Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

twenty four

24 YEARS EARLIER

A dart nailed into the center of the dartboard.

Bruce groaned and Oliver threw his hands up, cheering.

"And that makes... 660 for me and... 625 for you?" Oliver cheekily questioned, doing the math on his fingers.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "It's not a fair match— you're just naturally a good shot."

"And that's cheating because...?" Oliver asked. "Not my fault you suck."

The two boys currently sat in Oliver's expansive game room at the Queen Mansion, surrounded by a copious amount of obscure junk food, half of which Bruce had never even heard of, mostly in part to the fact that Alfred never allowed food like that at the Manor. Oliver flopped on one of the couches, grabbed the remote, and began to flip through channels on the TV.

"I don't suck," Bruce muffled through a mouthful of potato chips. Alfred would've killed him for talking with his mouth full, but chips were tasty, and he had to communicate somehow. "You're just too good."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Pretty Boy."

Bruce rolled his eyes again. Oliver thought it was funny to use the nickname that Johnny Prescott had coined. Bruce didn't feel the same but learned that, after a while, there was just no stopping Oliver.

After another few moments of silence, there was the beeping of a phone. Bruce turned to Oliver, who picked up the device, read the screen, and broke into a grin.

"Alright!" Oliver jeered, fist-pumping the air.

Bruce raised a questioning brow.

"Erica Johnson agreed to go to the dance with me on Saturday!" Oliver announced as he shoved the phone in Bruce's face.

Bruce pushed the blond's hand away. "That's great."

There was some stupid dance on the weekend that Oliver had been talking about for nearly two weeks now, and Bruce didn't understand why. He and Oliver already attended a hundred different balls and galas and fundraisers with the most famous people in the most luxurious event halls on the East Coast, so why the hell did some high school dance even cross the Oliver's mind?

Bruce snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to find Oliver staring at him.

"What."

"Well?"

"Well, what."

"Well, it's Tuesday and the dance is on Saturday and you haven't asked anyone yet."

"Because I'm not going."

"Bruceee, why not?"

"Because it's stupid."

"It's not stupid! It's the event of the year!"

"The event of the year was the GCPD Fundraiser at City Hall, and that was last week. Which we went to. So why would I care about this?"

"Because you could probably convince Meredith to be your date."

Bruce almost laughed. "The only person who cares about school social events less than me is Meredith. She's going to think it's stupid."

"Well, why don't we call her and ask her, then?"

"Whatever. I already know her answer."

Oliver hit a few buttons on his phone and a moment later it was ringing. After a few rings, Meredith picked up.