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Clark should have known better, but there’s nothing he can do to change it now.
Instead of flying home - or even better, fly to the Fortress of Solitude - he decides to fly to the manor. He misses Bruce. They haven’t seen too much of each other since getting together and he knows Bruce won’t reach out by himself. It’s okay though, Clark is always willing to take the first step.
They probably wouldn’t have been together if he hadn’t.
Clark doesn’t like to think about that though, and Bruce has been great at reassuring him - in his own, adorable way - that he wants to be together. Clark trusts him to be honest and he also knows Bruce couldn’t be forced to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Unless it’s Alfred asking (forcing), of course.
Alfred seems to like him quite well too. It may just be because there’s someone else to help with forcing Bruce to shower or get dressed properly, but Clark chooses to think it’s because Alfred genuinely likes him. Even Dick’s his fan as well, but to be fair Dick seems to be a fan of most people. He’s a good kid and Clark is glad he’s got Bruce, but more than that he’s glad Bruce’s got Dick. They suit each other, very much alike but also complete opposites.
It’s too late to say hello to Dick when Clark arrives at the manor. He knows Bruce has already eaten - another good thing about adopting Dick, Bruce remembers to eat more often. Not always, and it’s not the best food options if Alfred isn’t there to supervise, but at least it’s food. Bruce knows kids need to eat and Dick doesn’t like eating alone. It’s a win-win situation.
Alfred lets him in with a soft smile and Clark greets him warmly before searching out Bruce. He’s sitting in the living room on the large couch, legs tugged up under his chin as he watches something on his phone. Probably another silly dinosaur video - he’s been binging those lately. The TV’s on as well but Bruce doesn’t seem to notice that particular noise. He’s dressed in that awful way-too-big t-shirt of his and loose pants, and Clark thinks he looks beautiful. He looks warm and safe and home-y with his bare feet and floppy hair falling in his face.
“Hi,” Clark says and waits for Bruce to look up.
It takes him a moment, his head lifting before his eyes leave the small screen, but then he’s finally sending Clark a small smile.
“Hello,” he says, and Clark wants to melt into his side.
Bruce places his feet on the floor and Clark knows this means he’s trying to show that he’s paying attention. Something about opening up with your body language, Bruce once told him. He’d been looking at Alfred the entire time, as if he was searching for validation in his own words. Alfred had nodded at him, a proud smile on his lips. Clark really admires their relationship.
Clark settles down on the couch next to Bruce, pressing their sides together. Bruce rubs his shoulder against Clark’s and then turns his attention back to his video. The sound is barely audible – to the human ears, at least – so Clark focuses on the TV. They often spend their evenings like this. They talk too, of course, but Bruce enjoys being together in silence more than most other things they do. Clark likes it too, especially after a long day of being all smiles and polite conversations as Superman. He gets to stretch his back out and nobody’s yelling at him, unlike his day at the Daily Planet. It’s nice to just… beonce in a while. And Bruce lets him do that as much as he wants.
Tonight though he can’t seem to settle down properly.
Clark should’ve noticed earlier, should have seen the signs in himself, but despite the popular belief that he’s flawless, even Superman can make mistakes.
Mistake number 1: Going to the manor when he’s had a long and tiring day. A day without a single moment to breathe or relax his shoulders. A day where his senses have been overworked and the slightest drop of rain is irritating to his ears. He’s ashamed to admit that that includes the small hums Bruce is letting out. They’re not loud at all and usually he finds them adorable, but today... today they cut through his head like screams.
Bruce is bouncing his leg up and down too, which Clark wouldn’t really pay attention to if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re sitting close, and the movement is jolting both their bodies. He puts a hand on Bruce’s knee, which makes him look up. Clark smiles at him, trying his best not to appear annoyed. It’s not Bruce’s fault he’s tired after all. Bruce smiles back and focuses on his phone again. Then his other leg starts bouncing...
Clark then goes on to mistake number 2: Not letting Bruce know that he’s had a rough day and just needs some peace and quiet. He knows Bruce will understand. He knows Bruce will find another stim that fits his mood, that he’ll do his best to accommodate Clark’s needs. He knows this, but he doesn’t say anything.
Which leads to mistake number 3, the worst of all: Taking out his frustration on Bruce. It doesn’t happen instantly, and he barely realizes it himself before he snaps and turns to Bruce without thinking.
“Would you please just sit still?!” He knows the instant the words leave his mouth that he’s screwed up, but that doesn’t help him one bit; he’s already said them.
Bruce flinches and Clark wants to throw up. He looks so shocked, so terrified, and Bruce never looks like that, not because of Clark. The expression is gone in a second, but Clark saw, and he will never be able to unsee it. He did that. He made Bruce make such a face.
Bruce stands from the couch, brushing Clark’s hand off his knee and then he’s leaving the room. In the doorway he nearly collides with Alfred.
“Master Bruce?” He calls but Bruce ignores him.
Alfred then looks to Clark, who’s so stunned by his own behavior that he hasn’t moved yet. He never raises his voice, not to Bruce, not to anyone. Shit. He finally snaps out of his own head and stands.
Alfred sighs deeply and is already turning around in the doorway to follow Bruce when Clark reaches him.
“I’ll -“ He starts, but Clark interrupts him.
“No, no, let me,” he says. “This is my fault.”
Technically Clark doesn’t have to search for Bruce. He could just listen for his heartbeat or look through the walls, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to push Bruce any more than he already has, and he knows Bruce needs time to calm down as well.
Clark finds him in the cave, curled up in a corner under the large desk. It’s a wonder he fits underneath there with how big he is and how much tech is stuffed in there. He looks so childlike that Clark has to swallow to keep his tears at bay. He often forgets how young Bruce is, how sensitive. When he’s out as Batman he’s so confident and powerful that Clark has to remind himself that there’s a 20-something year old kid hiding underneath that dark cowl.
Clark makes more noise than he usually would when he approaches. He wants to warn Bruce that he’s found him, but he doesn’t want to scare or overwhelm him with the noise either. He sits down on the floor, outside the safe space Bruce has made for himself. He lets his hand fall to the floor, palm up.
“Hey,” he whispers because he doesn’t know how to start. Bruce, unsurprisingly, doesn’t say anything back. Clark sighs and pulls his knees up to rest his chin on them.
“I’m sorry, Bruce,” he says then. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I swear I’m not mad at you; I just didn’t think. It’s been a long day and —” Clark shuts his mouth closed with a clack of his teeth, empty excuses piling up in his mouth. He swallows before trying again. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you, no matter what. There’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”
Clark knows better. Knows better than to yell too, even if he’s frustrated. Bruce wasn’t doing anything wrong; his stimming hadn’t even been that distracting. Clark usually enjoys watching Bruce stim; it means he’s getting more comfortable with Clark, feels safer. And that’s all Clark wants. To keep Bruce safe.
He nearly jumps when something warm touches his hand. Bruce has reached out to lay his fingertips on Clark’s palm. He’s still mostly curled in on himself, but he’s not moving his hand away from Clark’s.
Clark should have known better, but there’s nothing he can do to change it now. What he can do is try to do better, to be better next time. And he will try, for the rest of his life if Bruce will let him. He tightens his fingers around Bruce’s, and they sit on the floor in silence for a while. They’re okay, though. Nobody’s perfect, not even Superman. Good thing Bruce is there to help him be better.
