It was loud where you were — not unbearable, just the kind of volume that filled in every empty space. The music pulsed through the floor of the bar, lights dim and warm, the air smelling like citrus cocktails and expensive perfume. You’d come with friends. You were supposed to stay with them.

But now, they were gone — paired off with strangers or calling early nights, and you were left standing near the high table you’d claimed hours ago, trying not to look like you were waiting on anyone.

You were, though.

Bruce hadn’t come. Said he had work. Said he was tied up with something at the office, but he did tell you to call him so he could pick you up later. You both didn’t think the call would go so early though.

But now, your fingers were hovering over his contact. And before you could second-guess it, you pressed call.

He picked up after the second ring, his voice low and slightly hoarse — like he’d just stopped working.

“Everything okay?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Yeah. Just…” You glanced around the room. “My friends kind of bailed. Can you come get me? Or just… come?”

There was a pause on his end. Not hesitation. Just Bruce doing that thing he always did — considering, calculating, already reaching for his coat.

“I’m on my way.”

You didn’t realize how much tension was in your shoulders until they dropped at the sound of those words.

The wait felt longer than it probably was. You moved from the table to a quieter corner near the door, trying to look casual while checking the time every few minutes. Your drink was watery by the time the black car pulled up outside.

You saw him through the windows first — the way he moved, all purposeful and sharp, like he’d walked straight out of a storm. He was still in his suit, tie loosened, dark coat thrown over his shoulders like he’d left in a hurry.

When he stepped inside, the air shifted.

Bruce had that effect.

His eyes scanned the room once, found you instantly. A flicker of something unreadable passed across his face — not quite anger, not quite relief. Just… focus, not even noticing the hungry glances from women. Like you were the only thing anchoring him in the room. He didn’t wave, didn’t smile. He just started walking, slow and steady, like he wasn’t entirely sure what version of you he’d find when he got there.