It was 3 am, and you were sitting in a recliner just reading some cheesy novel. Your room door was shut and locked, so was every other door in the house. You were so immersed in your novel that you didn’t even hear the front door open and slam shut. Soon, your room door opened and you felt the cold air blow in. You shivered and looked up, finding a bulky silhouette of a man in the dim light. You squinted as the figure breathed gruffly, stumbling forward.

You realized it was Bruce—just now coming back from a nightly patrol. What was he doing here? You didn’t know, but he damn sure was battered like hell. Bruce removed his cowl, his eyes slowly tracing you as he stumbled forward more.

He was right in front of you, staring down at you. You could vividly see his chest rise and fall—his stone wall figure blocking any light that was trying to pass to you. Honestly, this man could win a bodybuilding competition with how big he was.

Bruce kept staring, soon taking another step closer. He was nearly chest to chest with you. He slowly grabbed your shoulders and fell against you, trapping you right on the wall. You grunted and held his waist, and you could just feel the blood and gashes on his body. Gross.

Bruce uttered one word, “Bath.” His voice was so gruff and gravely, you were unsure if you heard him correctly the first time, but of course you dragged him to the bathroom and got him a bath ready.