#professor wayne

Bruce slammed the door to his penthouse closed. Threw his bag on the floor. Ran to the kitchen. Flooded his hands with ice cold water. Pressed frigid hands to the back of his scorching neck and drew the first heaving breath he’d allowed himself since. 

What the fuck?

He could still feel your hands all over him, running down his back like the drops of water warming against his skin. The hardness of the countertop mimicked the rigidity of the desk, and visions of you decorated his kitchen. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper; the sound of your moans—pitchy, full, insistent, wanting. He hung his head over the sink and tried to breathe through it. 

No longer was this ‘just a thought’ he could visualize floating away, this was an undeniable action; one he was evidently desperate for, since he hadn’t even checked if you were actually on birth control before finishing inside… fuck! Hadn’t fucking checked if someone was in the hall. Hadn’t asked about sexually transmitted infections, hadn’t even mentioned his (negative) status—which he checked strictly every three months whether or not he was sexually active. 

He didn’t want to believe something like this happened; he didn’t want to believe he’d done something like this. Working at the public university as a Wayne raised enough eyebrows, but there was always the guise of wanting to help and his family’s philanthropic history covering his ass.

Was his career all a ruse? To cover up his nefarious tendencies? Had this always been the drive behind it all; every night spent studying, every word of his dissertation only completed to get closer to his victims, getting to ogle at students from his safety of tenure? Had he actually desired to help people? Just a kind man helping the community? Or was he lulling them into a false sense of security so he could more aptly strike? 

Of course he was. He could silence anyone if word got out, too. Was that the real reason he kept so much of his family’s money? 

This nagging feeling of badness, it was there all along, right under his nose, and this was why. He knew he would show himself why one day. 

Bruce remembered things. He remembered the type of clothes everyone wore, if someone stepped outside of their comfort zone wearing something, how they did their hair, their makeup, oh, it was right fucking there the whole time. 

Vigilant. Monstrous. This feeling of being too imposing that he’d felt his entire life; the way he backed off from second dates, kept his boundaries firm and unyielding. If he let the leash off, his true self would emerge, like now. 

Horrible. Horrible. Horrible. Bad. Wrong. Disgusting. Abhorrent. Despicable. He couldn’t breathe. Disgusting. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible. Predator. Predator. Predator. Pervert. He dragged air in through tense wheezes. Creep. Creep. Creep. Creep. Pervert. Creep. Creep. Creep! 

Intrusive images of doing that to any student who asked an innocent question after class—

No.

Whether they wanted it or not—

NO! What the fuck?! Who thinks something like that?!

He was about to vomit. It was ratcheting up to something unbearable. He needed to turn himself in somehow; yeah, that would stop this feeling. Make it smaller. Telling someone. Telling anyone. This couldn’t sit on his chest. It squirmed, ached, screamed to escape; holding a secret like this was just as bad as doing the thing itself. 

He was a danger and a menace. People needed to know who he really was, have all the information; only then could he release himself—only after they knew their peer had been a piece of shit predator all along. The ethics professor, no less. What an obvious, pathetic front. 

His breathing slowed just enough to catch it as the dial tone rang. Marshall was by the book, no nonsense. Perfect person to confess to. He’d helped before. He’d been there.

“‘Yellow?” 

“Marshall, thank god, I need—I need to tell you something.”

“Bruce,”

“It just happened,” He gasped as he caught his breath, grateful this was about to be alleviated. His hand shook against the marble countertop, barely keeping him upright. “I need you to really hear me, alright? I’m not overreacting, I mean it,”

“You told me not to do this anymore.” There was a gentle warning in his tone; Bruce heard the tinge of exasperation, and he felt badly for it, but he needed help. He was the only one who could give him proper perspective on this. Same building, same hallway, similar teaching tracks and tenure. No one could truly understand—no one’s position was as unique as Bruce’s—but Marshall came as close as he could get. 

His pulse raced, gripping the phone so tightly he thought it might break. “This one’s different, this is, this is huge.”

The man sighed on the other end, and Bruce’s heart shot into his throat. “You say that every time.”

It wasn’t a lie; Bruce did this kind of thing often, usually only to Marshall, usually about bumping into/accidentally inconveniencing someone and if it had actually been on purpose (“you turned the corner on the sidewalk and they ran into you”), talking too much in meetings (“you rarely talk in them, Bruce”), whether or not his lectures were ‘unbiased’ enough (“you’ve synthesized more research than Google Scholar can host”), or a gross thought lingering (Bruce didn’t want to be reminded of the time he’d called the man in tears after smiling at a child on his walk to work and convinced himself he was a secret pedophile, despite all evidence to the contrary). 

These confessions had occurred enough times without any lasting relief that they’d had to have a conversation about it. ‘Not feeding into the cycle’ as his coworker would say. But this time was an exception, genuinely. This wasn’t weaving something out of nothing, it was an emergency. “I know but—Marshall, this one is different, this is, this is objectively bad, this—”

“Can you tell me tomorrow, then?”

He could hear him moving further from the phone. His stomach flipped over itself, words pressing behind his teeth like a set bow. “I have to tell you right now or I won’t have the guts.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Bruce.”

Shit. Shit! “No, Marshall, Marshall—”

The line beeped off. 

In a flurry, Bruce raced to his bathroom and turned the showerhead as hot as it could go. Images and sounds circled that wouldn’t let him breathe. He rushed to the cupboard and yanked out a trash bag, all but ripping off his clothes enroute to the bath. Only after stuffing all of them inside and tying a triple knot did he jump into the shower. The heat stung his tired muscles, temporarily deading the noise.

He scrubbed each inch of skin methodically, so thoroughly his skin burned. He couldn’t care. He didn’t give a shit. He felt sick. 

It could’ve been hours until he staggered out and threw a towel over his head; as if to punish him for feeling a second of normalcy, the single moment of darkness flashed the inside of your thigh behind his eyes, his mouth remembering the parting of your lips. Good god. 

This had to happen the single night he had a lecture the next morning? 

The rest of the evening Bruce filed the report to his supervisor, deliberating how detailed he should be. The night ahead brought no sleep, tossing and turning in bed, taking three different showers at three different temperatures to try to blast himself out of it. What would the administration say? Would he be fired? Maybe he could resign. He didn’t deserve to be teaching if he took advantage of students like this.

The memories of childhood therapy were buried in the recesses of his psyche but when things reached these peaks, fragments of them returned. He’d been told he had OCD, but that couldn’t be true. What good did it do thinking about it that way when the second he let his guard down he proved his guard right? 

Labeling it as such was just an excuse to rationalize how he really was. A way to make himself comfortable in his twisted mind, pretending it was all thoughts that could float off and away, never having to get to the bottom of them, never having to root them out, never having to face accountability. ‘OCD attaches to your values,’ his therapist said. ‘That’s why it’s so distressing.’

But he was bad. He always knew he was bad. Running from that feeling—that reality—only led him here. Struggling to sleep after filling out a form for sexual misconduct.

By four in the morning he forced his eyes shut to get a semblance of rest, excruciatingly aware of needing to be up in two hour’s time. Two hours would be a dream; all he wanted was at least fifteen minutes. 

His heart raced; he hadn’t intended to do anything with you but talk. He’d done everything he could to limit temptation. When you said you wanted him, that you’d fantasized about him; when you got up on his desk, brought up that fucking guilt like it was so ridiculous for him to carry, like the most holy thing in the world was slipping between your legs and abandoning all good sense.

And why was he talking like this, temptation? When he fully chose to participate? He agreed to meet without a third party. He walked to turn off the light. He pressed you up against his fucking whiteboard in his classroom… you hadn’t seduced him. His lids heavied, the mental exhaustion catching up as he worked himself further into a spiral.

‘Professor,’ you moaned, and it turned him on more than he wanted to admit. Taking care of a student, spreading her across his desk—he never realized it was so sturdy, and he’d never forget it.

So… fucking… puffy… each stroke was like velvet on his cock. Like you’d been waiting for this. Like he was made to fit you like a glove. That skirt fluttered against his thighs when he slid all the way in you, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. 

Third time this week. He needed to get better at lasting, but you were just… good god. Walking in with that fucking skirt, pulling it higher and higher each time until he could see your bare ass when you walked by. Such a tease.

Sucking on a lollipop in the front of the class, never breaking eye contact, rolling your tongue in a move of total ecstasy. How ballsy you were, joking about jerking off the professor when people asked why you needed to stay after class. The wink you gave him that students could read into. How you barely waited until the last one left before kissing your way down his neck with your bubblegum breath. 

You grabbed his jaw, pulling him closer, always deeper. You never got enough, rolling your hips into him with every slippery thrust. “So fucking good, fuck!” 

The hardening of your nipples in his mouth, the way you moaned when he swirled his tongue around its peak. How your back arched when he squeezed them, pinched them, and the guttural sound when he’d slide his hand down your stomach to your clit. 

His hips sped up, driving into you with reckless abandon when you looked at him with that furrowed brow, moaning ‘yes, yes, fuck, yes,’ with those fuck me eyes that drove him wild. Your pussy spoke to him, gushing over his thick cock diving into you again and again. Your texture was angelic, almost unreal; gripping him without apology, but plush, warm, and ridiculously giving. All the luxury in the world couldn’t compare to how you felt wrapped around him. 

He could tell you felt the same; he’d never felt someone’s skin get so hot, the shake and tremble in your thighs that always preceded your head falling back, and the noise that sounded like a groan, loud as a scream, that ping-ponged between his eardrums when you climaxed. Your hands clung to the edges of the desk, occasionally grabbing at his forearm with desperate little scratches. ‘Deeper,’ you moaned, as he felt your nails dig in. ‘Harder!’

‘Needy,’ he gasped, knowing damn well he was projecting. Every second he wasn’t inside you was replaying how it felt. Reminiscing on the picture of you lost in waves of pleasure. 

‘Fuuuck,’ 

‘Here after every class.’

‘I need it.’ 

‘Never satisfied.’

‘Never. Not ever.’

He loved that he could make you feel like this; make you forget about anything but how good it felt. Every time you called him by his title—and the expression of mischief and dilation of your pupils alongside it—made all the long nights studying worth it. Even if he hated teaching, he’d do it just to get to witness how you moved underneath him, how your body reacted just to being pressed against his desk. 

And holy fucking hell, the look on your face when he was about to cum. How your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper, and deeper, until he had no choice but to stay; no choice with your attention so drilled into him, pinning him above you; no choice when you felt this intoxicating. 

“Cum in me Professor, cum in your fucking student,”

Slim beams of sunlight filtered in through his blinds. The gentle whir of his heater made the curtains sway above the carpet. Breath fell in and out of him in buckets.

A cold sweat stuck to his skin, giving a physical sensation to the dream—it made him ill. Checking his phone at his bedside showed no response from his supervisor. He threw himself in the shower, scalding again, forcing the thoughts down. Fucking great.

Bruce popped a bagel in the toaster, ruminating thoughts of bad, wrong, horrible circling him like vultures as he buttoned his shirt; his fingers felt like yours. Goddammit. He longed to crawl out of his skin.

He slammed a glass of water, threw on his jacket, and grabbed his satchel, foregoing any breakfast. Fuck it. His stomach was a rock. 

He kept everything strictly the same, sans bagel, in futile hopes that he might be able to will away the thoughts if he just tried hard enough; kept things strict; kept things pushing. The same coffee shop by Wayne Tower. Same order. Same heat that burnt the tip of his tongue. Same route. Same acknowledgement by campus security. Same ring of his badge as he entered the building. He would set his coffee cup in the same spot, his folder in the same place. His keys held the same weight and jingle when he unlocked his classroom, holding his breath as he entered for the first time since—

“Professor Wayne! Hi! I’m taking your course today, and I had some questions about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” How had he forgotten the first day chorus of pre-lecture chatter and questioning? It reaffirmed his usual decision to arrive precisely on time for syllabus days. All of their questions were without exception answered by the class-wide discussion.

He used his hip to push the door open, half thankful and half terribly annoyed that a student would interrupt him at a time like this. He presumed he’d need a moment to acclimate to the classroom again, purge those images, but maybe having someone else there would distract?  

They followed him to his desk, his body threatening to collapse the closer he came to sitting at it. Thank god Henry was thorough in his cleaning, or he wouldn’t let himself touch the desktop out of fear of you appearing out of thin air. 

“What can I help you with?” He could barely look the student in the eyes, feeling abhorrent, disgusting, the desk sitting heavy on his chest and constricting his breathing like a malignant presence, though it was a good few inches from his seat and wasn’t even touching him.  

They set the syllabus on his desk, and he fought not to wince. Did he need to move his classes online? The walls were closing in on him, everything a reminder of his disgraceful immorality. How could he focus in this environment with his nervous system a live wire? 

“Professor Wayne? Are you listening?”

Don’t call me that! His heart pounded, and he instinctually reached for his phone to text Marshall; even holding it in his hand provided a crumb of release. He glanced at the phone to see the time, and an email from his supervisor popped into his notifications.

Time for the verdict.

“My apologies, I uh, I forgot I have to consult with a colleague this morning.”

“Alrighty. I’ll come by after class.”

“See you then.” The student promptly left the classroom, the click of the door welding itself to Bruce’s spine.

His hands trembled as his fate loaded. Fuck. Oh, fuck! 

Good morning Bruce,

I received your misconduct report. I appreciate you reaching out in such a timely manner after the event. After reviewing the provided details and the student’s previous course evaluation, I found no violations of the university’s code of ethics. Due to the individual involved not being a current student of yours at the time of the incident, nor you being in an ongoing supervisory role, the case has been closed.

The department appreciates your continued commitment to the safety and wellbeing of students here at Gotham University. 

Regards,

Chloe Aniceto

Surely it was a mistake. Did he not represent it properly? He was glad she had access to your eval, the first medium he’d presented you to report any misgivings or discomfort. Why didn’t she have a problem with this? 

The three hour lecture was nearly impossible to trudge through. He dropped the Expo markers almost every time he picked one up, misspelled basic vocab, and couldn’t remember a single name off the attendance sheet after introductions. As soon as the student, Naz, assured him her question had been answered during the lecture, he scrambled back to his penthouse to phone Marshall. 

Aniceto hadn’t had a problem? He’d agonized over how descriptive to be, and he’d been fairly detailed, he’d thought; it must’ve not been enough. Maybe hearing it straight from his mouth would help people understand the gravity of the situation.  

Marshall, don’t let the line ring out… 

“Bruce. Still wanting to talk about the thing from yesterday, or is that all cleared up?” He sounded far too casual for the circumstance, crunching on something that sounded like a bag of chips. Was he on vacation? 

Big breath. “I slept with a student.” 

The line went silent for a few seconds. The man cleared his throat on the other end.

“A student of yours?”

“Yes. Kind of. Previous student.” Already the conversation was grating him. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he paced the living room. “I was her mentor for 505.”

“This term?”

“Last term.” Everything came spilling out in one glob of words. “I realized I’d developed feelings around the time of the last class meeting, so I blocked her from registering for my courses, but she tried to be my assistant, and then showed up to lecture yesterday demanding answers for why she couldn’t TA, then I met with her after class, and told her why and… fuck.” His lip trembled as he put it all together, saying the sin out loud for the first time. “We uh, we had sex on my desk.” 

“Why’d you tell her your feelings?” 

