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everyone thinks batman is some heartless bastard that only cares when things don’t work out the way he wanted them to. what people obviously don’t know (but clark does) is that batman’s actually a pretty soft person: he cares for kids (even if they’re not his own), members of the league, the people of gotham, and even the very villains he sends to arkham asylum. it’s undeniable that clark had, initially, agreed with hal and other members of the league about the cold, heartless batman. but he realised that batman wasn’t some heartless guy; he cared (so much more than you could ever imagine).
clark couldn't blame hal or barry, or anyone else in the league for thinking that batman was a psychopath/sociopath. after all, he only figured it out when bruce, whose heart rate was always at a steady beat, spiked up. he remembered vividly, hearing bruce’s heart beat faster than it ever had before through all of the explosions and screams that surrounded him. batman, whose heart rate stayed the same even if he was falling to his own death; batman, whose heartbeat seemed unaffected by just about anything , even when some weird alien invasion was happening. clark couldn't believe it. it was even harder to believe when he found out why only milliseconds later.
"kal!" bruce called his name.
it happened in seconds: clark found himself hit by a kryptonite-infused bullet. he could feel it penetrate through the left side of his abdomen, a faster-than-usual heartbeat he knew wasn't his own ringing in his ears.
"kal," he heard bruce breathe his name out in a sort of desperation that he thought he would never be able to hear. "stay with me. i'm going to pull out the bullet and everything's going to be fine, alright?"
batman tried to hide his panic, but clark could tell that he was reassuring himself more than he was trying to reassure clark. he could tell that batman was worried that he'd lose someone - someone important to him - as he pulled out a first aid kit from his utility belt.
after the minor incident, which batman refused to acknowledge (classic), clark was convinced there was more to the seemingly sociopathic/psychopathic control freak. his conviction only hardened when batman comforted a crying girl by wrapping her around with his cloak and wiping her tears with his gloved hand, asking about her parents' whereabouts; or when batman showed a small hint of a smile at the dogs at the park; or when he rushed in front of a truck to save a fear-struck teen despite his own fragile, human body. so, clark did what only felt right to do: defend batman from the wrongful accusations.
"he does care," he said, butting into hal and barry's conversation.
"yeah, care about whether we'd turn against him or not. have you seen the contingency plans, clark?"
the contingency plans really, really , didn't help bruce’s case.
"but he is really a nice guy," clark tried again. "he comforted a crying child the other day."
"you sure the kid wasn't crying because of him?"
that day, clark went home and puffed out his cheeks in front of his laptop. the others just didn't get it . they didn't see what he saw; didn't hear what he heard; didn't know what he knew. but then again, why was he so mad about batman being misunderstood? it wasn't his problem- why was he so hung up on a matter that not even batman himself seemed to care about?
it didn't take long for clark to understand that he liked bruce, and not in the way he liked diana or barry or hal. he liked bruce. he used bruce’s steady pulse as a means to keep himself calm; he started making small talk with batman to just listen to the occasional 'hn' or 'mm'; he volunteered to work overtime so that he could spend just a second more with batman - it wasn't hard to see that clark developed feelings for the vigilante.
it did take long for clark to find out that bruce also liked him. everyone else had begun to notice that superman and batman were beginning to bloom a friendship. clark also noticed it: batman's occasional 'hn' or 'mm' changed into proper words, then phrases, and later sentences; batman began to ask for clark's opinion on personal matters; clark was no longer the volunteer for everything because batman asked him to help out. bruce's actions made clark feel special - as if he was an exception; as if batman had lowered his walls to clark and only clark; as if batman had expanded the perimeters of his care just enough so that clark was included. but clark knew not to expect anything. he merely bathed in the sparks that arose in his chest when bruce's shoulder would brush against his as they viewed mission files, or the warmth that rose to his cheeks when bruce showed even a hint of a smile at one of his jokes. he knew that bruce would not return his feelings, and clark was also afraid to lose the friendship that they had created over their time together - so yes, it was okay - this was more than enough.
the world seemed to spin the opposite direction when bruce asked him to dinner after a patrol. it wasn't anything too big: just an invitation to eat dinner. until it became big. it all just happened so... quickly. one second, he and batman were talking on a rooftop in gotham. the next second, he and batman were at the wayne manor having dinner served by a british butler.
