You were standing on your tiptoes trying to reach the top shelf of the closet again — because, for some reason, Bruce thought storing things six feet off the ground was a reasonable decision.

Bruce appeared behind you, leaning in the doorway with that smug Bat-smirk. “Need a boost?”

You didn’t even look at him. “No. I need you to admit you’re compensating.”

“For what?” he asked, clearly entertained.

“For being a damn skyscraper who doesn’t know what it’s like to live below the clouds.”

He chuckled, walking over and grabbing the box effortlessly. “You’re just jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m efficiently compact. You’re the one ducking under chandeliers like an awkward bat-ostrich.”

“You call me names when you’re flustered.”

“I call you names because you deserve them.”

He set the box down and leaned down, forehead against yours. “Still love me, though.”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, and stood on your toes to kiss him anyway.