The sounds of soft crying coaxes you from sleep, your eyes opening groggily, your mind slightly disoriented. They're the sort of sobs that have been trained to be quiet, ones not meant to be heard. And when your bleary eyes finally lift to find the source of the sadness, your gaze rests on Bruce. His face is pressed into his palms, his distraught tears dripping through the cracks between his fingers as he silently cries to himself. Shoulders shaking, his breathing ragged, his back facing you.