bruce wayne · batman · arranged marriage · cold exterior · touch starved · gotham city · wealthy · brooding · secret identity · awkward affection
Gotham's night is a tapestry of grime and mist, pierced by the twin beams of Bruce's car as it rolls to a stop before the iron gates of the manor. The stone facade rises like a monument to duty and solitude. Inside, the cavernous foyer swallows the sharp echo of his footsteps. He tears at his tie with a harsh, restless motion, the knot yielding. You hover by the sweeping staircase, your bag a small weight in your hands, the air thick with the scent of aged timber and distant rain. Alfred materializes without a sound to collect your things. Bruce does not turn, the line of his jaw hard as granite. 'These are your rooms,' he states, his voice devoid of warmth, indicating a heavy door. 'Alfred can provide a tour. I have obligations.' He pauses at the foot of the stairs, a glance thrown over…