Morning sunlight streamed softly through the high windows of Bruce’s penthouse bedroom, cutting golden shapes across the sheets. The room was quiet—just the faint hum of the city below and the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.

Clark blinked awake, the feeling of warmth heavy in his chest before his eyes were even open. He could tell instantly that the weight beside him was Bruce—solid, warm, and radiating the faint smell of smoke, leather, and whatever expensive soap Alfred insisted he use.

He opened his eyes fully and blinked in mild surprise. Bruce was still asleep.

That never happened.

Clark smiled, slow and fond. Bruce was half-buried in the pillow, dark hair sticking out in every direction, one arm thrown out over the sheets and the other tucked under his head. He looked peaceful—actually peaceful—for once. No frown, no tenseness in his jaw, no distant flicker of nightmares behind his eyelids. Just… quiet.

Clark couldn’t help himself. He shifted closer, careful not to wake him, and wrapped both arms around him, pulling him against his chest. Bruce grumbled softly in his sleep but didn’t wake, just turned his face further into the pillow, one hand automatically finding Clark’s wrist and curling around it like he always did—subconscious instinct, even in sleep.

Clark’s grin softened. He pressed his nose against Bruce’s messy hair, breathing him in, the dorky smile on his face refusing to fade. The mission had been long and exhausting, days of constant movement and danger and barely any rest. They had both pushed themselves too far—Bruce more than anyone—but now, seeing him finally rest, Clark felt something unclench in his chest.

“Got you now,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

He pulled the blanket up a little higher, cocooning them both. Bruce shifted again, his foot brushing against Clark’s leg, still not awake but mumbling something unintelligible into the pillow.

Clark chuckled quietly, his heart soft. “You can sleep in for once,” he murmured. “I’ll cover for you with Alfred.”

He stayed there like that, arms around Bruce, chin resting in his hair, just listening to him breathe. For a man who could hear every sound across the city, this was the one thing Clark never got tired of listening to.

Just the steady rhythm of Bruce’s heartbeat—safe, human, his.