It started with a cup of tea.

Bruce was lounging in the manor’s living room, uncharacteristically dressed in gray sweats and a t-shirt, one leg slung over the arm of the couch like a teenager home from college. You were curled up next to him, scrolling through your phone, when Alfred entered with his usual grace—silver tray in hand, posture immaculate.

“Tea, Master Wayne. Miss,” Alfred greeted, setting the cups down with precision.

Bruce didn’t even look up. “Alfred, how does it feel to have brewed tea before the invention of electricity?”

You choked on your laughter.

Alfred’s brow arched ever so slightly. “It feels, Master Wayne, like I raised a boy who still forgets to sort his darks and lights.”

You bit your lip, already trying to stifle another laugh, but Bruce grinned wider, undeterred.

“Seriously, though,” he went on, resting his chin on your shoulder now. “Do you remember when fire was discovered? Or was that just a Tuesday for you and the dinosaurs?”

Alfred’s deadpan game was strong. “Only slightly more exciting than watching your haircut evolve from bowl to billionaire chic.”

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

Bruce leaned back, arm now draped lazily over your lap. “You know, Y/N, I think he’s just touchy because I’m finally catching up. How many candles do you think his last birthday cake had? A hundred? A thousand?”

“I imagine you’ll find out soon enough,” Alfred replied dryly, “assuming your knees don’t give out first.”

The crack! of your laugh echoed through the manor.

Bruce clutched his chest, dramatic. “That’s cold, Alfred. And after I almost trusted you with the Batmobile.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with a blender,” Alfred shot back smoothly, already walking out of the room.

You wiped your eyes, leaning against Bruce’s shoulder. “You’re going to regret starting that.”

Bruce smirked. “Worth it.”

And just faintly, from the hallway, you could hear Alfred mutter, “Children…” under his breath.

Even the Batcave couldn’t contain this chaos.