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Dick was the first. It had been a mistake, Bruce thought, to let him spend so much time around Flash’s protege, Kid Flash. They had become fast friends, and before long, their feelings outgrew that friendship.
When the call from one of Dick’s teachers came, claiming his son had been misbehaving in class, Bruce had his doubts. In past incidents, his so-called “delinquency” had usually turned out to be him standing up to bullies. You’d think that funding a portion of the school’s operations would earn his son a little more understanding, but instead, it often felt like Dick was being singled out.
Bruce left work early that day, determined to get the truth directly from his son. When he reached the manor, he went straight to Dick’s room. He was slightly dishevelled, still loosening his tie as he opened the door, but the sight that greeted him made him pause, and his eyes widened a fraction.
Now, Dick was old enough. He was 15 years old, and Bruce didn’t have a problem with his son being gay. It was just… difficult to see your son engaging in adult-like relationships with your own eyes.
Inside, Wally was lying down on Dick’s bed, upper body elevated by pillows propped up against the headboard. His arms were, Bruce hoped, around his son’s waist securely. The blanket around their lower bodies left that detail to the imagination. Dick, on the other hand, had his elbows planted on either side of the speedster, holding him up so that he could lean down.
They were making out like their life depended on it.
They didn’t even hear the first time Bruce cleared his throat, so he did it again, louder. Wally’s eyes, half-lidded, wandered to the door before he froze, caught off guard, eyes growing large. He pushed Dick off him, abruptly cutting their kiss off. Wally scrambled upright so fast he nearly fell off the bed, his hands shooting into the air as if caught committing a crime.
“I-I-I… I can e-explain..!” He stammered, face flushed.
Dick, disappointed, blinked in confusion, momentarily dazed and sitting back with his arms supporting him. It wasn’t until he turned around that his expression matched his beau’s, and with a speed rivalling the Flash, he was up and standing in front of Wally protectively.
“B-Bruce! This is… this is my fault.” Dick stuttered out, frantically waving his arms up and down.
Bruce dragged a hand down his face, trying to rein in his rising headache. The boys bristled at the gesture, their nervous energy filling the room, looking ready to run. He sighed, removed his hand from his mouth and rubbed his temple.
“That won’t be necessary-” He began, only to be interrupted by Wally.
“No, Batman, it was me! I made him do it. I made him kiss me.”
On a worse day, he would have glared at Wally if he wasn’t already. Right now, though, he was thoroughly confused by their reactions.
“I don’t care-” Before he could finish, Dick spoke up again, louder this time.
“B, you can’t tell Flash! I kissed him first. It wasn’t Wally’s fault. If anyone should be in trouble, it’s me!”
Bruce raised a hand sharply, silencing both of them. “Boys.”
They froze, standing ramrod straight like it was their first day in the military. Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tried to keep his expression firm, but concern bled into his features despite his best efforts.
“Why,” he asked slowly, “would anyone be punished for this?”
The boys exchanged uneasy glances. Dick hesitated, his voice small when he finally spoke. “Because… isn’t… kissing other boys bad?”
Bruce’s chest tightened at the uncertainty in his son’s tone. He really needed to set time aside for a meeting with Gotham Academy’s board of education. He stepped closer, softening his voice.
“I would never punish you for that,” he said gently. “Not you. Not Wally.”
“You weren’t going to kick him out?” Wally blurted out, before realising he revealed his thoughts out loud, and quickly slapped his hands over his mouth.
“What? No-no, I won’t. Why would you think that?” Bruce replied, incredulous at the thought. “I don’t have a problem with two boys… holding hands, kissing, or even being in love.”
Wally blinked at him in surprise. Bruce can see how it can be… surprising. However, he himself had festered feelings for a man, spanning years, before he even had Dick.
“You… you don’t?” Dick’s hopeful eyes met his own, and in that moment, Bruce felt something inside him crack.
He crouched slightly so he was at eye level with his son, speaking with quiet conviction, “None at all.”
The tension in the room melted instantly. Wally let out a shaky breath he’d clearly been holding, and Dick’s shoulders finally relaxed. That was what Bruce had been waiting for—the perfect moment to drop the bomb on them.
“Now, I was going to talk to Dick about the call I got from Ms. Thornhill, but first of all,” Bruce started, his tone shifting into the unmistakable authority of Batman, “I’m setting ground rules.”
Both boys stiffened again.
“The door stays open,” he said, holding up a finger, “at all times. Even if Wally isn’t here.”
