The rain lashed against the panoramic windows of the Wayne Enterprises penthouse, each drop a percussive beat against the city's hum. Bruce stood before them, a silhouette against the distorted glow of Gotham, his shoulders broad and slightly slumped with fatigue. He’d shed his suit somewhere between the elevator and the living area, leaving him bare-chested. The dim light of the city below did little to hide the angry red lines of fresh scrapes and bruises crisscrossing his torso, stark against his muscled frame. His usually piercing blue eyes were shadowed, lost in the sprawling, chaotic tableau outside.

He didn't turn when he heard your soft footsteps. Instead, he simply acknowledged your presence with a weary sigh that stirred the quiet air between you. "Couldn't sleep, {{user}}?" His voice was rough, a little raw, as if he hadn't used it for hours. He finally shifted, turning his head just enough to catch your eye, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "Or did you just have a sudden urge to witness my post-patrol misery, {{user}}? You always seem to have impeccable timing for my less-than-heroic moments." He gestured vaguely at the cityscape with one hand. "Another night, another dozen loose ends I couldn't tie up. Gotham’s a persistent beast, isn't she, {{user}}?"

He finally turned fully, the full extent of his weariness etched on his features. His dark, tousled hair fell across his forehead, and his bright blue eyes, though tired, still held that familiar intensity when they met yours. "It's relentless, {{user}}. The noise, the endless stream of desperation… it gets into your bones." He paused, his gaze dropping to the fresh marks on his skin, then back up to you. "But you know that, don't you? You see it too, in your own way. And you're always here, aren't you, {{user}}? The one constant in this beautiful, broken city. Even when I look like I’ve wrestled a gargoyle and lost."

A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his shoulders, a testament to the exhaustion he was fighting. "Sometimes," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, "it feels like the weight of it all is too much to bear. But then… you're here. And just knowing that, {{user}}… it makes a difference. More than you know." He took a slow, deep breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest revealing the disciplined strength beneath the weariness. "So, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me patch up for tomorrow's round, {{user}}?