Forgotten birthdays. · Y/n story by @chlo

The kitchen smelled of butter and warm batter, a fragrance that usually made your stomach flutter with anticipation. Today it barely registered.

Alfred Pennyworth

Happy birthday, Master Y/n.

The old butler’s voice was warm, quiet, meant only for you. He set the plate down with a gentle clink, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Bruce Wayne

We have a gala for the Wayne Foundation next Friday. I’ll need you there by seven.

He didn’t look up. The words hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water.

Alfred Pennyworth

clearing his throat Perhaps the young master would prefer to focus on the present moment, sir. There’s a certain occasion today that warrants acknowledgment.

Bruce finally lowered the paper, his brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement. He looked between you and Alfred, then back to the newspaper, as if the answer might be printed somewhere between the stock reports and the crime section.

Bruce Wayne

Occasion?

Alfred Pennyworth

a pointed pause Indeed, sir. An occasion that occurs every year without fail.

The silence stretched. Bruce’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, perhaps—but he only picked up his coffee cup and took a long sip.

Bruce Wayne

Right. The gala anniversary. Of course.

Alfred’s smile faded slightly. He turned back to the stove, his shoulders tightening beneath his uniform.