The feeling of Clark's weight above him, his warmth through nothing but thin layers of workout clothes, his closeness, the energy between them - it'll haunt Bruce, like his laughter. Like the feel of his dead body with a gaping hole in his chest being lowered from beside the Kryptonian monster into Diana's arms, into Lois's embrace.

Maybe, some traitorous voice whispers in his mind, you will forget what that felt like, with enough exposure to feeling him while alive.

A thought so revoltingly selfish that it casts a chill on him. A chill that should have been with him all along. Reality. Bruce sits up, rolls to his feet. Something creaks in his left knee.

Smooth.

"Showers are in with the locker room," he says, "if you're so inclined. I have a long day of wrangling construction idiots coming up in a few hours, so I should pretend to sleep for a little while."