Clark waited in the bed, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard as he let his head settle back against the wall.

He felt like his heart was only just behind his skin, like the barest brush could bruise it and more importantly, the man who happened to take up most of the space inside of it. Vulnerable. Separate in this, opposite instead of two parts of a whole as they usually were. As if they'd just lived the last hour or so in two completely different dimensions and were trying to explain the colors to each other using nothing but semaphore.

It wasn't pleasant, even if he felt like something that had been bunched and waiting was finally released. Even as he heard the street sounds of Gotham and his back didn't so much as clench.

He'd wait for Bruce. He'd always wait for Bruce.