#(d:)

The first time it happens, Clark stumbles through the door after a long day at the Daily Planet, blinking tiredly as he trudges into the kitchen, shedding his suit jacket and belt along the way.

He practically jumps out of his skin when he sees Bruce leaning against the kitchen counter, typing rapidly on his phone. His hair is a mess and he’s wearing one of Clarks old hoodies that probably should’ve gone in the trash years ago. On the counter next to him, theres an assortment full of red and black flowers sitting in a vase that looks like it costs more than his month’s rent.

Clark clears his throat, watching with a smile when Bruce jumps and whips his head up to look at him.

“hi baby” clark says, setting his keys down on the counter top and moving towards bruce in slow, heavy steps.

“hi.” Bruce mumbles, looking back down at his phone. Clark pulls him away from the counter to wrap him up in a hug. Bruce hums, leaning into the weight of clarks chest. “Theres pizza in the oven. Pesto since i know you don’t really like marinara.”

Clark grins, planting a quick kiss to Bruce’s forehead as he pulls away. “How’d you get in?” He asks, pulling two glasses down from the cabinet and pouring them both a glass of wine. It wont affect him in the slightest, but Alfred gave it to him a few weeks ago and it looks expensive, so he figures it must at least taste alright.

Bruce shrugs, finally looking up from his phone. “Your lock is easy to pick.”

Clark snorts, hands bruce his glass, and starts to ramble about how one of his sources flaked on him at the last second. They don’t talk about it again, and they spend the night in front of the TV watching shitty horror movies.

——————-

After that, it kind of becomes routine.

Sometimes Bruce climbs through a window at 4 in the morning, bloody and exhausted and wincing with every step. On those nights, Clark sits him on the bathroom sink to patch him up, carefully stitching his wounds and wrapping them in gauze under the warm bathroom light. He strokes Bruce’s hair when they settle under the covers, whispering sweet little things into his ear before the bats eyes start to droop and he falls into sleep—even if its only for a few hours.

Some nights bruce beats him home, others he doesn’t. Clark has offered so many times to get him a key and make this whole thing a lot easier,, but every time bruce just shakes his head and says “i like breaking in. it’s fun.”

Sometimes clark stumbles out of his room in the morning to find fresh scones on the counter top, or a hoodie that Bruce stole draped over the back of the couch

All I can think of is v!Owen, and his projection of his self-loathing and grief onto the coven. And I think most of us know how that ended for him.