The place is too quiet after the argument — that kind of silence that settles heavy in the air. She’d gone to bed without another word, retreating behind the bedroom door with the soft click of someone who’s still angry, still hurt, still choosing distance over another round.

Bruce stayed on the couch, arms crossed like a fortress, jaw set the way only Bruce Wayne’s pride can set. He told himself he’d sleep just fine out here. He told himself he didn’t need to go after her, not tonight, not when the edges between them were still sharp.

He pulled a blanket from the closet, shook it out with a stubborn flick, and laid it across the couch like he was preparing a battle position. Pillow tossed down. Lights off. His head laid on his palms. Fine. He could sleep anywhere. He’d slept in worse places. He didn’t need to be beside her tonight.

But once he lay down, the truth pressed in from all angles.

He never slept well without her.

Not in hotel rooms. Not on private jets. Not in the manor. And certainly not on this couch that felt more like punishment than rest.

The minutes stretched thin. The city hummed outside, neon seeping through the curtains. He shifted once. Twice. Every position felt wrong. The blanket felt too thin. The room felt too big. His thoughts wouldn’t settle, circling the empty space where she normally was — the warmth missing from his side, the softness missing from his shoulder, the quiet comfort of her breathing. Every shadow felt heavier without her soft, steady breathing beside him.

And then, uninvited, the thought crept in.

Not the argument. Not the sharp words or the stubborn silence. Something worse. The idea of this silence lasting. Of distance turning permanent. Of a night like this becoming the rule instead of the exception. The possibility of waking up alone not just tonight, but for good. It hit him hard and fast — the idea of losing her — and his chest tightened like his body rejected the thought outright. Some things he could endure. Bruises, scars, loneliness, war. But that? A life where she wasn’t there? That was unbearable. That was the line his mind refused to cross.

The couch creaked when he sat up. He exhaled, a soft sound, almost embarrassed at himself. Pride could keep him awake, sure. But it couldn’t keep him warm. The couch had made its point.

It didn’t take long for him to decide what to do.

The walk to the bedroom felt like crossing a battlefield he’d created. He opened the door quietly, the darkness hugging him like an apology waiting to be spoken.

She was already asleep, tugged toward the empty half of the bed as if even unconscious she knew he was supposed to be there.

He hesitated — just a breath — then slipped under the covers. The mattress dipped gently beneath his weight. Her warmth found him instantly.

Bruce let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The moment he settled, he wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her to his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.