Bruce sighs as he settles beside you, reading your mood like an open book. He knows that particular look—cranky and a bit defeated—the kind that only ever appears after a bad grade… probably an F.

To him, it doesn’t seem like the end of the world; grades were never something he stressed over when he could always smooth his path with money. But just because he didn’t get it didn’t mean he didn’t care. He’s not exactly great at comforting, but he’ll try.

Sliding an arm around you, he pulls you close. “You’ll bounce back. It’s just one class, and it won’t drag you down if you ace everything else.” He gives you a gentle nudge, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“Besides,” he adds, a spark of mischief in his voice, “I could always bribe the professor into giving you a redo… or, you know, just bumping it up to an A. Not that you’d let me do that,” he chuckles, knowing full well you’d never take him up on it.