Bruce catapulted to the moment he’d broken; how drained, sad, exhausted you looked begging to be clued in. “She said it was consuming to not know. That she couldn’t stop thinking about it, over and over, circling.”

“I see.” 

Once he knew how it was affecting you, he’d naively thought telling you would clear the mist and be more humane. That by knowing, definitely, relief could set in and your rumination and suffering could stop. Gifting something as profound as relief; how could he have denied you that? 

“So she wasn’t enrolled?”

He was still out of breath from having admitted it all, overthinking his explanation, confused as to why he wasn’t being screamed at and publicly shamed. Had the line cut out when he’d said it? “Marshall. I slept with my student.”

“Did she seem uncomfortable? Express any discomfort to you?”

“Not at all. I even offered her to report me for misconduct after I explained it, and she acted confused why that was even offered. But how could she tell me otherwise? With my name, my position,”

“Did you reach out to Aniceto?”

“Yes. She said it wasn’t reportable because I wasn’t in an assigned role above her when it happened, nor will I be.” 

Another beat of silence. Finally understanding, perhaps? About to drill into him like he deserved? 

“You did your due diligence.”

A fire bloomed in his chest, tendrils of flame slicing through the gaps of his ribcage. Marshall wasn’t getting it. What the hell was Bruce doing wrong? “It’s not right. It’s not right that it happened once, but what’s to stop it from happening with another student?”

“Has this happened before?”

“No.”

“Have other students expressed interest in you?”

That was a rhetorical question; the amount of times Bruce had mentioned in passing that another student had tried to flirt was astronomical. It was what started Bruce ruminating about his job in the first place; made him sterner, stricter, more curt. 

Had he been doing something that gave the wrong impression? Was he too lackadaisical in his boundaries or interactions? He’d gone so far as to ask other professors in the department to sit in on his classes and give him a review. The only answer there ever was: ‘You’re very professional. You’re just Bruce Wayne.’ 

Bruce gritted his teeth. “You know they have.”

“Then you’ve had ample opportunity and it never happened before.” He resumed crunching on his chips, each bite stabbing Bruce in the eardrum. 

“But the dam’s broken now.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know.” He set the phone down on the countertop and put it on speaker, putting his hands over his head to better acquire oxygen. “I’m afraid I lured her into some trap through our mentorship.”

“What about that would be trapping?”

Like it wasn’t perfectly obvious? “One on one. Alone in my office. It’s an intimate environment.”

“It’s also the only classroom you could get. I remember you calling around to ask about empty rooms for a week straight.” 

It was beyond aggravating that his colleague didn’t seem to be properly engaged. Why did no one see what was so plainly there? 

“But I should’ve caught things before. I never share much about my personal life with students, but I did with her. One-off stories about what I was like in earlier academia, jokes; I wanted to make her comfortable. She was quiet in my other class and said she had a thing about authority.”

Oh, god, he’d forgotten about that. How could he have forgotten about that? How you said you felt threatened in your first personal interaction. How your fists clenched around your bag, and the tears you’d shedded. He remembered so viscerally how greatly that had shaken him; was that why he’d been so overly accommodating in 505 from the start? 

“It sounds like you treated her like a human being, Bruce. Which professors are allowed to do.”

“Not me.” 

Marshall sighed. He loathed putting the man through this, but he didn’t have a choice. “You have a bad habit of thinking the worst. Trust yourself.”

Was he being pranked? “After something like this? That’s proof that I shouldn’t.”

He watched the cars shuffle the street below as he paced to his window, anxiously awaiting a reply. The sun which had peeked in hours earlier had risen to its hiding place behind heavy clouds and dense smog, casting a gray filter on the city. He loved it here. Why’d he have to get in his own way and stain it?

Bruce startled when he spoke on the other line. “What made you realize that something had shifted in how you viewed her?”

“When I praised her as shorthand for her work. I didn't even catch that I'd done it until she replied about her paper.” His face twitched toward a grimace at the memory. 

“Professors do that all the time. ‘You did great’, ‘wonderful effort’.”

“I said ‘you’re spectacular’, her, and I was thrown off when she reminded me we were talking about her writing.” 

“Hmm.” He mused on this a moment, and Bruce prayed he’d finally see sense; he needed next steps. “You’re very careful, Bruce. Are you sure you had sex with her? Not just a hug you’re worried was too long?”

Fuck, this was going nowhere. “Jesus Christ, Marshall. Yes. I know the difference.” 

“Alright, alright. Look. I don’t think us talking about it will solve the issue. You went through the proper channels and nothing came of it. She’s yet to make a report and you seem very open to her making one, correct?”

“Yes. She should.”

“No; she should if she wants to. If she felt harmed.”

“It’s inherently harmful.”

“Sure, it’s inappropriate. But what’s happened happened. The only path now is forward.”

What’s happened happened? Really? What was the path forward, ignoring it? He needed something more, a consequence, punishment; something that matched the piercing dread and shame replacing the blood in his veins. 

“I’m going to head out—”

Bruce interrupted, another worry percolating. “What if she needs a recommendation?”

Another sigh. If he were holding the phone he might have crushed it from guilt. “Did she ask for your information for that?”

“She could.”

“Did she?”

“No.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

His heartbeat sped up again, the dizzying swirl of thoughts crafting a tornado. “I won’t be able to recommend her. She did good work. She deserves that recommendation. I stole that opportunity from her.” 

Bruce held his breath. If Marshall sighed again, he might just cry. This tension was too much for his body to handle. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, because it already happened.” 

“Should I reach out? Make sure she’s alright? Remind her she can write a report if she needs to, and I won’t hold it against her?”

“You said you already did that.”

“Before we had sex.”

“I don’t know, Bruce. What do you want me to say?”

He didn’t know. Just not that. 

“Well,” he was upset at the sudden reminder that he’d said this, but grateful it left the ball in your court. “I did tell her to reach out if she ever needs… assistance.”

“If she does, then you know what to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, man. I gotta head back out to the lake.”

“Thanks for listening. Bye.”

Marshall ended the phone call and left Bruce alone in his thoughts. 

Forward. Acceptance, perhaps, that the deed was even done at all. Every memory of it was immediately shoved far away from his mind, petrified to even tolerate it. 

And so he sat. Let himself feel it. 

The attraction had been gentle, and developed slowly over the course of getting to know you. So unassuming that his ruminative tendencies hadn’t picked up on it until that very last day. It was unusual for a student to be so similar in age, passion, and wit; a natural feeling of being cut from the same cloth. 

These types of thoughts hadn’t manifested until after the hookup. He’d been uncomfortable with the realization, absolutely; noticing he felt anything other than platonic towards a student for the first time was miserable. But he had no secret plan, no agenda, when he sifted through the anxieties. 

A snaring thought that wouldn’t let him go was: I enjoyed it. It cut him up more than almost anything else. 

But he didn’t enjoy it because you were a student; it was just the unfortunate medium he’d gotten to know you through. 

But did that matter, at the end of the day? 

The single greater snare was fear. Terror at the notion that he was truly, genuinely, actually a person who was irredeemable. Fear that he wanted to hurt people. Fear that everything he’d ever done, everything good he’d ever had, was wasted on him. Up until the night before, teaching had been a salve to that wound that opened twenty years ago. 

But where did this leave him going forward? Was there anything tangible he could glean from this to alleviate this miserable thought spiral? 

He wrought his brain throughout lunch, then dinner, and found himself staring absently at the shower wall before bed. Why had he let himself do that? It was the single most obvious breach of ethics to the point that it was almost laughable when professors warned against it: don’t sleep with your goddamn students. 

A vague memory began to firm into something tangible as he rinsed off his body wash.

The professor for his Professional Standards course had heard the snickers at the warning, and watched how students, including Bruce, began to go onto their laptops like it was so elementary. She’d clapped her hands loud enough to startle, snapping the class to full attention. 

‘Never say never’ was in bold print on the professor’s slides, bits and pieces of the moment from years ago trickling back. Something about if you didn’t think yourself capable of something, you’d never be on the lookout for it. That the single most dangerous thing you could do with power was convince yourself you couldn’t abuse it. 

Bruce paused. More than anything, he recalled feeling ridiculous simply having to hear it. Remembered a sarcastic thought of ‘this is what I’m paying them to teach me?’. The concept of sleeping with a student was so out of the question as to be pointless to mention, and he’d glanced at the jokesters who always showed up late, never did the reading, thinking that if anyone was to do such a thing, it would be them. 

Evidently he hadn’t taken the lecture to heart.

He never thought himself capable of sleeping with a student, or even developing an attraction; it was as if the act of signing up for his class sanitized all possibility of ever being something more. So, naturally, he hadn’t known the signs. 

If he felt fondness or a soft spot for you, that was all it was. There was no other way for it to be. No slipperiness was possible because no slope could exist. A faux sense of impossibility. 

Glimmers of complicated hope punctuated each step from the shower to his bed. He could have stopped it from happening; he could have stunted the development of feelings. What felt like a free fall suddenly had a rope for him to cling to. 

Sleep that night was restful; moreso than the night before, at least. With a few more hours under his belt, he went through the same routine; coffee, walk, then going to his office. He passed the teacher’s lounge and table of assorted paperwork, but doubled back when his gut cinched. 

Resignation Packet stared back at him among the sea of staplers and folders. 

He glanced around to make sure no one was there (ten in the morning on a Friday, the lounge would be completely empty), and tucked the packet under his arm. 

Ignoring another jolt of anxiety at being back, he tucked behind the desk and flipped through the paperwork. Unsurprisingly, the section for those under tenure was lengthy, and involved scheduling a meeting with the department chair. Was he in the office today? Have virtual meetings available?

Deep breaths. Slow breaths.

He cleared off his desk with careful, precise placement of folders in drawers before logging into his desktop to peruse, chin in hand. The screen started to fuzz and he began digging through his bag, concerned his glasses weren’t in the same area they’d always been. At the edge of his vision he noticed them wedged into the corner between his desk and the wall.

“Professor? Sorry.”

The bag slipped out of his hand as he jumped in his seat. “Y/n.” 

“I remembered your office hours were this in fall term, I hope you’re not busy.” 

That same skirt got his heart racing. When he met your gaze, it was worried; a furrowed brow, shifting from leg to leg like you were nervous. “Not currently. What do you need?”

He clasped his hands together and leaned forward on the desk, micromanaging every wrinkle and twitch of his face. You regretted it. You were going to report him. Good. Hopefully they’d listen to you. When you told him, he wouldn’t have a bad reaction. Neutrality. He’d thank you for letting him know, apologize for how he harmed you. 

“So uh, one of my friends had your class yesterday. She doesn’t know about us, and I don’t plan on telling anyone, but she was surprised you were… off during lecture. Preoccupied, she said.” You gripped the arms of your backpack with a vengeance, and he briefly wondered if you had a class after this. “She took one of your classes last term so she noticed the difference, and I can’t help but think it’s because of what happened between us.” 

So his conviction that he’d made a total joke of himself yesterday wasn’t all in his head. Damn. He fought not to sigh, keeping a tight rein on any body language that could be misinterpreted as frustration. “I’ve struggled to reconcile with what occurred, yes. But you don’t need to worry about me.” 

You shifted more, but took a few steps closer until you were only an inch from the far side of his desk. He wrangled his breathing right. 

“I feel like you’re too hard on yourself. Talking about guilt, making things right, and I,” you sighed, fixing your posture straight. “I just want you to know that—for me—it was fun. I liked it, a lot, truly, and. I want it to happen again.” 

The small grin wearing your mouth was equal parts relieving and upsetting; a strange sensation of wanting to preserve that smile shook him up, but he couldn’t show it. “I’m happy to hear it was a positive experience.” Too clinical. “It remains something that should not have happened, however.” 

Your shoulders dropped. He pressed on despite his body’s objection to disappointing you. 

“And if your appreciation ever changes, please feel free to make a report. I don’t care how much time has passed, I will not be offended.”

Silence filled the space between you. Shockingly, his head was completely empty. No endless contemplation, no getting swept away. Just looking at you and the fading twinkle in your eye. 

“Did I come on too strong? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Your voice was softer, more tentative. He alleviated that concern immediately. 

“No, absolutely not. I’m the professor, I should have held the boundary.” He sat back just a little in his chair. “So I’m holding it now.” 

“Okay.”

“Is there any additional support you need from me? We can’t talk again going forward, but I don’t want to brush past it.”

Your jaw slacked, the grip on your backpack loosening. “I didn’t think we’d never interact again.”

He felt bad. He felt so bad.

“Let me, um, lemme think.”

He swallowed the desire to comfort you. “Take your time.” 

You thumbed through thoughts he could only imagine the contents of. Was it better to keep staring at you, or would that add undue pressure? Should he pretend to sift through papers, or would that be dismissive? Was there something he should be saying right now? 

“My only thing is about my work, actually.” 

“Go for it.” 

You chewed on your lip, eyes skirting the room before landing back on him. “Was it actually good? Or, I don’t know. Were you biased?”

His heart squeezed. He stood, pressing his palms flat to the top of his desk. By the wary expression you held and the weighted space between question and answer, he knew he’d never do something like this again. Never let something like this occur again. Never think he was better than putting someone in this position. “I’m sorry this influenced how you perceive my evaluations. It makes sense.” 

Bruce swore your eyes were wet when they flicked up to his.

“I hope you can trust me when I say you put in hard work, and your work reflected it. You are exceptionally talented and I stand by that.” 

“Nice, okay. Cool.”

He really hoped you internalized it. “Anything else?”

You glanced down at the desk, eyes narrowing as you peered at the resignation paperwork. “I know people have a lot to say about your methods, and strictness, but you’re a good professor. And it would be a shame if you left.” 

Up until this second he hadn’t considered how you might interpret a resignation and the impact it could have. 

“You give a lot to the university, and I hope you know that you still deserve a place here.”

He could understand a smidge of what you felt; though the sentiment felt genuine, it couldn’t help but be tinged with an overly-saccharine taste. “Thank you, Y/n. I appreciate it.”

“And I guess I’m disappointed we won’t get to interact again. I enjoyed our time together.”

“I did as well.”

Your brow cocked, as if to ask ‘that, too?’. It was the least he could do to be honest and kind, and treat you like a human, especially with something so tender. 

He drew a breath and gave a small nod. Your face brightened, and the tension in his chest lessened enough to give you a half-smile.

“Well, have a good one, Professor Wayne.”

“You too, Y/n. I wish you luck in all your future endeavors.”  

He stared at the door when it shut, listening to your footsteps travel further down the hall until they disappeared. His stomach clenched, still all-too aware of the feelings he shouldn’t have, but it was nice getting to give you closure.

Maybe Marshall was right. Maybe you were. His old professor certainly was. 

The resignation packet was drenched in your attention when he finally grabbed it. He flipped through it anew, relatively removed from his spiral for the moment. 

Being hard on himself hadn’t stopped him from sleeping with you; it hadn’t helped anyone. Just a rabbit hole that begged him to jump deeper; a forever-promised end that was nothing greater than a black hole. Knowing this wouldn’t stop the tornado, but might make it easier to manage. 

Bruce tossed the packet into the bottom drawer and picked his glasses off the ground.

He responded to student emails, ate his lunch, and sipped his coffee until it ran cold. A notification popped up on his monitor reminding him of his afternoon lecture. Forward.

