I Bet On Losing Dogs

Dust In My Eyes

You barely sleep at all that night. Bruce is true to his word, never leaving your side. You can't tell if he sleeps through the night. He doesn't snore, but his breathing is even and slow. Sometimes, his arm wraps around your waist from behind, and you feel him half-hard against your ass, but nothing comes of it. You wish something does come from it when you close your eyes and feel that emptiness you felt before Elliot attacked.

You sit up when you see the first hint of a waking sky. Bruce slowly retracts his hand, moaning in his sleep. Your cheeks heat the noise as he rolls over to turn away. Maybe he needs this rest. Your feet softly slap against the dark, hardwood floors as you go to the bathroom.

It's a similar layout to your old bathroom, except black and sleek in place of the warm jeweled tones. It screams masculine to you as you use the all-black sink to wash your hands as you start your routine. You don't hear when Bruce wakes up as he walks past you, going to the toilet in its separate part. Fancy, you catch yourself thinking as you dry your face. He comes out, washing his hands moments later.

"Good morning." You say, the bags under his eyes less noticeable today.

"Good morning, (Y/N)." He replies, voice gruff from sleep. The deep scratchy voice makes your heart jump, and you focus on folding your facial towel to hide your expression. "How did you sleep?" He asks, putting his arm around your waist. You can't lie to him, and he knows the truth. You were tossing and turning and woke up earlier than him.

"Okay," You say anyway. You see the slight disappointment in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

"We have important plans to attend today," Bruce says without pressing you forward.

"Important?"

Everything is vital with Bruce, and you had planned on staying in after the news of your engagement broke. You haven't turned your phone on, but you are aware that your phone would freeze up from all the notifications.

"Yes. We're going to the Veterans Memorial held at the Wayne Memorial." Your mouth drops slightly, not expecting that place to be where he'd want to go. "Oh?"

He lets go of you, disappearing into the closet. His room has his and her closets. His clothes were primarily suits hung in various shades of gray, with his more casual clothes hidden away in the drawers. His shoes were on display in expensive Italian leather. Your closet is the same size, though it feels smaller with all the different pieces you have to fill it. You choose one of your black dresses. It's a black velvet off-the-shoulder sweetheart dress. You got it a few years ago for your grandfather's funeral. You only wore it a couple of times since. It's a bit snug, but you don't want to wear something ornate and designer to this. You don't want anyone to comment more about your clothes. You can breathe easily, and you grab a black wool oversized jacket that you'll wear over it.

To your surprise, Bruce isn't dressed yet, as he has his outfit on the bed. "Dunham is making breakfast if you want to eat first." He says as he hears you step back into the room. "Richard is getting up soon. I almost thought about inviting him to this, but I think he should go to school." He adds, looking up at you. He smirks, his eyes resting on your cleavage, flicking back to your face. He doesn't say anything more about your outfit, his hand running over his face.

"Are you okay?" You ask, stepping closer. He lets out a deep sigh, his hand going over the cotton button-down. "I... I haven't been there in a very long time." He whispers. You lean closer to hear him. "I'll be there with you," You say, putting your hand on his bare shoulder. He tenses at your touch, still looking at the clothes on the bed.

As if snapping back to life, he looks at the side table behind him. "There's a pendant you should wear. Alfred suggested it."

There's a smooth mahogany box on the surface with an ornate button with W engraved. You wonder how it is to have your family name emblazoned on everything. The thought continues when you press it carefully and two pins, an American flag, and a golden circle with a calligraphic W in the middle. "Which one should I wear?" You ask, turning to Bruce, who has put the white shirt on, starting the buttons. "Whichever one you want. Or both. It doesn't matter to me."