Bruce

"Hm." You're accustomed to his usual grunts and nods, and any lapse of silence. His gaze is hard as he stares at the singular bed you're expected to share. Granted, it's your safe house. Bruce isn't going to ruminate over this situation. "It's yours."

He elects to sit in one of the few chairs without any fanfare, and you know what's coming: microsleep.

Bruce doesn't even take off his cowl, cape, gloves— anything.

There's no way that's healthy, especially after the night you two had.