The city glowed outside your window. You sat up in bed, unable to sleep. The day had exhausted you but your body buzzed, reliving the events of Art 111 on loop.

Getting up to splash water on your face, you looked at your fatigue in the mirror. It was his fault. Professor Wayne had done this to you, made you feel like part of your body hadn’t left the classroom. Feeling so immediately drawn to someone wasn’t you, and especially not a professor. It was childish. You weren’t a high schooler doodling the name of the English teacher in your notebook. You didn’t have anything as frivolous as a crush.

Back in your room, you opened up your laptop and checked the school calendar. The Add/Drop deadlines were confusing, but after a few frustrating minutes you were pretty sure you could drop the class with a full refund before the end of the second week. Your cursor hovered over the “drop class” button but you couldn’t bring yourself to click it.

It was his fault. His fault for looking at you like that, holding your hand like that, running his hands through his hair like that. Didn’t he know what that could do to someone?

You threw yourself back into bed. A train shuddered the building and you slammed a pillow over your head to drown out the noise.

* * *

A week later, you were back on campus for the second week of classes. The morning engineering lecture, an introduction to stoichiometry, had been uneventful. The professor droned on for nearly two hours. You had to squint to make out his slides from the top of the lecture hall, the beginnings of a headache poking at your temples from the eye strain.

After what felt like an eternity, you shuffled out of the auditorium and found yourself on campus with seven hours to kill before Professor Wayne’s class started.

“I saw the amount you requested for the term. It’s a little steep, don’t you think?” You uncle’s voice voice hummed through your earbuds. He had interrupted you while you had been working on a sketch of the university library.

“There were some extra course fees.”

“I see.”

“Look, do you want me to go to school or not?” You drummed the marker against your sketchpad as you studied the gargoyles lining the roof.

“It’s not about what I want, you know that. I’m only following the stipulations your father—”

“Stop, okay, I get it. Don’t remind me.”

Your uncle inhaled sharply. You pictured him pulling the phone away from his head so he could let out a slow breath through pursed lips before continuing. “Your father really wanted this for you. Can’t you just be happy knowing you’d be making him happy? He would love to see you graduate, get a nice job, make a name for yourself.”

The pause conveyed your eye roll inaudibly.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, his tone softening. “I miss him too. I’ll transfer the money but please, try to focus on school a little more. It’s for your own good.”

He hung up as you translated the building to the page, thin lines from the pointy end of the chisel marker following the mortar between bricks. The homework for 111 had been to sit somewhere for one hour and draw everything you saw.

“This assignment is all about careful observation,” Professor Wayne had explained. “Try to have the mentality that anything you can see, you can draw. What you pay attention to in your surroundings will become what’s on your page.”

If that were true, your sketch pad would have been full of dark overcoats and fingers sailing chalk across a green ocean.

You compared your drawing to the building in front of you. The library’s main tower was lopsided and you were drawing in permanent marker. You tried to imagine what Professor Wayne would say. “Mistakes are part of the artistic process,” or some similar platitude. It was unnerving how vividly you could hear his dark voice, his cadence. The warmth of his hand and his breath rushing past your ear…

You shut off your phone’s timer—seven minutes early, but no one needed to know—and packed up your bag. You needed something to get school off your mind.

* * *

Winding your way through the halls of the Gotham City Museum with Titus was a solid attempt at wasting an afternoon. The museum was opening a new exhibit and Titus had snapped up a week-long security gig. Tickets were complimentary.

“Nicole was fine with you working on the side?” you had asked when he first told you about the job.

“As far as she knows, I’m in Philadelphia right now for Great-Aunt Mavis’ wake.”

Now, the two of you examined a dinosaur skeleton named “Haddy Jr.” Thin wires looped down from the atrium ceiling to support the creature’s languorous tail and neck. The display was cordoned off with gold stanchions holding red velvet ropes. A small child grabbed one of them and started swinging on it, their guardian apparently absent.

“Shouldn’t you do something about that, Mr. Security Guard?” you joked to Titus.

“Hey, I don’t clock in until midnight tomorrow. Until then, Haddy Jr. is all I’ve got to worry about.”

“She’s the first complete fossilized Hadrosaurus found in the world, apparently,” you read from the placard. “Wait, since when is there a state fossil?”

“Sometimes I forget you didn’t learn all this in elementary school. Trust me, if you had had Mrs. Brooks you would know. If you didn’t remember the state tree or flower she would lose it.”

The little kid squealed as they pulled against the rope barrier with all their puny weight, making the chain connectors rattle. A middle aged man speed-walked over and scooped the kid up, smiling apologetically at you and Titus as the kid started to cry, hands grasping out towards the dinosaur. You smiled back, trying not to wince at the noise.

“What would Mrs. Brooks think of all that?” You asked once the two were out of sight.

Titus chuckled. “Probably get out the chalk, make them write lines. She hated that she wasn’t allowed to hit us anymore, I think. She’d carry around this big ruler and—,” he slapped his hands together, “—right behind you to make you jump.”

Unbidden, your mind conjured up an image of Professor Wayne, yardstick in hand, ready to dole out punishment. Stop it, you thought. That’s too weird.

“She sounds awful,” you said as you and Titus walked away from the dinosaur. A group of middle schoolers on a class trip walked up to the sign as you left, giggling about something only they understood.

“Yup. Well, she’s up there with Mavis now anyway, so the kiddos of Gotham don’t need to worry.”

“Wait, is great-aunt Mavis real?”

“Nah, I’m just bullshitting. Let’s check out the food court, I’m starving.”

As you walked, passing paintings, historical artifacts, sculptures, and the occasional taxidermied animal in a display, you berated yourself. This was supposed to be taking your mind off of things. You were supposed to be enjoying a break away from the hum drum of dead-father-mandated school. You had thought you needed some escapism to take your mind off the fact that you had no long-term plans, no ambition besides finishing a degree and cashing out your trust fund.

Even when he was dying, your father had hated how much time you’d taken away from school. When he’d first gotten sick, you’d taken academic leave thinking he would get better. When he hadn’t, you’d dropped out completely to help care for him.

“You’re wasting so much time here,” he’d said. “I’m paying these nurses for a reason. Don’t let me hold you back. You can’t let me get in the way of your goals.”

What goals? You’d gone to GU hoping to figure out what you wanted from life, and you’d had it all taken away before you could even acclimate. Goal number one: keep Dad alive, failed.

You’d sat by his bedside, holding his hand while he slept. His hands were thin and waxy, the nailbeds void of pigment. You hadn’t known he was awake until he spoke. “Promise me you’ll go back to school?”

The prior arguments had been about you leaving home, letting the palliative team take over his care while you flew out to Gotham and chipped away at your degree. The way he asked it this time, you knew he meant something different. He was talking about the ever approaching “after.”

Your eyes stung. As much as you wanted to make him happy, you couldn’t muster up a promise you didn’t know if you could keep. Nothing about the “after” felt real. A chasm rushing towards you to swallow you up. You didn’t even know if you would still be you, after.

“There’s nothing for me there,” you said. He was adamant that you would feel differently, regret letting the opportunities slip by.

“There must be at least some part of it you like. Something you’d rather be doing than sitting here with me all day.”

“There’s nothing,” you’d said, ending the conversation.

A month later you’d discovered the clause added to his will only two weeks before his death. His estate, put in a trust fund, with his brother as the trustee, only to be withdrawn from for payment of tuition, housing, food, or fees, conditional on you attending college. The full amount to be available upon graduation. Your father’s idea of a helping hand, your idea of an encumbrance. A welcome gift to the never ending “after.”

Well, I’m doing it. Just like you wanted.

You thought about the three weeks you’d spent in classes so far. Lecture after lecture, a smattering of essays and worksheets. Trying to memorize equations and theories. In between it all, Art 111. Scribbling in charcoal, class critiques with everyone’s homework assignments pinned on the walls for the professor to examine.

You and Titus reached the museum’s food court. As you stood in line, your phone buzzed. Your uncle had wired the money for the term to your bank account. Another chunk of your father’s savings, wasted on his dream for you.

Is there any part of it you like? you imagined him asking now.

You thought of Professor Wayne, dusting his chalky fingers off on his pant legs. How quickly he glanced away when your eyes met.

“No,” you mumbled.

Titus, in front of you in line, turned around. “Huh? What’s up?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you said, shaking your head. “Got my direct deposit, that’s all.”

After eating a greasy corn dog each, you and Titus continued your self-guided tour of the museum. It was massive, easily the biggest museum you had ever been in. You passed through an archway and were suddenly in a wing with a very different, more modern, architectural style. There was less of a crowd than there had been in the natural history wing, with all its dinosaurs and dioramas of black bears foraging for berries.

You paused in front of a bronze sculpture. It was a human-sized bat. Its wings unfolded in segments, thin bones providing structure for the webbed membranes to stretch between. A blindfold was pulled taut around its bulbous eyes and it gripped a scale between its jaws. The two empty plates bobbed up and down with the movement of the air in the room. There was a small label on the sculpture’s stand, the title was “Justice?”

“Someone thinks they’re really clever,” Titus said as he eyed the sculpture disdainfully.

“It’s giving me the creeps.”

At the end of the modern art hall, you reached an intersection. To the right were more exhibits, while the hallway to the left was blocked off with long black curtains. You could hear muffled talking and sounds of construction from behind the fabric. There was a sign on a stand in front of the curtains. New exhibit coming soon: Inside Arkham Asylum.

Arkham was the city’s oldest psychiatric hospital. It had a reputation for being notoriously cruel, with almost no oversight from the medical board. According to Titus, the Arkham higher-ups had tried to get the exhibit shut down. Since the museum was borrowing the artifacts from a private collection with connections to the Arkham family, the case had fallen through. The owner of the collection was paying handsomely for the extra security.

“Of course, they don’t want us talking about any of that to the patrons. It’s too controversial,” he said conspiratorially as you walked away from the dead end.

“You won’t have anyone trying to fight you to impress their date, at least.”

“Hey, you never know. I’ll throw down.” He pretended to duck and weave, throwing an air punch. “I’m ready to put my life on the line for Gotham City Museum!”

You laughed, then felt your face dip as you felt a sudden wave of sadness. You reached out and wrapped your arm around his. He took the gesture in stride and held your hand. The contact was comfortingly firm, grounding you. You took a deep, shaky breath.

“Sometimes I think you’re the only normal person in Gotham,” you said.

“Try telling that to the guys downtown,” he grumbled. “Lots of fish but no nibbles.”

“No, seriously. I don’t know what I’d be doing here without you.”

Titus paused, pulling you by the hand out of the way of pedestrian traffic in front of a painting. He searched your face, seeing the roil of grief you had been pushing down all day.

“You doing okay? I know it’s a lot, everything with your dad, I–”

“No, it’s nothing. Just so busy, school’s kicking my ass, and…” you trailed off. The painting you had paused in front of was expanding, filling your field of view. You felt vertigo overtake you.

He squeezed your hand. “Want to ditch? Skip the rest?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a frown, eyes stinging. “I feel bad not seeing everything. I just, I just…”

“Okay, let’s do it. Don’t even worry about it, we saw all the good stuff.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you started walking towards the exit together.

The entrance to the museum was the tallest area, sweeping ceilings making your steps on the marble floors echo into the jumble of crowd talk and kids running. The sensations overwhelmed and disoriented you. If Titus hadn’t been guiding you you might have given up on escaping, hiding and crying in a bathroom stall.

You passed the turnstiles, holding hands and waiting for each other to push through the metal bars that clicked how many people passed through. The setting sun dazzled your eyes as you stepped out into the Gotham evening.

On the way to the bus stop that would take you both to your apartment you passed a small crowd. People wearing ski masks were waving signs with slogans. “Arkham keeps our streets safe.” “Psychos belong behind bars.” “Keep criminals locked up.” You tried to ignore them but a masked woman rushed up and shoved a flier into your hand.

“Gotham City Museum is spreading lies about Arkham Asylum! We won’t stand for it!” she yelled then moved to the people behind you, dispersing more handouts and shouting more slogans.

The suddenness of it shocked you into alertness. Titus herded you towards the bus stop across the street just as you were about to give the protestor a piece of your mind.

“What the fuck was that?” you bristled.

Titus shook his head and rubbed your shoulder. “Like I said, it’s a controversial exhibit. People are pissed off.”

You crumpled the flyer up and shoved it deep into your pocket without bothering to read it.

* * *

At your apartment, you grabbed your portfolio bag and hugged Titus goodbye. He offered to come with you to campus, wait for you during your class. You turned him down. You wanted to be alone, give yourself time to think.

Getting into the building wasn’t a problem, you had finally gotten a current ID card. Professor Wayne and Kanara were in the classroom already by the time you arrived. You avoided glancing in his direction, not wanting to know if he was looking at you. I am not doing this, you told yourself. I am not crushing after my damn professor. You’re here to finish school and get the fuck out of here.

Professor Wayne’s voice cut through the milieu. “Okay, everyone, listen up, we’re starting with a critique of your homework assignments. I’ll explain once the stragglers make their way in, but get started by pinning your homework to the board and taking a seat.”

You listened but didn’t look his way, nose kept in your phone. Sooner or later you would have to stop avoiding him, or else it would become painfully obvious, but you wanted to wait as long as possible.

A wall of the studio was lined with felt panels, meant for displaying art. You stood near the edge of the crowd, waiting for space to clear so you could pin it up. The drawing of the library hung limply in your hand. It took two thumb tacks at the top of the page and an extra one at the bottom to stop it from curling.

Once you took a step back and compared it to everyone else’s work, your stomach sank. You remembered noticing the tower had been lopsided, but you hadn’t realized how bad it had been. Other details too, the gargoyles, bricks, the windows, all wrong. It was like the drawing had gone sour in your portfolio bag, the sketch that you remembered looking accurate to the scene in front of you had become this misshapen blob of lines that was barely recognizable as the Gotham University Library.

Scanning the other drawings, you realized that for several you could pinpoint the exact place the artist had been on campus for the project. The east dorms, the bookstore, the oak tree at the center of campus that had been growing since before Gotham existed as a city, they all matched their real life counterparts so well. When you looked back at your drawing, you felt embarrassed. The only saving grace was the few drawings that matched your lack of skill, but you couldn’t say that any of them were worse than yours.

Professor Wayne walked into your line of sight, his back to you, as he took in the long line of drawings. His white dress shirt was tucked in, a dark leather belt at a slight tilt on his hips. When he turned, the thin fabric pulled taut on his broad shoulders. You gritted your teeth and looked away.

“Here’s how we’re going to do this,” he said once the class had settled. “We’re not just building our drawing skills, we’re building our critique skills too. Just because it’s a ‘critique,’ doesn’t mean it’s fair game to be overly critical. We’re all still learning, me included.” He paced up and down the wall in front of the class, projecting his voice.

“To be fair to everyone, we’re all going to use the same format. I call it the critique sandwich. When you want to chime in about someone’s work, start with something you like about it. After that, give some constructive criticism, then something else you like. Okay? I’ll give an example.” He paused in front of a drawing of a park fountain done in pencil.

“Clayton, I’m picking yours because we talked about it earlier, not to pick on you.” Professor Wayne scanned the class looking for whoever Clayton was. You barely knew anyone’s names.

The kid who had made fun of you in the bookstore raised a hand, and Professor Wayne nodded in recognition when he saw him. What a generational suck up, you thought.