A faint whine escaped Dick. Wally’s eyes widened.
“During sleepovers,” Bruce continued, unrelenting, “there will be no sleeping on the same bed. Or on the floor. Or on the couch.”
Dick’s jaw dropped. “But-”
“Third,” Bruce said firmly, cutting him off, “you’re to stay at least four feet apart when sitting on the same couch. And fourth-”
A cacophony of protests and groans filled the room.
Bruce allowed himself the faintest hint of a smirk.
Bruce stumbled through the Batcave after patrol, heading straight for the medbay to find some bandages for the bruise above his ribcage. Unfortunately, no one was there to stop or inform Bruce of its current occupants.
When Bruce stepped inside, the first thing he saw was two figures pressed together near one of the examination tables. Jason’s crutches were leaning haphazardly against the wall, and the man in question was in a bathrobe while Kyle was in a state of undress—Bruce didn’t care to take note of his lack of attire. Their lips were locked, completely oblivious to the door opening.
Bruce stopped dead in his tracks. Not again. He faked a cough into his hand.
Jason was the first to notice. His eyes flew open, widening as he immediately shoved Kyle back a step. His cheeks flushed a shade of red Bruce hadn’t seen since… well, since before Jason died.
“I- he- uh-” Jason stammered, then blurted out the first excuse his endorphin-fueled brain could muster. “He was helping me shower!”
Kyle, still breathless and dazed, blinked at him like that was news. “…who was?”
Jason smacked him on his still shirtless chest. Bruce’s expression didn’t change. Arms folded across his chest, he raised one eyebrow—the kind of look that had made hardened criminals start to run for their lives.
Jason cleared his throat, pulling the belt of his robe tighter. “You know, ‘cause of the cast, the slippery tiles, medical stuff…”
Bruce said nothing.
Kyle finally realised what was going on and decided to contribute, “Okay, so, maybe we were… distracted.”
Jason groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Dude, you’re not helping.”
Bruce mirrored the action, brows scrunching, exhaling slowly. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“Good,” Jason muttered under his breath.
Bruce’s gaze flicked between them once more. “New rule: next time, not in my medbay.”
He grabbed the bandages on the metal counter, turned on his heel, and walked out without another word.
There was a long beat of silence before Kyle leaned toward Jason and whispered, “So, shower?”
Jason buried his face in his hands. “Shut up.”
“So, Bruce caught you in the medbay making out with Kyle with no pants on.”
Tim said it casually, leaning back in his chair and munching on an apple, like it was just another Wednesday night. Jason nodded with a groan, head supported with his hand.
“Hardly a problem.” Tim shrugged. “It’s Dick you have to worry about.”
Jason was just sprawled across the couch with his cast propped up on the coffee table as he snorted. “What about Dickface? He’s no big deal. Don’t kid yourself.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, an expression not unfamiliar to Bruce’s version, “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”
Dick didn’t say anything at first. He just stood in the doorway to the Titans’ main sitting room, arms folded, watching Kyle and Donna converse. His smile was calm—too calm. That was the first sign that should’ve been raising red flags in his head.
Donna excused herself and got up, heading into the kitchen to grab some snacks and drinks.
Kyle turned around, arm resting on the back of the couch, glancing up with his usual easy grin. “Oh, hey, Nightwing! What’s up?”
Dick stepped closer, each footstep slow and deliberate. “I heard from a little birdie,” he said quietly, “that you and my little brother were… spending some quality time together.”
Kyle’s smile faltered. “Oh. Yeah.”
Dick leaned on the back of the couch, next to where Kyle’s arm was, crossing his own arms. “Thought you hated each other.”
Kyle blinked, then shrugged. “Sorted our differences out. Found out that we may not be as different as we initially thought.”
“Hm.” Dick carefully looked him up and down. “Well, he’s finally happy. And you’re a good guy. I like you, Kyle.”
Kyle smiled, abandoning caution and becoming optimistic. “Thanks, man-”
“But,” Dick interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, “if you hurt him, even a little, I will find you.”
Kyle’s smile dropped from his face.
“And when I do,” Dick continued, “I’ll rip your balls off and make sure you never, ever consider using them again. Are we clear on this?”
Kyle swallowed hard. “Crystal.”
Dick’s sunny smile returned instantly. He patted Kyle on the shoulder like they were old pals. “Great talk! See you at dinner on Friday.”
