Work Text:
i. the lights in his apartment’s bathroom left a lot to be desired.
they were yellowing, dusty no matter how often or how well he cleaned them, and- judging by how the far right bulb just decided not to light up half the time- had some bad wiring.
and you still looked magical.
groggy and disheveled from sleep, wearing a pair of his sweatpants and one of your extra soft t-shirts, and squinting almost angrily at the morning while you scrubbed your teeth, but the light managed to catch the top of your eyes and make them sparkle.
ii. you went to his bedroom to get ready for the day as he washed the night off of his body. traces of gotham clung to him both literally and metaphorically, heavy and cold, and the hot water could only do so much to chase them away.
once he’d scrubbed as much of the city out of his skin as he could, he shut the water off and grabbed a towel- the nice, fluffy towel you always saved for him.
without the rush of water, he could hear you.
there was music playing quietly, but he focused on the way your keys jangled together as you moved and the tapping sound your rings made when they hit your water bottle.
iii. five minutes, one set of worn sweatpants, an equally old t-shirt, and about three goodbye kisses later, he finally let himself collapse into bed.
he made the most of your absence. he stretched and sprawled right in the middle of the mattress, trying to ignore how wrong it felt to have it to himself, face buried between the pillows as his body settled.
the smell of your conditioner clung to your pillow, a comforting echo of you.
iv. when he finally woke up, the sun was past the halfway point of its daytime journey, and he found himself mimicking your glare at the universe.
after a completely healthy amount of time considering duct taping his thickest blanket over the window, he hauled himself out of bed, moving gingerly into the kitchen.
front and center in his fridge was a jug of your juice, some combination of at least three fruits that probably didn’t belong together.
he poured himself a glass.
the combination wasn’t exactly his cup of tea- cup of juice, he supposed- but underneath the violently fruity flavor there was a hint of you.
he poured a little more and shuffled back to bed.
v. the next time he woke up, the sun was setting.
golden light streamed into his room, meeting you in the doorway and highlighting you like the most important sentence ever written.
he thanked himself for leaving the blanket in the closet.
you gave him a tired smile and went to shower.
soon, you came back in a pair of sweatpants- yours, this time- and a dark red shirt- his, he was pretty sure- and flopped down next to him.
your hair was damp against his shoulder as he tugged you to him, rolling to meet your warm skin and run a hand up and down your side.
your nose burrowed into the crook of his neck, gentle hands finding his back and holding him like he was something precious as a sigh carried the last remnants of the day away from you.