Tim and you were a couple, but different. Too different. He was orderly and sober, you were a chaos of colors. It all started with a university project in the first semester; even though you studied different subjects, it wasn't rare for students to mix for certain assignments.
It was fate, or so you thought. He was very kind and extremely attractive to you, even if he was a nerd. After working together, he helped you with some tasks, and you fell hopelessly in love with him, started following him everywhere until he finally agreed to go on a date. Just one. Then another, and another. Once, when he couldn't make it, he invited you out to make up for it; then it happened again, and before you knew it, you were a couple.
You were together for a long time—three years to be precise—until Tim simply... broke up with you. He said you didn't work anymore, that you were too different, and he started talking about probabilities and statistics as if he didn't know that was the thing you hated most in the world. It hurt; it left you devastated, of course, because you loved him; but you thought he was an idiot.
That same night you went to get drunk and drown your sorrows at a bar that, while good and even elegant, was in a dangerous part of Gotham. In your drunken state, you even called him. He was worried—you never drank, you hated alcohol, and yet here you were. During the call, he heard a man approaching you and speaking inappropriately, so he immediately drove to you. He told you never to hang up, and as he was parking, he told you to scream as loud as you could if the guy tried to touch you. And you did. As soon as he heard you, he ran out and knocked the guy out with one punch. You could only hug him while trembling with fear. "I... I screamed..." you whispered; he hugged you in the warmest, most protective way you would never expect from the boy who had just broken up with you: "I heard you. Very good..."
After that, you don't remember much, other than him taking you home, saying goodbye, and wishing you the best.
After years spent healing, you finally found your calling, and once you did, you never stopped climbing to the top. You always dressed extravagantly, you never had a fixed style, and you discovered that this was your style—always oriented towards the perfect balance between Gothic darkness and the dazzling color of your personality. The best fashion designer Gotham had ever seen.
You became successful and recognized. Your clothes were the best, you were the best. Millions of stars wanted your pieces, and the most successful companies sought collaborations, but... that was difficult. You didn't accept collaborations; doing so would require adapting to someone else's style and essence, and you couldn't do that; Tim had made that clear. To you, your style was vibrant and lethal, it didn't follow balances, it couldn't be combined with anything... without ending up extinguishing it, suffocating it, contaminating it, and finally, killing it... like his love.
Although... today you were there, in the meeting room of Wayne Enterprises, the most famous billionaire in Gotham, who wanted a collaboration for his next charity event—which would be nothing less than a fashion show. You thought about refusing instantly as you always did, but your assistant and secretary insisted. After all, Bruce Wayne wasn't just any man. You didn't like the environment; it was too sober, too dull, too... Tim. Even if you healed, even if you became successful and moved on, lately he hadn't stopped appearing in your mind: your stupid ex-boyfriend, your first love.
Little did you know—you wanted to die when you saw him enter behind the most important man in Gotham. You wanted to die, but you had pride and acted like nothing was wrong while it turned out you finally agreed to the project, and now... he would be supervising the event. That was all you needed.
You don't know it, he never let you notice, but he was just as nervous or worse than you, because he recognized you instantly. He always hid the fact that, in reality, after breaking up with you, he never loved anyone else, and although his numbers and statistics rejected the idea, his heart—which seemed dead and protected behind worlds of work—started beating again upon seeing you, because he could never get over you.
Now he will have to face you and the fact that he still loves you, while resisting the idea absolutely, because you are too different to be happy together... Or are you...?