i came to gotham."

"how far did you get?" damian asks.

"just past the introduction period, maybe two of twenty rounds."

"does nobody believe in love anymore?" dick groans.

"hey, your ex's new partner is real shitty," tim chimes in, scanning the bullet points from his preliminary search. "linked to organized crime, embezzlement, murder...and two previous marriages that ended due to financial abuse."

suddenly, dick pushes back from the table, his chair screeching against the floor.

"we have to help your ex," he declares with much certainty.

"not my ex," damian corrects sharply. "it was a political arrangement."

jason pumps his fist in the air.

"hell yeah, count me in! i've always wanted to crash a wedding!"

damian turns to his father, eyes pleading for an out to this ridiculous suggestion. dread courses through his veins when the thoughtful expression on bruce's face passes.

"when is the wedding?"

"tomorrow," tim replies.

bruce nods.

"we'll leave as soon as we finish patrol tonight."

"i will expedite the preparation of your formal attire," alfred states.

damian pinches the bridge of his nose, pondering how on earth did matters escalate from a quiet breakfast to orchestrating a plan to crash a wedding? he reaches for the only logical argument he has left.

"the invitation is addressed to damian wayne, not damian wayne plus four guests!"

but it falls on deaf ears as the conversation dissolves into flight times, departure schedules, and color coordination. damian sighs as dick throws his arms in the air, bickering with jason over who gets to wear grey and who gets to wear black.

he tunes them out as discussions of tie colors and pocket squares spiral around him, his thoughts circling back to the invitation sitting on the table. the image of your name written beside another's stirs something uncomfortable in his chest. the engagement had belonged to a previous version of himself, one dictated by the league. though he's left that life behind, he never considered that someone else might step into the future he abandoned. once upon a time, it was supposed to be his name beside yours on the invitation, not his name solitary on the front of the envelope.

~

damian tugs on the collar of his dress shirt, a crease forming between his brows. if someone told him yesterday morning that he'd be halfway across the world aboard the batwing alongside his father, grayson, todd, and drake, he would've accepted it without question. if they added that they were on their way to crash a wedding in three-piece suits proudly prepared by alfred, however, he would have narrowed his eyes and informed them they're sorely mistaken. unfortunately, both scenarios have somehow become reality.

"this is entirely unnecessary," he grumbles.

tim turns to him with a smug look on his face.

"then why did you shove me to get in first?"

"i did not."

"you did though?" jason prods. "we all saw it?"

"your eyesight is deteriorating with age."

"for a private ceremony," bruce notes, eyes skimming the ground below, "the venue is strangely open."

jason squints out the window.

"not a sniper in sight, either."

"...convenient," dick mutters.

"intentional, maybe?" tim suggests.

you tilt your head toward the sky to watch the batwing initiating its descent. it casts a looming shadow across the enormous stretch of land with perfectly manicured-grass, colorful flowerbeds, and not a singular obstacle to prevent them from an easy landing. your lips curl up into a smile.

"right on time."

though it's been years since you last met, it takes damian mere seconds to find you amongst the crowd. you're older now, both of you are, yet for a fleeting moment, the wedding venue blurs with the memory of a different ceremony—one where you both stood stiffly side-by-side beneath the watchful eyes of the league to officiate the engagement. back then, a future where damian is your spouse was a certainty. now, he's to watch someone else take his place.

adrenaline rushes through his body. he's moving without thinking, ripping off his seatbelt and shoving todd and drake aside to get out.

"watch it!" jason yelps.

"the batwing is still moving, damian," bruce warns.

he ignores them completely, stepping onto the ledge before the batwing has touched down.

"damian—"

he leaps anyway, landing hard in the grass. gusts of wind tear through his hair and suit jacket, rendering alfred's careful styling and ironing to complete ruin.

"STOP THE WEDDING!"

everyone turns to look, expressions ranging from shock to horror, but damian keeps his gaze on you standing by the altar...alone.

alone?

he looks around the venue, at the bouquet in your hand, the chairs, the guests, and the officiant holding an open book.

behind him, bruce, tim, dick, and jason catch up, each taking in the scene before them. it has everything a wedding should have except for—

"where is your betrothed?" damian demands.

"he's just arrived," you smile, staring straight at him.

