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Talia’s bed is much nicer than his is. It’s no surprise—of course the daughter of the head of a cult will have better everything than someone just there to be trained will—but still. He’s reaping the benefits more nights now than he’s not.
There are many blankets keeping out the desert chill, and Talia insists on sleeping under all of them. It’s cute, in a way, how much she loves her bed, her blankets, her pillows. How she intertwines herself with all of it, and how she grumbles at him when he lets the air in. More than once, she’s poked his sides while trying to tuck the corners underneath him.
Most nights, they fall asleep easily, exhausted from the day’s training and tests. But tonight, they’re still awake, laying curling up together.
He can’t remember the last time he held someone close, or was held, and just…didn’t let go. He can’t remember the last time, when someone touched him and he didn’t feel like there was a live wire under his skin, and the only way to get it to go away was to be alone. He can’t remember the last time he actually slept in someone else’s bed.
But no one has ever treated him like Talia does. All of the girlfriends and boyfriends he had in school, they were fake, a show. He had to be normal, a womanizing asshole who just experimented with the boys, and nothing meant anything and everyone knew it. None of them were friends, not really, and certainly none of them actually ever liked him. They liked his money. That was all.
And Alfred… he was something else all together. An employee and a friend, a caregiver and a boss. He gave out hugs like Bruce did, which is to say never.
Talia doesn’t hug him, but she touches him all the time. And she’s real, realer than anyone he’s ever met. She hasn’t changed herself for him, or simpered for his riches, or tuned out when he talks about his problems. (Which is weird enough on its own. He’s never really talked to anyone before.) Sometimes—most times—he doesn’t know how to act around her. His chest tightens, and her smile makes him smile, and when she beats the other trainees he always feels proud of her. Even when she beats him. Especially when she beats him.
Laying in bed with her like this, not even sleeping, the only sounds their breathing… he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with it. With the feelings welling up in him. He wants to hide from them, because he’s not stupid and he knows the name for it, and he wants to expose it and analyze them, because he’s not stupid and he knows this is a weakness. He doesn’t want her to know. He really, really doesn’t.
But when she asks, some indefinite amount of time later, “What are you thinking about, darling?”, looking up at him with sleepy eyes and messy hair, he can’t stop himself.
He murmurs back, “You,” and it feels—it feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. It feels like the end of the world, and he’s sure that someone is going to come, right this instant, and take her away. Surely she can between the lines, can tell exactly what he means—
Her hand comes up to his cheek. She smiles, her thumb swiping down to caress his bottom lip. She’s probably more familiar with it than anyone else in the world, even him. When she meets his eyes, he can’t look away.
“We should sleep, beloved.”
It’s the first time she ever calls him that. Far, far from the last.
“Talia—”
“Hush.” Her touch is gentle on his face, her eyes soft, her mouth a line. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his chin. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Okay,” he says, helplessly, and dreams of her all night.