Kyle stood there in stunned silence for a good thirty seconds before muttering under his breath, "I think I liked Batman’s deathly Batglare better.”
Bruce was troubled. He didn’t like brooding about this, but he did anyway, and before he knew it, he was back in the depths of his mind, searching for some distant memory that might bring him comfort. It wasn’t often that he went looking for solace, but…
Clark getting married had been one thing, but Clark getting divorced? That had hit him harder than expected. The feelings he thought he’d buried years ago were clawing their way up his throat, bubbling back up when he’d already swallowed a sponge and pushed it down.
As if that wasn’t enough, he’d recently discovered that Tim and Kon were dating. That wasn’t a problem in itself. They were adults now, but it complicated things. He didn’t want to make things weird. What would they think if their fathers, too, were romantically involved?
A problem at Wayne Enterprises was rattling around in his head when he walked into the Young Justice headquarters, heading for Tim’s office. He wanted a fresh view on the subject and knew Tim was just the right person for it.
It was too late to stop himself and knock, as he opened the door and froze.
Tim was sitting in Kon’s lap. Very close. Way closer than Bruce wanted to process. Their open mouths were pressed together, voices low, completely wrapped up in each other—so much so that they didn’t notice him standing there in the doorway. Not that his kids ever did.
Before he could look away, though, he managed a second worth of an eyeful.
Tim ground his hips down—thankfully obscured from Bruce’s view by the desk—and he heard the groan coming from both boys. A scene no father wanted to see when it involved their child.
“What,” Bruce had already spun around, flabbergasted by what he witnessed in the split second, “...in the gods’ name, Tim.”
He heard the chair tipping over and the sound of a zipper. Even without looking, Bruce knew Tim’s face was crimson. He always turned red easily, being as pale as Bruce was. When he’d turned around after moments of silence, Kon looked like he was ready to smash through the window and fly off.
“Tim. Kon.” Bruce’s voice was flat, but there was steel beneath it.
“B-Bruce! I- uh- we were just-” Tim stuttered.
“Working,” Kon tried weakly.
Bruce stared at them, deadpan. They both shut up instantly.
He stepped inside, arms crossed, looming in the way only Batman could. “I will be asking Oracle to install a security camera in here.”
Tim groaned softly into his hands. “Oh my God.”
Kon, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to disappear into space.
“Oh,” Bruce added, deadpan. “And Tim? Later, we’re going to have a talk. The birds and the bats. Don’t argue.”
Tim made a strangled sound. “Please, no.”
Kon muttered, “…please don’t tell Supes.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened at the mention, but he said nothing, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.
Later that night, Bruce sat alone in his quarters at the manor, the lights dim. He’d done his duty as a parent, and now, his thoughts kept circling back to Clark.
To the fact that, after all these years, the feelings hadn’t gone anywhere.
Bruce closed his eyes and let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. He didn’t have time for this.
Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
He’d done a great job of ignoring it.
For years, Bruce had buried those feelings so deep they might as well have been locked in the lowest vault beneath the Cave, right next to Clark’s own weakness—the Kryptonite. Clark was… Clark. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe, as long as Bruce kept his own emotions locked away where they couldn’t complicate anything.
Until now.
Until Clark started becoming obvious, and stopped hiding, and started looking at him differently. Helplessly. It was just little things; lingering glances, softened smiles, words edged with warmth he didn’t know how to handle. It shouldn’t have ruffled him. He was Batman. But here he was, moping like a teenager, feeling like he was the boy who just lost his parents again. With an intent to clear his head, he found himself climbing the stairs to the manor's roof balcony.
Except there were already voices up there.
He hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, before slowly pushing it open.
Of course. He should have known. The roof was Cass’s haven. She and Stephanie were curled up against each other, legs hanging off the edge, heads close, talking in soft murmurs. Every now and then, they pressed open-mouthed kisses to each other’s lips, casual and unashamed, as natural as breathing.
Bruce watched for a moment, watching how easy it was for some people. His eyes softened. Cass—his daughter in every way that mattered—and Steph, who had long since carved out her place in the family through the years.
He shifted his weight deliberately, letting his presence be known without startling them. Cass turned first, sensing him immediately, and gave him one of her rare, small smiles.
“Hi,” she signed lazily with one hand, her voice soft.
“Hey, B,” Steph chimed in, cheerful as ever. “What’s up? You look like you’re being emo more than usual.”
