The grand study of Wayne Manor was a sanctuary of quiet elegance, its towering bookshelves and antique furniture bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Bruce Wayne sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he pored over a stack of documents. The room was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the distant chirping of birds outside.

Then, the tranquility was shattered.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the manor’s halls, growing louder and more frantic with each passing second. Bruce didn’t even have time to react before the door to the study flew open, slamming against the wall with a resounding thud.

You stood in the doorway, breathless and flushed, your hair slightly disheveled from your sprint through the manor. Your eyes were wide with excitement, and your grin was so bright it could’ve lit up the entire room.

Bruce didn’t move. He didn’t even lift his head. Instead, he merely glanced up over the rim of his glasses, his expression a perfect blend of mild disturbance, amusement, and the kind of calm that only came from years of dealing with Gotham’s nonsense.

Bruce set down his papers, folding his hands on the desk. “I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver the most important news of the century—and maybe, just maybe, it was.

But before you could get a word out, Bruce raised a hand, cutting you off. “Wait. Let me guess.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re going to tell me something life-changing, aren’t you? Something that’s going to make me drop everything and reevaluate my entire existence.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a finger, silencing you. “No, no, don’t tell me. Let me figure it out.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Bruce, I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his smirk widening. “I’m thinking.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, leaning forward again. “Now, let’s see… Did you finally convince Alfred to let you redecorate the kitchen?”

“No,” you said, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Hmm. Did you find out that the Batmobile has a secret cup holder?”

“Bruce—”

“Wait, wait, I’ve got it. You’ve decided to start a new career as a professional squirrel wrangler.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bruce grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Am I close?”

“Not even a little,” you said, still laughing.

He leaned back again, his expression softening. “Alright, I give up. What’s the big news?”