Chapter Text
Headache. He didn't want to open his eyes yet. He could feel his arms crossed under his head, cool marble on his cheek. He was sitting.
Open. There were thin curtains. It must be morning. Was it morning? His back cracked in several places as he sat up. He was on a barstool at a kitchen island. He was in a large apartment. Lots of metallic and dark decor. Where?
His pockets were empty. He stood. There was a small, rustically heart-shaped dish by one of the doors. All the keys were different. A garrish red wallet, but the I.D. inside was the same. Bruce Wayne.
"Oh, I thought you left. I didn't hear the shower."
He looked so fast, his neck cracked, too. Someone, certainly. Someone with curly dark hair.
"... Are you alright?"
"Yes."
"You won't be late, then?"
The voice sounded so familiar.
"Darling? The press release?" Bruce noticed a few things as they walked closer. They were carrying a small laundry basket, wearing a vest and pointy shoes. Something about the eyes...
And they took his chin between their fingers, turning his head. "Maybe you should stay home. You're sure you don't feel sick?"
He wriggled out to the telephone. "Who should I- Who should I call?"
"Oh, I can do it. Go get some rest."
He nodded.
"First door on the right, dear."
"Thanks. And your room?"
"Very funny." He dialed the telephone.
Bruce went to the first door on the right. This one did have blackout curtains. Something did feel familiar about it. Then again...
"No, I'm afraid someone else will have to lead it. I know. Yes, I understand. Well, we can't have him belligerent in front of investors. I'm aware of that, ma'am. No, I'm not sure what happened. Yes, he'll be fine. No, no. I'll take care of it, you have enough on your plate. I'll have him shipshape by Thursday, trust me. We will. Love you, too. Bubye."
The apartment was very quiet. He cracked the door open. The man was staring out the window. Something about the sight of it felt right, like something he'd promised to never get used to. Something beautiful about it he knew.
When the vest-wearer shot back to the kitchen, Bruce closed the door. He tried to sit on the bed, but something didn't fit. He checked his spine for damage.
"Tea?"
He flinched.
"Oh." He set the mug on the side table.
"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."
"It's alright. I'll leave you."
Bruce shut his eyes. "What day is it?"
"Tuesday, or did you mean date? It's May... hmm. What is today?"
"How did we meet again?"
"Work, dear."
"The manor-"
"Why would we live with your parents?"
He froze.
A gentle hand was on his chest. He opened his eyes, moving away instinctively.
"Sorry." His voice was sharper, quieter. "I guess I should ask permission. Bruce, can I please take your heart rate?"
He paused. "Yes."
He put two cold fingers on his neck.
Bruce's eyes darted around the man. He was sure it was someone he recognized, but he still couldn't place it. The clothes in the open closet, the useless decor all mixed together... he knew these. One shelf had a displayed penny, a dinosaur figurine. He swore there was something missing.
"You're sure you didn't hit your head?"
"No. I don't think so."
"What do you remember?"
Not you. "I woke up in the kitchen."
"Can I touch your head, please?" He motioned to come closer.
He nodded. His eyes were blurry.
The man pushed several parts of his scalp. "Does it hurt when I do that?"
He shook his head.
The man stared into his eyes so comfortably.
Bruce guessed he did, too.
He shook his head. "I guess I'm just worried." He pointed to the tea. He fussed with the curtains. He stared again. He left.
Bruce did try to sleep. At least a little. But then he opened drawers, he went through shirt pockets, he stared out the window. Some buildings he recognized. There was the second national bank, there was the college, he thought he saw Wayne Tech, but the sign was different. Something was missing.
He heard the kitchen sink running.
The street names weren't familiar, but the streets were. And it was all so... It was too... Everything was clean. Bright.
He felt a hand on his back and instinctually did a one-arm shoulder throw.
The man smiled up at him. "Hohoho, so you have been going to those stage combat classes, then? Very impressive!"
"I am so sorry, oh my god." He held out a hand.
"No, no. I did always say we should try new things." The man stood, dusting himself off. He rubbed his arm. "Can I show you something?"
"... Yes."
"Can I take your hand?"
He paused. He nodded.
The stranger took him to one of the doors which apparently led to a den which led to a study. This also had curtains which the man opened. A giant crowd was across the street. A few looked up at the window. One pointed. Bruce waved. "What is it?"
"The launch went well, but people also heard you were sick." He closed the curtains. "We can expect a lot of fruit baskets tomorrow, I'm sure." He took his shoes off and sighed. "If you had a concussion, I mean, sleeping wouldn't have been the best idea, so I wanted to check. I can't-"
"I love you." Bruce didn't know who said it at first. "I... love you," he repeated.
The man came closer, holding his hand inches from Bruce's cheek.
He nodded.
He touched him. "I get so worried. Maybe..." He took his hand again. "I'm gonna get that laundry done." He left, carrying his shoes.
The ceilings were high. The books on the shelves were familiar. Not the order. There was a bust of William Shakespeare on the desk. He pushed its head. It didn't move.
He left the study. The loft was very brown. Something felt right about the spiral throw pillows.
He left the loft very quietly. He saw the man at the window again. He was sitting this time. It was correct. Bruce quietly went to the bedroom again. He drank the cold tea and lied down with his eyes closed. There was a gentle knocking. "Come in."
He heard something being placed on the shoe rack. He heard shuffling beside him. The door closed again. The kitchen sink ran again. A gentle knock.
"Yes?"
Shuffling. Weight on the bed next to him. "Can I join you?"
He nodded.
An arm pulled his head to their shoulder, patting gently. He could hear pages turning next to him. And with that, he finally drifted into sleep.