Chapter Text
Bruce hates the start of the term.
Nothing is rhythmic yet– he has to reset all of his routines. And,it doesn’t help that his editorial team gets squirrely as they step back into The Texas Student’s Newsroom. The Newsroom, however, is Bruce’s safe space: a circular offshoot of the University of Texas’ student center. There’s bright mustard bean bag chairs littered across the floor. Large tables with sheets of loose leaf paper with notes scribbled in Lois’ chicken scratch and Bruce’s neat cursive. Polaroid pictures taped to the bottom of the various desktops. (One of Bruce, less than sober at their Holiday Party. He told Jimmy to take it down. It’s still up, seven months later.)
Bruce kept himself busy while he waited for his editors to arrive, filing the papers into their respective desks and fluffing the bean bags. He’d beat Lois there, his co-editor-in-chief, but it was easy to be early when Lois Lane ran on her own time continuum. He bit at the skin around his thumb until it began to bleed.
“That’s a bad habit, Bruce.”
Bruce whirled himself around to see Diana. She held two cardboard drink holders. Her hair was pulled up in an uncharacteristic ponytail with dark brown curls begging to be free. When a curl fell in her eye, she blew furiously at it. He took a tray from her, and snatched up his iced Americano like a baby on the verge of a tantrum.
“Shut up.” was all Bruce said in reply.
The rest of the editors began to dribble in, each in varied states of preparation. Jimmy was on the phone as he entered, as he haggled hotel price fees for Sports Editorial staff to travel to away games for the upcoming athletic season. If the scowl and flush on his face said anything– it wasn’t going well.
Kara trailed behind Jimmy, her posture slouched and her eyes somehow already unimpressed. She wedged her drink from the holder and then flopped down into her favorite bean bag.
Kara hummed as she sipped. “Lady Di, you’ve done it again.”
Diana grinned and ruffled Kara’s hair. “Why, thank you, Karebear!”
Diana was a part-time barista at Bruce’s second safe space: Jitters. It meant free coffee for editorial staff meetings, and, even better, that Bruce got to avoid barista small talk if he went in. (What he made up for in a lack of charm, he paid for in hefty tips. He knows himself enough to balance it out.)
Lois, Cat, and Lex all came in as a cacophony of noise. Cat looked to Bruce, her bottom lip poked out and her eyes all wide. Bruce couldn’t make out what they were arguing about, as their words overlapped, sticking to one another and inching up in volume as they entered the center of the room. But he knew that Lex was probably at fault.
Bruce rolled his eyes. “Lex, leave Lois alone.”
Lex leveled a stare of challenge at Bruce. Bruce stared back. Lex, with a melodramatic groan of frustration, gave up and skulked to the nearest seat. Bruce picked up a coffee so creamy and pale that it was almost the same shade as Bruce himself in winter, and handed it to Lois. “Your sludge, Lane.”
Lois gave Lex one last glare before she took the coffee from Bruce.
Diana handed Bruce a bandaid. Bruce screwed his face up. “What’s this f–”
Diana pointed to the small well of blood growing on his thumb, wagging her finger like she was talking to a toddler. “This is why we don’t bite at our fingers.”
“Truly, Bruce, you would think at 300 years old you’d know not to be a nail biter.” Kara said before throwing back her matcha.
Bruce flicked the girl's forehead. “I am three years older than you. And only two and a half years older than Jimmy.”
Jimmy smiled as Kara rubbed at her injury. “You know our birthdays?”
“No.” Yes. Bruce looked away from Jimmy’s awestruck smile.
Lois left the babysitting to him as she wheeled her favorite dry-erase board to the huddle they’d formed. Jimmy, Kara, and Kendra were all thrown across the bean bag chairs. Lex had perched himself on a stool. Cat had taken to leaning against one of the tables.
Bruce couldn’t help but smile even as he wrapped the bandaid around his thumb. He’d been a part of the Student since his freshman year, and he’d learned these peoples’ ways. Even their rookies– Jimmy, Kara, and Kendra– had cemented themselves into the Student’s culture.
“Alright. We’ve got 6 months to create something worth Best Student Paper and Best Profile. Go.” Lois said. She stuck the cap of her dry erase marker in the side of her mouth like it was an unlit cigarette.
Best Paper and Best Profile were the only Student Emmys the Texas Student hadn’t won during his and Lois’ time as writers for the paper. The Student hadn’t won Best Paper since Bruce’s mother’s time as editor-in-chief twenty-some years ago. This was his chance to leave something important behind; to prove himself a Wayne.
Bruce leaned in, ready to hear what the editors had to offer.
“Why don’t we do something on Bruce? I mean, he’s a legacy? Future billionaire? Nice cheekbones?” Cat suggested, punctuating her last point with a wink.
Bruce shook his head. “No.”
The team deflated. They’d tried this before. There’s nothing that journalism students love more than a public mystery, and Bruce was as public-facing a mystery as it could get. But he liked it like that. It was comforting to know that despite his status as the heir to Wayne Media Enterprises (and, more obviously, the Wayne in the UT Wayne School of Journalism), there were still things that people didn’t know about him. He liked that. Being an open, yet unexplored secret.
His team hated it, and Bruce knew that, but he wasn’t willing to spill himself onto paper for the Emmys. That was a line he just simply wouldn’t cross.
“What about Clark Kent?” Jimmy looked around, a slight smile across his face.
Kara snorted and Lex let out a loud, suffering groan. “Stop subjecting us to your Superman fandom, James.”
“Clark’s a fucking nerd anyway. We’d get pages and pages of fluff. I mean seriously, he’s about as interesting as a grilled cheese,” said Kara. ”
“Clark has led us to 3 winning seasons straight for the first time in thirty-five years, Kara.” Jimmy snapped back. “People love him! He’s good-looking. He’s nice. If we did a profile on him people would eat it up.”
Lois looked at Bruce, her eyebrow raised as if to say, Well, Co-Chief?
Clark ‘Superman’ Kent, the Quarterback to the Texas Armadillos, was so radiant, it hurt to look at him. Rumors never stuck to him. He was ineffable, tall, and always smiling. If Clark had bad days, Bruce had never heard about them. If there was something to hear about Clark Kent, it would be devoured, with the bones licked clean.
He was glorious, they said. A gem of a football player and an even better person, they said. And Bruce has seen it. The dimples in Clark’s cheeks, the way he made playing elite-level football look easy. He couldn’t not see it. UT, and probably God for that matter, breathed football and exhaled Clark Kent.
Bruce sighed as he thought. His team looked at him expectantly; Jimmy was practically in full puppy-dog mode, big-eye-pleading at Bruce.
“Kara and Jimmy. Get me a meeting with Clark. Lois and I will reach out to the Armadillos media team to make sure they’re good with us on their turf.”
Jimmy giggled, trailing off as he was met with silence and raised eyebrows.
“Sorry, turf. Like… like turf? Football pun.”
Bruce sighed, again.
Kara raised her hand. “Why do I have to bring Jimmy?”
“Because you need a babysitter.” He and Lois said in unison.
“Jinx!” Lois said, while Kara bemoaned not only having to visit her cousin, but having to bring Jimmy with her. Jimmy, on the other hand, was oblivious. Bruce knew he was already wondering if the rumor that Clark smelled like fresh-baked cookies was true. Or if the rumor that Clark could fly if the weather was nice enough could be proven on his visit.
Bruce sipped at his Americano as the rest of the team devolved into giggling and teasing, hiding a faint smile behind his cup. Sure, Bruce didn’t like the beginning of the year, but he didn’t mind this.