"what...?"

in the front row, he spots duke thomas, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, and his mother?? duke offers an enthusiastic wave. steph is blatantly biting back a fit of laughter. cass has her phone raised high for babs to see through a video call.

talia al ghul looks her son over once. twice.

he immediately straightens his posture. her eyes linger on the crooked tie hanging slightly askew around his collar, the singular crease on his shirt, and the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead.

sufficient...barely.

then her eyes shift to bruce. his expression tightens slightly as she arches a singular brow. she says nothing. she doesn't need to. bruce looks away first.

"you intentionally arranged this!" damian accuses, pointing a finger in your direction.

"you would never come to our wedding willingly, so i had to come up with something," you muse.

damian turns to find his father, grayson, todd, and drake are no longer standing behind him. instead, they're making their way toward a row of reserved seats, each marked with personalized name cards. todd is openly laughing now, hollering that damian just got played. grayson isn't doing much better based on the way he slaps a hand over his mouth. drake looks seconds away from joining in on their antics. meanwhile, father is trying to get them to settle down, but his efforts are futile.

"i was about to crash my own wedding...!"

"can't really crash it if it's yours, can you?" you point out, extending your hand toward him. "come on, i spent a long time on these vows."

a/n: my take on an arranged marriage trope with damian but make it crack lol hope you enjoyed!!

batman folds his arms across his chest.

"it's late."

"i know..."

"you should be in bed."

"i know..."

"where it's safe."

behind him, robin rolls his eyes under his domino mask. he's had this exact conversation with bruce more times than he can count. admittedly, it's nice not being lectured for once.

"but..." you pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. "my parents are still fighting."

batman freezes and robin nervously glances at him. beneath the cowl, he can almost hear bruce thinking. dick looks back at you, your eyes have already drifted toward gotham's skyline again, another gust of wind prickles at your skin and flutters his cape. bruce paused patrol expecting to spend no more than a minute convincing this stubborn kid to head back inside. instead, he found a child in search of peace and quiet on the rooftop. his gaze flickers to your legs dangling precariously over the edge. that, however, is still a problem. wordlessly, batman reaches for one of the pouches on his utility belt. dick's eyes light up—that's the candy pouch.

"can i sit here?"

before you can answer, robin plops down beside you with the confidence of someone who clearly wasn't waiting for permission.

"you're already sitting," you deadpan.

"and you're too close to the edge," robin replies matter-of-factly. "dangerous."

"you backflip off buildings every night!"

"that's different!"

"you're, like, the same age as me!"

"do you want candy or not?"

two orange candies swirled with white rest in the palm of his hand. you stare at the candy, then back at him, then at the candy again. robin does little to fight the coy smile on his face. he knows the offer is tempting—bribing with candy almost always works, but some light pressure pushes it to foolproof.

"going once...!"

his smile grows wider. he can practically feel your resolve crumbling.

"going twice...!"

with a tiny huff, you scoot closer to him. robin beams like he's just closed the biggest sale of his life. out of the corner of his eye, he catches batman's almost imperceptible nod.

"i'm robin."

you carefully take the candy from his hand, fingers brushing against the fabric of his gloves.

"...i know."

~

soon, candy breaks on the rooftop become routine. when the arguments and accusations seep through the thin walls, you quietly slip out the door and take the stairs to the rooftop. not long after, robin appears with a grin and two pieces of candy, batman standing stoically in the shadows a few feet away. you're not sure if friend is the right word, but regardless, you've formed some sort of bond with robin. although you wonder who he is under the domino mask—and why he feels the need to dive off buildings—on the rooftop, he's not robin. he's just another kid who shares his candy with you.

~

"why is it always orange creamsicle?" you groan.

robin shrugs, already unwrapping his piece.

"dunno, it's what batman carries."

"why not strawberry or something?"

"oh, so you don't want candy anymore?"

"i never said that!"

~

"guess who i met yesterday!"

"wh—"

"superman!"

"you didn't even let me guess!"

~

"doesn't it look pretty from up here?"

you tilt your head.

"what does?"

robin gestures toward the skyline.

"gotham."

a small smile tugs at your lips.

"yeah, it kinda does."

~

one particular night, however, robin senses something is off. the moment he lands on the rooftop and bounds up to you with his usual offering, he knows. you take a second too long to accept the candy, you refuse to meet his eyes, and you're not smiling. by the time he settles beside you, his heart is thrumming in his chest.

"i have to tell you something."

he turns toward you.

"my parents are getting divorced," you confess. "my mom and i are moving next week."

