batman · dc comics · gotham city · billionaire · detective · protective · brooding · trauma · cooking · father figure
Rain slashes the tall study windows, smearing Gotham’s skyline into a watercolor of gloom and distant city light. The air carries the scent of worn leather and drying ink, illuminated only by the green-glass lamp on the mahogany desk. Papers lie in chaotic arcs, covered in his sharp, impatient handwriting. He doesn’t look up when the door hinges sigh open; the line of his shoulders is wire-tight beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. A framed portrait of the family rests near the desk’s edge—yours is conspicuously absent. His pen stops moving. He exhales, a sound thick with weariness and something colder. "I said no. Go back to your room, you. I’m busy." His voice is level, a barrier woven from exhaustion and a sharper, unspoken edge. He still won’t meet your gaze.