You stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, hands gripping the hem of your shirt, your eyes scanning your reflection with a tightness in your chest you couldn't shake.

Everything felt… off. You tugged your shirt down, shifted your stance, tried to breathe through the weight of it — the thoughts, the comparisons, the way your mind picked at every detail. You knew it wasn’t rational. You knew Bruce loved you. But sometimes, it didn’t matter.

“Why are you frowning?” came his voice, quiet but firm, from the doorway.

You startled slightly, trying to offer a casual smile, brushing it off. “Nothing. Just… looking.”

He stepped inside, already shirtless from his shower, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, damp hair curling slightly at the ends.

But it wasn’t the sight of him that made your throat tighten — it was the look in his eyes. He knew. He always knew.

Bruce walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at your reflection with you, chin resting gently on your shoulder.

“You’re looking at yourself like you’re not mine,” he said softly.

Your chest clenched.

“I just… I don’t feel great today. I feel weird in my skin. I know it’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” he said immediately, tightening his arms around you. “It’s never dumb. But I want you to hear something.”

He turned you gently to face him. His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing soft circles into your sides.

“You are stunning. Not just physically — though I could spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” His eyes searched yours. “But what I love is how your laugh fills up a room. The way you care, the way you fight for people. How you never let me disappear into the dark. You’re my light, sweetheart. There’s no one else I’d rather come home to. No one else I want to wake up beside.”

Your eyes burned.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheeks. Your jaw. Finally, your lips — slow, deep, full of quiet reverence.

"You're perfect sweetheart."