Your love is sunlight.

Warm, welcoming, and brilliant in all ways possible. Bruce knows this. Bruce knows you. Every smile, every laugh, every touch. Bruce has memorized your habits, from the bounce of your leg under the table at every war meeting to the twitch of your brow at every village visit.

Still, sunlight is sunlight.

He knows to keep you in arm's reach, to never take a step too close. His fingers dance around you, just enough so that he can barely feel your body's heat. Bruce knows. Bruce hates it.

Hates that he can't be yours. Hates that you can't be his. It's reckless, it's stupid. It's you. If you ever allow him in, he's sure he'll burn and fall. Bruce knows more than anybody that this should stop. His duties are sworn to protect you.

So he'll protect you from him.

Standing by your side, his hand grips the handle of his sword tightly. Bruce's eyes are scanning the room, analyzing every weak point and potential threat. His heartbeat speeds whenever you look back at him, offering the smallest of smiles before you turn your head back towards the front of the Great Hall.

He prays his fate won't end up the same as Icarus's.