[He has almost no time to say it at all. Bruce barely feels his own weight- which is to say that he's aware of it, but isn't sure how he's standing up beneath it. Water pours off of him in thick rivulets, it pools around his sock-covered feet and seeps through the slats- it drops into his eyes and makes his lashes clump together.
He could look like someone's dog in a way, for the rope that's tied and then looped around his wrist- cinching the material of his sweater against his skin and stretching it to the point of near comical asymmetry. The other end of it is slack on the ground between them, a line that doesn't really connect them, only suggests that a connection was once there.
They're both out of breath, they're both hurt, if the careful shape of the man's hands is anything to judge by. But instead of taking the moment to recover, he turns to run. Bruce doesn't need comfort. He needs answers. The man pivots his weight and his stride is too long, even for his height. Bruce's hands slowly leave the meat of his thighs, only to double over at the last moment- he'd been too eager to stand up straight. Too fast. It means that when he calls out to him, knowing that his breaths are numbered and that why or how or who are you all beg to be asked- what he chooses instead is gratitude.
Bruce can't chase him, but his gaze finds the man's back and follows it. Follows until there isn't anything to see anymore.]
no subject
[He has almost no time to say it at all. Bruce barely feels his own weight- which is to say that he's aware of it, but isn't sure how he's standing up beneath it. Water pours off of him in thick rivulets, it pools around his sock-covered feet and seeps through the slats- it drops into his eyes and makes his lashes clump together.
He could look like someone's dog in a way, for the rope that's tied and then looped around his wrist- cinching the material of his sweater against his skin and stretching it to the point of near comical asymmetry. The other end of it is slack on the ground between them, a line that doesn't really connect them, only suggests that a connection was once there.
They're both out of breath, they're both hurt, if the careful shape of the man's hands is anything to judge by. But instead of taking the moment to recover, he turns to run. Bruce doesn't need comfort. He needs answers. The man pivots his weight and his stride is too long, even for his height. Bruce's hands slowly leave the meat of his thighs, only to double over at the last moment- he'd been too eager to stand up straight. Too fast. It means that when he calls out to him, knowing that his breaths are numbered and that why or how or who are you all beg to be asked- what he chooses instead is gratitude.
Bruce can't chase him, but his gaze finds the man's back and follows it.
Follows until there isn't anything to see anymore.]