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Clark straightens up slightly, feeling the hairs on his neck stand up slightly, noticing Bruce. He doesn't dare speak, he hasn't in all his time with the other man (which has been two days or so), and it's been a struggle, because boy does he love talking! Honestly, it might be one of his favourite things in the world- he rambles on and on and on and Bruce would be lying if he said he didn't find it endearing. Alas, he was always meant to but a shield- a barrier, not a shield- in between Clark and himself.
This was mainly done for his own protection, as he liked to tell himself at night when he stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep and wondering what Clark would be doing. Probably sleeping like a normal person. Kryptonian. Do Kryptionians sleep? At that point, his thoughts would wander into different directions, some nice, others not so.
Either way, Bruce would not let his mask slip. He liked Clark, yes, his company was warm and comforting, and he enjoyed it more than he'd admit, but he knew that whatever would go on between them would only end badly and make the other man - alien - hate him. Or something like that. He always tried to stop thinking when he got to that point, which was rather hard for Bruce, as Clark had proved.
Speaking of, Clark was unusually tense as he stared at Bruce, ensuring his safety in a way he always did. Bruce had a feeling this was more to study him rather than ensure his safety, but he found he quite liked having Clark's eyes on him, so he said nothing, except a few quips here and there to see the man fluster and turn red. Clark seemed to be staring through Bruce, not even seeing him.
Bruce furrows a perfectly neat eyebrow, crinkling his face up in a way that the other man found adorable. There had to be something wrong, Clark wouldn't have passed up an opportunity to tease him about it, or at least make a small comment, paired with a warm smile.
"Kent?"
No answer. He waited.
"Clark?"
The Kryptonian didn't give him a verbal answer, just focusing his eyes to look at him fully. He tilted his head in a silent question, and Bruce noticed just how fucking tired he seemed. He had dark bags under his eyes, but that was a constant mostly covered up by shitty makeup (no one really wanted to comment on it, so Clark thought he was doing a superb job at hiding it), and still it seemed painfully obvious how exhausted he was. He was forcing himself upright, grabbing onto the edge of the wall with the tips of his fingers, barely holding on to the brink of consciousness.
Bruce was very sure that if he put Clark to bed (manhandling him, which would of course work, since the taller man was worn out), he would conk out instantly. To give him a way out of the situation, either to go to sleep by himself or maintain some dignity, he cleared his throught.
"Clark, you can have the day off."
He was slightly uncomfortable leaving Clark in such a state, but he couldn't do anything else, could he? Well, certainly not, when he shook his head, stubborn like a mule (as always).
"I'm not requesting," Bruce forces a smile to see if that can snap the man out of this comatose-like state. "go home."
Again, Clark shakes his head. He doesn't speak, he knows his voice will be hoarse from the whole not-speaking-all-day-to-not-bother-Mr.-Wayne, and he knows it'll give his tiredness away somehow. He's pretty sure Bruce has deduced how tired he is, but he can't even get words out. He doesn't think he can. He doesn't think, actually. Clark stupidly collapses, finally letting go, and falls on top of Bruce.
The latter sputters, but doesn't push him off, as he's certain he's too heavy (he doesn't want Clark to lay on the ground in case it's not been cleaned, although he's sure Alfred has left it in impeccable condition) (he doesn't want Clark to leave) (he finds that having Clark somewhat in his arms is quite comfy). Bruce, in turn, doesn't think either, his hands going to the other man's hair.
His glasses are smushed against Bruce's thighs, but he pushed himself further into the touch, because the man he's supposed to be protecting feels warm and lovely and he desperately needs sleep. Bruce accepts that Clark won't move and lets himself smile, just barely, since he knows he won't be able to look. They spend practically all night like that, Clark snoozing and drooling on Bruce's legs, and Bruce gently trying to move him upright to at least get him to bed. He doesn't succeed.