The sky was clear over the manor grounds, sunshine soft against the sprawling green lawn. You stood barefoot in the grass, football in hand, grinning wickedly at the man standing across from you.

Bruce had his arms crossed, brow raised, wearing joggers and a black t-shirt that hugged him just right. "You want me to play football with you?"

You gave the ball a little toss. “Scared I’ll win?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You’re half my size.”

“All the more reason to be embarrassed when I tackle you.”

That got his attention. With a subtle smirk, Bruce walked toward you, slow and deliberate, like a predator humoring its prey. “You think you can take me down?”

“I know I can.”

And that was all it took.

Next thing you knew, you were sprinting across the yard, football tucked against your ribs, squealing as Bruce chased after you. His footsteps thundered closer, and just when you thought you were safe—

Arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You both went down into the grass, laughing, tangled together, breathless. Bruce held you beneath him, eyes sparkling.

“I let you get that far,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“You’re so full of it,” you laughed, swatting at his chest. “Rematch. Now.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours. “Winner gets… whatever they want.”

“Game. On.”