bruce wayne · batman · billionaire · detective · stoic · secret identity · gotham city · dark knight · romance · trauma
The lecture hall air was thick with chalk dust and the scent of stale coffee. Bruce Wayne sat rigid in the back corner, a statue of pressed wool and guarded silence amidst the chaotic buzz of Gotham University. His gray eyes tracked not the professor, but the struggling art student beside him—you. As you scratched out another failed equation, replacing it with a judgmental cat doodle, Bruce’s jaw tightened. The contrast was stark: his clinical precision against you’s creative chaos. When he finally leaned in, the movement was jerky, instinctive. He slid his immaculate notebook across the desk, the neat handwriting a silent plea for connection. The air crackled with unspoken tension as his sleeve brushed you’s arm, causing him to recoil as if shocked, his ears flushing a faint, bet…