Bruce huffed a quiet sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. They looked at each other and shuffled apart. Cass patted the spot between them, and with little hesitation, he sat.
They didn’t push. They never did. That was the thing about these two—they knew when to talk, when to wait, when to simply be quiet.
After a long silence, Steph finally broke it. “So… wanna tell us what’s eating at you, Bats?”
Bruce stared at Gotham’s city skyline. It was gloomy, but the mood was anything but. It took a moment before he spoke, voice low and rough.
“It’s… complicated.”
Steph arched a brow. “You say that about almost everything.”
Cass leaned her head against his shoulder, a quiet encouragement.
He exhaled, letting the words out carefully, like peeling back his cowl inch by inch. “There’s someone. Someone I’ve known a long time. Someone I… trust. And lately, it feels like maybe he-” Bruce hesitated, jaw tightening, “...maybe we… we’re tiptoeing around it… but I don’t know if I can let myself feel that. I don’t know if I should.”
Steph’s voice softened, unusually gentle. “…Love?”
Bruce didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
Cass hummed softly, fingers brushing his sleeve. “Afraid?” she signed.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I’m afraid of… ruining what we have. Afraid of losing him.”
Steph nudged him lightly. “Or maybe afraid of being happy for once.”
Bruce gave her a look, but didn’t deny it.
It took a while before he knew what to say. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the hum of Gotham not far away.
“I don’t…” Bruce started, then stopped, jaw tightening. He forced himself to try again. “I don’t want to excuse myself with the past. But I’m still… coming to terms with it. After everything that’s happened. After everyone I’ve lost.”
His voice was low, rough around the edges. He kept his eyes fixed on the city instead of looking at them.
Cass leaned closer, resting her head lightly against his arm. “Dad…” she said slowly, making sure he caught every word. “Feelings… okay.”
Her voice was soft but steady, like she was reminding him of something simple, something he’d forgotten.
Bruce finally glanced down at her, meeting her warm, unflinching gaze. It was grounding in a way words couldn’t be.
Steph leaned forward, hugging her knees to her chest. “Cass is right, you know,” she said gently. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, B. It’s okay to want something for yourself. It’s okay to feel things.”
Bruce gave a humourless little huff, shaking his head. “That’s harder than it sounds.”
Steph raised an eyebrow, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re Bruce Wayne. Master of repression. It’s like you’d rather abandon Gotham than not bottling up your emotions until they explode.”
Cass laughed lightly, and Bruce actually let out a soft, surprised laugh in turn.
“It’s not just about me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s about him... About us. If I let myself feel this—let us happen, and we’re wrong, I could lose him. Lose… one of the few people I-” He stopped himself abruptly, the unspoken word "love" hanging between them.
Cass squeezed his sleeve, gentle but firm. “Trust him,” she signed slowly, each movement deliberate. She spoke this time, “Trust… you.”
Steph nodded in agreement. “Exactly. If this guy’s who I think he is, he’s not gonna vanish just because you feel something.”
Bruce hesitated, glancing at her warily. “…And who do you think it is?”
Steph grinned knowingly. “Oh, I dunno. Tall. Blue eyes. Cape. Spends a suspicious amount of time in Gotham, despite the no-meta rule. Doesn’t get affected by your Batglare and has a glare of his own that affects you.”
Cass giggled softly, a sound like bells in the quiet night.
Bruce groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Subtlety is clearly a lost art.”
Steph’s smirk softened into something gentler. “Look, B… Clark cares about you. You care about him. Don’t let fear stop you before you even try.”
Bruce swallowed hard, staring out at Gotham. His responsibility. His legacy.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cass hummed. “Start small,” she signed. “Be honest.”
Steph leaned over too, looping her arm around his. “And maybe, let yourself believe you deserve this. ‘Cause you do.”
For a long while, none of them spoke. The three of them sat there, huddled together on the rooftop. The cool night air carried the distant sounds of sirens, traffic, and life. Here, on the rooftop of his home, with his girls, Bruce finally let himself breathe.
For once, he let himself lean into their quiet warmth, letting the comfort seep into the cracks he usually kept hidden.
Bruce felt lighter after talking with Cass and Steph—lighter than he’d felt in months, maybe years. The rooftop conversation still lingered in his mind, the warmth of his girls’ quiet reassurance softening edges he didn’t realise had grown so sharp. The fear was still there, of course. Fear didn’t leave him. Didn’t leave Batman. Any father and any good hero knew when to have fear. It just learned to stay quiet when it wasn’t necessary.
