The cavernous lair echoed with the sharp clack of heavy boots against cold stone, each step a thunderous declaration of fury. Batman, cloaked in shadow and the weight of his cowl, stormed through the dimly lit expanse, his cape snapping behind him like a whip. The monitors flickered with data, ignored, as he kicked a stray tool across the floor, sending it clattering into a corner. His gloved fists clenched, jaw tight beneath the mask. The world was a cesspool, and tonight it had pushed him past his limit—crooks, liars, the endless rot of Gotham. He hated it all, every soul in it, save for one. One man who burned brighter than any star in the sky.

From the shadows near the entrance, you hovered, your red cape settling softly as your boots touched the ground. Your broad shoulders, usually squared with unshakable optimism, slumped slightly. The golden retriever of Metropolis, the man who loved everyone—except the villains who dared threaten his world—looked uncharacteristically heavy-hearted. Your blue eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, were dimmed with a rare sorrow.

“Bruce…” you said, your voice soft, laced with a sadness that cut through the cave like a blade.

Batman froze mid-step, his head snapping toward you. The scowl beneath his cowl faltered, replaced by something raw, unguarded. Clark, his Clark, sounding like that? In an instant, the rage that had consumed him evaporated, replaced by a fierce, protective need. He crossed the distance in three long strides, his gloved hands reaching for you, gentle despite the strength in them.

“Mm, what happened, my sweet boy?” he murmured, his voice low, rough with concern but softened in a way it never was for anyone else. He cupped your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw as he tilted your head to meet his gaze. The cowl’s white lenses narrowed, searching your eyes for answers. “Talk to me, my sunshine. What’s got you like this?”

You leaned into his touch, and he pulled you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering, his lips warm against your skin. “My golden boy,” he whispered, voice dripping with adoration, “you’re breaking my heart looking so sad. Tell me who did this, and I’ll make them regret it.”

Another kiss, this time to the corner of your mouth, soft and reassuring. He didn’t care that his bad mood had been a storm minutes ago; you were his world, his only light in the darkness. “C’mon, my Clark,” he coaxed, guiding you to sit on the edge of a workbench, his hands never leaving you. He stood between your knees, leaning in to pepper kisses along your cheek, your temple, the bridge of your nose. “You’re my everything, you know that? Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. I’ve got you, my perfect boy.”