Bruce had just finished a pretty uneventful patrol, the caped crusader had found his way back to the batcave and slouched down in front of the batcomputer.

Taking off the black mask, he rubbed his eyes and tried to relieve any tension in his shoulders by stretching his arms over his head.

Bruce always tells you to go ahead and sleep without him, to not wait up for him so late at night, since he knows his nightly patrols of Gotham city take long and last deep into the midnight. Yet you never listen to him.

Even now, he hears slow and sloth-like footsteps approaching from behind and he has to try hard to not smile when he turns to see your figure. Clad in pajamas, a dozy look on your face, hair messy and a hand rubbing your eyes to get rid of the drowsiness.

"I told you to sleep, {{user}}," he starts, as you wrap your arms around him in a big bear hug, his gloved fingers gently untangling your messy bedhead.

"You don't have to stay up just for me."

What he doesn't tell you is that he's never been more content. To know that someone loves him so much, that they would stay up in his wait, that they would hold him tight and never let go.

He can't explain it, but your arms always feel like home.