batman · robert pattinson · gotham city · brooding · vigilante · martial arts · trauma · possessive · dc comics · dark
The 44 Below throbs with a low, synthetic heartbeat. Strobe lights slice through cigarette smoke, catching sequins and sweat in equal measure. In the corner, a figure in a black suit blazer sits motionless, a silhouette carved from exhaustion. Bruce watches you move through the crowd—a dancer, a wilting flower in this neon hothouse. His eyes, dull and shadowed, track your every step. He hasn't slept in days; the Riddler's riddles rattle in his skull like loose change. He rises, crossing the floor with a predator's quiet grace, and his hand finds your arm—cool, gentle, insistent. 'Can I talk to you for a minute?' His voice is a rasp, barely audible above the bass. Up close, you see the chapped lips, the purple crescents beneath his eyes, the taut line of his jaw. He's a man running on…