“Let’s see,” Professor Wayne said as he examined the drawing. “Well, Clayton, I love how you’ve used negative space to give the illusion of water spray coming off the fountain. That’s a great trick.” He pointed as he spoke, highlighting different parts of the drawing.

“Overall, I think the image could use some more contrast. Bringing a softer pencil like a 6B to these shadows can push them further, making the light areas pop just a little bit more. That being said, the texture on the fountain itself is lovely, I can tell you had a very steady hand and good eye with these small lines in the stone. Great job.”

Clayton was clearly proud of himself, holding back glee at the compliments. You could barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Professor Wayne had been too constructive with not enough critique, but you had to admit the drawing was one of the best on the board. You were certain he wouldn’t find the same redeeming qualities in yours.

The critique started in earnest and Professor Wayne pulled up a chair and joined the audience. Students stepped up one at a time, going down the line in order, and fielded questions and comments about their work. People attempted to follow the critique sandwich formula for the most part, to mixed results.

Your anxiety built as the number of drawings before yours dwindled. The last thing you wanted was to stand in front of the class and Professor Wayne and give excuses for your botched work.

“Thank you Poppy, that turned out really lovely. I think if you incorporate that technique into the next project you might find it works well with your style. Okay, who’s next? I think we can get to everyone before the break at this rate.”

Poppy’s sketch of the view from her dorm window was pinned right next to yours. Time to walk the plank. You begrudgingly stood and stepped up next to your sketch. It felt uncomfortable to be the center of attention, acutely aware that almost no one there knew you. Professor Wayne’s deep blue eyes were a refuge from the blinking horde of the rest of the class, but one that you resented.

“This is the GU library, from one of the benches out front,” you said, your throat painfully dry. “I, uh, used marker.” You paused, trying to think of something else to say about the work. You opened your mouth then quickly shut it, realizing you had nothing else to add. Professor Wayne nodded and wrote something down in a binder. You hadn’t realized he was taking notes.

There was a long beat of silence, then Professor Wayne spoke up.

“Well, does anyone have anything to say about Y/n’s work? Comments, questions? I’ve got a few, unless someone else does.”

“Yeah, actually,” said Clayton, raising his hand. Your heart sank. “First off, I think marker was the perfect choice here, it gives it that raw, unedited feel.”

It didn’t quite sound like an insult but it rang hollow in your chest. The drawing did look unedited, if unedited meant it had multiple glaring mistakes you couldn’t fix because of the permanent ink.

“My issue with this drawing is the perspective, it’s honestly confusing. The library’s tower is about to fall over and the horizon isn’t really flat. The details don’t follow any vanishing point either.”

You wished you could phase through the floor and into the basement. The classroom that had seemed so massive on the first day was now as small as a closet, stifling you and any hope you had of being artistic. You had gone out on a limb, tried something new by taking this class on a whim, and now here you were, being berated by this asshole in front of the whole class.

“Honestly, it’s not a bad drawing despite the perspective. It’s cute, I like it.”

His last comment made your mind up for you. You couldn’t do it. You wanted out. Professor Wayne studied your face and you looked away, at the door in the back of the room.

“I like it too,” Professor Wayne said. “There’s—”

You cut him off. “Actually, you can just go to the next person. This really isn’t working for me, I’m going to drop the class and take something different.”

Professor Wayne’s face fell. He looked like he had something to say but it didn’t come. The class was silent. You walked back to your seat, slung your portfolio over your shoulder and headed for the door, not bothering to take your drawing.

Eyes stinging, you walked down the arched hallway away from Art 111. The door swung closed behind you, then creaked open again a few seconds later. You ignored the urgent footsteps echoing behind you until he said your name.

“Y/n, please.”

You stopped. You gripped the strap of the portfolio bag tighter, trying and failing to hold back the wave of feelings for the second time in the day. You never cried this much.

He had followed you halfway down the hallway, hurried to catch up to you. When you turned around you saw that his shirt was rumpled, hair slightly out of place, a look of concern painted on his features.

“Are you okay?”

“I just want to go home,” you said, dabbing your eyes with your sleeve. “I’m fine.”

He rested his hands on his hips, breathing slightly faster than normal. “If this is about Clayton’s comments, I’m going to talk to him. That was too harsh.”

“No, he was right. It’s a bad drawing.”

“I don’t agree.”

You scoffed. Of course he didn’t agree. He was the professor, the one who had to say something positive about everyone, regardless of how shitty their art skills were. How the man in front of you had chosen willingly to take a job teaching pricks like Clayton was beyond you.

“I’m dropping the class, that’s it. Goodbye.”

You turned around and walked away. He didn’t follow you further. This was one way to kill a crush, at least.

The misty air outside the Crawford building concealed your tears, cooling them on your cheeks until they burned. You sat on a cold wooden picnic table on campus and pulled up your class schedule. When you had pulled up the listing for Art 111, you were confronted with the “drop class” button one last time. You pressed it without hesitation and immediately placed your phone face down on the  table, folding your arms to hide your face as you sobbed.

The day had been miserable. The only good part had been seeing Titus, and that had been tainted by the constant reminder of your uncle texting you. He had never texted you before in your life until after the will reading when you learned he was your trustee, your father’s appointed gatekeeper. He hadn’t bothered to visit more than twice in three years, and now he was trying to tell you what your father meant by putting you through this hell.

The classes, the homework, the humiliation of presenting your shitty drawing in front of Professor Wayne, Clayton being around in every class sucking up to Professor Wayne. It was unbearable, and it was only the second week.

Sobs turned to deep, heaving breaths as you ran out of tears. After a few minutes, you breathing stabilized. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, then checked your phone.

Your schedule was still open to Art 111. There was a pop-up notification on the website, covering half the screen.

“What do you want ?” 

“You didn’t say a word since we got on the train, and you’re ignoring my every attempt at talking about what just happened. What do you think I want ?”

“There’s nothing to say about what just happened.”

“Oh really ? Do you need another, stronger, kick ?” 

“I most certainly do not need another stronger kick.” 

“Then talk.” 

“You can’t make me.” 

“You’re acting like a four year old, Bruce. Again, very unlike you.” 

He scoffs and turns back to look out the window. She sighs, properly annoyed now, and gets ready to kick him one more time...but he catches her foot easily before she hits him, and he glares at her. 

He doesn’t say anything though, but he doesn’t let go of her either, not trusting her to stop trying to get his attention by kicking him. 

Can’t she understand he’s in no mood to talk right now ? She’ve always been the one that understood him the most. Well, before...before...No. He can’t think about you. It’s over. It’s history. He just broke your heart. He has no right even thinking about you anymore.

Bruce and Selina scowl at each others for a few minutes, and it’s clear she’s not about to back down any time soon. Which is why he slowly let’s go of her and sighs deeply. And she knows she got him, and sure enough, he finally says :  

“She’s one of my student, we both knew it was going nowhere.” 

“You both knew ? She didn’t seem to...”

“Selina.” 

It’s her turn to ignore him and his slightly threatening tone. She raises an eyebrow at him and an ironic smile slowly appears on her face. She knows him enough to know better and not take any of his bullshit. He can say her name any way he wants, warning her not to push it...She will push things anyway. She’ll get the truth out of him. She always managed to. 

“I’m sorry but it just all seems very unlike you. Regardless of what is happening right now, it’s just-”

“Don’t talk about things you do not know. You know I hate it, when people do that.” 

“Oh you're so punchable right now Bruce ! You were cruel to that girl and you know it ! You also know it’s not at all something you’d normally do !” 

“What do you know about what I normally do or not ?!” 

“Excuse me ? Like I haven’t been your friend for the past fifteen years ?”

“Even friends learn new things about each others sometimes.”

“Oh, so this new thing I’m learning about right now, is your ability to be a total dick to innocent girls ? She looked so crestfallen, Bruce. I just feel so bad for her, and I-” 

“Selina, you’re walking on mighty thin ice here.”

“Like that ever scared me. Listen Bruce, whatever this is about, you breaking her heart while you’re clearly head over heels for he-”

“I’m not in love with her. She’s one of my...” 

“Student, I know. And how dare you lie to me like that ?” 

“I’m not lying. I don’t love her. Didn’t you hear me tell her so ?” 

“I also heard you say you love me. And we both know that’s a lie.”

“No, that’s a way of not leaving any hope that we might get back together. And I do love you.”

“But not in the way you meant it when you said it. We’re friends. And we sleep with each others sometimes. Well, used to, that didn’t happen since she came in...Mm. We’re not lovers, like you made her believe we were.” 

“No, that is true, we’re not. But I knew she was insecure about you being my ex. That she thought she wasn’t up to my normal standards. Again, it was a way to be sure she wouldn’t come back to me.” 

“So, really just being needlessly cruel then uh ? Using this poor girl’s insecurities against her like that ?” 

“I guess, yes. See, learning new things about me.”

“I’m not sure I like this new thing. I thought you were better than that, Bruce.”

“Well, nobody is perfect.” 

“Oh I know, and you’re most definitely not perfect. You have a lot of flaws and I find myself wanting to punch you often, especially when you’re being smug and overconfident about things. Or when you think you got everything figured out while you’re just making terrible decisions, like right now. And I know you can be utterly insensitive sometimes, not realizing how much of a jerk you can be, even if since you stopped being a detective you greatly improved on that point. But I also know you’re compassionate and empathic. That you feel everything, and that breaking people’s heart violently like that isn’t amongst those flaws.”  

“I broke your heart.” 

“And I broke yours. We were mutually bad for each others, Bruce. I left you mere days before our wedding, and then years later, when we got back together, you’re the one that broke off our engagement. But it wasn’t the same thing and you know it.” 

"No, this time I wasn’t about to marry her. You know why ? Because it was just a fling ok ? She’s one of my student. You were a woman I wanted to spend my life with. Sure, things didn’t work out between us, but that’s how life is. While with (Y/N) ? She’s my student ! I don’t even know what got into me ! I have very strict rules against dating a student, for reasons. Like, for example, realizing this was just a distraction to me. A way of escaping my life if only for a little bit. Because she’s younger, cute yet sexy, intelligent and funny and..different. She was something novel. She was-”

“Oh stop talking about her as if she was just your little toy ! We both know-”

“You know nothing ! I admit I made a mistake by even starting to date her. But once again, we both knew this would never go anywhere. She’s my student. I’m her professor. This kind of relationship is unethical and just a bad idea. It was fun while it lasted. I’m sorry she misunderstood my intentions, but I can’t go back in time to change things. So there’s that.”

Selina never saw Bruce that worked up about something before. She never saw him talk that energetically, throwing his hands in the air to punctuate his every words. Clearly, she hit a nerve. And he was just trying to convince himself right now, she knew it. 

He was trying to convince himself that all the thing he said were the truth. But Selina knew it was utter BS...

Because she was staying silent, just looking at him, he assumed she was letting it go and resumed his observation of the passing landscape. But as if Selina Kyle was going to just “drop things”. 

“Six months.”

She says, looking at him intently. He turns back to her, confused, and says : 

“Excuse me ?” 

“It took you six months to realize you probably should stop going out with her ? Six months in during which, by the way, you didn’t call me once. Six months of...just “fun” ? But then why didn’t you call me, if it was just that ? Six. Months, Bruce. Six. Nothing ever takes you that long to make a decision. You always know what you wanted.” 

“Again, I’m not perfect. I’m telling you this was all a mista-”

“You’ve always been clear with me as to what our relationship was, after we realized things didn’t quite work between us. After we realized we weren’t really meant to be a couple. You’ve always made sure that I knew we were just good friends with benefits, and of course I was on board with it. After all the pain we put each other through, you changed and was always very clear about your feelings. So was I. It has always been about mutual consent and understanding. You never made me believe anything that wasn’t there. You never fooled me into thinking you were in love or something.”

“Selina, I don’t like to repeat myself. I-”

“Plus, I’m not one of your precious student.  I heard you go on long speeches about how they were the future for Gotham and all that. And you were talking about her specifically even way before you started to date her. She was very clearly your favorite student, and you have such strong feelings about those said students. So your favorite...I know you, you wouldn’t play with any of them like that.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well then. Because that’s exactly what I just did. Again, I’m only human and-” 

“Stop trying to make me think this is something I just never knew about you. Not after all this time."

“I wasn’t serious with her. She was just one of my-”

“Student, I know. But here’s exactly my point, Bruce. If she was just one of your student you had a fling with, if she was just the one that made you finally crack and forget about your principles for a brief amount of time...well it would have been brief. It wouldn’t have lasted six months of an exclusive relationship ! Just like with me, and with every other women you’ve been with those past few years, you would have been forward. You would have told her it was just a casual thing, no strings attached. You would have been honest. You’re not the kind of person to just play with someone’s feelings, and you know it. Don’t try to make me believe this is something I just never knew about you, because that’s bullshit. Stop lying to me, and lying to yourself, please. We’ll all feel much better about it all...” 

There’s a long silence. She can see a wide array of emotions going through his face, and she knows this situation truly sucks because...Well, she can see a wide array of emotions going through his face. Bruce has always been very good at hiding his true feelings, especially when he was sad. 

He would just shrug off any kind of pain, act as if everything was ok. Close his heart to everyone and give a charming smile to make people think he was fine. 

So the fact she could see, right now, that he was hurt, that he was regretting something, that he was sad and desperate, but also angry...It meant everything in the World. And she felt utterly heartbroken for him. 

He was her friend. He would always be her friend. Which is why she tried to get the truth out of him those past few long minutes. Why she pushed him, and got a little harsh with him. 

He was her friend, and she just wanted to understand what he was going through. But now, this long and full of hurt silence was making her go crazy. She was about to say something, when he finally spoke : 

“What if you’re right ?”

His voice was but a whisper. Weak and breathless. 

“What if she was more than just a fling ? It doesn’t change anything.”

Was he finally going to be honest with her ? And with himself ? 

“It doesn’t...I’m here with you right now. I chose to break things off, and go back to our casual thing. I chose to not go further and endanger her future.”

Ah. No. No he was still trying to get away with it. To bullshit her more, by telling her half-truths. Uh. Selina hated when he did that.

“What if you’re right, and she meant more to me than just a casual thing ? It doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a bad idea. That she deserves more. I chose to give her a chance to find someone her age, and someone who wouldn’t get her fired from uni. Someone that wouldn’t ruin her future just because he’s selfish and wants to be with her. Because that’s what it’s doing, me being with her. If just one person from university sees us together, and says something, it’s a done deal. She’ll be blacklisted and won’t become a profiler like it has been her dream. She’s bette-”

Selina lets out a huge exaggerated and obviously fake yawn, cutting Bruce off. He looks at her, surprised, as she says : 

“Please, don’t give me the “she’s better off without me” speech. It’s a boring overused trope, and I know this is not why you broke up with her. I know this isn’t why you were so damn cruel. I really do know you, Bruce. I know your tricks. I know when you’re trying to charm your way through, or used your wit to bullshit about things. I know when you’re making up stories to explain your behavior. I know when the detective part of you resurface, and when you’re using the same tricks on me that you used to use on criminals to make them believe you knew everything and confess. I know you Bruce. Let’s stop acting like I don’t, please ?” 

