The Black Rose

1

"Ah, Bruce, come in." Your father, Mr. Dick Greyson, aka Nightwing stated form the large door of the mansion to your crush, Bruce Wayne, The Batman.

Bruce was like a parent to your adoptive father even though they were only five years apart. Your father had the same idea and adopted you when you were nine. You had known Bruce since the day you came to live with Mr. Gre-Dad. Your dad.
 
Mr. Wayne was astonishingly respectful and usually was kept away from anyone by your father to discuss business in Gotham. You had just turned 18 last week, with Bruce being a gentle 30. He didn't look it at all. He was very handsome. He always brought you a fresh bouquet of flowers each time he visited and this time was no different.

As you trotted to the fourier you smiled at his familiar frame. His long dress coat and suit. His gelled hair. His signature cologne called. 'Wayne. No. 1.' A clean scent, rather than the deep, choke-you scents most celebrities wore, his smelt like line dried linen.

You smiled as he held out a bouquet of red roses and babys breath.
"Happy Birthday. Y/N." He never really smiled but you could tell there was cheer on his mind. "How old are you now? Forty?"
You chuckled blushing. "Not quite Mr. Wayne. Only eighteen."
"Ah, a ripe eighteen year old, hm?" He tapped you gently under the chin with a bent finger. You nodded. "If I told you the things I did at eighteen, your father would kill me." He half joked, removing his coat and hanging it on the rack. Nightwing agreed.
"Well, come this way, the first thing of business is-" Your father lead him off to his office. You waved as they passed and hurriedly ran up to your room to put your flowers in water.

Your room wasn't necessarily over powering, but it was definitely the room for a person of high class. Which you felt like in this home. Your last home was run down and mid century Spanish themed. This was more modern contemporary. But your room was astonishing. You thought you had a bigger room than your father's. You had only been in there a few times but it always seemed so big.

You lowered the roses into the vase Bruce had gifted you when you turned thirteen, "For all the flora I've forced upon you." He said in a card that accompanied it. It matched him perfectly, it was black and slightly translucent, plain on the sides with a wide bace that angled downward. A small silver name plate resting on the front edge. "To, Y/N. From, Bruce Wayne." It said.
You liked that it didn't have your last name on it. The stuffed animal that you had grown attached to had your previous homes last name on it. "Keller." You always thought of Helen when you heard it. And Y/N Keller just wasn't good name. Mr. Keller wasn't a good man either. But Mr. Greyson was. You wouldn't have minded having Y/N Greyson on the vase. Your father was very generous and kind. But "To, Y/N. From, Bruce Wayne." was perfect just the way it was. You liked having a part of Mr. Wayne in your room.

You didn't worry about cutting your fingers on the thorns because Bruce always had them removed, they looked amazing resting inside the vase. It was packed exactly for the amount of space it had. Nothing more, nothing less.
You ran to your bathroom where you had kept his gift. A black rose in a black vase. The name plate read. "To Bruce." Simple and sweet. You wanted him to be able to put it anywhere without worrying that people would know a teenager gave it to him.
You had stopped trying to convince yourself you didn't have a crush on Bruce Wayne, but was now trying to hint around to him of the fact. And when he gave you flowers, it made your stomach flutter. Maybe since you were eighteen your father would allow you two to be together.

You took out a red piece of paper and a black calligraphy pen. You decided to write a letter.

Dear Mr. Wayne,

I know your work prohibits you from being home regularly but I hope you can find the time to take care of this.

-Y/N.