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Sometimes he looked at him as if he was the sun, glaring, hot and unbearable. He’d always turn his gaze at the last moment. Never able to handle him. John tried his best not to show the pain that radiated off him every time he saw Bruce turn. As if he was a disease he didn’t want to catch. But it stung, and he knew Bruce could tell.
It wasn’t enough that Bruce could never tell him the truth, he couldn’t seem to stop lying. Bruce was always lying. And everything he did betrayed his cool exterior.
Sometimes Bruce would come in so happy to see him he felt like the only person alive and sometimes he’d barely be able to muster a ‘hello’ and John felt himself deflate. He never felt cemented or stable, but when Bruce was there, he felt like someone had pulled him back down to earth, and like even for a moment things made sense.
Most days he was just floating in air hoping he’d be caught.
He knew he was going to tell him, eventually, he just was looking for the right moment.
One night Bruce asked him to dinner, he said he wanted to thank him for all his help. The moment they walked in John felt those piercing eyes on him from everyone around them. He knew what they were thinking but he tried to forget about them. He stared at Bruce and slowly the crowd dissipated. And they were the only ones left.
He tried to forget about what he couldn’t say all night, but he couldn’t shake the feeling off. It was a thought lodged in the back of his throat, and when Bruce smiled at him like that he felt so full he thought he might burst.
Finding out Bruce was Batman was easy, he always left so conveniently at the bat signal, he’d come back the next day, with a black eye or some unnamed injury that made him limp. He wasn’t half as good of a liar as he thought he was, but John thought it was funny, and after a while he could tell everything about Bruce. Why he wore his shirts tucked in, why he never talked about his childhood. He was a puzzle, and John slowly learned to piece him together. Until he knew too much.
One night they were sitting next to each other at the bar and they’d had too much to drink and all of a sudden Bruce was looking at him and he wouldn’t stop.
John noticed and stared back. He’d never seen him like this before. Quietly, almost to himself he asked, “are you ok Bruce?” After a very long pause, he responded, with a comfort he’d never heard before, “yeah” Bruce said.
John knew what it meant. The final mystery of Bruce Wayne, the one he wouldn’t dare ask and he feared more then anything: what does he think of me?
They sat there in the silence of the moment before the bar tender asked “Do you want anything else to drink?”
“No” replied Bruce. “I think we’ve had enough.”
And just as it arrived, the look left, and he was back to being a lock no one could open. John looked at him, studying his face, and he took a deep breath, containing the secret of Bruce Wayne in his mind.