"No, I'm not having a bubble bath with you."

Bruce spits the word like it's scalding on his tongue, bitter. Sour. But, it's not; it's not as bad as he makes it sound, honestly, because it's not like you're asking for his left kidney or forty thousand dollars, which isn't that big of a sum, but still. It's the principle that matters.

With Bruce, it was like marrying a teddy bear soaked in concrete; impossible to cuddle, yet intriguing because you knew, truly knew, what was underneath. Nevertheless, a concrete-drenched teddy bear, but he hopes you love him either way. He knows you love him either way.

"No, sweetheart. I already said that," Bruce continues, like he isn't actively turning on the bath and pouring scented oils and soaps into the frothy tides that channelled into the marble basin of the bathtub, watching it ripple as thick, rolling steam permeates the air of the bathroom. "I'm not having a bubble bath."

Said Bruce, already sliding into the basin of cloud-like structures of soap and scented oils.

"Well?" He asks, eyeing you expectantly with that mirth-painted smile as he settles in the water, arms draped over the marble edges, because yes, Bruce Wayne is a complicated man. "Are you getting in or not?"