Chapter Text
Rain ticks against my window, drops melting together and streaming down over the glass.
It may be the most typical Gotham-weather in existence.
Having lived here for the past four years, I’ve grown used to it. The weather serving merely as background noise as I turn off the heat of the furnace, grabbing a ceramic bowl from the cupboard below at my knees and placing it on top of the counter. The smell of fresh tomatoes hits my nostrils as I shove the contents of the pan - spaghetti with a thick tomato sauce - in the bowl with a spoon, then place the same spoon back in the bowl, the pasta surrounding the piece of cutlery.
I put the pan back down in the sink, it sizzles as I turn on the faucet, cold water hitting the hot surface. Turning around, and swiftly grabbing the bowl of pasta with me, I make my way over to the small living room in my apartment, plopping down on the couch with a small sigh.
My fingers find the remote, turning on the TV and scrolling through a streaming service until I come across a movie that seems at least somewhat appealing. Leaning my head back with a small sigh, I press play. The monologue in the film is the only sound heard in my tiny apartment, along with the slurping sounds that always manage to come with eating spaghetti.
The movie is more boring than anticipated, and I feel myself grabbing my phone instead of paying attention to the people on the screen.
I open my work-schedule, my eyes skimming over the two appointments set for tomorrow with a small sigh. One of the men I have an appointment with, is a true asshole. Like, genuinely, such an asshole. The type of man to flirt with any young woman, despite having a loving wife at home and kids that are barely any younger than the type of woman he takes interest in when out of his wife's sight.
While my thoughts had drifted off to more annoyed ones, I had simultaneously finished my food. I place the now red-stained bowl back on the coffee table in front of me, then relax back down on the couch, now laying sideways. One of my hands reaches down next to the couch, grabbing a dark blue blanket from the wooden basket next to the couch on the floor, where I keep two more blankets and possibly a few missing socks as well.
Shifting on the couch, I drape the warm material over me. It is only the end of August, but it’s not like Gotham even does summers, apart from the few rare days a year when the sun does suddenly appear and everyone digs through their closets to find the one pair of shorts they own in hopes of getting a tan.
I manage to get my attention back to the TV screen, although I’ve most likely missed a significant part of the film already when I decided to spend my time sulking over upcoming work things instead.
After trying to pay attention for twenty more minutes, but not getting into the story at all, I decide to just turn it off. The screen flashes black as I click the button on the remote, then get up from the couch, grabbing the bowl along with me and placing it in the sink next to the pan.
I start doing the dishes, turning on hot water and humming a song that I’ve had stuck in my head all day. Red water splashes me when I make the mistake of holding the spoon in the water streaming out of the faucet at exactly the wrong angle.
A sigh, followed by a murmured “Fuck” leaves my mouth as I wet a cloth and desperately try to get the orange colour off the white blouse clinging onto my torso. Of course, I only make it worse, spreading the spot. Now it's sure to stain. Great.
“Fuck this” i groan under my breath, unbuttoning the blouse and slipping out of it, leaving me in the simple black t-shirt bra I almost always wear underneath work shirts. I walk over to the bathroom, ignoring the half done dishes in the sink as I throw the heap of white, and now partly orange, material in the laundry basket.
I gaze over my reflection in the mirror, a few stray hairs sticking out of the ponytail I normally wear at work. I undo it, wriggling the tight elastic band out of my hair with a small pained sound as it pulls on some weirdly sensitive locks of hair.
With my hair undone, now hanging down loosely over my shoulders, I begin to undress further. My fingers find the button of my pants, then the zipper, wriggling the black material down over my hips until it pools at my feet and I step out of it. My hands find the clasp of my bra, undoing it and removing it from where it was wrapped around my chest. Finally, I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties, taking them off too.
I turn in the small bathroom, stepping into the shower cabin and closing it once I'm inside. I turn on the water, yelping when the freezing temperature hits my skin, erupting goosebumps all over my body. After a few seconds it slowly but surely starts to warm up, and I let out a small sigh of relief at the feeling of warmth enveloping me.
The faint smell of vanilla fills the tiny bathroom as I soap in my body and shampoo my hair. A few minutes later, the water suddenly turns ice-cold, causing me to groan loudly in annoyance and turn off the shower in an instant. Yes, I technically was finished with showering, but having to end it because the warm water simply gives up is never an appreciated way. If it were up to me, I would've stood under the hot water for some longer, letting it relax the tension in my back muscles from having to deal with stuck-up men at work all day that truly believe they're better than everyone else.
I grab a towel from the cabinet underneath the bathroom sink, wrapping it around me before grabbing a smaller one as well. I lean my head down, long, wet locks coming into sight before I start drying them slightly and then wrapping the slightly smaller towel around my hair, balancing it on top of my head as I start drying off my body.
After a little while I hang the dampened towels over the edge of the shower cabin, having to stand on my toes to reach it. I walk back out of the bathroom, a few small water droplets still laying on my shoulders. I enter my bedroom, my bed still unmade from when I had to leave in a rush this morning because my alarm was stubborn enough to just not go off. Amidst the messy covers of the bed, I find my pyjamas; grey sweatpants and a black crop top, that I found too ugly to actually wear out, and therefore got degraded to sleepwear. I pull on a fresh pair of panties first, then follow with the actual pyjamas.
Cold, wet hair hits my back, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I walk back into the living room, on my way to grab a glass of water from the sink when I’m suddenly stopped in my tracks, a loud sound making its way to my ears. My eyes widen slightly, and I rush over to the window in hopes of seeing what caused the sound.
Of course, living in a city like Gotham, it's not out of the ordinary to hear gunshots, or even bombs go off at any given time of the day. Yet, this sounded differently.
I pull open the curtains, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight in front of me.
I gasp, my eyes widening as I take in the hunched figure on my balcony.
Technically, it wouldn't suffice as a balcony, as the only access is through a window rather than a door, and the railing isn't exactly steady either. And yes, I’ve had multiple arguments with my landlord about that already.
I blink rapidly, trying to think of a plan. I open the window as far as it allows, but before I can even mutter a word, I recognise tiny peaks on the top of the person’s head, and recognition floods my senses.
This isn't just some random person that for some reason either fell from the roof of the building onto my balcony - because weirdly enough, that wouldn't be the first time it has happened - or climbed up my balcony. No, this was the one and only symbol of Gotham, the vigilante, and for most a hero, Batman. Hunched down, on my balcony .