So, on the drive to Titans Tower, he put the cowl back on and wore Batman’s practised composure again. But the second he stepped through the elevator doors, his composure shattered.
He expected Damian. He was here to pick him up, after all. Except, Jon Kent was next to him. Their eyes were trained on the TV—a kids’ movie Dick probably put on for them. Jon’s eyes were shining, ecstatic, while Damian glared at the electronic like it personally offended the family.
That was no problem, though. The problem was Jon’s hand.
On top of Damian’s.
Fingers intertwined.
Alarm bells were ringing in Bruce’s head. The paternal instinct he thought he’d lost after Damian grew out of the shoes Bruce first bought for him was coming back in full force.
“Jon.” He heard his voice before he realised it had come out, flatter than he intended. He cleared his throat, recalibrating his voice modulator and keeping his voice at the growly bass he used as Batman. “It’s a surprise seeing you here. Does your father know you’re here?”
Jon’s head shot up, cheeks instantly flushing crimson. “Oh! Uh, hi, Mr. Batman! I mean, uh- Batman, sir! I- uh-” He faltered, darting a nervous glance at Damian.
“Calm yourself, Superboy.” Damian simply lectured, eyes not leaving the TV. “Hello, father. You are late.”
Now that Bruce looked closely, the movie was 'The Secret Life of Pets'—a hit for animal lovers.
Bruce hummed, the low sound sharp enough to make Jon visibly shrink. He opened his mouth to probe further, but a loud, too-familiar voice cut through the room.
“B!”
Before Bruce could react, Dick bounded up and pulled him into a hug that Bruce reciprocated after being trained by his eldest to do so. Dick radiated sunshine as usual, bouncing on the balls of his feet and practically vibrating with energy.
Behind him, Tim walked in with Kon at his side, bickering with each other over something stupid. Tim was sipping a coffee—probably his 7th cup of the day. Kon had his hand on his son’s waist, which was retracted at light speed when he noticed Bruce.
“Tim,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re here.”
Tim offered a sheepish smile. “Yeah, so, I came to visit Dick.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Kon. “Then he wanted to tag along because my leaving him for a few hours makes him anxious.”
“Please,” Kon said lazily, slinging an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “I came to make sure you didn’t collapse from sleep deprivation halfway here.”
“Uh-huh,” Tim deadpanned.
“And then,” Kon continued, jerking a thumb toward Jon, “he overheard that Damian was here, so naturally, he pleaded for us to bring him.”
Jon flushed deeper at the attention and tried to discreetly pull his hand away, but Damian unconsciously turned around and intertwined their fingers tighter.
Bruce’s eyes narrowed at the display, but before he could comment, another voice—softer, warmer, far more dangerous to his wellbeing—came from the doorway.
“Bruce.”
Bruce turned, already knowing who it was.
Clark Kent stood there, dressed casually in jeans and a flannel, his easy smile soft enough to make Bruce’s chest feel like someone had pressed on an old bruise.
“Clark.” Bruce’s voice was carefully neutral.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Clark said mildly, hands tucked in his pockets.
“I could say the same.”
“Yeah, well,” Clark’s mouth twitched into a small grin, “when I heard both Jon and Kon were here, I figured I should keep an eye on things.”
Bruce’s gaze flicked meaningfully to Damian and Jon’s still-intertwined hands. “How’s that working out for you?”
Clark followed his eyes and paused, blinking. “Better than I thought, apparently.”
Jon yelped. “Dad!”
Clark’s lips twitched like he was holding back laughter, his shoulders shaking faintly. The man was laughing.
Bruce turned his head slightly. “You find this amusing?”
Clark gave him that infuriatingly warm half-smile. “Just a little.”
Bruce was going to retort with something, but before he could say anything, Dick clapped his hands together loudly.
“By the way, B! Dami and Jon wanted to sleep over at my and Wall’s place. We’re just gonna watch a few movies, eat snacks, play Mario Kart, all that!”
Finally, with a sharp huff, Damian interjected, “Tt. It was not my idea. Richard suggested it. This imbecile was already excited to go. I merely decided to attend as well.”
“I don’t think today will work-” Bruce began, but was startled into silence when a firm hold landed on his shoulder.
He suppressed a shiver and turned to his right to look at Clark.
“They’ll be fine, Bruce,” Clark said gently. “Trust me.”
