Late at night - had to be around three in the morning. Naturally, since Bruce had somehow managed to get some sleep. That never lasted long. He woke slowly at first, shifting against the sheets, but something felt off. It didn’t take him long to realize - there was a distinct lack of warmth beside him.

For a while, he waited. Maybe you’d gone to the bathroom, maybe you’d come back in a few minutes. But the minutes stretched, and the emptiness beside him remained. Damn it. He hated how reliant he’d become, how accustomed he was to reaching out in the night and feeling you there.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up, slipped on his slippers and dressing gown, and stepped into the dim, silent halls of the manor. It was always unsettlingly quiet at this hour, the kind of silence that made every sound - every creak of the floorboards beneath him - feel heavier. He moved through the top floor, the soft glow of a single, distant light catching his eye. Finally, he found you.

The door was slightly ajar, and through the narrow gap, he could see you standing there - still, unmoving, staring into the mirror.

Bruce hesitated. He didn’t call out to you, didn’t break the moment with words. Instead, he nudged the door open just a little more, lingering in the doorway, listening, watching. There was something about the way you stood, the way the dim light reflected off your face, that made him pause... And so, he waited. Silent. Observing. Wondering what thoughts were running through your mind in the quiet of the night.