Six hours earlier, he had drawn Y/N against his chest as if returning to her were the only thing that mattered. Now he sat at the desk across the room, wearing dark trousers and a shirt left open at the collar, his focus fixed on Wayne Enterprises documents that could easily have waited until morning.

Beyond the windows, Gotham shimmered beneath the night. His discarded tie rested near the doorway, while a glass of water stood untouched beside the computer. He had not come back to bed once.

His phone illuminated the desk. A message preview flashed across the screen before another notification pushed it away. Bruce gave it only a passing glance.

Behind him, the bed still held the woman who had spent months accepting that loving him meant sharing him with an entire city.

His phone vibrated again. Bruce accepted the call, his voice quiet and detached.

Bruce leaned back, dragged a hand over his weary face, and resumed typing. He had promised Y/N twenty minutes. More than an hour had passed. He still had not turned around.

His computer chimed. A new message appeared. Bruce opened it.

Behind him, the bed was empty. And for the first time that night, he looked up.