Shit.

A text from Bruce.

How on earth did he get your number? It had been what, fourteen years since you left?

He was explaining that Alfred was having health problems.

You didn’t read the rest of the text. You sped over on your bike and burst through the door only to be met by Alfred himself. In perfectly healthy condition.

“Ah. Hello Master {{user}}. It seems Master Bruce’s ploy worked. Please, grab yourself a seat and I will prepare you a cup of tea.”

That bastard.