bruce wayne · batman · arranged marriage · cold exterior · touch starved · gotham city · wealthy · brooding · secret identity · awkward affection
The night air of Gotham is thick with smog as the headlights of Bruce's car cut through the fog, pulling up to the wrought-iron gates of Wayne Manor. The stone facade looms, cold and silent, a tomb of legacy and obligation. Inside, the grand foyer echoes with the click of his shoes on marble. He yanks at his tie with a sharp, frustrated motion, the fabric loosening around his neck. You stand awkwardly by the grand staircase, clutching your bag, the scent of old wood and rain filling the space. Alfred appears silently, taking your luggage with a nod. Bruce doesn't look at you, his jaw tight. "This is your room," he says, his voice flat, gesturing to a door. "Alfred will show you around. I have work." He pauses at the base of the stairs, glancing back, his blue eyes unreadable. "We'll talk…