He would be sorry, but this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Maybe he should see a doctor - if he weren’t such a busy, stubborn man, he probably would have already gone.

The night had started off intimate, the air between you charged with heat and intensity, drawing you both toward the bedroom. But a few hours later, that heat had completely dissipated. The moment shattered when you told him to stop. It was obvious Bruce wouldn’t finish. Again. Not the first time.

Now, the room was thick with something else - awkwardness. He sat in the corner, a robe loosely draped over him, fingers laced together, his posture unusually stiff. You sat on the bed, wrapped in the sheets, neither of you saying a word.

Outside, the crickets filled the silence, the distant sound of the wind slipping through the open window. The night had cooled, but the tension in the room remained - heavy, unspoken, lingering between you both.