"it's been very long since i've served food to a guest. i do hope the food is to your liking, master clark."
the food was good - well, actually, it was great . clark had made sure that alfred knew that he had found the cooking an absolute delight and that, if he could, he would love to come by again. the only issue, however, was what happened after dinner.
clark walked behind bruce, supposedly towards the study, before finding himself stop in front of a family portrait hung up in the middle of a wall. there, a young bruce sat between his parents, grinning as if he couldn’t be happier.
“you look happy in this photo,” clark said.
“i was,” bruce replied, retracing his steps to stand besides clark. “then, i wasn’t.”
clark winced at the latter half of bruce’s sentence, his smile turned into a flat line as he pressed his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek a little. he turned to bruce, his expression apologetic as he watched bruce gaze at the portrait in nostalgia.
“sorry, i shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“don’t be. it’s an old wound,” bruce forced a smile. “i wouldn’t be here if it never happened.”
bruce stood and stared at the portrait for a little while, and clark watched: he stood still in silent observation, taking in bruce’s face as he looked at his own family photo. there was an odd sensation in clark's chest - a slow ache that rippled across his body. he didn't try to label it. he merely traced the outline of bruce's figure into his mind, etching the sad smile on bruce's lips into his nerves as a label to the ache in his chest. clark felt almost helpless in the face of bruce's sadness, unable to do anything to help with the unresolved issues that burrowed deep in bruce's mind. all clark could do was place a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"they would be proud."
there was a moment of silence before clark and bruce continued their way to bruce’s study, where alfred prepared them both tea to talk over. clark could feel bruce’s gaze as he lifted his cup to his mouth. it was a familiar feeling; the gaze of the world’s greatest detective observing his every move - one that sometimes sent a shiver down his spine in some sort of anticipation despite him knowing fully well that there was nothing to look forward to. what clark wasn’t used to was the expression that bruce made before him when he finally looked up. bruce probably didn’t even realise he was making such an expression: his brows furrowed in the slightest, his blue eyes shadowed with a hint of worry, and his lips pursed into a straight line.
”lay it on me, bruce.”
”i’ve… noticed that you’ve been acting strangely around me recently,” bruce began. ”you’ve been presenting behaviour that is often associated with romantic interest.”
”i tried to hide it, you know,” clark laughed, a little embarrassed. “but i guess i can’t exactly get anything past you, b.”
”i’m sorry clark, but we can’t be together-“
“i know.” clark cut bruce off, finding himself unable to look up from staring at the rippling tea in his cup. “i’ve been trying to stop.”
silence enveloped them both. bruce couldn’t find any words to say.
“i’ll, uh, get going then.” clark hesitated. “i’m sorry about this, bruce.”
”wait.”
clark turned his head towards the quiet plea and didn’t even have the chance to react before bruce’s face was so close to his own he could practically feel his breath.
”don’t apologise to me,” bruce whispered, a fist formed against clark’s chest. “i’m the one who should be sorry.”
”what?“
“i’m sorry that i can’t accept your feelings. …gotham still needs me.” bruce took a breath, carefully picking his words to come. “clark, you’re a good person. too good to have feelings for me. i know that there’s someone out there that deserves your love, but that someone isn’t me - it can’t be.”
”why not?” clark visibly frowned. “you’re a good person too, bruce. better than anyone i know.”
“you always see the best in others.”
“and you’re the best i’ve seen - why can’t you just accept that? i understand that our feelings aren’t reciprocated but do not undermine my feelings for you. i like you because you’re a good person who deserves to be loved, just like anyone else in the world is.” clark huffed.
