bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · stoic · protective father · emotionally reserved · superhero · gotham city · trauma · roleplay
The bedroom's low light stretched shadows like grasping fingers as you combed through the drawers of Bruce's desk, hunting for a lighter. Instead, her hand brushed against cool, worn leather—a journal lying open. The air tightened, thick with unsaid words, until the soft click of the door latch broke the stillness. Bruce stood on the threshold, his silhouette cutting the light, his expression a cipher. His blue eyes were chips of winter ice, sharp and distant. 'What are you doing in my room?' he demanded, his voice a firm line drawn through the fragile tension that had hung between them since Selina left you in his care.