"that's okay!" robin blurts. "we can always meet on a different rooftop."

"no, i mean...we're moving far away from gotham."

"oh."

suddenly, the taste of orange creamsicle on his tongue changes—it's different tonight, it's too sweet.

~

you pry your eyes away from the gotham skyline at the sound of grappling hooks and fluttering capes. robin bounds up to you, flashing a toothy grin. he's extra chatty today, long rambles filling the silence for both of you as you pop the candy into your mouth.

"are you all packed?"

"almost."

"do they have rooftops there?"

"probably."

"cool! that means you can still have candy up there!"

you don't answer right away. robin scratches the back of his neck.

"actually," he winces, "nevermind, that's kinda dangerous."

the conversation fizzles out, leaving only the distant hum of traffic below. gotham stretches endlessly before you, just as it always has. somehow, it already feels farther away.

"robin."

on the edge of the building, batman shifts his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for him to follow. time's up. your throat suddenly feels too tight. you blink a little harder than usual, the city lights blurring. robin stands, takes a few steps backwards, but he stops.

"...wait."

you watch him curiously while he awkwardly fishes around under his cape. he procures a small plastic bag filled to the brim with the familiar orange creamsicle candies tied neatly with a red bow.

"that's a lot of candy," you note.

but you're not looking at the bag. you're looking at robin.

"yeah, well...batman bought too much."

"thanks, batman!" you call to the shadows, gently taking the bag and clutching it close to your chest.

bruce furrows his brows. that's a lie—dick dragged him to the candy store to buy it with his own allowance.

"...what about you?" you ask.

"what do you mean?"

"who's going to eat candy with you on the rooftop now?"

dick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. he didn’t consider that part, never let himself think that far. his face falters for a second.

"i'll figure something out."

he’s smiling, again, and you can do nothing except offer a weak one back.

~

aimlessly wandering the gotham streets under grey skies, a colorful storefront catches dick grayson's eye. without much thought, he ducks inside the candy shop. his eyes skim the fudge in the display case, the workers in striped aprons making new batches, and the small children tugging on their parents' sleeves. he walks past all of them, softly whistling to himself as he searches for the familiar orange candies. he circles the shop a few times before finding them tucked away in the corner.

"an old gotham classic," the man at the register declares when dick places two bags of it on the counter.

"yeah, loved these as a kid."

"they've been around for a while," the man continues, manually typing the price into the old machine. "we're switchin' em out for a different orange-flavored hard candy."

dick pauses. he hesitates to hand his card.

"like, discontinuing them?"

"yeah, this is our last batch. good thing you got some 'fore they're gone."

the plastic bag swings gently at his side as he waits for the crosswalk. a lot of things have changed—a cape no longer brushes at the back of his legs, alfred doesn't wait with cocoa after patrol anymore, and bruce... dick shoves the thought aside before the light changes. a few drops of rain land on his forehead. he pulls his hood up. he didn't account for the weather today.

hours later, nightwing makes his usual rounds. it's still drizzling and the autumn air seeps through the elastic of his suit, biting at his skin. he peers down into the dark alleys, inside dilapidated warehouses, the usual places he'd expect to find trouble. tonight, there's nothing. gotham seems quiet.

like clockwork, he finds himself perched on a rooftop three buildings over from a certain apartment building. he knows that little kid he used to share his candy with is grown up, probably halfway across the country, maybe farther. still, he finds himself here every night. he lands on the concrete and sits down by the railing, the same place he'd sit all those years ago. for a few minutes, dick takes in the tall buildings, the empty sidewalks below, the trees swaying in the wind. he glances at the singular piece of candy in his hand. it's strange...it feels too light. he lets it melt on his tongue, face scrunching at the taste. was it always this sweet? he wonders if strawberry would be any better. he stands, the taste of citrus and cream lingering as he swings to the next building.

~

the rooftop looks the same, but it feels different as you cross to the ledge. you're not small enough to stick your legs through the railing and dangle them over the edge. so instead, you stay standing, gripping the metal bars as you look out at the city you once called home. the few pedestrians on the street don't look like ants anymore, and the yellow taxis driving by are just cars to you. you remember the world seemed so much bigger up here, but presently, it's all still gotham.

"mind if i join you?"

you nearly give yourself whiplash from how fast you turn around. before you can reply, nightwing steps up beside you anyway, resting his forearms against the railing.