Bruce hummed noncommittally, reluctantly agreeing, but he didn’t miss the way Damian’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
Dick, ever the opportunist, clapped his hands together and beamed. “Great! Settled! Sleepover confirmed.”
His and Clark’s kids chattered on, unpurposely leaving Bruce and Clark to their own devices.
He looked back at Clark and was surprised to see him staring back. With a smile, Clark nudged him and pointed a thumb behind him at the elevator.
This was it.
He wanted to talk? Bruce will talk. And he will sure as hell do a flawless job of it.
He simply nodded, and they slipped into the elevator.
Clark glanced at Bruce, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to look casual but failing spectacularly.
“Mind if I pick you up?” he asked softly.
Bruce blinked, caught off guard. “…Why?”
Clark hesitated, scratching the back of his neck like a nervous teenager. “Oh, I just… thought I’d fly us up there.”
Bruce followed his gaze to the almost-dark sky. The sun was setting, and the mood felt heavier here than during the other times before. Heavier than when Clark sidled up to him in the Watchtower’s kitchen. Heavier than when Clark caught him while he was falling midair, and they’d stared at each other for a moment too long. Heavier than when Clark admitted he and Lois were going to get a divorce.
Bruce arched a brow. “For a talk?”
Clark shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah. Easier without an audience.”
For a long moment, Bruce just stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. This felt riskier than anything else he’d done in his life. But those feats, he was sure he could do. This one? Not at all.
Finally, Bruce sighed, muttering under his breath as he lifted his arms slightly, an unspoken permission.
“Hurry on up, Smallville.”
Clark’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Yes, sir.”
He stepped forward, strong hands bracing gently at Bruce’s back and under his knees. With no effort at all, Clark lifted him, the two of them rising effortlessly into the night sky.
At first, Bruce tensed—old instincts flaring, muscles coiled tight—but Clark’s grip was steady. The roar of wind whipped past his ears, and below them, Jump City’s lights shone. As they climbed higher, the chaos of the city blurred into quiet.
For a while, neither spoke.
Clark angled them toward the distant lights of Metropolis, carrying them smoothly through the cold night air. Bruce glanced down occasionally, catching glimpses of bridges, towers, and rivers bathed in the golden sun. Above them, the stars began shining through the clouds.
Clark’s voice finally broke the silence, low and hesitant, almost carried away by the wind.
“You ever notice how different they look from up here?”
Bruce followed his gaze, taking in the sights below. Gotham and its unending darkness, and Metropolis, bright and glowing like a beacon.
“Different as they may be, they’re ours,” Bruce said quietly.
“Yeah,” Clark agreed, his smile softening. “Always will be.”
For a while, there was just the hush of the wind between them, the distant glitter of city lights, and the unspoken weight of everything that had gone unsaid for years—decades.
Then Clark drew in a deep breath.
“Bruce,” he said, voice steadier now, “I have something to tell you.”
Bruce turned his head slightly, meeting Clark’s eyes. It’s blue and endless, reflecting water, and he was surprised to see his own face staring back at him in those small orbs.
“Go on.”
Clark held him just a little tighter, his thumb brushing unconsciously against Bruce’s side. It tickled.
“I’ve been keeping this to myself for a long time,” Clark admitted. “Longer than I probably should have. And I know this could change things. For worse, possibly. But if I don’t say it now, I think I’ll regret it. I’d waste all the time.”
Bruce’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
Clark’s voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. “I’m in love with you, Bruce.”
Love.
The words hung suspended in the cold air, heavier than gravity itself.
Bruce’s breath caught, just enough for Clark to notice.
Suddenly, he felt too naked without his cowl. His expressions were always too easy to figure out once you had gotten to know him. And Clark knew him well.
“Clark,” he started, but the rest couldn’t make it out of his lips. His mind raced, calculating the risks and consequences.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Clark added quickly, gentle but earnest. “I just needed you to know.”
Bruce stayed quiet for a long moment, staring at the seam of water where Gotham’s shadows met Metropolis’s glow. Finally, his voice came low and rough, carrying only for Clark to hear.
“You can’t say that,” he muttered.
Clark huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, I expected that. I just- I had to tell you. Before you go out without knowing at all.”
Bruce glanced up at him, something flickering in his eyes.
“I’m not fragile. Not weak.”
Clark smiled faintly. “It’s selfish, I know.”
Bruce didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either.
