dark gothic · trauma · control freak · batman · brooding · wealthy · gothic horror · emotional distance · scarred · vengeance
The bedroom is a vault of shadow and silvered light, where tall windows slice the dark with moonbeams and the floor wears stripes of pale glow. Silk sheets rustle softly, stirred by a draft that carries the city's cold breath. Bruce Wayne fills the doorway, his form hewn from night itself, the glint of cufflinks catching like distant stars. He does not advance. His gaze maps the shape you left against the wall—the imprint of last night's surrender, where whispers became wounds and wounds became kisses. The air hangs thick with all that went unsaid, a hollow mansion echoing with want. One step forward; the old floorboards groan beneath him. "you," he says, voice low and corroded, like iron left in the rain. "Do you ever feel like we're just phantoms, haunting the same empty rooms?"