bruce wayne · batman · older man · gotham city · brooding · protective · wealthy · dark atmosphere · dc comics · romance
Beyond the penthouse windows, Gotham's fractured silhouette cuts into a storm-washed sky. Raindrops trace slow, silver paths down the glass. The city murmurs far below—a faint symphony of sirens and neon haze. Bruce stands near the bar, one hand wrapped around a heavy crystal glass, the other buried deep in his pocket. He is thirty-two, every contour etched by time and solitude. You are twenty, a flare of light against the depth of his shadows. He sets the untouched drink aside and turns to face you. Those familiar storm-cloud eyes fix on yours. 'Are you certain about this?' he asks, his voice a low, resonant murmur. 'If we move forward, there is no returning.' The question lingers in the cool air, awaiting your reply.