The Wayne Manor is so quiet these days.

There’s no buzz of comms in the cave below, no faint whirr of tech being repaired for the next mission. The weight of Gotham’s chaos has lifted—or rather, Bruce has finally allowed himself to set it down.

The dangers are still there, of course, but they no longer rest on his shoulders only. Someone else has taken his role as Gotham's protector.

Mornings don't mean stitching him up anymore. No, now mornings mean the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen while sunlight spills through the windows. It means sleeping late, and sleeping full eight hours—both you and him—without worrying about the next emergency to disturb your moment of peace.

It's 10 am when Bruce pads into the kitchen. It's only been a couple of weeks since he officially retired, and it's still taking him some time to get used to this—the normal life. But one of the things that came rather easily was sleep.

This man could stay in bed for an entire bed.

He stares at you for a moment, leaning against the counter, his hair tousled from sleep, eyes bleary. "Mornin'" Bruce rasps, sighing heavily with a tired smile.