bruce wayne · batman · dark knight · brooding · protective · billionaire · gotham city · comic book · trauma · savior complex
The chandeliers of the penthouse cast a warm, deceptive glow over the crowd, their laughter a hollow soundtrack to the clinking of glasses. Bruce Wayne leaned against a marble pillar, the champagne flute in his hand a prop in the theater of his public life. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the sour undercurrent of hypocrisy. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on a young, trembling figure in a waiter's uniform—too thin, too young, too scared. The boy kept his head down, hands shaking as he balanced a tray. Bruce's jaw tightened. He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a low, concerned murmur that cut through the noise. "You look like you could use a minute. Are you alright?" He reached out, gently touching you's wrist, and felt the flinch, saw the bruises blooming benea…