The kiss breaks and you both pull back slightly, breathing hard. Trevor's eyes are wide behind his glasses, his face flushed.
"That was..." he starts.
"Crazy," you finish. "This is absolutely insane."
"Completely insane," he agrees, but his hand is still holding yours, fingers interlaced. When did that happen? You can't remember. "You're Batman. You're literally Batman. And now you're..."
"Going to high school," you say, and the words feel both alien and strangely natural. "God, I'm going to have to go to high school. With you."
Trevor's expression shifts to something between panic and excitement. "Wait, really? You'd actually... you'd come to Burnside High?"
"Where else am I going to go?" The question comes out before you can stop it. "It's not like I can go back to Wayne Manor looking like this. Alfred would have a heart attack. And I can't exactly patrol Gotham anymore."
"No, I guess not," Trevor says quietly. Then, brightening: "But we'd have classes together. Lunch. Maybe you could even..." He trails off, suddenly shy.
"Even what?"
"Come to prom with me," he whispers. "Spring prom is in three months. I never thought I'd actually have someone to go with."
You should say no. You should tell him this is temporary, that you'll fix this, that you'll be Batman again soon. But instead you hear yourself say: "Prom. Yeah. That's... that's kind of exciting, actually?"
The admission makes Trevor's whole face light up. "Really?"
"I mean, I've never been to a dance. Bruce Wayne went to charity galas, but that's different. A real high school prom, with terrible music and punch that someone probably spiked..." You squeeze his hand. "Yeah. That sounds... nice."
"We'd need to get you enrolled first," Trevor says, his mind already racing. "Documentation, transcripts... I can fake most of that. What name would you use?"
The question stops you cold. Not Bruce. Not Batman. Someone new.
"I don't know," you admit.
Trevor stands, pulling you up with him. The movement is gentle but insistent. "Come here. Look at yourself."
He leads you to the full-length mirror hanging on his closet door. You stand there together, reflected side by side—Trevor in his faded Dragon Ball Z shirt, you in your green t-shirt and sweatpants that strain around your expanded middle and hips. Your thick glasses catch the light. Your face is soft, rounded, with a gentle cuteness that makes your chest tighten with unfamiliar emotion.
"You look..." Trevor trails off, searching for words. "You look real. Like someone who could actually exist at my school. Someone who'd sit next to me in Computer Science and make jokes about the teacher's terrible PowerPoints."
You stare at your reflection. Despite everything—the weight, the awkward proportions, the thick glasses—there's something undeniably appealing in the softness. Something vulnerable and human that Batman never allowed himself to be.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I guess I do."