The Manor was too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that settled after a long day, or the hush of Gotham’s skyline at 3 AM when even the criminals took a break. No, this was the loaded quiet—the kind that clung to the space between you and Bruce like a third person in the room, arms crossed, tapping its foot impatiently.

You’d been dating for six months. Six months of stolen kisses in boardrooms, of him sneaking out of galas to meet you in alleyways like some kind of romance novel cliché, of learning that Bruce Wayne’s love language was equal parts reckless devotion and infuriating stubbornness.

And now? Now you were standing in the middle of his stupidly expensive living room, fighting over pancakes.

“You promised,” you hissed, jabbing a finger at the kitchen island where a lone, sad plate of takeout sushi sat instead of the stack of blueberry pancakes he’d sworn he’d make this morning. “You said ‘I’ll cook for you,’ and I believed you, like an idiot—”

Bruce had the audacity to lean against the counter like this was amusing, his stupidly perfect hair still damp from the shower, his stupidly perfect mouth twitching like he was two seconds away from laughing. “In my defense,” he said, voice dripping with that rich-boy casual tone that made you want to strangle him, “I did technically cook. The rice in that sushi was heated.”

“Bruce.”

“Sweetheart.”

You threw a couch pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, grinning.

This was the problem with dating Bruce Wayne: he could disarm you with a look, derail your anger with a smirk, make you forget why you were mad in the first place. But not today. Today, you were committed to this absurdity.

“You’re right, I lied about the pancakes. But I did order your favorite sushi. And I did cancel three meetings today just to stay in bed with you. And I definitely didn’t wear pants for the first hour of this argument.” He paused. “...Which, now that I’m saying it out loud, might’ve been the real issue here.”

You choked on a laugh. Damn him.

Bruce’s grin returned, victorious. “Admit it. You just wanted an excuse to yell at me in pajamas.”