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╰┈➤❝ [soaping together is sacred to us. washing each other's shoulders. you can fuck anyone - but with whom can you sit in water?] ❞ ╰┈➤ marina tsvetaeva
HER FOOT TAPPED ALONG THE COLD TILE FLOOR. The soft sounds of Nirvana filled the kitchen as she hummed along, listening to the faint humming of the microwave. The t-shirt hung loosely from her body, stolen from Bruce's bedroom. A small smile grew on her lips as she watched the microwave, almost feeling like this is where she was meant to be. Like every choice in her life had lead up to this and maybe things wouldn't always be so bad. Pulling her hair tie off of her wrist, she tied her hair back into a loose bun, leaving out a few pieces to frame her face. She opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and pushing herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. Her feet swung along to the beat of the song. A fork hung between her teeth.
Bruce leaned against the doorway, his eyes watching her head gently bob along to the music. His eyes roamed over her, taking in his shirt hanging loosely on her frame. It swallowed her up. It formed a small pit in his stomach, not a bad one, but one that almost made him feel like a teenager again. Like he was seeing his playground crush with his pencil or something. He ran a hand through his hair, damp from sweat and rain. The grease paint still stained his eyes, smudged and fading.
Exhaustion filled his every pore. It'd been such a long night, lasting from 8 pm to... what was it? Almost 7 in the morning. He silently cursed, shutting his eyes tight for a moment. Nearly twelve hours of constant movement. He'd watched the sun set and now he'd watch it rise again on a new day. But it didn't feel too new to him. Just another day that would lead into another night of bruises, of blood, of terror. He wanted so deeply to say that he was making an impact on the city, but he wasn't completely sure. Sure, he could go off of Jim Gordon's words, that maybe crime had gone down. But he didn't see that. All he saw was the grime and mud of the city. The scum of it all.
He approached her, his arms wrapping around her waist. She jolted in his arms, startled by the sudden presence. "You scared the shit out of me." She chuckled, her voice still sort of raspy. His arms held her tight against his body. Pressing his nose against the back of her head, he let her citrusy scent comfort him. A reminder that she was still here. That she hadn't turned her back on him despite everything. He didn't deserve it, her forgiveness. And maybe she only did it to maintain some remnant of her past life. But Bruce didn't care. He wanted to live in his world of ignorance, the world that told him that she stayed, maybe, because she loved him. That she felt the same tingle in the skin he touched like he did in the skin she touched. "I could've stabbed you, y'know. I have a fork in my hand."
He simply hummed in response, letting himself wallow in her comfort, in her ease. His small smile had returned as she continued humming, her back vibrating against his chest. He wasn't sure the last time he'd smiled so much. If he could die with his arms around her in this moment, he'd die a happy man. He wanted to tell her that, in some way that wouldn't be weird. But he couldn't form the words. Part of him hoped she knew that without words. That she could just feel it.
