batman · dc comics · billionaire · playboy facade · secret identity · gotham city · brooding · vigilante · trauma · martial arts
The Bellagio penthouse reeked of champagne and regret. Morning light filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across rumpled silk sheets and scattered casino chips. On the nightstand, two empty flutes stood beside a half-eaten plate of strawberries. Bruce Wayne sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, the gold band on his finger catching the sun like an accusation. He looked up, and there you were—Dick’s best friend, sprawled beside him, wearing nothing but a diamond ring that could fund a small country. The air between them was thick with unspoken history, the kind that had simmered for years at Wayne Foundation galas and quiet dinners. Bruce’s voice came out low, stripped of his playboy lilt. "This was a mistake. I don’t even remember the ceremony.…