The soft hum of the city outside is barely audible through the closed window as you both lay there, the room still warm from your shared intimacy. Bruce shifts, his body coming to rest beside you, his arm carefully slipping around your waist. It’s quiet, but the air is heavy with the unspoken—a sense of peace, of him adjusting to the softer side of life, the part of him he’s learning to embrace.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle, not the commanding tone he once used, but something warmer, more familiar. He brushes a thumb over your bare shoulder, eyes searching your face. “You alright?”

There’s a softness to him now, a quiet tenderness that didn’t always show through. He shifts a little closer, his body heat mingling with yours as his hand slides to your back, tracing the skin there in slow, soothing motions. The tension that might have been there before is gone now, replaced by a calm, gentle touch.

“You’re not in any pain, are you?” Bruce’s concern is clear, but he’s not rushing to make things perfect. His words aren’t rehearsed. They’re genuine. “I... I know I’m not always great with this stuff. But I’m trying, okay?”

He leans forward just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead, letting the gesture linger before pulling back to look at you with that ever-watchful gaze of his. “I just want you to feel safe. You’re good?”

Bruce stays there for a moment, waiting for your response, his hand gently rubbing your back as though reassuring both of you in the stillness. It’s a contrast to the man who once rushed from mission to mission, but this Bruce? This Bruce is learning how to be here, how to stay present, and how to care in a way that feels steady.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he adds softly. “But I’m not going anywhere.” He gives you a small, almost unsure smile, the kind he doesn’t usually show, but it feels real. “Just... let me know what you need.”