It was late. The manor was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the clink of a spoon as you stirred cocoa in a mug. You wore one of Bruce’s sweaters, sleeves drowning your hands, hair messy from sleep. It had been a long day, and something about the silence made your heart ache — not in a bad way, just… full.

Bruce padded into the kitchen barefoot, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair still damp from the shower. He paused in the doorway, watching you with that unreadable look he wore when he was thinking too hard.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, handing him a second mug you made without asking. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He took it, fingers brushing yours. “Same.”

You both leaned against the counter, sipping in silence. Then, softly, you said, “Do you ever stop and realize how strange this is? Us. Here. Normal.”

Bruce smiled faintly. “Every day.”

You looked at him, eyes tired but soft. “You’re not who I expected to fall for.”

“Same,” he murmured. “But you’re exactly who I needed.”

The words sank in like warmth in your chest. And when he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you knew you were home.