Silence. Bruce looks at Selina, and it’s clear he’s unsure of what to do. Which means everything...Because she can’t even recall one time she saw him hesitate about something, or not finding a plan immediately to get out of a delicate situation. 

She knows something is going on, and that she’s finally close to know what. After their endless verbal joust of those past few minutes, she’s close. She knows. 

“Let’s stop beating around the bush. Stop trying to make me think you’re an asshole. You can be a jerk, but not...like that. Stop acting like I don’t know you. Very well. Because I do.” 

He stays silent, and avoid her eyes. Close. Very close.

“I knew something fishy was up the minute you called me yesterday. The minute you asked me to come with you on that seminar, while I knew you had plan to take her with you. The minute you talked about getting back to our little arrangement, while you seemed so happy to be with her. The minute you tried to convince me to go see my sister in SoCal as well, and take some vacation there for a while...Yes, I noticed how insistant you were while you’re usually not. You thought you were smooth, saying that it was a great occasion for me to take a break from work and go see her, as if nothing. But I saw right through you Bruce, because I know you.” 

She bores her eyes into his, lays her hands on his shoulders and says : 

“Tell me what is happening, Bruce. Because I know you, and I know you’re not that cruel. I also know you’re not stupid enough to do that “she’s better off without me” bullshit, I know you know better. I. Know. You. I only said “yes” to this little trip because I know you, and I know something is wrong. So please, tell me. No more beating around the bushes. Be honest.”

It breaks her heart, to see her dear friend clearly fighting with himself right now. Seeing all those emotions go through his face once again. But now, she knows it’s just a matter of time before he tells her the truth. Before he finally admits to whatever it is that is happening...And sure enough, it only takes a couple more minutes of her staring at him, of silence, for him to finally say : 

“I know you know me. I know...Unfortunately, you’re not the only one.”  

************

Murphy’s law. 

How could you have forgotten Murphy’s law ?! 

“Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” 

It’s something you often repeated to yourself, whenever you started to feel a bit too happy. It kept you on edge. It kept you guarded. 

It’s how you avoided massive heartbreaks so far. How you managed to never be beaten by life, even if tons of bad things happened to you. 

You expected things to go sour. Since childhood, Murphy’s law kind of became your motto. Since the day you understood life wasn’t easy, and you would most certainly not spend it just watching cartoons and have fun with your friends. 

Many thought it was cynical, and that you probably didn’t enjoy life to the fullest...But that was wrong. It was the opposite. 

Whenever something good happened, it made you appreciate the hell out of it. Because you knew things wouldn’t always be good. That at some point, whatever could go wrong WOULD go wrong. 

Murphy’s law. How could you have forgotten Murphy’s law ?! 

He made you so damn happy, that you didn’t even think about it...

You were so sure he was genuine. So sure he meant everything he said. So sure he...Ugh. 

You were being an idiot. You should have thought about the fact that maybe he was with you just because of the thrill of you being his student, and being younger and such. 

How the hell did you not think about it ? He was THE Bruce Wayne !! Literally hundred of students have had a crush on him before, why the hell did you think you were any different ? Just because somehow, something in you made him crack ? Just because he decided to sleep with you, and never did it with anyone else ? Well, besides, he said he never did it with anyone else before, but maybe you were just another student he seduced...

This was why you weren’t a confident person. Because every time you were sure to have figured things out, a door would slam in your face. Every time you were getting a bit cocky...MURPHY’S LAW ! 

The fact he was interested in you, that he was sweet to you and complimented you so much...it made you think you were worth it. Made you think you could do anything. He seemed so intent on making you believe you were special.

And sure, he did say he meant everything he told you. That he thought you were special. But it still didn’t stop him from breaking up with you out of the blue like that right ? And to go back to Selina Kyle.

What got into you, to think you could ever compete with such a woman ?! 

You were heartbroken, but you weren’t even mad at Bruce.

Back to square one. Back to thinking you were just a plain and normal girl, and to take “Murphy’s Law” again as your motto. 

How did you get so dumb ?! You’ve always been a master at self-preservation, since you had to fend off for yourself for so long. And yet here you were, mourning a relationship that you should have known meant nothing. 

You were heartbroken, but you just couldn’t find yourself mad at Professor Wayne. Sure, there were nicer ways to break down the news that he didn’t love you and was going back to his ex but...In a way, you were thankful he was that harsh. 

At least you knew. There was no doubts. No hope about maybe getting back with him. 

He was in love with someone else, and that was that. 

...You couldn’t believe you managed to not cry up until now. 

************

You gather up all of your courage, take a deep breath and...Enters his class. 

It was all going to be fine. Or, it was all going to go terribly. 

Murphy’s law. 

You haven’t seen him in two weeks, the entirety of Spring Break, in fact. Which made sense anyway, because why would you see your professor out of school anyway ? Of course he wouldn’t go back to the cafe you were working at...So you didn't see him. It was good, too. It gave you time to truly collect yourself. 

To act as if you felt better. Faking the fact that things were getting easier to accept was actually getting easier, which made you think that you were on the road to recovery...Or not. 

You make sure you do not look his way, and walk straight to the furthest seat from his desk that you can find. And it’s kind of weird and ridiculous, how you’re the only one sitting at the last row of tables, while everyone gather in the front. 

Right. Everyone loves Professor Wayne. Why would anyone go in the back ? 

You’re wondering if you’re making it too obvious that something happened between you two, and you stand up. And fuck why you gotta be so awkward ?!

You take a few weird unsure steps towards the rest of your classmates, before sitting back down, and then standing up again and going to the row in front of you. But you’re still too far...No one noticed yet though. 

Should you stay there or go hide behind all your classmates ? You didn’t realize that the last row was of course going to be empty and make you stand out even more. 

And oh FUCK, now you just glanced at him. And...Was he looking at you ? 

Well, duh, of course he was. It’s normal to look at your moronic ass dancing around in the last rows of the class, not knowing on which foot to stand on !

He was probably thinking that it was good, he broke up with you. And that thought helped you make your decision. Trying very hard not to look in his direction, you rush to the last row where people are seating, get between two classmates, and hide. 

************

It’s interesting, how Bruce’s eyes were instantly drawn to you, even in the crowd  of students coming in. How he saw you walk all the way to the back of class and...

Oh he could just read your mind. Your every thoughts were very obvious on your face. You were looking at your classmates, and he knew what you were thinking. 

Why did you choose the last row ? It wasn’t very discreet, since the last few rows were always empty, as his students, liking him, gathered in the front rows.

The room was big, there was more seats than students. So of course...

He can see you hesitating, taking a few steps forward, before sitting back down and...No. No. Don’t look at him. 

But you did. And you turned away before he had the reflex to. Now you know he was looking at you too...He really hopes you’re not thinking he still has a thing for you. 

Because of course, he does. Oh yes he does. He’s actually...totally in love with you, he knows. But he can’t be with you. He just can’t. Not now, at least. 

But the way your face suddenly turned into a frown, and how you quickly run from the back row to hide behind all your classmates...he knows you misinterpreted what he was thinking. Which was good. 

But if it was so good, then why did it hurt his heart so much ? 

He began his lecture, and barely saw you during the entirety of it. Usually, you’d always be staring at each others any chance you’d get...

Sometimes, one of the classmate that was in front of you would bend down to write, and he saw you, staring at him or behind him, lost in thoughts. But then as soon as your eyes would lock, you’d turn back to your paper and make a face that...that...

A face that probably echoed what he felt deep in his chest. A face full of pain and...He needed to stop trying to look at you. It was selfish and it hurt so much, the both of you.

************

A few times, his eyes skimmed over you. 

You noticed it. You notice how he would glance your way before looking quickly looking elsewhere. And you would too, look elsewhere. 

But each time, without really wanting to, your gaze would go back to him. And scenes would flash in your mind. Scenes of those past six months... 

You and him, on his couch, binge watching your favorite shows on Netflix, feeling like a real couple. 

You and him on different dates. 

You and him talking about anything and everything. 

You and him pretending to not be together at the cafe you were working at. 

You and him wildly making love...Or rather, having sex, kind of everywhere in his house. Well, maybe that part didn’t feel much like being a complete couple ? It was probably just fun for him. Positive side, it was definitely fun for you too. But it also meant more than just sex, to you.

You and him. Ugh. 

There was never any “you and him”. It was just...Yeah. You needed to stop thinking about all this. It was hurting too much. 

Hiding behind your classmates once again, you managed to stop looking his way. 

************

Weeks pass by, and...who the hell said that “time healed all wounds” ? What a load of bullshit. Because it was still difficult, to go every day in his class and have to see him knowing that you’ll never have him. 

Life was so cruel, making you taste the best of it only to take it away from you like that. Without warnings or anything.

Especially since lately, things got tougher than usual for you financially, and you just kept having bad luck after bad luck ! 

Ugh. You were exhausted. Both mentally and physically. 

************

Bruce could see you getting worst, day after day. 

And it killed him, that he couldn’t do anything about it. 

He wished he could take you out to a nice dinner, and then talk with you about anything you want. He wished he could be there for you, and take care of you ! 

You looked so tired all the time, though you never fell asleep again in his class. He kind of knew why you resisted so much. You definitely didn't want him or anyone else to call you out about falling asleep in his class. Again. 

But you looked so...worn out. He didn’t see you smile once. And he was pretty sure that your state wasn’t only due to the fact he broke up with you. 

Damn. He just wished he could...He wished so many things. But none of it could happen. Not now, at least. 

************

Do not fall asleep. Do NOT fall asleep. 

You kept repeating those words to yourself, over and over again. Trying really hard to fight it, even while his voice was just so damn soothing...

Do not fall asleep. Don’t you even fucking dare !! 

No. You couldn’t fall asleep. Because you couldn’t let anyone call you out on it, but also because you really needed to pass his class. 

And since you broke up, of course, he stopped treating you differently. You had never noticed, that during your entire college years so far, he helped you out so much for his class. 

But he really did. He used to give you tips, writing them on your tests so you’d do better. He used to...He used to do so much ! 

You never realized it, until he stopped. And damn, his class definitely suddenly became much harder, without him explaining things more to you ! 

But of course, he would stop treating you differently now. It was weird though, how he always helped you out, even before you even talked to him. Even before that famous “falling asleep in his class” episode happened. 

You always assumed he spends that much time correcting everyone’s tests...but he apparently didn’t. 

Why would he...Wait. No. Of course he didn’t have a crush on you all those years. He just...Saw potential or something. 

And now, he was letting you handle things yourself. 

In the end, it was better. If he was still even in the slightest nice to you, then you know your stupid brain would start to hope again. You couldn’t have that...

************

Bruce looks at his students slowly coming in his class, one by one or in groups. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but search for you in the crowd, hoping to catch a glance before you notice he’s looking at you...

He knows in order for things to be normal again, he should resist the urge to drift his gaze to you. First, it clearly hurts you whenever you caught him doing that, and second...he can't think of this “second”. He can’t think about how much it hurts him too. He can’t. 

He made a decision. He cannot be with you. He cannot. So what if it hurts him too, to see you without being able to ever touch you ? 

He shakes his head and th-

“Um, wait please, I think we’re missing a student.” 

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that. 

His rule about being on time was pretty strict, wether a few students weren’t there or not, the door to the room was always closed maximum five minutes after the bell rung. 

Plus, wasn’t it suspicious of him to notice she was missing ? That you weren’t there yet ? Because he definitely didn’t always notice who was missing, or who was late. 

He knew most of his students, but he had so many of them that some pretty average one just didn’t stick in his mind. He felt awful, sometimes, when he couldn’t remember who was who but...Oh fuck. 

Why did he talk before he could think ?  

“Um, who are we missing ?” 

The student that was closing the door asked, confused. And of course it had to be Fryer. Damn, Bruce really couldn’t stand his face. He was about to tell him “nevermind” but...

But you were usually never late. And the fact that you weren’t here right now, while the bell rung a while ago...it kind of freaked him out. And though he knew his next words were going to sound suspicious and weird, once again, they got out before he could truly think about it : 

“Miss (Y/L/N).”

Fuck. Definitely suspicious now ! But Fryer doesn’t really seem surprise that Bruce knew which student was missing, and for once since he first saw him, Bruce didn’t want to punch his light out. 

The idiot though probably thinks Bruce knows all his student by heart...Well, good. Fryer says : 

“Oh (Y/N) ? She won’t be coming in today.” 

He wants to ask if you’re sick, and he feels worries filling him but...this time he manages to not say anything. He’s about to say something along the line of “Oh ok, thanks, go sit down now please”, but Fryer continues : 

“She actually won’t be coming in the other days either, in fact.”

What ? Bruce’s blood freeze. What the hell was that guy on about ?! He tries to keep his cool, but fails miserably. 

“What ? What do you mean ?!” 

He asks, frantic. This time, Fryer is surprised. Confused, he answers : 

“Um...I know her roommate. She said that she dropped out. That she left.”

“What ? Are you sure ?!”

“Yes sir, I’m sure. She took all her stuffs !” 

You...Dropped out ? That doesn’t sound right. You’d never give up on your dream !! Oh god, oh god what if something happened to you ?! 

“Professor Wayne ?”

His mind goes blank. He cannot think. Of course. It’s the “(Y/N) syndrome”, he came to call it. Only you ever had this effect on him. Making him not think straight anymore. Making his mind go blank.

It happened many times before. When he talked to you before you got together. It made him feel like a damn teenager every time. But this time, oh this time...

It was another feeling. It wasn’t this dumb blissful feeling he felt because he was too damn in love with you. And fuck it hurt to finally admit to himself again that he truly was deep in love with you...

No, it wasn’t this. It was a huge panic taking over him. Worries about your safety. Because there was no way, NO WAY you would have dropped out willingly !! 

“Professor Wayne ? Hey Professor Wayne where are you going ?!” 

He’s running out of the classroom and to his car before he can think clearly about any of this, abandoning his confused students. 

************

Bruce was happy to see he didn’t loose any of his detective reflex. He managed to trace your path in less than an hour, finding your new address after questioning a few selected people. 

Out of breath, as he rushed up the twelve floors to what is suppose to be your apartment, he knocks on your door.

He quickly takes notice that said door seems to be intact. No trace of break in or anything. Which is a bit reassuring...

A few seconds later, and you open your door. The look of surprise on your face is quite an impressive one. 

“B...Bruce ?” 

“Given how surprise you look, I’m guessing you did not look through the peephole. You really should, this isn’t a nice neighborhood.” 

Are the first stupid words that come out of his mouth, and oh he suddenly wants to punch himself in the face. He definitely understands what Selina meant now, when she said sometimes she just wanted to slap him. 

Of course, his words have the effect he expected as he realized what he just said. Narrowing your eyes at him, you say : 

“Yeah I definitely should use the peephole more. Would stop me from opening my door to...some people.” 

He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that you’re talking about him, of course. 

There’s an awkward silence, where he just stands there, studying your face. You don’t know this, but he’s doing a quick check up to see if you had been hurt in any way. He doesn’t notice any apparent bruises, and you don’t seem to be in pain. You don’t s-

“Why are you here, exactly ? Shouldn’t you be in class ?” 

You bring him back to Earth. He says : 

“I um...Yes. I should be.”

“And why are you here then ?” 

Here we go again. The “(Y/N) Syndrome”. He can’t seem to think of anything good to say, of anything that could justify why he just drove across town and ran to your apartment. At least, of anything he could tell you. 

