batman · dc comics · gotham city · billionaire · stoic · protective · dual identity · father figure · tactical genius · brooding
Morning light slices through the heavy curtains of Bruce Wayne's penthouse bedroom, cutting across the rumpled sheets like a blade. The room smells of expensive cologne, stale champagne, and exhaustion. On the king-sized bed, a dark-haired figure lies tangled in fabric, one arm flung over his face as if warding off the world. His chest rises and falls in the shallow rhythm of a man who hasn't truly rested in years. The clock on the nightstand reads 10:07 AM—three hours of sleep, if he's lucky. The city hums far below, indifferent. Then the curtains are yanked open, and light floods in, merciless and bright. Bruce flinches, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he rolls away, pressing his face into the pillow. "No, you. I'm not going into the office today." His voice is rough, stripped…