Hey, can you do a Bruce Wayne one with this prompt -> ❛ don’t act like you know me. ❜
“Don’t act like you know me.” Bruce’s voice is low, but firm. Detached. His eyes are empty, not betraying anything he doesn’t want to, and you can only think of how sorry you are that he feels like he has to be that way around you.
And okay, well, that stings a lot more than you think it should. Your eyes dart around the dark wood covering almost every inch in his penthouse. It screams gothic, and it unsettles you to your core. You inhale sharply, trying hard not to show how much those words had affected you. But it’s a slice to your heart, a punch to the gut and your stomach—and you’re sure that every bone in your body has now suddenly started to ache.
All for Bruce Wayne.
The silence becomes oppressive, suffocatingly tight.
“Who even are you?” you ask after recollecting yourself, hand making a tight fist at your side. “Do you know the answer to that?”
He makes no movement for you to catch. It’s only the faintest twitch of his brow that lets on that he’s bothered by your words. He huffs, turning away from you with arms crossed. “I don’t have time for this.”
Your jaw clenches, and your voice comes out shakier than you would’ve liked. “It’s not like you really have a job, Bruce. And Alfred tells me you haven’t been fulfilling your obligations at Wayne Enterprise. So, what the hell have you been doing?” You chew your lip, furrowing your eyebrows before continuing, “And you don’t have time for me? I thought we were friends.”
You’ve known Bruce since before you even learned what your name was. Your mother had worked with Thomas Wayne before his death, leading to the beautiful friendship going on to this day. He was a happy kid growing up, and it’s hard to see how much that has changed. You and Alfred witnessed it first hand.
For a while, you thought it was going well. He would never be that same kid who made you ride your bikes into the park for so long that you got lost, or beg you to go out for ice cream even when it was freezing outside again, but he seemed happy. You thought he was happy.
But then he starts to cancel on you again. He keeps texts shorter (more so than usual) and begins asking specific scientific questions that he knows you’d be able to answer with your interest in chemistry and physics. You wonder if he knows the Internet exists. Or will whatever he’s been doing get him on some watchlist? He starts to feel like the Bruce Wayne that had appeared after the death of his parents again.
And you miss him.
You catch his eyes soften for a moment, but as quickly as they do, his walls build up again. But it reminds you that he’s still there. That the Bruce you remember isn’t really gone. He never left. It makes you hopeful for something better for him.
“Whatever it is that you’ve been doing, you don’t have to do it alone.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “With me, you… you won’t ever have to do anything alone ever again.”
You reach your hand out, tentatively searching for his. His hand is cold when you slip yours into it. You’re surprised he doesn’t pull away or recoil. You’re even more shocked when he tightens his grip instead, squeezing your hand. And for the second time today, you feel hope for Bruce Wayne.
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