You were locked in a staring contest over who really loaded the dishwasher wrong.

Bruce leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

You mirrored him. “That’s rich coming from Gotham’s very own brick wall.”

“I’m not a wall,” he said coolly. “I’m a fortress.”

“With a moat,” you added, “and laser tripwires and emotionally repressed gargoyles.”

He tilted his head. “One of which is Alfred, apparently.”

You cracked a smile. “Alfred’s the only one who actually wins arguments around here.”

He nodded in agreement. “Because we fear him.”

You leaned in. “But you fear me a little more, don’t you?”

He didn’t flinch. “Only when you threaten to reorganize my weapons closet.”

You grinned. “It’s color-coded chaos, Bruce. Let me fix it.”

“Over my dead utility belt.”