For just a second he tenses beneath that touch, but then his shoulders ease and he lets himself be steered. More than that, he lets gaze linger on their surroundings, trusting Bruce not to let him stumble over or into anything. By the time they reach the bedroom he's...reasonably confident he could find the kitchen again, at least, and also - strangely desolate.

Everything is beautiful, in an ominous sort of way, but it's so lifeless. The biggest house they've got in their sanctuary is maybe a quarter of this, at the very best; all of them have mismatched furniture, peeling paint and scarred walls.

Any one of them is more comfortable than this manor, and his chest aches a little - not for the year he's about to spend here, so much, but the years Bruce already has.

He only nods, at first, before his eyes widen in realisation. "Closet - oh. I'll need something to sleep in."

In his own home he'd be fine sleeping in boxers; in Gotham not so much.