And so, above Delaware River, where two cities separate—one of shadows, one of light—they stayed suspended in the sky, held in Clark’s steady arms, sharing silence that said more than words ever could.
“Let go of me,” Bruce whispered into the night, his voice almost lost to the wind. The sun had set, and now, they were in the darkness.
Clark blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Let go,” Bruce repeated, lower now.
Clark frowned, his grip reflexively tightening. “Bruce, we’re hundreds of feet up. You’d fall straight into the river-”
“That’s the point.”
“Bruce-”
“Just let me go, Kal.”
Clark’s jaw clenched. “I- no.”
“Kal.”
“No. If you want me to let go so badly…” Clark hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Then his gaze locked on Bruce’s—unflinching, resolute, impossibly blue even under the dark stretch of night.
“Then you let go.”
Bruce looked up, sharp and unyielding. His face was unreadable, silent. Inside, though, the storm was relentless. He thought of his parents, blood staining his childhood and tainting the back of his mind. He thought of Jason’s death, the unbearable weight of another coffin too small. He thought of his kids, his family, the people he swore to protect.
He thought of the rooftop, of Cass and Steph telling him to let himself feel.
He didn’t let go.
Clark’s eyes softened, just slightly. “You can’t, can you?”
Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Clark let out a shaky laugh, not mocking but tender. “Just say it. Say you’re afraid of falling at this height, Bruce-”
“I am.”
Clark froze. The humour vanished instantly.
Bruce’s voice was low, rough—not with anger, but with something far more fragile. “I am.”
Clark swallowed hard. “Bruce-”
“I’m scared,” Bruce admitted, and even the wind seemed to still around them. “If this doesn’t work out… if we have a fallout. If it affects the mission. The League. The… the world.”
His voice cracked faintly on the last word, but he kept going, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
“I’m scared it’ll come down to a choice. You or my city. You or the world.”
Clark’s grip on him tightened instinctively, as though Bruce might fall if he didn’t hold on.
Bruce finally looked at him, eyes shadowed but burning with unspoken truth.
“…Kal, I’m scared.” He drew in a shuddering breath, voice dropping lower, almost breaking. “I’m scared that I’ll pick you.”
The confession hung there, louder than the rush of air in their ears.
He says it because he just can’t quite say “I love you” yet. The words lodge in his throat, a truth too heavy to give voice to.
“I-”
“Shh…”
Clark shushed him with a kiss.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was pure, searing heat crashing into the frozen night—a spark that burned through the cold air around them and straight into Bruce’s chest.
The world seemed to fall away. The endless blur of Gotham and Metropolis gave way beneath them, lights smearing into nothingness. The only sky was in Clark’s eyes, the only sun was the press of his mouth and the warmth radiating from his body.
Bruce’s breath hitched. His first instinct was to pull back, to push away, to fall. But Clark’s hand was steady at his jaw, calloused fingertips brushing lightly against his skin as if asking him to stay.
He stayed.
Clark kissed him like someone who had been holding this back for years—reverent but desperate. Walls slowly crumbling; walls of a lifetime’s worth of restraint unravelling in the dark.
Bruce kissed him, a man trying not to drown. Calculated, controlled, but unable to hide the fire beneath every movement against those lips. His fingers curled against Clark’s shoulder, gripping tight enough to leave creases in the suit.
In the cold night, where the sun couldn’t reach, Clark burned. Heat rolled off him in waves, seeping into Bruce’s skin, chasing away the chill until all he could feel was the thrum of life beneath Clark’s infallible heartbeat.
When Bruce opened his eyes for just a moment, he caught a glimpse of Clark’s impossibly blue sky. He saw himself reflected there, not as Batman, not as Gotham’s protector, but simply Bruce.
And it terrified him.
He shut his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed back harder, deepening the kiss. Tasting the sun in the kiss. Up here, above everything, oxygen was scarce, but Bruce felt lightheaded for a completely different reason—because this, right now, was more dangerous than any fall.
Clark shifted slightly, holding him closer, as though he could anchor Bruce to himself. The warmth between them intensified until Bruce wasn’t sure where his body ended and Clark’s began.
When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, their breaths mingled in ragged, uneven gasps. The night wrapped around them, but Bruce barely felt it.
“You feel warm,” Bruce muttered, voice low and rough, his hand still gripping Clark’s suit.
Clark gave a breathless laugh, his thumb brushing lightly along Bruce’s jaw. “Got it from the sun.”
Bruce didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t let go. He held onto his lifeline.