Because he couldn’t really tell you the actual truth. But once again, his mind just goes blank, and he stares at you for a few seconds before dumbly saying : 

“Fryer said you dropped out.” 

“Fryer should learn to keep his mouth shut.” 

“Agreed.” 

You cross your arm, and look at him curiously. And oh it doesn’t help at all that you don’t really seem mad about him being here. Just...mildly curious ? 

The truth was, and you hated yourself for it, the fact that he came knocking on your door while he should be at school made your heart race. Filled you with stupid hope. And once again, Murphy’s law was forgotten. 

“So, did you actually drop out ?” 

“Yes.” 

Your answer is like a cold shower bringing him back to his senses. He frowns. So you did really drop out. But, why ? 

He wants to ask you. He wants to make sure you’re ok. He wants...so many things. But instead, his stupid brain enters “idiot mode” and he hears himself say : 

“Ah. So Fryer was right. Well I did good coming here. Listen, I refuse to let such a promising student drop out, ok ? You have such a bright future.”

“Bru...Professor I-” 

“I can’t believe you out of all people would just...give up ! You’re the smartest student I’ve ever had ! Many people would kill to be as intelligent and gifted as you, and what ? You’re throwing everything away ? Why ?” 

“Well if you’d let me expla-” 

“Oh, I hope it’s not because of me ! ...Is it ? Because if it’s the case then it’s truly pathetic and dumb. Jeopardizing your future just because of a silly heartbreak !” 

Fuck. He...he really didn’t mean to say that. But the thought of you quitting because he broke up with you came to his mind and his two last braincells just couldn’t seem to work properly. 

And, damn. He can see he made you mad. He wants to apologies, to say he didn’t think. To say he didn't mean it. To say he’s just really disappointed you dropped out, and sad and...that he wants you to come back. That you don’t have to ever talk to him again, but just come back. 

He wants to convince you, though he realized he probably just ruined everything with his last words. Oh. Why did the “(Y/N) syndrome” got to be so strong ?!  Why did you always make his brain fry ?! 

He’s about to finally tell you what he feels, what he truly feels, when you push him away with all your might. 

He takes a step back, and you’re definitely not strong enough for him to be hurt but..he can’t quite hide the pain expression on his face as you push him away. It feels more painful than any punch he ever received. And when you start to speak...

“What do you want ?! WHAT DO YOU WANT ?! Why are you here right now ? How dare you ? How dare you say all this to me ?! You never expected me to “give up”...Ugh. How dare you ?! This is MY life, I make the choices I want ok ? Don’t come barging in again as if nothing happened and tell me what to do,or talk about my future !“

You push him once more, another hit to his heart. Even more so because he knows you’re right to be angry, right now. 

"Also, Professor Wayne, you’re very presumptuous if you think I quit school because of you ! I stopped because I lost my scholarship and I can’t pay for the school anymore. Some bullshit about me making too much money on the jobs I have, even if I could barely pay rent even with the scholarship...So here. I quit because of this, not because of...you. I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t abandoned my dream because of you. Get down your high horse your lordship, you’re not that great !” 

You close the door in his face, not leaving him time to say anything else and..He sighs. It’s actually good, you didn’t let him time to speak.

You have every right to be mad at him. Every right to hate him, and to talk to him like you did. And he knows the best thing right now would be for him to leave. 

He almost knocks again but decides against it. It really is a bad idea. And he doesn’t want to hurt you further. No. He really wants to, but he has to resist. 

He has to leave you alone. At least for now. He has to. He has to, and hope that once things would clear up, you’ll be able to forgive him...

For now, he returns to the university, and starts to make some call to see about getting your scholarship back. 

************

Barely an hour later, someone else knocks on your door. 

You hate the fact that there’s a small hopeful pang in your chest about maybe it being Bruce again...Maybe he’ll come back and say he was being an idiot. That he...No. Murphy’s law. 

You wished he would change his mind about leaving you, and that he was coming in to tell you he fixed everything with the university. That he decided to, you don’t know, take more classes like they begged him to, and in exchange they’d give you back your scholarship and you could still try and live your dream ! 

You know it’s not possible, and that it’d be too obvious but you hope and...no. No. NO. Murphy’s law. Do not forget. 

"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong"

He won’t change his mind. He won’t save your scholarship. He loves Selina. He was just being a good teacher, worried about your future, when he came to knock on your door that first time. That’s all.

Still. He got some nerve coming to your place to give you a scolding. Like come on, he could give you a break ! How dare he come to ask why you quit school, how dare he thinks it was because of him, how dare...No. No no no. You weren’t gonna get mad at this again. 

It wasn’t worth it. You shouldn’t even had been mad at him in the first place, it really showed how immature you could get...

And yet, you were overthinking everything as you opened your door, not even looking in the peephole. Which you really should have done, just like Bruce said.

You open the door and...

You freeze. 

Shit.

You would have recognized that face anywhere in the world. You studied his psyche enough, in school and on your own time, to know what he looked like.

“Hello there, delivery for a certain miss...”

He looks at your name on the door, barely hiding the fact he’s most definitely not here to deliver anything to you, and continues : 

“(Y/L/N). Delivery for Miss (Y/L/N) !” 

He smiles widely at you, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Not the good kind of shivers either. Not the kind Bruce gave you when he smiled at you. 

Oh no. 

“Oh you’re a cute one. I’m glad to be your delivery man !” 

You can’t say anything. Any scream you wanted to get out dying in your throat, as you’re properly terrified. 

Because you recognized him. Instantly. 

“Why are you looking at me like that miss ? You don’t think I’m cute ? Oh I get it, you would have much rather I’d be him right ?” 

You know who he’s talking about. And suddenly, everything makes sense. The sigh of relief Bruce made when you answered your door, and the reason he so abruptly broke up with you while things were going so well between you two...

“I’m afraid I’m not as handsome as our dear mutual friend, detective Wayne, uh ? Oh well. It’ll have to do ! You know, I’m at least as clever as he is ! I must admit he almost got me, being so harsh and heartless with you. I really thought you were a nobody. I wasn’t going to bother with you. I know our beloved Brucie, it’s not his type to date a student and break her heart...But then it was all a cutesy trick to lead me the wrong way right ?” 

You know you should do something. Scream. Close the door. Try to defend yourself...But you cannot move. Not when he is facing you. 

“What a grave mistake I almost made uh, thinking you were a nobody ! But when I saw him rushing here in a panic when he discovered you didn’t go to school...I knew. I knew you were the one ! And when I found those two bozos there...” 

He points at two bodies in the corridor. Cops ? Why were they here ? Did Bruce ask them to keep an eye on you ?

“I recognize him you know ? They’re our beloved Brucie’s friends he kept from his time as a detective. Probably some of the only trustworthy officer in Gotham...Bye bye to them haha. Hey, you know what ? I’m actually glad, now, that he managed to hide Selina and Alfred ! I have no idea where he sends them off to, but I’m glad he did ! Because then I would have walked right next to the gem that you are. Haha, he really did nearly get me ! He really should have send you away too...But I guess he knew that I would eventually have found you uh ? Just like I was going to find Selina and Alfred if you didn’t exist...Oh all this makes me so giddy !” 

Giddy. That’s something you certainly weren’t. 

Finally, you were starting to regain your senses, and you quickly glanced at the baseball bat that was not far from your door...But he sees your eyes shifting, and his smile immediately disappear. 

“Now there, I hope you’re not thinking of escaping or something. I wouldn’t want to...hurt you before I need to.”

You rush to the bat but...He catches you first and lays something on your mouth and nose. And fuck, he’s too strong for you to resist and...No. No ! 

Ether. A rag dipped in ether. 

You almost immediately lose consciousness, and fall into his arms. 

His arms. 

Him. 

John Doe, aka “The Joker”. Gotham’s most notorious serial killer. 

************

Bruce’s phone rings. He just received a text. 

His heart leaps into his chest, hoping to god that it’s you. That you...

His entire being freezes as he sees the few words accompanying the picture he just received. 

Anonymous number.

“Come and get her”, with a picture of you, tied up in a warehouse, , looking absolutely terrified, bruises on your face.

No. No how...oh he was such an idiot ! Why did he rush to your apartment earlier ? 

But there was no time for regrets. Bruce rushed to his night table drawer, and got his gun out of it. The one he used to carry when he was a detective. The one he hadn’t used in years...

In a few seconds, he’s running out of his house, knowing exactly where that psycho is holding you. 

That warehouse. He’s sure it’s the same one where the Joker stabbed him all those times, and where he finally got caught and send to prison...

************

A few weeks earlier, pre-break up : 

His phone ringing is what woke him up that day. Followed by your cute little sleepy groans. Right. You stayed the night...Funny, how he never slept as well as when your in his arms. 

“So early. Why people phone that early ?” 

You can barely form a sentence, as you roll off of him and to the other side of his bed, wrapping yourself in the blanket and groaning some more, saying something about him picking up the damn phone already !

He chuckles, and does so. Um ? Commissioner Gordon ? Why would he call him so early ? 

“Hello ?” 

He says in the phone. 

“Hello Bruce. Am I calling at the wrong time ?”

“No, not at all. It’s early but...it’s ok. What can I do for you Jim ?”

“Good. Because it’s pretty...urgent. And delicate. Could you come by the HQ as soon as you can ?” 

“What is it ?” 

“I cannot tell you on the phone. Just...hurry up. And be careful.”

“Um, ok ?” 

“Actually you know what ? Can you get ready now ? I’ll send an officer to fetch you.” 

“I’m a bit tied up at the mo-”

“It’s very urgent, Bruce.” 

The tone in Commissioner Gordon’s voice convinces Bruce that yes, it must be urgent. He turns to look at you, and...Oh well. You will have plenty of times to catch up later. 

He’ll try to make it quick at the police office. 

************

You were back asleep by the time he finished getting ready, and he didn’t want to wake you up. He was going to make it quick anyway, and would be back in no time, with two coffees. Your plain double espresso, and his ridiculously complicated and specific coffee order.

You wouldn’t even notice his absence. 

He kissed your forehead lovingly, and you smiled in your sleep...Damn you were lovely. It took everything in him to look away from you and leave his apartment. 

************

“How the hell did that happen ?!” 

“Bruce, I know you’re upset but-”

“YOU KNOW I’M UPSET ?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF WHO HE TRULY IS ?! I thought putting him in that high security prison was going to hold him for good ! It was suppose to be inescapable !” 

“We thought it too. Hell it hold him for the past twelve years didn’t it ? But according to our sources, he really planned things. Probably for those past twelve years. But listen, we got this ok ? We’ll just make sure officers are with you and your loved one 24/7 and...”

“No. No let me handle things for my loved ones. No offense, but I don’t trust most of your guys, and anyway they can’t do anything against him. I...I have to take care of things myself. I’ll...Find a way.” 

“Are you sure ?” 

“Yes Jim. I am. After all, I’m pretty sure I’m the one that knows him the best...”

“I know Bruce. Unfortunately, we both know he also knows you very well...”

“Yes. Which is why I’m planing to do things that are very...unlike me.” 

“Oh ?”

“Again, no offense Jim, but I’m not telling you anything. I need to protect...The people important to me. Until we find him again.” 

“We will find him again, you know.” 

“Yes. I do. I’ll help you.” 

************

It’s full of dread that Bruce goes home that morning. 

And for the first time, the sight of you laying in his bed doesn’t fill him with joy or desire. On the contrary. He wishes you weren’t there. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t just let you go without a last goodbye...He knows it’s unfair to you. That it’s selfish. But he...He just can’t. 

And so he slips back in bed, and in the process wakes you up. You smile and say a cute sleepy : 

“You’re back...” 

Before going to nestle against him. 

“Yes, I am.”

He says, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you close and...Your kisses on his chest are an amazing torture. And when you reach his neck, and then his mouth. When he...for one last time...

He forgets everything. Here. In your arms. Entranced by your moans of pleasure and your hands clutching at his back. 

He knows it’s selfish. He knows it’s wrong. He knows he should do something now, and not wait but..

But it needs to be in a public place. “It needs to feel real”, he rationalize in his head, finding an excuse to stay in your arms a little longer.

It needs to be somewhere where Bruce is sure that he’ll see it. So that you’ll be out of harms way. So that you will be safe. 

And it won’t be forever, right ? Just until they catch him again. 

Him. 

John “The Joker” Doe. 

Him. 

Who managed to escape the highest security in the world, and who’s now roaming free yet again. 

Him, who will most likely come after Bruce and everything he holds dear. 

Which now, because he has been selfish and stupid, included you. 

One last time. He’ll make love to you one last time. Until they catch him again. They got to catch him again. And to keep you safe. He’ll make sure you’re safe. He’ll ask old colleagues to keep an eye on you, and that added to his plan of...he can’t think of it right now. 

But with his plans...With his plans, he knew you would definitely be safe. Yes. Yes, things would be alright. He had to believe it. And honestly, as he lost himself to your heat...He became sure of it. 

Everything would be alright. 

To be continued. 

______________________________________________

Fortunately, it’s not that. 

It’s his mug. 

His mug full of cold overbrewed tea just shattered on the floor. 

And totally ruined the mood. 

Damn, of course clumsy you would push that damn mug off of the desk ! Such bad timing ! Or...Was it his fault ? As he was pushing you up said desk a bit more ? In any case, the mug is broken and now you’re suddenly very aware of how close Professor Wayne is to you. 

That mug just fucking ruined the mood alright. Brought you back to that unpleasant thing called “reality”. Made you realize what you were doing. The haze of passion slowly fading away. 

He steps away from you clumsily, and helps you sit straight back up, but takes his time to actually fully move away from you, helping you back on your feet. 

You’re so embarrassed. You avoid his gaze as you smooth your clothes down, looking around the room for the coat he through off of you. 

This is...Awkward. Not as weird as you’d think, but definitely extremely awkward and uncomfortable. You just can’t look at him right now. 

What the hell got into you, kissing him like that ? 

The moment seemed so right but now, after the unfortunate mug incident that kinda also broke this beautiful bubble you two were in...It’s just awkward. 

************

He turns to you again, and he feels like he’s back in high school the day he had his first kiss. So bashful. Nervous. Unsure. 

He rubs his neck nervously and just can’t find anything to say. He wants to make you comfortable again as he sees you’re avoiding his eyes but...He just can’t think, for the life of him, of anything to say ! 

He can’t just go  : “nice kiss, wanna give it another shot ?”...or can he ? He knows you’d say “yes”. Wait. No. No he can’t. 

The mug breaking reminded him of where you guys were, and how dangerous it was for you and him to make out here. It would be catastrophic for the both of you, if anyone found out this ever happened. 

But...He does want to kiss you again. Badly. 

He’s pretty sure his cheeks are a nice shade of pink by now, as he gazes back at you and you let out a little nervous laugh, still avoiding his eyes. Damn. He couldn’t even remember the last time he blushed because he kissed a girl. 

“I um...I...We...This isn’t...”

Nope. Really. He can’t think of anything to say. He rubs nervously at his neck again, and wonders were his confidence all went. 

He’ve always been sure of himself. Always was able to change an awkward situation into a pleasant moment. Always been very good with words. But here, in that moment, with you...He’s a little lost. 

He can’t recall the last time he felt like that. Actually, he’s pretty sure he never felt like that before. And it’s a bit scary, because right now, he really needs to say something to make you comfortable again. 

