Chapter Text
pov: bruce wayne.
It’s been difficult to fall asleep, most nights. Every time that I sense myself drifting off, my mind bursts awake with thoughts, and I’m thrusted back onto square one. I keep myself up for hours mulling over whatever comes to mind, and my brain can never seem to quiet down. At one point in time, I stopped trying to sleep through the night, and I keep myself relatively sane through regular power naps. Lately, life hasn’t exactly been feeling real—I’ve felt disconnected, dissociated. It’s impossible for my body to feel like my own. I am but visiting the body of someone I will never truly find myself connected to. My emotions don’t entirely reach me, and I spend most of my days sticking with my daily routine, completely out of it, absentmindedly doing my work. I’ve lost a genuine grip of the passing of time.
I gaze to the distance as Lucius tightens my bow tie. He’s rambling to me about something regarding a new employee in the industry, but I’m drenched in my thoughts and entirely distracted. The man takes a quick step back, his dark eyes scanning my body, and I feel my eyebrows deeply furrow.
“What, how do I look?”
Lucius maffles something indistinct before curtly clearing his throat. He gestures for me to inhale deeply along with him to calm my nervous system. My face contorts, and I toss out a brief and inert “I’m fine,” to the man in front of me. He seemed wholly unconvinced by my words, by which I don’t find myself surprised. “I’m fine , stop worrying about me. I’m a grown man, for fuck’s sake.” I watch through the corner of my vision as Lucius sighs softly, handing me a vague look of pity, which I resent.
“Bruce, your anxiety has been getting worse again, we can all tell,” the man states, his voice thickly coated in concern. “Is there anything,” he steps closer. “Is there anything I could be able to do to help you?”
I notice the way Lucius looks towards me, it’s the same look that Alfred holds in his eyes when he sees me. It’s the look that makes my skin crawl, the look that flips my stomach over repeatedly. The uneasiness gradually seeps into my bones and the sickening feeling returns, just as it has countless times in the past. I quickly inhale after I realize I hadn’t been breathing, feeling a pleasant sense of relief as the air fills every crevice of my lungs.
“I’m just, ah,” I stutter over my words as they fall out of my mouth too quickly. “I’m just going to head to the men’s room before the event begins.”
I briskly pace to the office restroom, avoiding eye contact with others that I pass by, leaving them with only a curt nod in reply to their greetings. “Evening, Mr. Wayne,” “Nice to see you, Mr. Wayne,” “Ah, Mr. Wayne, will I see you at the celebration?” It feels like I’ve been walking for decades until I reach the bathroom door, pushing it open gently and heading directly for a stall. I sigh deeply as I sit myself down on the toilet seat, fully clothed, tugging a long THC cart from my interior coat pocket. Sealing my lips around the cap, I hold down on the button and strongly inhale, pulling the vapor deep into my lungs. I exhale quickly to hopefully avoid coughing. I take a couple more drags before slipping away from the restroom. I don’t typically smoke carts, but it wouldn’t be very professional of me to arrive at a company event stinking of bud.
As I make my way through the crowds of people, I find it impossible to navigate through without stopping every few steps for conversation. I’m being pulled one way or another, constantly, for small talk with various attendees, which included both company employees and other “important” people of the city such as myself. CEOs, politicians, and the like. Every conversation is a duplicate of the last, a simple how are you, how’s the Mrs., how is the job going. Every conversation leaves me drained and dull. No originality, no connection—conversation simply for the sake of civility.
I manage to find myself a table, where I sit although knowing I have no one to sit in the seats beside me. I fiddle with the silk white tablecloth, twisting it and flipping it between my calloused fingers. Everything around me feels a bit off, and I don’t exactly notice my breathing growing deeper and more consistent, but they do. My eyes dart around the room, searching for something to latch onto, to think about, because my mind is blank. As my anxiety melts into the past, I find my thoughts quiet, and the multitude of voices surrounding me blur out. I can hear the music playing in the background, some sort of classical music, and a sense of serenity envelops my soul as I listen, softly closing my eyes. My ears hear every individual note, each instrument, how seamlessly the complicated melody melds together. Suddenly, I forget even where I am, up until a gravelly voice rudely interrupts my peace.
