Making Headlines ~ Bruce Wayne [PAUSED]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

You've noticed how your sleep has been getting lighter with time. You've started finding yourself waking up to the soft sound of the rain hitting the windows, a little bit of a harsher wind hitting the glass, and, especially, whenever he's walking through your apartment.

Only after noticing the familiar pattern of the steps on your hardwood floors or tiles, and possibly speaking to him for mere seconds, your sleep goes back to being how it usually is, deeper and heavier.

And, just as expected, tonight, you get to wake up with that exact noise. You keep your eyes closed, listening to Bruce's steps getting closer to your bedroom. You wait it out, and the sound stops as you assume he has gotten to your bedroom door.

In no time, you feel the bed dip next to you and a hand is laid on your hip. You open your eyes and stare back at him. Bruce's hair has a few drops of water from the rain, his clothes are their usual black and the rest of his face is lost in the room's darkness. He's sitting just beside your laying body, at the side of the bed.

You lay your land on top of his on your hip and look up to your bedside table, checking the time.

"You did not just wake me up at 3:30AM." You whisper at him.

You hear his exhale through his nose, obviously finding your complaint amusing, and look back at him. He moves his head, not noticing your stare, and looks out of the large windowed wall of your bedroom. You watch him as the city lights escape through the crack of your curtains and illuminate his face for you.

Bruce is more than distracted. The lights in the distance are able to almost bring him into a trance, and you're not able to pull him out of it. You look out as well, trying to understand what he's looking at, but before you do, Bruce looks away and smooths his hand over your side.

"You better go to sleep." You tell him. "I have an early meeting tomorrow, and you are not ruining my mood for that."

He doesn't answer verbally again but he does get back up from the bed. You notice the way your skin loses warmth as his hand is pulled away and watch as his figure moves before you. You watch him, almost lost in the dark room, and he pulls his shirt off himself, as well as the rest of his clothes.

When Bruce lays down on the bed, you're quick to get closer. Your eyes meet for just a little bit, and Bruce is unable to see a lot of your face as he's the one facing the light this time. You watch him, though, without a problem, and it's ridiculous how easy it is to see it.

Another bruise. One just right at the end of his jaw. One someone probably wouldn't even notice if his skin wasn't so fair or, really, if they weren't looking to find one - just like you do.

Your hand lifts and lays near the bruised skin, your fingers carefully brushing over it. Bruce stares at your dark shadowed form as you do it, all while he curses himself out in his head for not even trying to hide the bruise he absolutely forgot that he had. He doesn't freeze or get ready to get bombarded with questions, he knows you won't ask anything. You have never done that, and he knows that you've seen every single one of them.

Maybe Bruce should feel guilty for not telling you the truth, but, deep down, he knows that he doesn't feel this way because he will tell you the truth eventually. Only when the time seems right and whenever things calm down in both of your lives. Only then he will tell you and he does not have one thought that could ever make him change his mind about this.

He will have to endure your comforting and silence about his scars and his bruises until then and endure the possibility of any feeling of pity or worry as well. He will have to see the way you stare at them as you always do and then the way you force yourself to look away and act normal. The way your smooth hands move comfortingly past them. So softly that Bruce swears the pain disappears when he feels them.