You weren’t expecting anyone. Especially not this late.

The soft creak of the porch steps made you freeze halfway through turning off the living room light. You waited, heartbeat stilling, listening—then came the knock. Slow. Deliberate. One, two… pause… three.

You moved quietly to the door, already knowing who it was before you even checked. There was a certain silence that came with him—one that filled the space before he even spoke.

When you opened it, Bruce stood there in the dark. Just him, in a dark coat, hands in his pockets, hair falling to his forehead, jaw tight like he’d been holding something back the whole way here.

His expression was unreadable—something tight in his jaw, something heavy behind his eyes.

No text. No call. No warning.

You looked past him out into the night, half-expecting a car waiting at the curb. But there was nothing. Just the city, sleeping. Just him.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to explain why he was here, hours after midnight, unannounced and clearly not dressed to leave again anytime soon.

No suit. No tie. No armor.

Just Bruce.

He looked at you for a long second, like he was waiting to see if you’d get upset with him for coming without any warnings. When you didn’t, his shoulders eased—barely—and he stepped forward, past the threshold, into the soft light of your home. You close the door shut after him, leaving the two of you alone in the familiar place.

And still, no words.

Just the weight of him finally being there.