"you know," you comment, "most people wait for an answer."

"i've been told," he grins.

in the light, you can make out the electric blue symbol emblazoned on his chest that travels across his shoulders, down his arms and to his hands. a domino mask conceals the upper half of his face.

"first time back?"

"is it that obvious?"

"you keep lookin' around like you forgot where everything went," he chuckles.

"well," you point to a building off in the distance, "that wasn't there before." you point to the one next to it. "and that used to be an office building, not an apartment complex."

nightwing shrugs.

"gotham's been through a lot."

the conversation feels surprisingly natural even though you just met.

"college, huh? what're you studying?"

you tell him.

"sounds hard."

"it is," you sigh.

"you'll figure it out."

eventually, a comfortable silence settles between you. nightwing absentmindedly reaches for something—two orange candies swirled with white. he unwraps one. then, almost without thinking, he holds the other one out to you.

"i haven't had these in years!" you exclaim.

nightwing hums as you accept it, fingers brushing against the fabric of his suit.

"hope you don't mind it's not strawberry."

"orange creamsicle is fine, i used to have these all the time with..."

the words die on your tongue. it's all too familiar—orange creamsicle, rooftops, a boy in green, red, and yellow who always shared his candy with you.

you stare at the candy, then back at him, then at the candy again. he's already smiling.

"outgrew the cape?" you tease.

"it was getting in the way."

a/n: hope you enjoyed :) will be continuing the diner series soon, i was just sitting on this idea way longer lol

the narrow, twisting trail finally opens into a familiar clearing. curved hills blanketed in wildflowers sway gently beneath the moonlight, pale white petals shimmering against the sea of dark grass. your eyes dart frantically across the landscape from the tree line to the jagged rocks to the distant ridge, but there’s no sign of him.

he had brought you here once before, under a sunset that melted into warm shades of orange and gold. back then, he had been there beside you, his face softened by the last rays of sun. now, on this dark night, it feels different. the valley is quiet, empty. it’s beautiful and yet so lonely. another gust of wind causes you to wrap your arms around yourself. the tears you’ve been blinking away are impossible to ignore, your chest tightening with every passing second.

this can’t be how it ends. there’s no way he’s gone, no way he’s bound to become another memory, another almost, another what-if. from the very first moment your eyes met, you’d already made your choice.

a distant howl shatters the silence. your head snaps toward the sound as a massive wolf bursts through the shadows of the trees, moving with impossible speed as he races across the clearing. before you can react, he tumbles onto you. the impact sends you backward into the soft grass. in the blink of an eye, the wolf is gone and valko is there before you. he pins you beneath him, arms braced on either side of you as he buries his face against the curve of your neck, drawing in a shaky breath.

“what are you doing here?” he murmurs, voice barely louder than the wind. “it’s dangerous.”

“i came to find you.” 

your own voice breaks. you clutch the back of his shirt, pulling him closer with trembling hands, terrified that if you loosen your grip, he’ll disappear just as suddenly as he had before.

“don’t leave me again, valko.”

for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. instead, he slowly lifts his head. moonlight catches the amber of his eyes. they’re filled with a quiet, unbearable ache. the longing, the grief, the resignation—all of it lingers in his gaze, hidden beneath the gentleness he always reserves for you. his arms tighten around you, almost imperceptibly.

“i’ll stay with you until the end.”

a/n: sorry if this is dramatic or just plain shit, i wrote this out of pure grief over valko's cancellation lol oh and this is my first ever lads fic, this was not planned pfff

brian places the takeout bag in the kitchen window while you fill a styrofoam cup. as you secure the lid, the bell chimes, and jason steps inside the diner.

"order for JT?" you ask, holding out the bag and drink before he can open his mouth.

"'preciate it, have a good one."

with a short, singular nod, he turns to leave. you pretend to resume working. you wipe down at an invisible spot on the counter, and brian scrapes at the grill even though there's nothing on it. the door shuts behind him, but you know better than to blow your cover so soon. when he's a safe distance away, the diner erupts into motion. brian drops the the bench scraper, bolting out of the kitchen with a timer in hand. you toss the cloth aside and lunge for the corkboard to rip down the record sheet.

"twenty bucks on eight and a half minutes," brian says, already fishing out a crumpled bill from his pocket and dropping it onto the table.

"twenty on eight minutes flat."

"you think he's beatin' his record? he's been slowin' down lately."

