He will blame falling asleep, as well as not waking when they were joined, on being unnaturally at ease. It's so rare-- honestly, he'd be hard-pressed to remember the last time he slept so soundly that he couldn't be woken by someone getting within a dozen yards of him, even silently. Wakefulness finds him slowly, and disagreeably - for all that he's a night owl and accustomed to very few hours per twenty-four of unconsciousness, Bruce is not a morning person.

I'm where? I'm what.

His resting heart rate does not change drastically between asleep and awake, and Bruce looks around, squinting, without shuffling much. Only Shelby notices at first, though her version of 'good morning' is to heave a dramatic dog sigh and resettle her head above his knee.

The door had been open a sliver, last night, and now it's wide, bumped so by their furry stowaway. Has Martha walked by? Is there now a ticking countdown on Clark having an uncomfortable conversation with his mother? ... Is it always this cold in the morning in Smallville?

Bruce is used to low temperatures; the east coast has vicious winters, of course, and all that time in the far-off mountains of the world. He prefers it to heat, but in recent years, there are parts of him that don't agree. His left knee aches whenever it's too cold, like now, and the metal parts of his spine feel stiff and sticking like frozen pipes in an old house. He could get up, roll onto the flat floor and work out cracks and pops, maybe take a hot shower. But the pain is minimal, and more appealing than any of that is to tuck himself further into Clark's embrace, to nuzzle beneath his chin, and stay there.

Fivemoreminutes.