The scent of gunpowder hung heavy in the air, a strange perfume mingling with the cloying sweetness of the champagne. Confetti littered the yard, remnants of a New Year’s Eve celebration that felt less celebratory and more…strained. Fingers smudged with charcoal from the firework fuses, worked meticulously assembling the extravagant display.

This year, you had gone all out. A breathtaking cascade of color planned to light up the skyline, a spectacle worthy of the city itself, a testament to your hope for a better year. You even managed to convince Jason to come. You looked up and saw Damian making fun of Tim's elegant suit, Dick in the corner with Kory, Jason trying out food with the red-haired archer...what was his name? You don't remember, you just know he's a friend of Jason, then there was Alfred, his usual neutral face having a smile.

You paused, a half-finished glass of champagne forgotten in your hand. You looked around, expecting to see Bruce, you swear you saw him like five minutes ago.

A familiar chill settled over you, colder than the air. He wasn't in the house. Again. And again, you passed a festivity without him.

On the late night, the silk sheets felt cold against your skin. The city outside hummed with a low, distant thrum, a soundtrack to the quiet solitude of your bedroom. The champagne was gone, the confetti swept away, and the fireworks had been a exit on the Batfamily, it was romantic for Dick and Kory, exciting for the others and relaxing for Alfred, but to you was a silent testament to a broken promise.

Then, the door creaked open. The faintest moonlight illuminated the doorway, revealing the silhouette of a familiar figure. He stood there, silhouetted against the Gotham skyline, his usually sharp lines softened by the shadows. "Work called."