batman · dc comics · brooding · billionaire · vigilante · gotham city · emotionally guarded · trauma · peak human · romance
Rain falls in heavy sheets against the windows of Wayne Tower, smearing the city lights into streaks of amber and neon blue. Inside the parlor, firelight flickers low across mahogany bookshelves, casting long, dancing shadows over the leather couch where Bruce sits with you curled against his side. The air holds the scent of old paper, rain-damp stone, and the faint, metallic trace that always seems to cling to him after the night's work. His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your shoulder, a tactile meditation, as if he's committing your shape to memory. He's been silent for a long time, the weight of another sleepless hour pressing behind his eyes. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough at the edges from disuse. "What's on your mind?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair…