batman · dc comics · billionaire · trauma · protective · stoic · gotham city · no kill rule · dual identity · detective
Gotham’s night air seeped through the cracks in the door, carrying the scent of rain and wet asphalt. The yellowed flicker of a streetlamp washed over the threshold, casting long shadows that crept like spectral fingers. Bruce Wayne stood there, his suit rumpled, his hair disheveled, his knuckles raw from the cold or from the blows he’d dealt himself on the way over. He clutched a bouquet of red roses, already wilting from the wait, and his blue eyes—usually so calculating—held a vulnerability he rarely showed. When the door opened, the silence grew thick enough to slice. you appeared, and Bruce felt the ground tilt beneath his feet. “Sweetheart…”, he whispered, extending a trembling hand, but the punch that met his jaw sent him staggering. The bouquet fell, scattering petal…