Steve had always believed Tony Stark deserved the best.
Not just the best tech, the best cars, or the best suits—though Tony did seem to collect all of those effortlessly—but the best people. The kind who fit into his world, who matched his brilliance and energy without missing a beat.
Someone like Bruce Wayne.
Steve had been watching them from the edge of the ballroom, a glass of soda in his hand, as Tony laughed at something Bruce had said. They were effortless together—two men who had been born into money but wielded it in vastly different ways. Tony was chaos wrapped in charm, an electric current that never stopped moving. Bruce was quieter, refined, commanding in a way that made people stop and listen when he spoke.
They made sense.
And Steve? Steve was just a guy from Brooklyn with a knack for being too stubborn for his own good.
He wasn’t bitter about it—okay, maybe he was a little bitter—but it wasn’t like Tony had ever looked at him that way. He was Tony’s best friend. The one who patched him up when he worked too late, the one who made sure he ate something that wasn’t takeout, the one who—apparently—Tony didn’t even notice had left the ballroom.
That was fine.
So Steve turned, went up a few stairs, and slipped out onto the balcony, the cold air hitting him like a reset button. He leaned against the railing, breathing in deep, trying to remind himself that this—the part where Tony found someone actually worthy of him—was a good thing.
“You always this broody, or is tonight special?”
Steve turned to see Bruce Wayne coming towards him, hands in his pockets, watching him with mild amusement.
Steve exhaled and gave a small smile that he hoped was good enough for that moment. “Didn’t realize I had an audience.”
Bruce smirked. “Hard not to notice when someone stares at you like a funeral procession in a tux.”
Steve made a face. “I don’t—”
Bruce held up a hand. “Look, I’ll cut to the chase—he’s not interested in me.”
Steve blinked. “I—what?”
Bruce gave him a look. “Tony. Not interested. Not even a little. He keeps looking for you,” he said simply. “And when he doesn’t see you, he overcompensates. Talks louder, gets more animated, fills the space.” He tilted his head. “It’s interesting.”
Steve looked away. “I don’t know—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Bruce cut in smoothly. “If you’re about to tell me that you have no idea what I’m talking about, we both know that’s not true. If you tell me that Tony deserves better than you, let’s take a moment to appreciate how wrong that is.”
Steve clenched his jaw. “Bruce—”
“He’s not interested in me,” Bruce said plainly. “And you? You’re a damn idiot if you don’t see that you’re exactly what he wants.”
Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, his mind whirring.
Bruce laid a hand on his chest, right over his heart, smirking as he stepped back. “Think about it.”
Then, before Steve could say anything else, the rooftop door slammed open.
****
"Oh, so this is where you two ran off to,” Tony announced, stepping onto the rooftop with all the grace of someone who had too much champagne and too many thoughts. “Should’ve known. Bruce is a broody brooder, and Steve—well, you’re you.” His entire demeaner shifted in tension as Bruce turned around with his hand over Steve’s shoulder and squeezed.
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tony.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony went on, waving a dismissive hand before shoving it into his pocket. “I just thought it was weird when you vanished. And then Bruce vanished, and wouldn’t you know it, I put two and two together, and look at me, genius.” He spread his arms. “So, what, you two bonding up here? Trading tragic backstories? Is this a rooftop therapy session? Because I wasn’t invited, and frankly, I think that’s rude.”
Steve pressed his hand to his face. “Tony.”
“No, no, don’t ‘Tony’ me.” Tony turned on Bruce next. “You, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Tax-Brackets—how dare you steal Steve away from a perfectly good party?”
Bruce just exhaled a laugh, completely unbothered. He turned his head next to Steve and said “Told you,” his lips closer Steve’s ear which earned him a shiver. His amusement obnoxiously obvious as he slowly withdraws his hand and stood in front of them both.
Tony's eyes darkened and then snapped to Steve, eyes narrowing. “Told you what, exactly?”
