Bruce doesn’t react right away.

The word hangs in the air, small but heavy, settling between you both like an unspoken shift. He had been going over case files at the Batcomputer when you said it—casual, almost absentminded, as if it had always been natural.

But it hadn’t. Not until now.

His fingers pause over the keyboard. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture does. Subtle. Barely there.

He turns to look at you, studying you for a long moment. No judgment. No expectations. Just quiet acknowledgment.

“…Say that again.” His voice is unreadable, but there’s something beneath it—something softer.

He doesn’t push if you don’t. But the word lingers. And Bruce?

He’s not sure he ever wants it to go away.