Chapter 7: Confrontation

. The theater at night was much quieter than during the day.

The car slowly pulled up to the theater's back door, the gold-rimmed lettering on the door stained by time: "Gotham Theater."

Bruce didn't need to climb through the window; he had the key—presumably Jack had given it to him long ago.

He gently turned the key, and the theater door unlocked with a click.

The hallway was dimly lit, red velvet curtains draped on either side, and the wooden floor creaked faintly under his feet.

He walked slowly forward.

Various thoughts swirled in Bruce's mind.

...

Do you really think he's just an actor?

Do you remember how he decorated the Christmas tree with bombs?

Do you know how happily he laughed when he fought you?

Those memories came unbidden, and the Joker's voice swirled around him, lingering in his ears:

"Oh, Batsy, pathetic! You can't even tell the difference between dreams and reality? Do you really think that limp guy is so much like me?"

Bruce frowned and shook his head, trying to shake off the sneer in his mind.

He walked through the backstage corridor and ascended the spiral wooden staircase. The lights were on upstairs, the door ajar, and a faint citrus scent wafted out.

He pushed it open and entered.

Jack's residence at the theater was a two-story loft, sunken and low-ceilinged, with the door opening on the second floor.

The incandescent light in the room wasn't glaring. Jack sat cross-legged on the floor. Wearing a loose gray T-shirt, he leaned lazily on the cushions with a cup of hot tea, reading a script. Hearing the door open, he smiled without looking up and said,

"Wow, you really are sleepwalking, Bruce."

Bruce stood speechless by the door, looking at Jack, trying to find any trace of madness in that familiar face.

But there was nothing.

No broad grin, no emerald green hair, no piercing, malicious gaze that could see through human nature.

Jack's smile was pure.

"Are you hungry? I just made some black tea, and there's half an apple pie downstairs." He shook the cup in his hand. "Of course, you always said before that 'Batman doesn't like apple pie', but I think you're just afraid that the crumbs will stick to your beautiful chin and be seen by others."

Bruce walked in without saying a word and sat on the sofa opposite him.

Jack studied him, tilting his head. "You have a particularly 'bat' expression tonight, a kind of eerie silence."

Bruce couldn't help but ask, "You used to say that to me too?"

"Of course," Jack laughed. "You always ignored me before, but now that you've lost your memory, I have more opportunities to revisit the old jokes."

Bruce stared at him for a few seconds before finally speaking.

"Did I volunteer to tell you about my nocturnal activities?"

Hearing this, Jack's smile widened even more. He stood up and teased,

"Honey, do you really think no one can recognize your chin and figure?"

"We were on a date once, and the restaurant was hijacked," he spread his hands. "It was a chaotic scene, the criminals had guns, and I couldn't find you. Then a little bat appeared out of nowhere in the restaurant and saved me."

He smiled. "When you held me in your arms, I saw my bite mark on your chin."

Jack winked at him smugly.

Bruce's expression became a little strange.

He stood up and scanned the room, taking in the furnishings of Jack's abode. His eyes drifted over the dining table, the sofa, the TV... before landing on a display case.

Behind the glass door, he saw

a vast, neatly arranged collection of Batman merchandise.

Custom-made figures, limited-edition brooches, sharp batarangs, and even a fragment of what looked like an authentic Batman suit, all neatly arranged in the cabinet.

"What's this?" Bruce whispered.

"Hmm... a superfan's hobby?"

"Are you a fan of mine?"

"Honey, who doesn't love Batman? I've loved you since your debut."

Bruce turned to look at him.

Jack was still sitting on the carpet, teacup in hand, his gaze tinged with confusion.

He murmured,

"I have to admit, you look... a little different tonight than usual."

Bruce stared at him quietly, his eyes so dark they barely reflected the light.

"You're usually quiet, but not this..." Jack waved his hand, trying to describe it. "This kind of disembodied silence. It's like you walked into the room today—your body's inside, but your spirit's still lingering at the door."

