Chapter Text
Hal didn’t want to be here.
He really didn’t want to be here.
But here he was, flying into Gotham on his night off because Bruce Wayne was a stubborn, brooding idiot who wouldn’t answer his damn phone.
It wasn’t like Hal wanted to check on him. He didn’t even really like Gotham. The place was a nightmare—gloomy, depressing, full of criminals who wouldn’t know a good time if it punched them in the face. And Bruce—God, Bruce was the worst part of it all.
Mister I Work Alone. Mister No Feelings, Only Justice.
Hal should’ve just left him to his own devices. Should’ve enjoyed his free night, maybe found some trouble in Coast City, done literally anything besides flying halfway across the country to check on a guy who wouldn’t even appreciate it.
And yet.
Here he was.
Standing in Wayne Manor’s grand foyer, rubbing at his temples while Alfred gave him that look.
“He’s upstairs, sir,” Alfred said, voice polite but tinged with amusement. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“Doubt it,” Hal muttered. “I’ll be out of your hair in five minutes.”
Alfred just smiled, stepping aside. “Of course, sir.”
Hal sighed and made his way up the stairs.
This was ridiculous. Bruce could handle himself. He’d been handling himself since before Hal even put on the ring. He was probably fine—just ignoring Hal’s messages because he was a brooding bastard who thought self-care was for the weak.
That was the only reason Hal was checking, really. Just to make sure Bruce hadn’t bled out on his stupid cave floor. Not because he was worried. Not because he actually gave a damn.
And definitely not because some part of him missed Bruce when they weren’t fighting side by side.
Nope.
Hal reached the slightly open door to Bruce’s bedroom and pushed it open without thinking.
And immediately regretted everything.
Because Bruce was—
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Bruce was curled up on his side, half-naked, wrapped around a blanket like it was the only thing keeping him together.
He wasn’t fully under the covers—just sprawled across the mattress, one arm tucked under his head, the other gripping the blanket like it was a lifeline. His muscles were still flexed, even in sleep, every line of his body carved and powerful. His broad chest, the sharp curve of his abs, the long stretch of his legs—
Hal’s brain short-circuited.
Because it should’ve been impossible for a man this big, this built, to look so adorable.
And yet—he did.
The way he was holding the blanket, like it was something precious. The way his brow was furrowed, like even in sleep he was fighting some invisible battle. The way his breath came slow and steady, a rare moment of peace for the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
And Hal—
Oh, fuck.
Hal was in love with him.
It hit him like a goddamn freight train.
Like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Like everything in his life had been leading up to this moment, this realization.
Because Bruce wasn’t just his teammate. Wasn’t just a guy he fought alongside.
Bruce was—
Everything.
And Hal, the biggest idiot in the entire universe, had been too blind to see it.
His heart pounded, and for the first time in his life, Hal Jordan had absolutely no idea what to do.
All he knew was that if he didn’t get out of this room in the next five seconds, he was going to do something really, really stupid.
Like trace the line of Bruce’s jaw.
Or brush his fingers over that stupidly soft-looking hair.
Or—God help him—crawl into bed beside him and stay there forever.
Nope. Absolutely not.
Time to go.
Hal took a step back—
And, of course, that was the moment Bruce stirred.
He shifted slightly, the blanket slipping just a bit lower, revealing even more of his annoyingly perfect body. Hal made a very undignified choking noise as Bruce’s eyes blinked open, dark and hazy with sleep.
“…Hal?”
His voice was rough, lower than usual, and why did that make Hal’s brain short-circuit even more?
“Uh.” Hal’s mouth went dry. “Hey. You—uh. You were asleep.”
Bruce let out a slow exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. “No kidding.” His gaze sharpened slightly, locking onto Hal with that familiar Bat-intensity. “Why are you here?”
That was a great question.
Hal scrambled for an excuse. “Just, uh. Checking on you.” His voice cracked slightly, and oh God, he was the worst liar in the world.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “…Right.”
The silence stretched between them, and Hal realized, belatedly, that he was still standing there.
Staring.
At Bruce’s stupidly perfect everything.
He needed to leave. Now.
“Okay, well, you’re alive, so I’m just gonna—”
But before he could escape, Bruce did something that sent Hal’s brain into a complete meltdown.
He smirked.
A soft, lazy, half-asleep smirk.
It wasn’t his usual, smug billionaire smirk. No, this one was—unfair.
“You’re acting weird,” Bruce murmured. “Something wrong?”
Yes. Yes, something was very, very wrong, and it was the fact that Hal wanted to press him back down onto that bed and never let him leave.
“Nope!” Hal said, voice weirdly high-pitched. “All good! Great, even! You get back to sleep, Bats. I’ll just—”
And then Bruce grabbed his wrist.
Hal’s heart stopped.
Bruce’s fingers were warm, his grip firm but not forceful, and why did that make Hal’s entire body light up like a goddamn Christmas tree?
“…Hal.” Bruce’s voice was softer now. “What’s going on?”
Hal swallowed hard. His chest was too tight. His whole body felt like it was on the verge of something.
For a split second, he considered lying. Making a joke. Doing anything but telling the truth.
But—
This was Bruce.
And Hal didn’t want to lie to him, he had already spent so long lying to himself.
“…I think I’m in love with you,” he blurted out.
Bruce stilled.
Hal immediately regretted everything.
Oh, shit. He actually said it.
For a long, agonizing moment, Bruce just looked at him. His expression was unreadable, unreadable, unreadable—
And then—
Bruce smiled.
A small, real, genuine smile.
“Well,” he murmured, “took you long enough.”
Hal’s brain shut down. “…What.”
Bruce squeezed his wrist once before letting go, shifting to sit up. “You’re not exactly subtle, Jordan.”
Hal opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“You knew?”
Bruce smirked, but it was softer now. “I had my suspicions.”
“Oh, come on—”
Bruce chuckled. And—
Oh.
That was the best sound Hal had ever heard.
And then Bruce did something even more unfair.
He tugged Hal forward—just enough that Hal stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the bed.
“You can stay,” Bruce murmured.
Hal’s whole world tilted.
“…Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”
And for the first time, he let himself fall.