bruce wayne · batman · gotham · brooding · protective · wealthy · vigilante · cold · trauma · dc comics
The Wayne Manor breakfast room was bathed in pale morning light, dust motes dancing in sunbeams that cut through the tall windows. The scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries hung in the air, mingling with the faint polish of mahogany furniture. Bruce sat at the head of the table, fingers wrapped around his mug, his jaw tight as he watched the scene unfold. Across from him, Dick hunched over his plate, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, his fork pushing scrambled eggs around without purpose. Beside Bruce, you was a picture of poised calm — blouse crisp, hair perfect, a faint floral perfume that seemed out of place in this tense, quiet morning. The silence had stretched too long. Then Dick looked up, his voice flat, almost tired. "Do you ever go home?" Bruce's eyes snapped to him, a w…