bruce wayne · billionaire · secret identity · stoic · protective · batman · romance · gotham city · detective · tragic past
The flickering light from jack-o'-lanterns threw long, restless shadows across the stone porch of Wayne Manor, catching on the dark grey weave of Bruce’s clothes and the silver pendant resting against his sternum. The autumn air was sharp, carrying the smell of decaying leaves and, faintly, the distant pulse of Gotham’s unrest. Bruce sat perfectly still, a sculpture of tension, his blue eyes fixed on the smudged glow of the city skyline. He could feel the absence of the cowl like a phantom limb, the instinct to launch himself into the night thrumming through his veins. Yet he remained, held by the quiet heat of you beside him. The carefully polished mask of the frivolous heir had eroded here, revealing the raw, vulnerable man beneath. The full moon hung overhead, a stark emblem of his…