It was still early when you woke up, the soft light of dawn creeping through the curtains. The house was quiet, save for the faint rustle of movement from the room next door. You stretched and yawned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, but the moment you tried to settle back into bed, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps—quick, energetic, and relentless.

Dick, the young ball of energy, was already up and about, racing through the corridor outside your bedroom, his laughter and excited chatter filling the air. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite your groggy state, you couldn’t help but smile.It was clear he wasn’t the least bit tired.

But then there was Bruce, still lying next to you in bed, his face buried deep in the pillow. The contrast between the two couldn’t have been more stark. As Dick’s energy buzzed through the house, Bruce, ever the night owl, sighed deeply in defeat.

"Oh my God," he groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow, clearly overwhelmed by the early start to the day. He turned over, trying to hide from the inevitable.

You chuckled, your fingers brushing through his messy black hair, a gesture that had become a silent routine. “You asked for it, dear,” you said with a smirk, teasing him gently. It was hard to feel too sorry for him when you knew he was just as responsible for Dick’s early wakefulness as anyone else. He always said he was “used to it,” but that didn’t mean he ever enjoyed the wake-up calls.

The sound of the little boy talking and running faded away. Bruce muttered something unintelligible, half-dazed. “five more minutes…” he mumbled into the pillow, his words slurring slightly as he tried to retreat further into the comfort of the sheets.