7 DAYS A WEEK 2019 | SUPERBAT PROMPTS

DAY 04: Bed Sharing

He wasn't supposed to feel exhausted. He shouldn't be. However, when he glanced over at the clock and back to the man on the bed, Clark felt how heavy his heart was.

Bruce was bundled up beneath the covers. Once in a while, he would grunt out in discomfort and Clark would immediately lean forward to check on his state.

Two days ago, Bruce had a minor heart attack in the middle of the night. Clark, who panicked upon seeing the other collapsing down, had immediately rushed his husband to the hospital. A quick check from Bruce's personal doctor had explained how the man's heart was slowly corrupting. Ever since then, Bruce had been restricted on bedrest in the hospital until his heartbeat could stabilise.

Clark despised this. He could see Bruce's face in the darkness, and he could tell that Bruce was suffering. He didn't need the doctor's comforting words about how Bruce might survive— he could hear his lover's heartbeats clearer than the medical gadgets.

Bruce wasn't going to survive.

This was his third minor heart attack in a month.

His heart wasn't able to withstand the pressure.

Clark knew this day would come.

Bruce's body had never recovered completely from the injuries he withstood in his glory years as Batman. They'd just became an illness, which had been tamed when he was young and strong. Now, as he became older and frail, those old injuries came striking as aftereffects.

"Bruce..."

Bruce's fingers twitched under Clark's call. The man slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his husband.

The Kryptonian looked distressed, and Bruce detested it. He knew the condition of his own health, and despite the encouragements from the doctors and the nurses, he knew that there was only a minor possibility for him to survive. Even if he did survive, he would probably have to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair and consuming large amounts of medication every day, while anticipating when the next heart attack would come.

That didn't fit his style of life.

"Clark, please stop acting like I'm already dead." Bruce sighed. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

The remark struck Clark. As always, Bruce spoke like he had everything under control. He might have a point, but nothing could be changed.

"You're here, for now. But tomorrow... who knows?" Clark laughed bitterly. "I'll still be in this world the second you die, Bruce. I'll have to watch you leave this world. And the last thing I would remember about you would be this moment – in which you're bedridden in the hospital instead of our home."

The smart comment took Bruce aback. He fell silent. Clark was right. This could be his last night, and he would probably die in this poor excuse of a bed. How depressing.

"Then... why don't we sneak out?"

Clark jerked up at the suggestion. His eyes wide with shock. "Are you crazy, Bruce? We shouldn't do that! The doctor said ̶ "

"Oh, come on, Clark," Bruce huffed. "You and I knew about my heart better than the doctor."

Bruce looked tired, Clark realized. Not physically tired, but tired of being stuck in the hospital which reeked of medicines and depression, the entire atmosphere. Something about his state brought an ache to Clark's heart, a pain he had never prepared for.

"I miss our home, Clark," Bruce confessed. "If this is the last day of my life, I would rather spend it like any ordinary day. I want my last moment to be a wonderful memory for you, Clark. I want it to be a memory where you can look back and smile. As you said, you hate to see me bedridden in the hospital as well. Right?"