He hates to see you so embarrassed and oh god you’re probably thinking about how big of a pig he is kissing you like that. You’re probably thinking this was a huge mistake and he hates it. 

He hates the simple thought of you maybe regretting this right now, which would explain why you so resolutely avoid his eyes. He hates it. 

Because for the first time in...forever really, he feels completely at ease. He feels like that kid he used to be before his parents’ murder. 

The one that loved to roam around his gigantic house, that was carefree and thought nothing back could ever happen to him or anyone he loved...The realization of this downs on him all of a sudden, and it finishes what his mug started : the mood is most definitely ruined. 

No one will ever know what would have happened if he didn’t realize what he was feeling. He’s pretty sure he would have resumed kissing you, even in this dangerous place, so exposed to someone walking in on you two. 

He’s pretty sure he would have just made love to you, right here, without another thought about anything. And he knows you would have let him...Knows you wanted it too. 

Shit. The mere fact that he thought “making love” and not “have sex” put everything under a new light. Everything that just happened in perspective. 

Shit. Fuck. Oh man. 

Shit...

He takes a few steps away from you, and run a hand through his hair, looking away from you. Taking a deep, slightly panicked, breath. 

Fuck. 

************

Oh man.

Ok. What just happened ? 

Sure, things were a bit awkward and all but the way Bruce just walked away from you right now, and was avoiding your gaze and made that...face. That face that you interpreted as him realizing what he just did and regretting it.

Well, it hurt. It actually genuinely hurt. What did you do ? Was it because you got all embarrassed ? Maybe he thinks you’re too immature ? You did just act a bit in an immature way by being so damn bashful because of a broken cup ! 

And Professor Wayne is...Well, he’s a mature man. Older than you for sure. More experienced too. And oh jeez now you’re thinking about Miss Kyle. 

Wonderful, sexy, probably way more experienced than you too Miss Kyle.

Oh what if you were a terrible kisser ? So bad in fact that he had to process it for a while and was only now regretting it and...He looks at you again now, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t really pinpoint. 

It kinda freaks you out. Because this kiss changed everything. You hate yourself for feeling that way, for being such a naive girl, but...it really did. 

So far, you thought you could ignore your growing feelings for Professor Wayne. After all, it was just a crush. So many others had a huge crush on him too, just in your class. And on campus, he was known to be beloved even by those who didn’t take his class ! 

A crush, you could deal with. A crush would pass. A crush was just a phase, and you just needed to meet another guy or girl that was fantastic and boom, the crush would end. 

But this kiss...This kiss, it made you realize that it wasn’t “just a crush” anymore. Somewhere along the way, during all your banter at the cafe, and those months of talking and such...You kinda fell for him. 

Anyway, where were you gonna meet someone as fantastic as him ? Even if you were still in the crush phase, you were doomed...So the fact that he just walked away from you like that, and was now sighing a lot and running his hands in his hair way too much and just staring at you so intensely...It freaks you out. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He says, and your heart drops. Well, this all thing was cut short. You barely had time to kinda fondle each others, and kiss, and it was already over. 

Because you were sure that his “I’m sorry” was going to be followed by a “we can’t do this you’re my student” or some bullshit excuse like that. This kiss started because he wanted to comfort you anyway. 

It was in the heat of the moment. You felt vulnerable, and he was taking care of you and it just kinda happened. Sure he kissed you first but...but...but...

You wanted to cry again. And you hated yourself for that. Damn. What a damn whimp you were being, crying over a guy you didn’t even date. Just made out with. Suddenly. And then it was over, just as suddenly. 

You sucked it up and turned to him. 

************

Oh no. No no no no no. He could see in your eyes that you totally misunderstood what he just said. He could read you like a book (well, it was easy, given the fact that the corner of your eyes were damped again). And he had to clear the situation quick, before you’d find an excuse to bolt and avoid him for the rest of his life. 

He knew you enough that it could be a possibility, if he wasn’t quick enough. That you could decide to act before he could, and run away. From his understanding, you did that a lot. Whenever there was a situation that was too much for you to handle, you’d “run to hide in your room, and watch your favorite TV show or something, to take your mind off of everything”. 

You told him that, one evening, when the café was calm and you were able to actually sit with him while he was having his ridiculous coffee order and beloved beignet. 

“I’m not sorry I kissed you ! I mean I was, I really was. Until you kissed me in return. Like I’m sorry I kissed you first, but I’m not sorry I kissed you !” 

He mentally face palmed himself. A thing that he found himself doing a lot, when you were around. You always seemed to make him loose any mental capacity he had. 

He knew he was a smart man. A quick thinker. But whenever you were around, it seemed like he was just a stupid awkward teenager at times. Like right now. He couldn’t gather his thoughts properly. 

More often than not, he would think about doing something, and then you’d come in and...All his plans would burn away. Like the fact he promised himself not to go easy on you in classes, or how he always say “I’m just ordering an espresso and a beignet and then I’m out”, but ended up staying until the coffee shop would close...

And now you were smiling, and it made him loose his train of thought even more...He somehow managed to continue : 

“I’m sorry I...don’t remember. I don’t remember why I was saying I’m sorry. It made sense, I swear. Oh and now you must think I’m an idiot. I promise I’m not.” 

You smile some more at him, apparently relieved, and say : 

“I know you’re not. You’re my professor, I know how smart you really are...” 

There’s a mischievous tone in your voice and...Oh. Perfect. You’re totally making fun of him now. Mentioning the fact he’s your teacher as well...You wicked wench. 

He can see in the way your eyes are smiling, that you’re enjoying him stumbling on his words and such. Maybe because you’re glad you’re making him feel that way ? If it’s the case, then he can ignore the little humiliation of being such a doofus in your presence... 

“Right. Yes. I am. Um...What did I want to say ?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not in your head. You were talking about being sorry, but forgetting why you were sorry because you definitely are not sorry you kissed me.” 

Fff...It’s fascinating, how you always seem to manage to turn situations around. 

He saw you countless time spilling coffee all over you at your work, and each time you started by being flustered and embarrassed, but always manage to crack a joke and make customers laugh. 

Quick witted. Smart. That’s what you were. He lost himself in your eyes for a second, and the childish grin that spread across your features. Coming closer to you once more, reaching for your waist. 

Damn you were beautiful. He really wanted to kiss you again...Wait, no ! That’s what he wanted to say ! 

“Ah ! I remember !” 

The sudden way he exclaimed this makes you jump a bit in the air, and you take a few steps back, putting some distance between you two again. 

This time, it’s his turn to grin, though he had no intention of jump scaring you. You shake your head and sigh, and give him a “what the hell ?” face before he continues : 

“I’m sorry because I...I put your entire future in this school in jeopardy.”

You’re confused for a second. Ugh ? Wasn’t it the other way around ? 

“Gotham uni has very strict rules about romance between its faculty members. And even stricter ones about this between teachers and students. You would have been in trouble if we were to be found out...”

“Wouldn’t you have been in more trouble ?” 

“Actually, no. I’m a well loved teacher here, and people know that I’m...liked. Most likely the board member would have given me a warning but fire you for trying to bribe me with...With...” 

You turn white, and then red. But not from embarrassment, from anger, as you say, outraged : 

“What ?! Those bastards ! You kissed me first ! They can’t expel me for that !” 

Bruce smiles and gently reminds you : 

“Well, they’re not. We weren’t found out. But if it happened...you would have been expelled. I know this. More than once a few of the board member hinted at me that they um...”admired me” for my self-control, what with all my beautiful students and all, flirting with me constantly.” 

“Gross...”

“Yeah, I think so too. I actually always was disgusted by the mere thought of me ever hooking up with a student because...It’s just not right.” 

“...Thank you.” 

“What ? Why are you...Wait no shit. That’s not what I meant ! Until now I always thought...Uh...Would you please stop looking at me like that ?” 

“Like what ?”

“Just...Turn around.”

“...Are you serious ?” 

“Yes, yes I’m serious, turn around !” 

For the tenth time that night, Bruce slaps himself mentally. 

This definitely not was how he pictured his big revelation. His explanation to you about how he felt about you. Nope. He thought he was going to be all smooth and all, and that you would swoon over him. 

It’s...interesting, how he’ve always been able to be charming and flirty with people he didn’t care about, but was always so clumsy with people he actually liked. 

It used to be the same with Selina, at first, when he thought he loved her. Though after a while he regained his smoothness and wittiness...maybe it’d be the same with you ? Just awkward at first and then he could regain his “sexy charming charismatic professor” status ?

He shook his head, and looked at you. Your back was to him now, and he slapped himself mentally once more. “Turn around” ? Really ? Ugh. 

He just couldn’t think, with you looking at him like that. With your...Eyes and all. Um. Well. This wasn’t his most brilliant moment for sure. 

With yet another sigh, he turned back to you. Or rather, to your back. Without seeing your face, he knew you had that “what the hell ?” expression back on. 

“I..In my head, I prepared a all speech about how I was sorry I endangered your education just because I couldn’t resist kissing you anymore. I was going to tell you about how those months of talking at the cafe meant more to me than it appeared. How I never went there before, up until I realized you worked there. How I’ve never been so impressed with someone’s essays. How I didn’t want to call Selina anymore. I prepared a speech mentally, to tell you all this, and now it’s all coming out wrong and sounds like I’m regretting it but I don’t. I really don’t. I’m rambling nonsense right now, because of how much I don’t regret kissing you. I’m sorry I did it here, putting your future in danger. But I..I’m...I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry about kissing you where anyone could walk in any seconds and therefor risking you being expelled. And that’s the third time I say that, sorry. And I was also trying to insert somewhere, in my speech, something about how you were the only student I ever looked at this way, because your essays move me, because you’re more hard working and smarter than most, because you go beyond my class to learn and...I don’t know, I just think you’re awesome. You make me feel like a teenage boy right now. Jeez, did I just say you were “awesome” ? Do you see what you’re doing to me ? You turn me into a stupid kid who can’t talk normally and who’s STILL blabbering right now. You must think I’m an idiot. And oh look, we’re back a few minutes ago when I said exactly that. Yet I’m still talking. I still hear myself talk. And you’re not helping me you’re just listening. I bet you kinda like that uh ? Me rambling. Not being that collected and calm as I like to present myself usually ? I know you like to lightly mock people. You said it once, in the cafe. It’s your witty sarcastic side, I love it. Especially when you talk back to Fryer, that little shit...Wait why am I talking to Fryer right now ? See, once again I don’t know what I’m saying ! I prepared a clear, short and to the point speech in my head, and I can’t seem to shut up ! But here it is, what I meant : for the fourth time, I’m sorry I kissed you in such a place, and like, was ready to...on the desk...wait scratch that, it makes me sound like an asshole, I didn’t...I mean I did want, I did want you but I...um...I’m sorry. Will you go out to dinner with me ?” 

By the end of his clumsy and extremely cute speech, you already had turned back to face him. He claimed half his speech to your back, but when he started to talk about how special you were, you couldn’t help but turn to him. 

Wow. You would have never thought that Professor Wayne could get that flustered. And all of that, because of you. This was great for your non existant ego. And the way he was looking at you now, hopeful that you wouldn’t turn him down after his long monologue ? It was sweet. 

It made you feel nice. Confident. And damn, only this man could make you feel confident like that ! It reminded you of all the comments he wrote on your essays, encouraging and praising you. He had just the words to make you actually feel special. 

With a smile you say : 

“Well. I kinda want to kiss you know but I wouldn’t risk getting expelled so...Friday, 8 pm ? Let’s meet at Gotham’s piers. Like you can’t come pick me up at my dorm so...Yeah.” 

“Goth...am’s piers ?”

“Yeah. You do know where Gotham’s piers are right ?” 

“Yes.” 

“So...8 pm next Friday ?” 

“Um yes, yes good. 8 pm next Friday, Gotham’s piers. Great. Good.”

“We’ll talk about this more then, then ? I wouldn’t wanna be expelled for hanging out that late in your office, you know.” 

Oh. Ooooh evil wench. The way you smiled, the spark in your eyes. You were taunting him. ...You were playing a very dangerous game. But before he could do anything, you were walking out of the classroom. With a last look to him, you said : 

“See you tomorrow then, Professor Wayne.”

The emphasis you put on the word “professor” made him shiver. You continued : 

“For what it’s worth, and as bad an idea as it actually was...I would have let you.” 

He’s confused for a second, and asks : “Let me what ?” 

“Oh you know, on the desk.” 

You wink at him and just like that, you’re out of his office. 

Oh. My. God. Did you just...imply that...Oh. Bruce had never felt so flush before in his life. He had to sit down. Wow. Well. You were definitely something else. He couldn’t believe how things turned out tonight. 

From you having a mental breakdown, to him not able to not kiss you, and then rambling for ages to...this. Wow. 

Friday 8 pm. Gotham’s piers. For the first time in his life, Bruce Wayne was excited about a date. 

************

Your apparent confidence after Bruce told you he thought you were special and wanted to date you (basically) had completely vanished. 

It was Friday. 7:45 pm. And you were on pier 9 (the one you agreed to meet on) and pondering wether you should run away or not. 

This past few days had been very unnerving. Probably as a vengeance for the infamous “desk” comment you told him before leaving (the hell you were thinking about ?! Damn, confidence was a dangerous thing, it made you say things like...that), Bruce drove you crazy the past few days ! 

You started to talk with him discreetly via post-it notes that you hid on your essays and in papers he was passing around. It was exciting, to try and not get anyone to notice ! 

Fucking William Fryer saw one of the notes he wrote you and made a spectacle out of it ! The note read : “Those jeans you’re wearing are really working for you...They are also really working for me, too” and was of course one of the most daring Bruce send you. 

You had to invent a bullshit excuse, in front of the entire class, blabbering about your boyfriend putting such post-it notes in your stuffs for you to find during the day and blahblahblah...So embarrassing. 

It highly amused Professor Wayne. Of course it did. And then every evening, he’d come in the cafe as if nothing ever happened and it. Drove. You. Crazy ! 

He was good. He was really good. And definitely making you pay for this little desk joke (though it wasn’t totally a joke, if things had went that far that night, you definitely would have let him take you right there and then, on his hopefully sturdy desk). 

And because of those last few days of him kinda toying with you masterfully (the man WAS more experienced), you were now a mess of stress and oh my god this first date was going to go horribly, and he’d realize you weren’t that special and end everything before you could even...

“Hello, miss (Y/L/N).” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Actually, a few beats. You turn and here he is... 

“Shall we ?” 

He says charmingly, giving you his arm. And man he looks good. 

************

Best. First date. Ever ! 

You have no idea how he managed it, but he somehow remembered every single thing you told him you liked. He first took you to a restaurant serving your favorite food, to then go to an “escape room” (of course you loved nerdy puzzle solving). He actually took you to the one known to be the toughest, called “E. Nygma’s house of Enigmas” (not a very original name but ok) and you had a blast, solving puzzles with him ! 

You made it out of the escape room barely in time before the countdown, and you’re pretty sure the owner of the place, the conveniently named “E. Nygma”, was kinda pissed you managed to get out. Apparently you two were the first to achieve this feat. 

