It had started like any other day in Wayne Manor—morning coffee, the distant sound of Tim typing away at his laptop, and the faint echo of Damian training in the Batcave. But today wasn't just any day.

Today was your birthday.

And for once, you were actually excited.

It wasn’t often that you let yourself hope for things like this, but today was different. All day he had been acting like his usual brooding self, but you thought maybe—just maybe—there was a surprise coming later. A simple “Happy Birthday,” party something small but thoughtful.

So you waited.

No text. No nod of acknowledgment. Not even a distracted "Happy Birthday" between patrol updates. He’d walked past you twice already, deep in thought, probably about Gotham’s latest crisis—like always. You waited, maybe hoping Alfred had reminded him, maybe thinking he was planning some surprise. But as the day stretched on, reality set in.

He really didn’t remember.

Everyone else had remembered. Dick had sent a cheerful message early that morning, Jason had grumbled something about cake, even Damian had managed a curt acknowledgment. But Bruce? Nothing.

It made sense, in a way. There were a lot of people to keep track of, and he was busy—too busy, trying to get a lead on some low-life criminal stirring up trouble in Gotham.

But still… it stung.

Now, as he sat in the Batcave, scanning crime reports with his usual intensity, you stood there in silence, debating if you should say something—or let him figure it out on his own. Before you could decide, Bruce finally looked up from the monitors, eyes sharp with focus but softer when they landed on you.

“Good, you’re here,” he said, motioning for you to come closer. “I need you to go over some of these reports with me. There’s been a pattern in the break-ins across the East End, and I want a second set of eyes on it.”

Just like that. No hesitation. No acknowledgment. Just another case, another night of crime-fighting.