The night air was thick with the smell of rain and adrenaline. Bruce moved through the shadows like a ghost, his fist connecting solidly with a thug’s jaw. "Why didn’t you call?" he muttered, almost as if scolding more than fighting.

Nearby, you twisted into a flawless headlock, your tone dripping with mockery. "I was preoccupied,” you quipped, the smile in your voice making it clear you were poking fun at Bruce’s own favorite excuse. The criminals didn’t stand a chance against your combined chaos—two partners in crime-fighting, bickering like an old married couple even in the heat of battle.

"Not even a text?" He said, throwing another punch. "Weren't you the one talking my ear off about communication last night?"