Bruce then took you for a walk in the park, and you talked for ages while drinking coffee (you laughed way too much when the  barista thought the double espresso was for Bruce, and his ridiculous coffee order was for you...apparently, the poor barista couldn’t even fathom a man like Bruce getting such a ridiculous kind of coffee).

After making some fun of him, he took you to the park. You sat down on a bench and talked way too long, about anything and...

It was a great first date. And it felt like you and Bruce had been friend since forever. Things went so smoothly between the two of you ! You had lots in common, but also a lot of differences which made things perfect. 

The difference in age wasn’t really noticeable, in the end, because you were...”special”. Mature. Incredible. 

He showered you with compliments all night, and by the time it was time to go home, you were a blushing mess and just didn’t know how to respond anymore...

How could a guy like him think you were such a great person ? Such a beautiful woman ? He dated people like Selina Kyle before you for god’s sake ! And yet, he managed to make you believe every single words he said. 

Probably because he meant all of them...Here we go again, Bruce Wayne, the only man that could make you feel so good about yourself ! 

Somewhere along the night, he told you to call him “Bruce” (people around you were starting to give you weird looks, because you kept calling him “professor” while you two were clearly on a date...they probably thought it was a weird kink or something), and his name rolled naturally on your tongue. 

Just like your name rolled on his. 

You were actually disappointed that the night was about to end. It was really late, starting to get cold and...You really should get back to the dorm. 

You both knew it. And so he stood up and said : 

“Well, I guess I should get you home uh ?” 

************

Yeah. You never made it to your dorm. 

He was driving you back to the university, and somehow, ended up driving back to his own apartment. 

It was all kind of a blur. He stopped his car at a particularly long red light, and you mentioned the fact that he couldn’t really give you a “good night kiss” on campus, so he really should give it to you know. 

When he obliged, things got quite...heated. Only a car behind you honking at you to move as the light turned green brought you back to your senses. Damn. Making out with your professor on the passenger seat of his car was quite something. And, just like that, you both changed your mind about “going home”. 

He was still taking you home, just, not your dorm. 

You barely paid attention to his apartment as you entered and as soon as he closed his door...He was all around you. 

Backed up against the door, your legs around his waist. 

How the hell did you loose your shirt so fast ? And wow you never undid buttons from a dress shirt that fast before, but here you were, undressing him expertly. 

Your hands ran up and down his muscular chest and damn, the man really was working out. He was even more ripped than you imagined...Your touch made him groan and the next instant off were your pants ! 

He caught you in his arms, and walked to his bedroom. Laid you delicately on his bed, and still kissing, you guys managed to get rid of the rest of your clothes. 

Wow. You never thought of yourself as a “sleep on the first date” kind of girl. Especially not with...Him. You thought it would take a few awkward dates. If it ever happened, to be honest ! Because you were so sure he would quickly discover how un-special and plain you were ! 

And yet. Here you were, on his bed, stark naked, fumbling with the zipper of his pants to take it off as he was furiously making out with him. 

That first date you dreaded so much went perfectly well. Better than you’d ever thought ! And...Oh jeez you’d just never thought you ever ended up here ! 

And now he’s making you dizzy by peppering your neck, chest, belly, with soft wet kisses and...Wow. 

He looks up at you with hungry eyes, and stops.

No. No what ? Why did he stop ? Is he having second thoughts ? 

He hovers over you and looks at you. One of his hand goes to softly caress your cheek while the other rests beside your head. 

“Are you ok ?” 

You’re taken aback by his question. I mean, it’s very sweet of him to ask but you were pretty sure that the way you kissed him, and moan whenever he sucked at your skin was pretty self-explanatory ! 

You nod, not trusting your voice right now and he looks so intensely at you...it makes you a bit self-conscious, and you close your arms around your chest, trying to hide yourself from him. 

He frowns, but also seems worried...You avoid his gaze, insecurities flying back in. Until he kisses your cheek. 

As simple as that. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else, just kisses your cheek. Your forehead. Your eyelids. Your nose. 

He hovers over you, in his glorious nakedness (and he looks VERY good), and you can definitely see all his thoughts aren’t really that pure as he’s hard as a rock (you can feel it, brushing against your thigh whenever he bends down to kiss you tenderly). 

But he doesn’t make a move regarding that. Instead, he kisses your all face, before going back to your lips and licking them sweetly. 

You open your mouth to him, and your tongue dances with his for a moment, before he pulls away again and this time goes to kiss your neck. From where it joins with your shoulder, to your ears. 

He doesn’t miss a spot. And then he goes back to kissing you on the mouth. 

Slowly but surely, he goes down, and down, and down. 

When he reaches your breast, he stops going back up to kiss your mouth, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours. 

It’s incredibly sexy, the way his eyes fixes on you, as he proceeds to kiss and lick at every inch of your upper body. Going slowly, making sure “you are ok”. 

And then he reaches that sweetest spot...Looking at you, you nod. 

You are soaking wet – have been soaking wet – and you can see him smiling in the moonlight going through his apartment window, as he teases you softly with his finger.

And then his tongue slips into your hole. His fingers are gripping your thighs as he eats you out. His tongue laps at your wetness before flicking across your clit.

And you kinda loose control. You knew where he was getting at with all his ministrations, but you didn’t expect him to be that good at it. You let out a whimper as Bruce’s tongue keeps flicking across your clit. When you let out a stifled moan, he moves his face away.

"There’s no need for you to be quiet...(Y/N).” 

Him using your name in that situation makes you even hotter, and to his great pleasure, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he laps at you again. 

His face is against your pussy and his tongue is back, flickering and sucking on your clit. You make small noises as you arch your back. You know you are grinding your pussy against his face but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to like it from the way he is working you over.

One of your hand is gripping the bed as your other hand grabs his hair. And hearing the small aroused growl he lets out drives you wild. Ok. Something to remember, his moans are sexy, and he likes his hair pulled. 

And then, without warnings, you are comming. Your hips are bucking as you are. Bruce is holding onto your waist as he laps at your pussy, tasting you feverishly. Your head rolls back and all you can focus on is how fucking good you feel. You have never cum from a guy eating you out before. Most of the time, they had no idea what they were doing. Clearly, Bruce does. The perks of being with an older more experienced man ? 

Then you are laying against the bed, gasping for breath. He is climbing on top of you and is kissing you again. He tastes like you as your tongues meet.

You want to give back to him, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he reaches for a drawer in his nightstand and takes a condom out. He lets you wrap it around him though, which is already something you guess...

He lines himself up with your entrance and gives you a last questioning look. He wants to make sure you’re ok with this...You nod once more, unable to say anything else and then...then...

He slowly pushes in a bit, then pulls out, just to push back in again. Bit by bit, slowly. Working you open softly, without any brusque gestures. He takes you slowly, delightfully. 

His dick carefully entering you inch by inch, until after a while, he’s fully sheathed inside you and stop moving. 

You felt no pain. The way he poked inside you a little bit just to pull out again, and then back inside a bit further...It didn’t hurt at all. Yes. He really knows what he’s doing. 

You wriggle against him, wanting him to move now, and he gets the message. He bends down to kiss you passionately as his hips rocks against you steadily, purposefully, slowly. 

And it’s...amazing. 

Your moans die in his mouth, and when you join his rhythm by moving your own hips his growls die in yours. 

Your both panting mess, as you move together, in perfect synch. 

It’s sweet, and it’s loving, and it’s something else. 

You’ve never experienced that. He makes you question so much about yourself...up until now, you thought you liked it fast and hard. But here he was, taking his time and building your pleasure more than anyone else did before. 

You were sure that he could get rough if you asked, but this was...a perfect first time with someone. Perfect first time with him. 

Learning to discover the other’s body, at your own pace. Finding all those sweet spots. Touching and kissing.  

You came a second time without even realizing it was coming, shaking against him and tightening around him. Soon after, he followed, and fell at your side, exhausted. You cuddle up against him, and he holds you close. 

As simple as that. And once again, it feels utterly natural. As if you alway knew each others. As if you’ve been together for years. 

This..This was really a great first date. 

************

Six months of utter and perfect bliss ! 

You’ve been secretly dating “Professor” Wayne for six amazing months. 

The secrecy of your relationship didn’t really bother you, you knew it wasn’t forever. None of you said “I love you” yet of course, it was way too early and for now...for now you were just appreciating being with someone who just seemed to get you so completely. 

From talking about forensics for entire nights, to mocking each others’ coffee taste. It was awesome. 

You’ve never been so glad before to live in such a huge place as Gotham. The chances of you and him being out and running into someone you knew were very slim, and in six months, it didn’t happen once. 

More often than not, you’d spend the night at his place, and would take public transports back to uni (he couldn’t really drive you there..not now at least). 

You took each other in every room on every piece of furniture in his apartment. You were so complementary in everything, sex included ! 

You couldn't believe your boyfriend was...Damn. And he couldn’t believe how happy he felt, how carefree and...damn. 

Sure there were a few bump in the road, it wasn’t always easy to act as mere student and teacher every morning, but it was still good. You were fuming in jealousy whenever a fellow student went to flirt with Bruce, and more often than not you wished you could yell out loud that he was yours and that just the night before, you two were a bit adventurous and ended up finally doing it on the very same desk (the door to the office was close of course)your bitch ass was leaning on trying to flirt with him! 

But those were minor setbacks. 

Other than that, things were doing great. And you were finally in a good mood...Dating someone like Bruce was such a huge help, on every aspect of your life. He help for your studies, but also helped you “growing up” etc etc. He...He was great. 

And you were a breath of fresh air for him, the fact you were younger a blessing in the end. But he knew that the age difference wasn’t really a problem...and once you both realized that it was too late to care about the teacher/student thing...Plus you were so smart, witty, sarcastic. You never hesitated to tell him exactly what you thought, and you were...just exactly what he needed to “live” again. 

Yes. Everything was great. Or...So you thought. 

************

Things were getting serious. 

You still didn’t say “I love you” yet, but it was spring break and he asked you if you wanted to come with him to San Francisco...This seminar he tried to avoid ? In the end the Uni principal kinda forced him to go. 

But he figured that if you came with him, things would be more bearable. Besides, San Fran’ was a beautiful city and you never even really left Gotham before ! 

It was exciting. And it also meant...Yes. Things were getting serious. 

Good. There were times when you were a bit worried, because you two really had to be discreet...But the only reason you had to, was because of stupid school rules. And Bruce was risking his reputation just to be with you. You were risking your education for it too ! It meant something right ? 

Yes it did. Besides you knew there were a few times he almost said those three beautiful words, and a few times ou almost did. 

It was getting serious. For real. 

Which wasn’t really a surprise, given the instant connection you had once you started to truly talk and such...

At times, you knew Bruce felt a bit guilty. And that dating you was unethical for him and he struggled with it sometimes...But the fact he was still sticking around and actually kissed you first and asked you first on a date and all was reassuring. 

His concerns were normal. He was just always afraid to ruin your life or something. To take advantage of you even if you voiced more than once how much you liked when he “took advantage” of you. 

You understood him nonetheless. You understood him so fully...Or so you thought. 

Today marked the date you were suppose to go to San Francisco with him. It was established that you’d meet at Gotham’s train station and take a train to NYC to take a plane there to San Fran (it was the cheapest option + it allowed you two to spend a night in NYC that you always dreamt of seeing). 

You were waiting, with your bags, at the station when he arrived.

Instantly, you knew something was wrong. He seemed...Colder than usual. He didn’t go to take you in his arms, or kiss you, as he always did when you two reunited secretly. 

He kept his distance, and kept looking back behind him as if waiting for someone and...Your blood froze. You heard your heart broke. 

Selina Kyle. 

That’s why he wasn’t walking straight to you. He...Wait...what ?

She had her hand in his now, and he was turning his back to you. What the hell ? 

Your brain refused to work, and you stayed there, frozen in place, looking at them. He kissed her passionately, wrapping his arms around her like he did with you. He kissed her more passionately than when you saw them together years ago, when they were suppose to be together, and you were a mere freshman on campus. 

What...What was happening ? Were you having a nightmare ? 

They exchanged a few words you didn’t hear, and she went into the train that was going to NYC. And then he turned to you, and walked slowly in your direction. 

You couldn't utter a word, he started anyway : 

“Hey Miss (Y/L/N). So. Um. This thing between you and I, it’s over. Sorry to be so abrupt, but I figured it would be better. Like ripping a bandaid you know. And sorry if I made you think it was leading anywhere...Selina called me back a few days ago and made me realize something. I love her. You...You were just a distraction, I guess.” 

Wh...What ? Each words coming out of his mouth was like a knife in your heart. It sounded so surreal. As if you had been thrown into a bad telenovela with a hundred plot twist a second. 

“Don’t look at me like that (Y/N), you knew what you were getting yourself into. I mean, what did you expect ? I’m your teacher. I had a momentary...moment of madness I guess. Your smile was cute. And you’re smart, I always liked smart women. Seeing you hurt that night it all started, kinda triggered a protective side in me too, that I mistook for attraction. But I’m...I’m in love with Selina. Everything is clear to me now.”

You just wanted him to stop talking. Silently, because you had nothing to say, you picked up your bag. Stared at him. You didn’t even feel angry just...Empty. 

And stupid. Oh so stupid. 

Of course. He was right. Confirming all your insecurities. How could such an amazing man ever even like you ? 

“All those things I told you. They’re true you know. You are special. You are...beautiful. You are an amazing woman. You’re just not the one for me.” 

You shake your head. And you smile at him. Of a sad fatalist smile. This was harsh to hear, but...What could you do ? You know that you can’t force someone to love you. Besides, he was still being nice. Still standing by his points, saying you were great. 

“You’re just not the one for me”. Of course you’re not. And you’d beat yourself up for ever thinking you might be. You should’ve known that if Selina Kyle was ever back in the picture, she’d be the one ! You were just one of his plain student. That he had somewhat of a crush on, maybe. And that helped him get through lonely nights. 

You felt dumb. Not angry or anything. Just...Dumb. You smiled sadly at him again, and shakes your head one last time saying : 

“I’m such an idiot. Sorry. Bye B...Professor Wayne.”

And you leave. You have nothing else to say. And you don’t want to hear him anymore. You barely register that he was still talking as you left and you...you just feel empty. And so dumb, that you’re so hurt by this..You should’ve known. 

You should’ve known.

You’re not good enough for a man like Bruce Wayne. 

************

Looking at you leaving, Bruce sighs and climbs in the train, joining Selina. He looks sadly out of the window, at your form disappearing in the station’s crowd. 

The six months of bliss were over. 

To be continued...

________________________________________________

Well. Hope you liked it. Actual chapter 3 coming out soon (way longer than this transition one, AND will contain ACTUAL smut not just whatever this little thing was), and in case you’re wondering  why instead of a 2.5 chapter I didn’t just add a new one and made this series “5″ parts...it’s because I don’t like the number “5″. Totally logical. All that to say : this was just a quick interlude written in an hour at 4 am because I suddenly had inspiration about it, and blahblahblah. Bonus, I guess. I’m aware a lot of things happen in it, and it’s probably very shitty. If it sucks, it’s because I wrote this while being very sleep-deprived, like I wouldn’t be surprised if some paragraph makes no sense, and know I won’t have time or the want to re-write it later as it’s often the case when I have a spur of inspiration for a story, once it leaves it’s over for the chapter and I have to restart everything and ugh (yes, trying to find meself some excuses...). On that note, I’m off to bed.