Bruce is staring abstractly downward, trying to uncoil from his hedgehog-like defensiveness about being conscious while at the same time trying to convince himself to get up and leave. He doesn't want to leave, he wants to grab Clark and curl up with him and
Bruce abruptly rises and faces away from him, on the edge of the bed. He runs one hand through his hair, noting that he's still fully dressed and probably somewhat gross from sleeping that way. He sits there with his elbows on his knees, not saying anything.
Eventually: "That's the ugliest plant, you couldn't get a ficus?"
On the windowsill in the center, there's some kind of ferny green thing with silver protrusions. Bruce swears it looks bigger than it did when he noticed it last night, too, must be pretty fast-growing. Clark should chuck it before it develops mold. Bruce rubs his face, knowing his voice is rough with sleep.
no subject
Bruce abruptly rises and faces away from him, on the edge of the bed. He runs one hand through his hair, noting that he's still fully dressed and probably somewhat gross from sleeping that way. He sits there with his elbows on his knees, not saying anything.
Eventually: "That's the ugliest plant, you couldn't get a ficus?"
On the windowsill in the center, there's some kind of ferny green thing with silver protrusions. Bruce swears it looks bigger than it did when he noticed it last night, too, must be pretty fast-growing. Clark should chuck it before it develops mold. Bruce rubs his face, knowing his voice is rough with sleep.