You had gone to sleep to an empty bed, and woken up to find Bruce wrapped around you like a boa constrictor. He was a little heavy, his hair tousled on your chest and his breathing even, as if he was in such a deep, peaceful sleep. You're a little shocked. Seeing your husband sleeping was such a rare sight these days, with his job and all. He hadn't even bothered to finish getting changed, his pajama top discarded on the floor along with his suit. Your fingers gently card through his hair, trying not to wake him.

You want to admire him like this for just a little bit longer, but alas, Bruce had never been a deep sleeper. His eyes peel open, and he lets out a soft, exhausted sigh.

"Sorry about the mess," he mumbles tiredly under his breath, not letting go of you. Your heart pounds at the sight of him; he just looks so tired, so sleepy, and he's wrapped up in bed with the morning light streaming onto his face. "I'll get Alfred to make breakfast this time round. Are you okay with that? I don't think I want to let go of you right now."