The snow was thick, fluffy, and perfect. Just after brunch, you’d slipped into your winter coat, a chunky scarf, gloves, and your favorite ridiculous moon boots. The kind that made you walk like an astronaut — and Bruce had already made three jokes.

He followed behind you in his tailored coat, hands in his pockets, tall and smug and quiet. That alone should’ve been a warning.

You turned around mid-path, squinting at him through the snowflakes. “Say it. Say what you’re thinking.”

Bruce smirked. “Just wondering how someone so intimidating can look so… inflatable.”

Your mouth dropped. “Inflatable?!”

“I mean the boots, not you—” He tried to clarify, but he was laughing too hard now, chest rumbling.

You lunged at him, swinging your scarf like a lasso, but he sidestepped easily, grabbed your waist—

And full-on pushed you into a snow-covered bush.

“BRUCE!” you screamed, flailing as you sank in like a marshmallow. Your moon boots kicked up in protest, arms flailing in betrayal.

He bent at the waist, laughing so hard he had to lean on his knees. “You looked like a cartoon character! I couldn’t help it!”

“I am so gonna kill you,” you grumbled, covered in snow, hair a mess, ego wounded. You struggled to get out, but the bush was winning.

“Need help?” he asked sweetly.

You narrowed your eyes. “You push me in, and now you offer to help?”

He knelt down next to you and whispered, lips brushing your ear, “Payback is coming.”

You glared up at him, but your heart fluttered all the same. “You better sleep with one eye open, Wayne.”

He offered his gloved hand.

You took it.

Then yanked him in right after you.

Now both of you were in the bush, tangled and laughing like idiots, snow falling around you in soft silence, your cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.

He kissed your nose. “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you whispered back.