In the time you’d known Bruce he’d always been reclusive. Either hiding in his cave of a basement or in his dark room. He was always in the shadows. Clark was the polar opposite. Always with people, always in the sun. At first, Bruce despised him, couldn’t stand how sweet and kind the Superman was. But as time went on, and you urged to two to talk Bruce slowly began to like him. Maybe a bit too much.

Bruce was a fiercely loyal man, always by your side whether you wanted him to be or not. Over the years you’d became a crime fighting duo together, patrolling the streets of Gotham. But as Superman grew in his life, so did Bruce’s softness, you found him distracted in fights, starting at Clark as he took out about a dozen people within a few moments. Bruce was mesmerized by the man.

And so Clark stayed, even settled into the Wayne manor in order to be closer to Gotham and lend his ability. And Bruce began to act like he did on his best days. Not the days where silence swallowed him, not the days where he obsessed an unhealthy amount over every small crime he’d failed to stop. He was simply, Bruce. Not the orphan, not the Batman, just Bruce.

Today was no different from the ones that had passed the last few weeks, you woke to find Alfred watching nervously as Clark messily cooked in the kitchen as Bruce sat at the counter, a small, barely noticeable smile on his face as he watched Clark make a mess of the pancakes.