“Bruce, I’d like to introduce you to our new hire, the one I was speaking to you about earlier.” Lucius’ voice is familiar, and my eyes shoot open momentarily to view the men standing by my table. “He’s going to be working as your new personal assistant, after of course, what had happened with Everette, bless his soul.”
My old assistant, Everett Snyder, had been a victim of a brutal murder somewhat prior to this day. Although respectfully mourning, the hiring manager had spent no time finding a replacement, which seemed to be the young man standing beside Lucius, with a pleased smile resting on his lips. I responded with a cordial smile to the man, and offered a short “pleased to meet you,” hoping surely that the interaction would end then and there, but I was, to my own dismay, proved wrong. As Lucius wandered off to converse with other attendees, the other man took the opportunity to sit himself directly across from me. His hazel eyes peered into my own.
“So, this is the famous Bruce Wayne. I didn’t believe I would truly ever meet you,” he begins, pasting an almost sultry look on his face. A waiter came striding by, offering a plate of raspberry mojitos, and I politely declined although the man across from me accepted a drink gladly, taking a rather long swig from this glass. “My name is Jack Napier, I hope to serve you well as your new assistant.”
“Of course, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I nod as he states his name, keeping eye contact as he sips his drink consistently, “Mr. Napier.” The discomfort grazes my skin as I watch his eyes assess me, and I furrow my brows slightly, trying to figure out what he could be thinking of me—but the air feels like sludge in my throat, and I can’t bring myself to think straight.
“Damn, I want whatever you’ve been smoking,” Jack states with a hearty chuckle, and I see his face contort into a grin like no other. My eyebrows raise in slight shock at his unprofessional approach. No one ever dares to speak to me so casually, other than the people I know on a personal level—much less, a newly hired employee. The other worry grew larger though, that I know that he knows I’m high as shit.
“Jesus, that’s a bit unprofessional, isn’t it? You are aware that I could fire you in the blink of an eye?” I hold back the impending urge to scoff, but I trip over my words as I feel myself shaking. In just a brief amount of time, my heart race increases dramatically and I begin to panic. I tell myself that this can’t be happening, not at this time, but I have to accept the reality of the situation. I swiftly excuse myself from the table, reminding myself to breathe deeply as I pace back to the men’s room, disregarding any sort of greeting I receive along the way. As I walk, the hallway endlessly spins, and the nausea dances in the back of my throat. I harshly push the door open to the restroom and to my luck, no one else occupies the room—groaning, I make my way to the mirrors and plant my hands on the counter, gripping the sleek marble as my fingertips turn white from the pressure. My breathing grows coarser as my head hangs low above the sink. My mouth starts to water and I can sense I’m going to upchuck soon; God, out of all days.
I hear the bathroom door swing open and curse to myself, hoping it was at least a lower-level employee and not someone of influence. To my shock, Jack Napier strutted inside, forest green suit and all. I wince as he places a gentle hand on my upper back.
“I’m fucking fine, just leave me be. I’ll be out in a couple minutes, no need to follow me.” I spit out, roughly and with a general disregard for civility. If I leave a lasting negative impression, so be it, I don’t have much room to worry about trivial things such as appearance anymore.
“Listen, try crouching on the floor, it’s always helped me to stabilize myself.” Jack spoke, and his voice was quite humane. Begrudgingly, I lowered myself nearly to the floor in compliance to his words, and crouched in a deep squat for a minute or so. I could feel the dizziness settle down slowly, although the surface of my skin continued to feel searing hot. “You see, us common folk have good advice sometimes, if you didn’t know.” Jack’s conduct mildly infuriated me, he was quite bold. A malapert, by definition. I had never yet met someone so unfamiliar that was so forward towards me, and I can’t really fathom how to take it. I barely mutter a “thank you” to the man beside me before pushing myself to a standing position and briskly leaving the room, heading back towards the party. Although uneasy still, my body had been overcome with the urge to get away from that hell of an embarrassing situation.
Fuck, was that really the man that I’ll be seeing every day?