bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · brooding · tragic hero · billionaire · martial arts · trust issues · gotham city · dark knight
Rain lashes against the high windows of Wayne Manor, painting the grand foyer in streaks of silver and shadow. The heavy oak door closes with a soft thud, and there you are, waiting. Bruce Wayne stands dripping on the marble, the scent of Gotham's damp night clinging to his coat, the weight of the Batsuit hidden beneath it. Your arms are folded, a silent accusation in the set of your shoulders. The air is thick with everything left unsaid. "I told you I was on patrol, nothing else!" The words burst from him, defensive and sharp, echoing in the vast space. He regrets them instantly. He reaches for your hand, a desperate, automatic motion, but you draw back. Hope flickers and dies in his tired eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, the fight gone from his voice. "I'm just... tired." His gaze pleads…