The quiet lingered between them, soft and unbroken, settling into the spaces where words had been only moments before. Sophie’s breathing remained slow and even, her body relaxed fully against his as though she had finally set down something she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying all this time.

Bruce didn’t move. His hand rested lightly against her back, fingers tracing absent, steady paths along the curve of her spine, never rushed, never demanding. Just there. Present in the way she needed him to be.

After a while, Sophie shifted, not pulling away, just enough to tilt her head and look up at him. Her eyes were half-lidded now, touched by the weight of sleep, but still clear. Still warm. Still his.

"You’re very quiet," she murmured, her voice barely above the hush of the room.

"I don’t need to say anything, I just need to enjoy this moment..."

"That’s convenient." A faint smile formed at the corner of her mouth. "You get to sound profound without doing any of the work."

Bruce’s lips curved. "You seem to be doing enough talking for both of us."

Sophie made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh, her fingers drifting lazily across his chest, tracing slow, aimless patterns over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Mm... maybe."

A brief pause followed, but it wasn’t empty. It carried something gentle. Something lived-in. Something that only existed in the small, stolen hours between two people who no longer needed to fill the silence to feel close.

Then her gaze shifted, studying him with a touch more focus, as though committing the moment to memory.

"You know..." she said slowly, "Lily is definitely going to interrogate us later."

"She already has a theory."

"Oh, I’m sure she has several." Sophie’s smile deepened. "And she’s probably ranking them by probability."

"She’ll still ask anyway."

"Of course she will. And she’ll pretend she doesn’t already know the answer."

Bruce exhaled faintly, something amused beneath it, a sound she felt more than heard, low in his chest beneath her palm. Sophie watched that small reaction, then smiled to herself, as though she had just been given something precious.

Her hand moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Her fingers slid upward, brushing along his chest, his collar, the warm line of his throat, until they reached his face. She paused there for just a moment, her touch impossibly light, as though savoring the closeness. Then, gently, she pressed her thumbs against his lips.

A soft, teasing motion. Not enough to stop him from speaking. Just enough to draw his attention completely to her.

Her eyes met his. Warmer now. Playful. A little daring.

"That reminds me," she said quietly.

Bruce raised a brow, though he didn’t move her hands away. He wouldn’t have, even if he could.

"Of what?"

Sophie’s thumbs pressed just a little more, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"It’s about time you tested my cooking again."

Bruce looked at her. There was a brief pause, the kind that lived only in the space between heartbeats.

"...Is that so?"

She nodded lightly, her expression shifting into something almost proud.

"I’ve improved," she said. "A lot."

Her thumbs traced lightly against his lips again, slow and deliberate, as though she was enjoying the simple act of distracting him, as though she had discovered something powerful in the way he watched her when she touched him like this.

"So," she continued, her voice softer now, almost a whisper, "is there anything you want me to make for you?"

Bruce held her gaze for a long moment. Then he smiled. Not wide. But real. The kind of smile that reached his eyes and softened the edges of him in a way only she ever seemed to see.

His hands moved from where they had rested, sliding around her waist, pulling her just slightly closer, not forceful, just enough to feel her warmth more fully against him, just enough to remind her that he wanted her exactly where she was.

"What about an omelette?"

Sophie blinked once. Then her lips curved.

"An omelette?"

"You learned from me," Bruce said calmly. "It’s only fair I see how much you’ve improved."

There was a brief pause.

"And," he added, his voice quieter now, almost private, "it’s been a while since I’ve had one."

Sophie studied him for a moment, something soft passing behind her eyes. Then she laughed quietly, the sound low and warm, and lowered her forehead until it rested lightly against his.

"You’re very easy to please," she murmured, her breath ghosting against his lips.

"Not really."

"No?" she teased gently. "You just want to make sure I don’t embarrass you with your own recipe."

Bruce didn’t respond immediately. His hold on her remained steady. Comfortable. The kind of stillness that said more than words ever could.

Then,

"I’m confident you won’t."

That made her pause. Just slightly. Her expression softened again, and for a moment she simply looked at him, as though seeing him fully and finding nothing she wanted to look away from.

"...Good answer," she said quietly.

Her thumbs slipped away from his lips, her hand lingering against his cheek for a moment longer, reluctant, tender, before she slowly pulled back. Though not far. Not really leaving. Never really leaving.

"Then I’ll make it," she said. "And you’ll judge it properly."

"I will."

"No bias."

"None."

Sophie narrowed her eyes faintly, though the warmth never left them.

"We’ll see."

Another small silence followed. But this one felt lighter. Easier. The kind that comes only after something unspoken has finally been understood.

She settled back against him, just for a moment longer, her cheek finding the familiar place against his chest as though it had always belonged there. As though it always would.

"Just a little longer," she murmured.

Bruce didn’t argue. Didn’t move. Didn’t rush her. His arms simply tightened around her, drawing her in, holding her the way he had wanted to hold her for longer than he could remember.

And so they stayed like that, close, unhurried, wrapped in something simple and real and entirely their own, before the night, gently, carried them forward again.