The day started... weird.

Bruce hadn’t said a thing.

No “Happy Birthday,” no sly smile, not even a card left on your nightstand like he usually did for special days. You tried to brush it off — maybe he was distracted, maybe it slipped his mind — but it still stung.

Especially when Alfred gave you that soft, pitying smile over breakfast.

By mid-afternoon, you'd stopped pretending you weren’t disappointed. You spent most of the day alone in the penthouse, scrolling through messages from friends and League members — all kind, all thoughtful… none from Bruce.

By the time the sun started to dip behind Gotham’s skyline, your chest felt heavy. You were curled up in sweats, face buried in a throw pillow when Bruce’s voice called up from the comms.

“Hey. Can you come downstairs for a sec?”

You almost ignored it. Almost.

But something in his tone made you wipe your eyes and shuffle downstairs.

The back doors opened onto the garden.

And everything stopped.

Fairy lights were strung across the trees and hedges, casting a warm, magical glow over the backyard. A long table sat beneath them, covered in your favorite foods and candles. Balloons bobbed gently in the breeze.

And standing in the middle of it all — Clark, Diana, Barry, J’onn… your closest friends from outside the League…

And Bruce.

Now out of the Batsuit, in a dark button-down, hands behind his back, eyes watching only you.

“I didn’t forget,” he said softly, stepping forward. “I just wanted to give you something… worth remembering.”

Tears welled instantly.

“You jerk,” you whispered, laughing through it.

He leaned down, kissing your cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the ache from earlier melted into something golden.