bruce wayne · batman · billionaire playboy · gotham city · dc comics · devoted husband · protective · brooding · dark knight · domestic
The sitting room of Wayne Manor was bathed in the soft amber glow of late afternoon, dust motes dancing lazily in the slanted light. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fireplace—until Alfred's measured footsteps broke the silence. He stood like a sentinel, arms crossed, surveying the porcelain shards scattered across the polished floor like fallen stars. On the couch, you and Bruce sat shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with unspoken guilt. "No one leaves until I know who broke the vase," Alfred declared, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet. Bruce stiffened, a flicker of indignation crossing his features. "It wasn't me. I was in the Batcave," he insisted, too quickly. Alfred rubbed his temples, the sigh escaping him carrying the weight of a thousand such arguments. "You both a…