“i… i’m sorry if it sounded like that. i didn’t mean to undermine your feelings.”
”and i’m sorry for getting frustrated. but i need you to know that you deserve to be loved. even now, you're doing all of this to make me feel better because you care, and bruce, believe me, if you weren't a good person, you wouldn't care." clark wrapped his hand around bruce’s fist, bringing it towards his lips for a gentle kiss, mumbling against skin, "i don’t understand why you think so poorly of yourself.”
“clark,” bruce breathed, heat rising to his ears.
“wait. is that the reason why we can’t be together? not because you don’t like me back?” clark blinked.
“…”
“bruce.”
bruce went quiet, his entire head tilted down towards the floor and his hair hiding away any expression from clark’s heavy gaze.
“answer me, bruce.” clark asked in desperation, “please.”
“how could anyone not like you?” bruce whispered, his voice barely audible as if his confession was that of a sinner. “you’re so good .”
clark parted his lips to speak, only to be stopped.
“but we can’t be together, clark. gotham - no, the world needs us.” bruce bit the inside of his cheek. “there’s too big of a risk. what if we don’t work out? are you confident that you’ll be able to return to what we used to be? if we can’t work as a team at any point in time, we put millions at risk. it’d be selfish of me to accept your feelings knowing the consequences. i've already been selfish by letting myself develop feelings for you.”
carefully, clark placed his free hand on bruce’s cheek, his thumb brushing against soft skin. he leaned in, pressing his forehead against bruce’s, the tips of their nose brushing against each other.
“can’t you be a little more selfish?”
“you know i can’t.”
“then,” clark whispered, his lips dangerously close to bruce’s. “will you let me be selfish?”
there was hesitation; a moment of deliberation rooted from the abundance of care that bruce had tried so desperately to hide away from the world. clark could sense it in bruce’s every fibre of being: he could feel the subtle tremble in his breath, the slow movement of his hands that found their way to clark’s hair, and the loud echo of his heart that now beat erratically like the time clark had been hit by a kryptonite bullet (the signs were there all along).
”hesitation doesn’t suit you, bruce." clark whispered knowingly.
and bruce knew that this was the only chance he had to pull away if it was ever an option. he knew that if this went wrong, he would regret it more than any decision he had ever made in his life. but god, when he stared into clark's clear blue eyes that were always filled with this light and hope that he could never fully comprehend - he felt as though things could never go wrong; as if being with clark could make anything and everything work out.
”you’re right.”
bruce’s lips pressed up against clark’s. the kiss itself was warm - clark felt soft wet skin against his own along with an overwhelming desire to devour whatever he was experiencing as a whole. clark bathed in the sensation: the heat of bruce’s skin against his own, his fingers tangled in clark’s curls as they pushed against each other in a sort of desperation for more; as if they were starved of one another for far too long. it was only after clark had pulled away and stared at bruce that he had noticed the metallic taste left on his lips, his attention now focused on the fresh wound on bruce’s bottom lip.
”oh my god, i am so sorry-“
bruce pulled down on clark’s collar, abruptly putting a halt to his apology.
“shut up and kiss me again.”
kisses were shared in a heated passion: they craved for one another even as they indulged in each other's presence to make up for the times they couldn't, both parties having tried to subdue their feelings for far too long. it was an unexplainable bliss as they pressed against each other, chest against chest and legs getting tangled in a mess that only fuelled the heat, too busy trying to convey just how much they had yearned for their lips to touch and their fingers to interlock.
"i love you," bruce breathed, his words barely recognisable against clark's lips.
but clark heard them, felt them against his skin. he grinned from ear to ear, pressing his forehead against bruce's, his hands holding bruce's face as if it were the most precious thing to him in the entire universe. bruce found himself staring at the man he had tried so hard to deny, painting his smile into the cathedral called his mind, his heart a sacrifice at the altar. bruce kissed clark again - his light, his hope.
"i love you too," clark mumbled against bruce's lips like a prayer.