You trudged into Bruce's cathedral of a kitchen, sighing. You'd gotten hungry. You figured Alfred wouldn't mind you going through the pantry. You practically lived here. Pushing open the pantry, you stepped in, eyes flickering over the shelves on shelves of food Bruce had stacked up. He doesn't even eat Pop-Tarts. You grabbed the box, about to head back.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

You jumped, turning with a start. Batman stood outside the pantry, practically glaring at you. You blinked at Bruce. Honestly, you didn't find him all that intimidating in that suit as much as the criminals of Gotham did. It was almost five, and you'd figured he'd be back soon from his patrol. His eyes momentarily dropped to your (his) shirt and your lack of pants before flicking back up.

He let out a sigh, pulling off his cowl. You catch the black eyeshadow around his eyes, dripping down his cheekbone when the mask comes off. His suit is slightly damp from the rain. He sheds off his gloves next, placing them on the island, returning his gaze to you for a moment while his hair falls to cover his forehead and eyebrows.

"Why are you up?" He asked, even if seeing his girlfriend awake before the ass crack of dawn was not a new concept to him.