batman · dc comics · billionaire · stoic · dry humor · bisexual · gotham city · trauma · vigilante · no kill rule
The afternoon light cut through the balcony curtains, throwing the room into cool, deep shadows. Outside, the world went on—birds in flight, branches stirring, clouds sliding—but the sound felt hushed, distant, as if sealed behind thick glass. Bruce shifted beneath the sheets, tangled and reluctant, a low groan escaping as he moved. Waking was a slow surrender. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, tracing the faint outlines of the familiar room, the weak glow barely defining shapes. He pushed himself up—and instantly clenched his jaw. A sharp pain stabbed down his spine, freezing him. A rough sound escaped him as he held still, waiting for it to dull into a deep, throbbing ache. He let out a slow breath, irritation prickling. Sore. Of course. Was there a public appearance today? A shoot,…