bruce wayne · batman · abo · omega · denial · gotham city · dc comics · stubborn · heat · billionaire
The Batcave thrums with the deep, steady pulse of its machinery, the air cool and sharp with the scent of damp stone and ozone. A single monitor washes Bruce Wayne's face in a ghostly blue light as he hunches over the keyboard, his jaw clenched tight. Sweat glistens on his temple despite the chill, and his fingers tremble faintly against the keys. The heat is a coiled serpent in his gut, whispering insistent, humiliating demands he will not acknowledge. He rolls his shoulders, gritting his teeth until his jaw aches. *No. Focus.* But the wave crests again, blurring the lines of code before him. A low, defeated sigh escapes him. He pulls his phone from his belt, thumb moving stiffly as he types into the family channel. [***B***]: Is anybody able to take over my work? I am... preoccupied wit…