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It began with a small yelp. You'd rolled over, searching for a warmer spot on this oversized bed that Bruce swore he'd throw out if you refused to sleep on with him. A bit dramatic, yes, but as far as Billionaires go, Bruce Wayne seemed to be one that has no qualms about revealing the various versions of himself once he deemed you trustworthy. That was the highest honour when it came to this particular rich boy with a severe personality disorder.
Anyway, back to the yelp. Why was there a yelp? You sit up slowly, a hand reaching to rub at sleepy eyes as the other feels around the strangely vacant bed. It's only when you feel the sharp press of claws digging into your back do you jolt and shift on the bed, eyes wide as you stare the slightly squished assailant. Fur as black as pitch with a matte finish, long, neat tail swishing in annoyance as striking blues stay fixed on you. It's the scowl that makes you blink away the fact that this was one of the most beautiful cats you'd ever seen. Like piecing together the most ridiculous puzzle, the absence of Bruce and appearance of a brooding cat can clearly lead to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne has turned into a cat.
"Blink twice if you love me." You say void of expression, staring at the cat who musters something that resembled a sharp, annoyed sigh.
"Oh my God it is you.... YOU'RE SO CUTE." You reach out, scooping up the feline to squish it against your chest, leaning down to pepper not so gentle kisses against his soft face. "Ahhh...you smell the same..." You say, inhaling at the neck, the side fur tickling your nose in a pleasant way. The scent of something reminiscent of that clean, masculine scent and nodes of sandalwood fill your senses. Bruce liked the attention because not soon after, there's a small vibration against your nose as he begins to purr. How sweet. But then this reality begins to set in. "... you're a cat." you mutter into his fur; earning a soft meow. It sounded almost apologetic.
Alright; so, your boyfriend has turned into cat. No need to panic. This was Gotham, weird things happen all the time. Maybe call Zatana? No, Bruce would hate anyone from the League to know about this right now. You bench that idea for now, lowering Bruce to rest on your lap; fingers scratching behind his ear rather…chalantly as he begins to lounge instinctively. Maybe the best course of action was to simply enjoy this? You look down to Bruce, his small head resting in the palm of your hand as he sleeps quietly and deeply. This seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get some good rest. With the soft brush of your thumb against his furry cheek every now and again, you sigh, and shift to lay down again, gently pulling Bruce into a cuddle; your face buried into his black fur. What a predicament this was. Unfortunately, no amount of cuteness would make up for the fact that you’d need to find a way to bring Bruce back to normal; but how?
Ah- for some reason that seemed like too much to think about, and Bruce didn’t seem to be complaining so, for now, you’d allow yourself to drift off into dreamland. You nuzzle into Bruce’s fluffy belly, small smile on your lips at the relaxed purrs that only aid in coaxing your slumber.
It began with a small yelp. You’d rolled over to find a warmer spot on the bed when you felt an elbow press uncomfortably into your boob. You sit up, nose scrunched up in disdain as you hold your right hand to the now sore area. Sleepy eyes look at the assailant, still asleep in your small bed. Bruce’s legs dangled off the bed on account of his height and it made you feel guilty every time you saw it. Still, under that guilt there was a sense of victory over the fact that Bruce Wayne was your boyfriend and wanted to be here. Your mid thought and grinning stupidly with a hand groping one of your breasts when you feel the bed shake. That makes your attention shift to the man now sitting up. He looks so cute trying to regain full consciousness; a small, sleepy pout on his lips, hair tousled and ears drooping.
Ears drooping? EARS DROOPING!?
Your eyes stay fixed on the fluffy ears, the left twitching, and right flopping as if to accentuate the disappointment of being awake after a good sleep. It looked…oddly fitting, though, and softened the usually disgruntled expression Bruce was known for.
“You have cat ears.” You say flatly as he blinks away the sleep from his eyes.
“As opposed to?” He replies in a gruff voice; arms folding across his chest. “Are you going to start pointing out every obvious flaw the deeper we go? One dream ago, your entire face had buried into my fur.”
One dream ago? “I’m dreaming.” You say, earning a small smile from Bruce.
“Why do you seem upset about it?” He asks softly, a hand reaching to take your wrist to tug you closer. Bruce's voice carries a hint of curiosity, as if he's trying to unravel a mystery within your tone.
"I'm not upset," you clarify, your voice steady, though a slight frown betrays your inner conflict. "I'm just... I guess I'm disappointed that somehow, I'm more comfortable talking to you like this."
Bruce's eyebrows knit together in concern.
"Talk to me, then." he urges gently, standing up from the bed which prompts you to do the same. As you both step onto the cool, dreamlike floor, the surroundings begin to shift. The small bedroom expands into a long, gallery-like hallway lined with portraits. As you and Bruce step into the expansive hallway, the space transforms subtly around you, reflecting the emotional tapestry of your relationship. The first few portraits are simple and reserved, mirroring the cautious beginnings of your connection.
The colours here are muted—soft greys and pale blues, the backgrounds sparse, only hinting at the depth yet to be uncovered between you two. As you progress, the portraits grow in complexity. The colours become richer, warmer—fiery reds and deep oranges blaze in scenes of passion and discovery, while cooler blues and stormy greys depict the challenges you faced together. The lighting shifts with each frame, from the bright clarity of joyful days to the shadowed nuances of more difficult times. Bruce's transformation begins subtly. With each step you take down the hallway, his features take on a slight feline quality—his movements become more graceful, his eyes sharper.By the time you reach the midpoint of the hall, he's shrunk, his form now distinctly that of that familiar black cat, though he still retains his deep, resonant voice.
"You're changing," you remark, a note of wonder in your voice as you gently scoop him up into your arms.
"It seems so," Bruce murmurs, his voice vibrating against your chest as if in purr. "Perhaps this form will make it easier to discuss the harder things."
You nod, carrying him along, your pace slower now as the portraits dive into deeper emotional territories. Now the hallway itself reacts—narrowing during moments of conflict depicted in the paintings, then widening into airy spaces filled with scenes of reconciliation and mutual understanding. Each portrait becomes more interactive. In one, the laughter from a shared joke echoes softly as you pass by, in another, the sounds of rain from a night you both took shelter under a Gotham bridge fill the air around you.
The sensory details are overwhelming, the smell of rain, the touch of damp clothes, all bringing the memories vividly back to life. Textures of the hallway change under your fingertips; the wallpaper shifts from smooth silk to rougher textures as the depicted memories grow more intense. Bruce, in your arms, nudges you gently with his nose, encouraging you to keep moving, keep remembering.
“We’ve done all this and I’m still ungrateful enough to doubt that you actually like me, as well as have the nerve to be afraid to talk to you…unless you’re a cat in my dreams.”
“That seems very on brand for you, though.”
“Hey…” you pout but the give a resigned sigh. “You’re right though. I should wake up and face it.”
“You can do it. You can do anything. You’re dating me, after all.”
You roll your eyes but embrace the black feline even tighter; squeezing until you feel the warmth disappear entirely. The walls warp and begin to close in around you, sealing you in until you're crushed into consciousness.
Your eyes open, staring at the high ceiling for just a few moments before you roll over to look at a still sleeping Bruce.
"...cat ears are cute on you, Brucie..." You whisper and reach over to thread your fingers through his black hair. That earns a swift embrace on his part; with strong arms enveloping you against his chest. It's not fur, but it's certainly better. You could do this, you think to yourself. Today's the day you talk to him about these nagging thoughts. For now, though, you'll sleep some more.