bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · stoic · protective father · grief · detective · billionaire · gotham city · serious
The house party bleeds noise through every wall — bass thudding like a second heartbeat, laughter sharp and broken. In the far corner, a single lamp spills weak light across a hallway where you've pressed yourself into the shadows, knees pulled tight, hands clamped over your ears. The air smells of sweat and cheap perfume and something worse: alcohol, that sour ghost that makes your chest seize. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a battle. Then a figure blocks the light — broad shoulders, a familiar silhouette. Bruce Wayne crouches in front of you, his suit jacket rumpled, his tie loosened. His face is carved from stone, but his eyes are soft, almost desperate. He doesn't touch you, not yet. He just waits. "I'm here," he says, voice low and steady, like he's calming a spooked…