Steve—who was, admittedly, still catching up—looked at Bruce, who was looking back still smirking, then back at Tony, who was practically vibrating with the need for an answer.
And then, suddenly, it clicked.
Oh. Oh.
Steve grinned.
Tony took a half-step back, looking downright suspicious. “Why are you smiling? Stop that. You’re freaking me out.”
Steve stepped forward, closing the space between them. “You stormed up here like… like a jealous boyfriend.”
Tony sputtered. “I—excuse me?”
Bruce walked towards the door chuckling, “I’ll let you two work this out.”
Tony whipped around. “No, no, you don’t get to just drop a cryptic one-liner and leave—”
Bruce was already gone.
Tony blinked at the closed door before whipping back to Steve. “Okay, what did he tell you?”
Steve just looked at him, shaking his head, heart warm and stupid and full.
Then, before Tony could think his way out of it, Steve leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t showy, wasn’t rushed, just a quiet press of lips, steady and certain. Tony made a small, surprised sound against his mouth, before pulling him in and kissing back with lips parted and tongue seeking his, fingers gripping at Steve’s lapel like he needed something to hold onto.
When Steve pulled back, Tony stared at him, mouth still parted, blinking like he was processing a glitch in the universe.
“Huh,” Tony finally said.
Steve smirked. “You good there, genius?”
Tony beamed at him, eyes bright. “Oh, I’m so good. Just. Wow. Gotta say, did not see that coming.”
Steve smirked. “You really should’ve.”
****
Clark Kent was not eavesdropping.
Absolutely not since he really couldn't hear them from this distance.
He was simply standing on the further side of the rooftop—completely coincidentally—having just finished a phone call from his mother when he happened to notice Bruce Wayne and Steve Rogers having what looked like a very serious conversation.
Clark adjusted his glasses, squinting at the distance and was sure of it. He could not make out the words but he can see their expressions. Then Bruce's entire body softened.
That was odd.
Bruce didn’t do soft.
And then—oh. Then Bruce lays his hand on Steve’s chest.
Clark pressed a hand to his chest. Suddenly feeling his heart clench and stutter. This was huge.
Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most unreachable, most emotionally distant billionaire, had fallen for Steve Rogers
Oh.
Clark inhaled sharply as realization struck. Bruce Wayne was in love with Steve Rogers.
It made sense.
The quiet intensity. The rooftop meeting. The look. Bruce known about Steve for some time. He is one of Tony’s very close friends. And Bruce—Bruce who always ensured food pantries in Gotham were always stocked, scholarship available for those who wanted to study, senior centers built and ran by good people -- had been mentoring Steve in those kinds of endeavors in New York. Clark had noticed them spending more time together at these fundraising events, but he’d assumed it was just their philanthropy. But no.
.
And then, just as Clark was processing that, the rooftop door slammed open.
Clark startled so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet.
Enter Tony Stark.
Clark immediately felt secondhand dread.
Because Tony Stark? Was not subtle.
Sure enough, Tony stormed in like a man on a mission, pointing dramatically between them saying loudly “Ohhh, so this is where you two snuck off to.” Bruce moves his hand over Steve’s shoulders. And Clark felt lightheaded and winced. Oh, no.
Bruce smirked.
Steve sighed.
Clark ached for Bruce.
This was it. This was the moment where Bruce’s feelings were either going to be revealed or crushed.
Clark shouldn’t be watching this.
And yet…
And yet.
Bruce leaves.
His eyes flickered back to Steve, who had turned fully to Tony now. They were talking in whispers, heads tilted just slightly toward each other.
Steve had his hands on Tony’s arms—close, intimate.
And then—oh.
Steve smiled.
Not just any smile. A soft smile. The kind that meant something. And then he leaned into a kiss.
Clark inhaled sharply.
This wasn’t a love triangle.
This was a love story.
And Bruce?
Clark’s heart broke for Bruce Wayne.
Because he wasn’t even in it.
And then, before he could see any more, Clark turned the other way and left.
***
Clark was still reeling when he stepped out of the building and into the night air, adjusting his tie, trying to make sense of what he’d just witnessed.
And then—
There was Bruce.
Standing alone by the curb.
Oh, no.
Clark hesitated for all of two seconds before walking over, because he was not about to let Bruce Wayne—one of the most emotionally constipated people he knew—suffer alone.
Bruce, as always, looked impeccably composed, checking the time like he had a dozen better things to do.
Clark’s heart ached for him.
“Hey,” Clark said, voice careful.
Bruce glanced up. “Kent.”
Clark hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Heading out?”
Bruce nodded. “Alfred’s bringing the car around.”
Clark shuffled awkwardly. “I was just about to leave too.”
Bruce gave him a considering look before gesturing toward the car as Alfred pulled up. “I’ll give you a ride.”
Clark blinked. “Oh—I mean, you don’t have to—”
“Get in the car, Clark.”
Clark… got in the car.
***********
The city lights flickered past them in silence for a moment before Bruce, still looking out the window, finally spoke.
“Love is a complicated thing, Clark.”
Clark immediately felt that.
He exhaled. “Yeah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “It is.”
Bruce hummed. “Sometimes you watch someone, thinking they’re untouchable. Too good for the world. Too good for you.”
Clark ached.
Bruce was pouring his heart out.
“And then,” Bruce continued, his tone softer now, “one day, you realize you’ve been standing in your own way. That maybe you deserve the things you’ve convinced yourself you couldn’t have.”
Clark swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat.
Oh, Bruce.
Bruce exhaled. “It takes time to figure that out, though. To realize what you really want.”
Clark turned to him, voice gentle. “Bruce, I—”
Bruce finally met his gaze, something unreadable in his expression. “But eventually, you stop making excuses.”
Clark’s heart clenched.
Bruce was hurting.
Clark placed a careful hand on his shoulder, squeezing it, trying to be reassuring. “Listen, you don’t have to do this alone, okay? I—I saw you up there with Steve, and I just—”
Bruce blinked.
Then his lips twitched.
“Clark,” he said, voice deliberately slow. “I wasn’t talking about Steve.”
Clark froze.
“…What.”
Bruce, definitely smirking now, tilted his head. “I wasn’t talking about Steve,” he repeated, amusement creeping into his voice.
Clark’s brain broke.
WHAT.
Clark stared, completely thrown off-course, his hands leaving the shoulder while Bruce—looking suspiciously satisfied—turned back to the city skyline.
The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of Clark’s apartment, but Clark didn’t move. His entire reality had shifted.
His soul was trying to escape his body.
Bruce let the silence linger for a long, agonizing moment before he turned and said—
“Good talk, Clark.”
And then he just… sat there. Like he hadn’t just destroyed Clark’s entire thought process.
Clark still hadn’t figured out how to breathe properly.
Because if Bruce wasn’t talking about Steve…
Then…
Clark gasped.
OH, NO.
***
Clark was still sitting in Bruce Wayne’s very expensive, very sleek car, not moving.
Because his brain had crashed.
Rebooting…
Reboot failed.
Critical system error.
“Clark?” Bruce’s voice was maddeningly calm.
Clark turned to look at him, completely thrown. “You weren’t talking about Steve.”
Bruce’s lips twitched. “That’s what I said, yes.”
Clark’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Then—”
And oh, oh no.
Because that meant—
Clark blinked. “Wait.”
Bruce waited.
Clark gasped.
“WAIT.”
Bruce chuckled, the low, amused kind of chuckle that meant he was absolutely enjoying this.
Clark pressed both hands to his temples. “You—Bruce—wait—”
Bruce leaned back in his seat, looking suspiciously relaxed. “Take your time.”
Clark did not have time. His entire worldview was cracking.
Bruce Wayne—billionaire, Gotham’s favorite cryptid, absolute master of emotional repression—was sitting in a car smirking at him.