Jack simply climbed onto the sofa and sat next to him, but he kept a slight distance, so as not to make Bruce uncomfortable.

"But I understand. After all, you don't remember me, right?" He said this in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

Bruce looked away.

"Do you want to hear how we used to celebrate anniversaries?" Jack asked cautiously, his lip curled. "Even though you used to say that 'ritual' was a waste of time, you always ordered the cake yourself."

Bruce whispered, "Maybe I asked the butler to do it."

"You," Jack replied immediately. "I can't be mistaken."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"But I know you don't remember now. So..."

He reached over and took a small, delicate box from the sofa. Inside was a restaurant reservation card and a silver pendant in the shape of a bat, with a hollowed-out smiley face in the center.

"In order to avoid being photographed by reporters, we used to go to this restaurant. The owner of the restaurant is very familiar with us. You once told me that the candlelight dinner there is really old-fashioned, but we are still regulars there."

He handed over the pendant.

"Maybe... we can repeat it today? There is no need to force you to remember anything, and you don't have to play your previous self again. Just stay and have a meal with me."

Bruce looked down at the pendant in silence.

Jack did not urge him, but just waited quietly.

The room became quiet.

Bruce slowly raised his head, looked at him, and asked:

"...Is this restaurant still open at this time?"

"Of course, of course," Jack laughed at this reply, and he drew out his voice, "The smart Mr. Napier has certainly considered this, so I ordered the meal in advance and had it delivered."

Bruce nodded, his eyes softened, and he slowly said:

"Okay."

Jack's eyes lit up. He quickly stood up, dragged a small table from the corner, covered it with a tablecloth, lit a candle, and retrieved two tall glasses from the cabinet.

He laid out the dishes with care, even taking pasta and baked lobster from the insulated lunch box with a formal touch.

He handed Bruce a fork and smiled,

"Sir, your anniversary dinner is ready. I hope you'll give our restaurant a high rating for our service today."

Bruce lowered his head and picked up his fork.

He looked at Jack sitting across from him, his eyes filled with a kind of persistence, a desperate effort to maintain a connection, a desperate attempt to get closer.

"Don't you blame me?" he asked suddenly.

Jack paused, then smiled.

"You own me. You fascinate me, baby."

Bruce fell silent.

He remembered someone else saying something similar to him.

The clown, blood on the corner of his mouth, pointed a gun at him and said with a smile—

"You fascinate me, Batsy."

At the same time, the clown in his mind let out a sharp sneer:

"HAHAHA... Admit you love me, Batsy."

"Bruce?" Jack gently touched his hand.

Bruce came to his senses.

He didn't pull away.

In that moment, their fingertips touched, gently touching, but enough to feel each other's heartbeat.

Bruce was silent for a moment, finally suppressing the hesitation in his heart. Then, he slowly pulled a small black box from the inside pocket of his suit.

"I also..." He paused, then whispered, "I prepared something."

Looking at the box, Jack's eyes widened, and his smile gradually widened.

"A gift?" His voice suddenly rose, and he couldn't hide his surprise. "Let me see it!"

Bruce pushed the box towards him.

Jack carefully opened the box. Inside lay a black and silver bracelet, minimalist in design, with a string of Latin words engraved on the inside.

"What is this?" Jack looked at the string of letters, as if he understood it, but he didn't dare to confirm it completely.

"It's the line written on the whiteboard on the day you first took me to sneak into the rehearsal room." Bruce said in a light tone, "'Love is the sweetest sugar in life, but it is also the sharpest sword.'"

Jack raised his head.

His face was deeply moved.

"You still remember?" His tone was full of disbelief. It was unclear whether he was talking to himself or asking Bruce, "You really remember..."

...actually, he found it in a photo.

But Bruce said nothing, he just reached out and put the bracelet on him. When his fingertips brushed against the other's wrist, he felt a slight tremor.

The bracelet was like a silent apology.

Jack lowered his eyes and stared at it.

After a while, he raised his head, blinked at Bruce, and whispered:

"I love you, baby."