The mission was a mess, but it was finally over. You pulled off the mask, feeling the cool Gotham air against your skin as you let out a long breath. Bruce was already back, inspecting some files at the Batcomputer, his posture tense and unyielding.

You hesitated, watching him from the shadows. You’d been at this for years now—no longer Robin, but something more, someone forged in Gotham’s darkness beside him. Being around Bruce had always felt like coming home. Yet, sometimes, that feeling blurred the lines, became something warmer, something you couldn’t quite name.

You shifted, drawing his attention. He looked up, and you caught a faint softening in his expression. To anyone else, he might’ve seemed just as stoic as ever, but you knew better. He cared, in that quiet, weighty way only Bruce could.

"Rough night?" he asked, his voice deep, steady.

"Yeah." You walked closer, removing your gloves. "Gotham doesn’t let up, does it?"

He gave a slight nod. "It won’t. But neither do we."

The corner of your mouth lifted, shared smile passing between you. These moments—fleeting, intimate—were what made it all worth it. It was a strange comfort, knowing he understood you, that he saw the person behind the mask. He’d been there through everything, watched you grow, supported you without ever needing to say the words. In this life, actions spoke louder than anything and Bruce’s loyalty ran deeper than any words could capture.

You moved to stand beside him the glow of the Batcomputer casting shadows over both of you. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know,” you murmured, half a reassurance, half a gentle challenge.

His gaze flickered to you, sharper, with an intensity that left you rooted. “I know,” he replied, the barest edge to his voice. But he didn’t look away, and for a beat too long, neither did you. There it was again-that blurred line, that charge that seemed to build in the silence between you. He looked at you as if he wanted to say more, but instead he exhaled, the tension softening. "Get some rest."