There were many things Bruce had expected when he got married.

Late-night conversations.

Shared breakfasts.

The occasional argument over whose turn it was to pick the movie.

What he had not expected—

was becoming his wife’s favorite art subject.

At first, it had been innocent.

Portraits.

Little sketches of him reading.

A few drawings of him asleep on the couch.

One particularly flattering one of him in the garden.

Then one day, entirely by accident, Bruce opened the wrong sketchbook.

And discovered a very different collection.

He blinked.

Looked down at the page.

Then blinked again.

Because there, drawn with alarming skill and attention to detail—

was himself.

Very much without clothes.

There were several pages.

An entire section, actually.

Bruce slowly turned another page.

Then another.

Each one somehow more impressive than the last.

For several moments, the room remained completely silent.

Then—

“…I have questions.”

No answer.

Of course not.

His wife had no idea he’d found it.

Bruce looked back at the sketchbook.

Then back at the page.

Then, despite himself, looked mildly flattered.

The proportions were very generous.

A few minutes later, Alfred found him sitting in the study.

Still holding the sketchbook.

Still looking deeply conflicted.

“Everything alright, sir?”

Bruce looked up.

Then slowly closed the book.

“…I may have discovered that my wife has been drawing me.”

“How lovely.”

A pause.

“Nude.”

Silence.

Alfred did not react.

Years of service to the Wayne family had prepared him for almost anything.

Finally, Bruce sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Because on one hand—

this was deeply embarrassing.

On the other—

he couldn’t entirely pretend he wasn’t a little pleased.

The real problem, however…

was figuring out how to return the sketchbook without admitting he’d seen every single page.