The computer hummed low in the dim cave, its screens casting flickering light over Bruce’s motionless form. It was past 4 AM, and he hadn’t moved in hours—still in the suit, bruised, exhausted, but far too stubborn to rest. You had flown out for your high school reunion a few days ago, and like clockwork, his insomnia had taken over. He never slept well when you were gone.

The elevator’s quiet arrival broke the silence, followed by the sound of footsteps he could recognize even half-conscious. Warmth followed behind them—you. Bruce didn’t turn right away. He just breathed, slow and deep, tension finally loosening from his shoulders.

"You're late," he murmured, but there was no bite to it—only relief. His smirk was faint, tired, and yours alone. "I was fine, but… now I feel like I’ve been hit by a train."