"i'm feeling lucky today."

he squints at you.

"he clocked in at nine minutes and twenty-two seconds last week."

you shrug.

"a temporary setback."

you assume your positions at the window, pressing your faces as close to the glass as possible. outside, jason assumes his usual starting position, leaning against his bike like an athlete preparing for a race. he carefully opens the takeout bag, starting with the burger first as always. brian's finger hovers over the timer. when jason unwraps it and the burger inches closer to his mouth, brian slams the timer—JT's 14th speedrun officially commences.

the burger disappears with terrifying efficiency. one bite. two. three.

"oh my god," you whisper.

four. five. gone. in two minutes and twelve seconds.

he doesn't even stop to breathe before moving onto the fries, shoving handful after handful into his mouth.

"is this greed or gluttony?" you wince.

"neither, kid's just a fast eater."

shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the event at hand. after making quick work of the fries, he's reached the final stage—the drink. unlike with the burger and fries, you can't physically see how much progress he's making at this part, so you need to watch closely to know when to call time. the drink is where he loses precious seconds. he always takes breaks between long sips, letting the carbonation settle in his system before he continues. he can take anywhere from 1-2 minutes on this, and right now, it can make or break his current record of eight minutes and four seconds.

"time!" you declare as JT takes his last sip.

"SEVEN MINUTES AND FIFTY-SEVEN SECONDS!" brian yells, toppling the timer over as he goes in for a high-five.

"NEW RECORD?"

"HE DID IT, THAT FUCKIN' ANIMAL!"

the other customers are staring. one elderly man has stopped chewing entirely. from behind the counter, your coworker, cindy, shakes her head, deeply disappointed in both of you, but you don't care. this is something worth celebrating.

you both cheer and pump your fists in the air like jason just won a world championship. it was never about the twenty dollars or the bragging rights. it was about the privilege—the honor—of witnessing history unfold in the parking lot of the 24 diner, about seeing a young man push the limits of what the human body is capable of.

fueled and satisfied in time for patrol, jason stuffs the empty wrappers and cup into the bag and saunters toward the trash, tossing it like he didn't just inhale 2,000 calories in under 10 minutes. through the window, he sees you and brian jumping for joy and hugging each other.

caught up in the celebrations, you and brian fail to notice jason rapidly approaching the doors. you don't realize he's there until the bell chimes again and he's standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. his gaze flickers between you, brian, the stopwatch, and the paper. you stop, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

"are you guys timing me eat?"

"they have been for the past two months," cindy tattles from behind the counter.

you squeeze your eyes shut, already wondering how you're going to explain this to your boss.

"...what was my time today?"

"a little under eight minutes," you quickly answer, "new record."

much to your surprise, he nods.

"hell yeah! lemme see the sheet."

~

hours later, bruce wayne enters the 24 diner, shrugging his coat off as he takes his usual seat at the end of the counter. his eyes catch the paper pinned to the corkboard behind you.

"what's that?"

you whirl around to follow his gaze and brighten immediately.

"so there's this guy, JT," you explain, "always gets combo #2 to-go and inhales it in the parking lot in, like, under 10 minutes. brian and i have been timing him."

"set a new record today!" brian calls from the kitchen.

"one cheeseburger, an order of fries, and a drink downed in seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds!" you add proudly.

you pull it off the board and slide it across the counter. bruce glances at it. then he does a double take. fourteen separate occasions scattered over the past two months, the most recent being earlier this evening...right before patrol started. there are dates, times, and messy stars drawn next to the top 3. bruce closes his eyes.

of course it's jason. of course his child has a competitive eating record at the local diner. of course his pre-patrol ritual consists of consuming a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink in less than 10 minutes.

"you know him?" you ask.

"...that's my son."

the diner stills. your pen clatters onto the counter. brian slowly looks up, horrified.

"combo #2 speedrunner is a nepobaby???"

a/n: he's a 10 but he inhales 2,000 calories in less than 10 minutes :/ ...biblical greed...

"the fuck does 'XXX fry' mean?"

the line cook squints at your handwriting on the order note.

"extra extra extra crispy fries," you clarify, eyes still on the tv.

"so...burnt?"

"just do it, brian," you sigh. "they already chewed me out for not automatically bringing lemon with their water."

"hope ya spit in it."

