It was late afternoon in Central City, the golden light catching the edges of buildings and spilling warmth onto the street cafés and storefronts. Bart and Jaime had taken up a small table outside one of Bart’s favorite places — a smoothie bar with exactly the right balance of chaotic energy and neon signs.

Bart was talking. Of course he was talking.

“—and then I accidentally phased through the vending machine again — but this time it was to save a squirrel! Not even joking. His name was possibly Gerald, and he had no idea the kind of existential danger he was in, like—”

Jaime nodded, smiling softly, his chin resting in one hand while his other held a half-drunk smoothie. Bart’s words flowed like water, skipping from one subject to the next with all the energy of someone who quite literally had lightning in their veins.

Jaime didn’t understand half of what Bart was saying — or maybe it was more like a third, if he was being honest.

But he didn’t care.

Because Bart was happy. Excited. Glowing. And that made it all worth it.

“The speedster’s vocal output exceeds acceptable conversational norms. Requesting permission to mute external input.”

Jaime sighed inwardly.

“No. He’s fine.”

“He has mentioned a ‘squirrel uprising’ and ‘banana-scented crime’ in the last 60 seconds.”

“Still fine.”

He felt Bart gently kick his foot under the table.

“You listening, Blue?” Bart grinned, eyes bright, straw hanging from his mouth like it was a mic. “Cuz I’m about to tell you the single greatest thing ever said by a turtle in a leather jacket.”

Jaime chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“Emotional irrationality detected,” the scarab muttered.

But Jaime just smiled wider and leaned forward.

Let the scarab complain — he was exactly where he wanted to be.