From across the street Oswald stared into the front of the dance studio, the large window allowing anyone that passed to watch the dancers inside. He knew he shouldn't do this every chance he got; he had far more important matters that he needed to deal with. He knew that if anyone realised that he would hide in the same place quietly watching the activities within the brightly lit interior, then the chances of more than a few people realising a quizzical brow at his activities, was quite high; it certainly not the thing that a respectable member of Gotham society should do. But he didn't care, he had to see her. He had to see his beautiful dancer.

The first time that he had seen her was by complete chance, but he couldn't help but be thankful that he had. He should have been on his way to Mooney's Nightclub, but he was lost in his own thoughts; not even bothering to avoid the others that were still out on the streets. Oswald so caught up in his dreams of how one day he would be so much more than an umbrella boy, that by the time he realised it was raining, it had grown dark, and he was in some out of the way place a long way from the nightclub.

It was a small bohemian part of the city where artists of all kinds would gather to create and perform, and normally it wasn't somewhere Oswald would find himself; but as the rain poured down from the heavens, he couldn't help but find himself drawn to the bright lights that were coming from the front of the dance studio across the street.

It had a strange attraction as he watched the people inside move and gyrate to the music that only they could hear. An invisible hand beckoning him closer to the building like a moth to a flame; and it was then that he had seen her. The dancer.

Oswald could remember having to swallow heavily at the large lump that had formed in his throat, it refusing to budge as he watched her from the shadows; not thinking about the rain, or how his now soaked hair and clothes clung to his skin. Her twirls and spins so graceful that he believed that he had found the personification of perfection itself.

Everything about her was elegant. Her physique looked as though it had been carved from the finest marble by some truly gifted artisan from the ancient world; her face appearing as if it had been painted by a great Renaissance artist whose muse must have been an angel.

But it was when he had seen her smile, that he knew he had become truly smitten. And now, even though he knew that he really shouldn't, he would still come down to the same spot nearly every day, in hopes of seeing his dancer. And thought it sounded odd for him to say, given who and what he was now; his life having changed so much since he first saw her; he hoped that one day he would be able to pluck up the courage that he seemed to lack when it came to her, and make his way inside the studio, to finally introduce himself.

                                                           >>--------------------------------<<

"Hey (Y/n). Looks like your creepy boyfriend is back." Michael called out from across the studio, laughing as he pointed to the umbrella shielded figure that sculked on the other side of the darkening street.

"You know, he only stays as long as you're here. If he sees you're not, he leaves straight away. It's really creepy." Michael continued, as (Y/n) took a quick glance to make sure that her dance partner was telling the truth.

"I know I should probably find it weird, scary; but I actually find it a little sad. He must be terribly lonely if he's got nothing better to do than come down here and watch me. I sometimes think about going out there and asking if he wants to come inside; but I'm sure if I did, he'd be off like a startled jackrabbit." (Y/n) chuckled, as she reached for her towel and wiped the glistening film of perspiration from her forehead.

"Nah, don't disturb the guy. He's probably out there showing himself a good time anyway." The tall, dark haired by her side laughed, as he made a rude gesture that resulted in him getting a smack on the arm from (Y/n).

"Will you stop being disgusting. Not every man is a pervert like you. And anyway, he doesn't look like the type." (Y/n) commented, while trying her best to get a better look at the man without making it too obvious.

"How tha hell can you tell if he's the type or not? He's always got that damn umbrella covering his face for a start. I bet he looks like Quasimodo under that, and he has a strange thing for ringing bells. And anyway, what the hell does a pervert look like, smartass?" Michael asked, walking right up to the window and smiling as he watched the startled man quickly hobbling away.

(Y/n) sighed as her dance partner cockily walked back over to the large mirror that took up an entire wall of the dance studio, the slender man with slicked back hair, preening himself as he stared at his reflection. Michael could be a nice enough when he wanted to be; but his air of arrogance and his narcissistic temperament made the otherwise attractive and dashing man, appear ugly in (Y/n)'s eyes.

(Y/n) had spent most of her life surrounded by these peacocks, it wasn't the case for all the male dancers that she had met, but the knowledge that they were athletically built, and attractive to many women, had a habit of seeming to turn even the most level-headed man into a strutting, overly confident and sometimes even pompous bore.

What she wouldn't give to meet someone that was a little more.........not like Michael. To meet a man that was courteous, kind, and cared more about her than they did themselves; but she found that men like that were very few and far between, especially in a city like Gotham. A city that seemed to bring out the worst in everyone.

(Y/n) shook her head, as she peered out at the spot where the man had been standing. She couldn't help but wonder what he looked like under the darkness of the black umbrella that shielded his features. Was he, like Michael had joked, some kind of weird, deformed creature that was up to something nefarious as he watched her; or was he, as she believed, a lost soul that was himself in need of a little brightness. That little bit of joy, that was so hard to find in the dark gloom of the sprawling metropolis.

She had found herself making up stories about the man in her own mind as she would sit alone in her apartment at night, sometimes even wondering whether he was in fact real, or rather a haunted spectre who was cursed with frequenting that particular spot for all eternity. Other times she would imagine that he was her Lancelot, her Tristan. Her knight in a dark overcoat, with his trusty umbrella sword. And one day he would stride into the studio and sweep her up into his strong arms, carrying her off into the wide blue yonder so that they could live happily ever after; a notion that would always result in her chastising herself for her silly, childish, romantic dreams.

"Hey, (Y/n)." Michael said, clicking his fingers in front of her face, bringing her attention back from her thoughts to his grinning face.

"As your boyfriend has gone for the evening, what do say to you turning your attention back to me, and we finish practicing?" Michael insisted, as he grabbed (Y/n) by the hand and pulled her back onto the floor. The music ringing out as the two began to move. (Y/n)'s thoughts still lingering on the strange man as she was swept across the floor. The dancer hoping that one day she would find out more about her mystery watcher.