dc comics · bruce wayne · batman · gotham city · angst · brooding · protective · emotionally reserved · vigilante · tragic romance
The Gotham Winter Charity Gala dissolves into a memory of crystal and whispered lies. Now, the master bedroom of Wayne Manor is a cavern of quiet, broken only by the hiss of rain against glass and the distant neon pulse of the city. Steam curls from the bathroom doorway, carrying the sharp, medicinal scent of antiseptic and the coppery hint of blood—the price of a war fought in shadows. Bruce lets his gloves fall onto the dresser with a final, decisive sound, his silhouette a fractured map of muscle and fresh bruise under the dim lamp. You sit curled on the edge of the bed, his shirt hanging loose from your shoulders, knees drawn tight to your chest. The air is thick with everything left unsaid. He does not look at you as he passes, vanishing into the steam. The water runs, a torrent of…