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Bruce will never admit it aloud, but he sometimes hates living in Tony’s big house. Not because of the company (he’d never complain about that) or the over-abundance of bathrooms, but because of its sprawl.
When Tony’s home, it’s fine; there’s certainly enough noise and life to fill all the rooms, even those that are mostly reserved for storage or the dogs’ crates. But when Tony’s upstate or off at a CLE, the house turns into a tomb, too big and too quiet for Bruce to rest comfortably.
The irony sometimes strikes him that, after living mostly-alone for thirty years, he can’t stand the sound of silence after four or five months of marriage.
The third time Tony’s away after he and Miles officially live there—Bruce’s condo standing mostly-empty but not yet sold because living as a family somehow trumped a check that Tony’s constantly waved off with a shrug of “whatever, we don’t need it"—it’s a warm June night, and
Bruce is reading in bed when he hears a noise in the hallway. The dogs barely move from their sprawled positions on Tony’s side of the mattress, but Bruce lifts his head.
Jarvis struts in first, tail aloft, and mews at Bruce. Bruce smiles; the appearance of the cat is a sure sign that—
"Hey," Miles says from the doorway. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, the hastily-selected pajamas of a teenager. He looks tired and a little drawn.
Bruce glances at the clock and frowns. “It’s after midnight."
"I know."
"You have camp in the morning."
"I know," Miles replies, but this time he rolls his eyes. The deal to keep him from spending his entire summer either home alone (an unreasonable expectation, given that he’s hardly thirteen) or at the office with them (an unreasonable expectation, given that the district attorney’s office isn’t a very exciting place to spend 10 weeks off school) was to sign Miles up for an endless string of summer day camps: chemistry, astronomy, wilderness skills (Bruce’s suggestion, which garnered a lot of eye-rolling), and computers (Tony’s suggestion, which turned into an argument about who would drive Miles the half hour to the camp every day). Mrs. Lee hadn’t even raised an eyebrow when Ganke signed up to attend all the same camps (minus wilderness skills), or when the Urban Ascent scholarships for Ganke came through without her ever filling out an application.
As Tony’d insisted, the Lees knew a good thing when they saw it.
Even if Mrs. Lee still clearly didn’t trust Tony’s taste in furniture.
"But?" Bruce prompts. Because Miles is still hovering, shifting his weight around and crossing his arms over his chest. The boy glances at the floor, and Bruce can’t stand on the tiny smile that crosses his face. “It’s quiet, isn’t it?"
Miles shrugs. “Kind of." When Bruce quirks an eyebrow at him, he huffs with full teenage effect. “He bangs around, like, all the time at night. Even after you pass out."
"I know he does," Bruce admits. Of course he knows; he and Tony’d spent nights together before they’d ever considered life as a couple. He’d woken at two a.m. many times, always finding Tony making coffee in his kitchen or watching a random television program. “I think sometimes he only needs about four hours of sleep a night and just stays in bed longer to humor me."
"I don’t think ‘humoring’ is slang for what you think it is," Miles says with a little smirk.
"I sincerely hope that isn’t the noise you’re missing," Bruce retorts, and Miles’s face breaks out into a full-on grin. It falters after a few seconds, though, and Bruce checks the clock a second time. Midnight is early for Tony, generally speaking, so he puts his book down on the bedside table and grabs his phone. “Here," he says while he unlocks it.
Miles wanders about halfway into the room before he stops short in the middle of the floor. “What are you doing?"
"Do you really think he’s asleep?" Bruce asks, and a grin creeps back onto Miles’s face as he shakes his head. The truth—the quietest, loneliest truth—is that Bruce isn’t much better than Miles tonight, overwhelmed by the quiet of the house and the emptiness of the other side of the bed. It’s why he let the dogs climb in with him, why he’s halfway through a book he only started yesterday, why—
"Y’know, I’m starting to think you’re personally offended by the thought of me sleeping in a bed that doesn’t involve you," Tony says by way of a greeting, his voice filling the room thanks to speakerphone. He sounds unabashedly awake; Bruce suspects it’ll be at least another hour before he climbs under the covers. “Which, I mean, is great and all, but since I can’t be in two places at once and my arms are just not that long, you’ll need to—"
"Ew," Miles interrupts, and Bruce grins when Tony bursts out laughing. Within seconds, Miles is sitting cross-legged on the bed with Butterfingers snuffling his thigh. Bruce shifts to sit across from him, phone resting on his knee. “If I have to knock, you have to make sure speakerphone’s safe for—that."
"Sorry, but I am presuming speakerphone safety until proven wrong. And anyway, what is this? I’m not the Banner-and-Morales Insomnia Helpline. I could’ve been falling asleep to a truly abysmal Lifetime Original Movie. There’s one on right now with the chick from Dirty Dancing, I—"
"Like you ever sleep," Miles retorts. “You’ll probably watch the movie all the way through."
"Big Guy, help me out here."
Bruce knows he’s smiling—almost too warmly, honestly, the sort of smile that blossoms in his belly first—but he can’t entirely help it. “You do love the one where the woman drives her car through the front of her ex-husband’s house."
Tony lets out a strangled sound on the other end of the line. “You’re lucky I collectively and individually love you two traitors because otherwise I’d hang up so fast, you wouldn’t know what hit you."
"I’m sure," Bruce replies, and Miles laughs.
If Miles is extra-tired in the morning from staying on the phone until after one a.m., he never mentions it.
Mostly, he just grins at Bruce over his cereal, and Bruce smiles back.