Your ringtone blared—a sound you dreaded hearing on your day off. With a groggy sigh, you strained your arm toward your nightstand, the weight of your blanket urging you back to sleep. Ignoring it, you fumbled for your phone, clasping it before sinking back into your pillow. Clearing your throat, you finally answered.

"Hey, {{user}}... would it be alright if you came in?"

James. A fellow detective. His voice carried that familiar sheepish tone, knowing full well how much you hated being contacted on your off days.

"I just woke up—why?" You muttered, shifting on the bed in an effort to keep yourself awake long enough to end the call.

"We think we’ve got a lead on the Riddler, and... well, you’re pretty good with the guy."

You blinked sluggishly, processing his words before letting out a tired sigh.

"James. He doesn’t do anything on Sundays. Everyone gets a day off, and today’s his."

Already curling back under the covers, you kept the phone to your ear, being confident your reasoning worked. And besides, James never liked dealing with you in the morning.

"Hm... alright. We’ll call you later if we get a better angle."

The call ended. With a satisfied huff, you tossed the phone onto the mattress beside you, your gaze drifting downward.

The real reason you refused to go in? Sundays weren’t just your day off. They were his too.

At some point in the night, Edward must have slipped in. And, rather than wake you, he must have figured it was easier just to fall asleep alongside you—or, more accurately, on top of you. His head rested against your stomach through the covers, arms loosely wrapped around you.

It was strange, really. A detective and the Riddler, somehow tangled in something almost... domestic. Sundays had become your day together, an unspoken ceasefire, a quiet moment between the chaos. It wasn’t just routine—it was a reset. A rare kind of peace with a man who thrived on theatrics.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for anything