"i thought about it," you grin. "speaking of, i'm gonna go water my tables."

you pass by your coworker, cindy, humming to herself. she sticks a new order into the window. brian groans, muttering something along the lines of he doesn't get paid enough for this shit. with a metal pitcher in hand, you weave between booths, quietly reaching over for refills, ice cubes clinking against the glass cups. some people smile and nod, some mumble thank you's, others ignore you altogether.

not many sit-down places are open past 10pm which means the 24 diner attracts just about everyone. behind a booth of teenagers splitting fries, three tipsy girls giggle over plates of breakfast combos. in the corner, a man and woman sit across from each other in silence, nursing mugs of coffee that went cold about twenty minutes ago. you haven't checked on the couple in a bit, but you get a feeling they don't want to be bothered...

the bell above the door chimes and you glance up out of habit. relief washes over you, your lips curling into a smile as bruce wayne steps through the doorway. the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his forearms, his tie nowhere to be seen. he looks exhausted—more than usual—but otherwise, entirely unharmed, as if he never vanished. by the time you reach him, he's already settled into his usual spot.

"you know," you remark, "most people call when they're going to disappear for two weeks."

"i wasn't aware i had someone waiting on my return."

you try to ignore the blush creeping up your neck, turning away to grab a mug.

"i was getting worried," you quietly admit.

bruce pauses. he can't remember the last time someone said they missed him so plainly. not only did you notice his absence, but you also counted the days since he last came in. the realization is...disarming.

"the usual?"

"yes, please."

he wraps his hands around the mug, its warmth seeping into his palms. while he was busy with patrol, meetings, and galas, two weeks passed in the blink of an eye. yet the small gotham diner remains unchanged. it still smells of old vinyl and maple syrup, and the overhead lights cast a warm glow over the comfortable space. there are no camera flashes, no mics being shoved in his face, no reporters shouting ridiculous questions. here, in this corner of the city, he's not regarded as a gotham celebrity. rather, he's just a man having a quiet meal by himself. it's the reason he kept returning until the diner subconsciously became a part of his routine. even now, as a brief rush begins, nobody bats an eye at him occupying the stool closest to the door.

he tracks your path through the diner as the rush picks up. one minute you're behind the counter printing checks, the next you're balancing a tray full of food on your shoulder, and then you're back to grab menus for a new table. you're in constant motion, occupied with multiple tasks at once, yet you work with a practiced ease that can only come from experience. he recognizes the way your expression shifts with each customer. a warm smile here, a polite one there, and another that doesn't quite reach your eyes. the moment you turn away, though, it all slips from your face entirely. at some point, he'd learned the difference between your genuine smiles and the ones offered out of obligation.

soon, the rush slows down. the printer stops spitting out checks and the constant movement around him dwindles. you lean against the counter across from him, letting out a sigh of relief and asking how he's been. as always, the conversation settles into familiar territory. the topics are never particularly important. you don't ask about wayne enterprises or the latest tabloid speculating about his love life. instead, you tell him about the customer who tried to order an eggless omelette, or ask if he's seen the movie that came out last weekend. it's nothing too shallow or too deep, yet somehow pleasantly memorable all the same.

despite his prolonged absence, the diner is still here—there had never been any doubt he'd return. something settles in his chest, warm and unexpected, but he doesn't dare name it as you set down a plate in front of him and top off his coffee with that same easy smile. he knows this one reaches your eyes.

eventually, bruce reaches for his wallet.

"leaving already?"

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

"i do have an early meeting tomorrow."

"right, rich people stuff," you tease, gathering the empty plates he's stacked for you.

"something like that."

you hand him the to-go box containing the slice of pie you saved earlier, but instead of bidding him good night and walking away, you linger. he looks up at you curiously, dark brows knitting together. before you can talk yourself out of it—like you do every other time the idea crosses your mind—you rip a blank page from your server book and hastily scribble on it. folding it once, you slide it toward him. bruce glances down at the slip of paper. he turns it over. a phone number.

"i figured if you're going to disappear for another two weeks, we should at least have a way to check in on each other."

for a moment, neither of you says anything and your thoughts scatter in every direction. maybe this was a bad idea. maybe you've completely overstepped. maybe he'll stop coming in altogether. then, a hint of something flickers across his face, but it's gone before you can make sense of it. he slips it into his pocket.

"i think that's a good idea."

a/n: i meant to post this on father's day but life kicked my ass... anyways, here's pt 1 to this new series! as always, thanks for reading & hope you enjoyed <3