And Clark Kent?
Was having a breakdown.
“Okay,” Clark finally said, voice too high-pitched for comfort. “Okay, so, let me just—let me just—” He exhaled sharply. “You weren’t talking about Steve.”
Bruce nodded.
Clark squinted at him. “But you were talking about someone.”
Another nod.
Clark’s brain did a hard reset.
Bruce Wayne. Talking about love. Talking about worthiness.
Clark knew Bruce. Knew how carefully he picked his words. Knew he didn’t talk about these things lightly.
Knew he wouldn’t say something like this unless it meant something.
Clark felt his entire soul leave his body.
“… Me?” he croaked.
Bruce didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just… looked at Clark, head tilted slightly, unreadable but deliberate.
Then—
“You’re the one who assumed I was talking about Steve,” Bruce murmured.
Clark blanched.
His entire life flashed before his eyes.
The times Bruce had invited him to dinner—always under the guise of some casual interview talk or those invites for the Wayne events, galas and parties that were specifically for him. Not anyone else for the Planet.
The way Bruce never really looked impressed with anyone at these social events, except—
Oh.
Oh.
Clark gripped the edge of his seat. “Are you kidding me?”
Bruce arched a brow.
“Me?!” Clark practically yelled. “I just—I just spent the last hour feeling awful for you, thinking you were heartbroken over Steve—STEVE—”
Bruce let out the softest chuckle. “How thoughtful of you.”
Clark groaned, slumping back against the seat. “Oh my god.”
Bruce watched him with clear amusement, waiting.
Clark floundered. “I—I need a second. I need, like, several seconds.”
Bruce hummed. “Take your time.”
Clark sputtered. “Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Bruce smirked.
Clark pointed at him. “That was rhetorical.”
Bruce’s smirk only widened.
Clark inhaled deeply, eyes squeezed shut. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay, so. You like me. That’s what’s happening here.”
Bruce gave him a slow nod.
Clark nodded back, mostly to himself, because his entire foundation of reality was in freefall. “And you just… casually said all that in the most cryptic way possible?”
Bruce tilted his head. “I wouldn’t say cryptic.”
Clark gawked at him. “You literally sat here and let me think you were in love with Steve—”
Bruce’s smirk returned. “You came to that conclusion on your own, Clark.”
Clark groaned again, dragging both hands down his face. “Unbelievable.”
Bruce glanced at the clock. “You’ve spent a full three minutes trying to process this.”
Clark threw up his hands. “Because it’s a lot, Bruce!”
Bruce turned, resting an elbow against the car door, watching Clark with an expression that was just a little too satisfied. “Take your time,” he repeated.
Clark inhaled through his nose. “You said that already.”
Bruce smirked.
Clark glared at him. “I hate you.”
Bruce, entirely unbothered, simply said, “No, you don’t.”
Clark gasped again, fully scandalized. “Are you flirting with me right now?”
Bruce glanced at the clock again. “You’re at four minutes now.”
Clark grabbed the car door handle, flustered beyond belief. “I’m leaving. I can’t be here anymore.”
Bruce didn’t try to stop him. He just watched, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as Clark stumbled out of the car like his legs weren’t working properly.
Clark turned, still completely flustered, pointing at Bruce like he was trying to form a coherent thought—failed, then groaned, slamming the door, and stomped toward his building.
Bruce rolled down the window.
“I’ll pick you up for dinner tomorrow,” Bruce said smoothly, like this was normal, like Clark wasn’t having a full-on crisis in real time.
Clark froze.
Clark turned his head, mouth opened. “I—”
Bruce smirked, like he already knew Clark was going to say yes. “Goodnight, Clark.”
Then the car pulled away, leaving Clark standing stunned on the sidewalk, staring after it.
Five full seconds passed.
Clark dragged his hands down his face.
Then—
“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself. “I have a date with Bruce Wayne.”
His entire life was ruined.
And—
Maybe he liked it.