You were trying to reach the top shelf. Again.

Bruce watched from the kitchen entrance, arms crossed, a smug little smile tugging at his mouth.

“Need a ladder?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement.

“I need you to stop putting things where only giraffes can reach,” you grumbled, jumping for the cereal box.

He walked over, plucked it down with insulting ease, and handed it to you like a benevolent skyscraper.

“You’re practically bite-sized,” he smirked.

You narrowed your eyes. “Says the man who ducks under doorframes and still hits his head.”

“They build low ceilings,” he said with a shrug.

“No, you just weren't designed for civilian spaces,” you shot back. “You break chairs. You bend spoons. You’re a glitch in the Matrix.”

He leaned down, eyes sparkling. “Still your glitch, though.”

“Only because I can fit in carry-on luggage and you can’t.”