[But there isn't any laughter in his voice, and he doesn't explain. Just the slightest quirk of his mouth that wavers- an in-joke for another time. Showing off- performing, it's something Dick does with nearly everything, no matter the subject matter or how genuinely he considers it.
Except now. Beyond the initially entry of sliding down off the window ledge, and moving aside so that Fitz can lock it up behind him, he's still. Staring off at a point just above the headboard, face turned away. He's- not used to this part, for all the various people who've tried to be this for him, over the years.
He's always done this part, mostly alone. Fray apart at the edges, and then a little bit more- and always managed to find some way to tie the ends back together, fingers raw. No matter how anyone's ever tried to help- they'd only ever managed to mildly delay the inevitable. It's what he expects Fitz to be able to do, because truthfully, he's been fraying apart for months, before he'd even gotten here- and Bruce's arrival has done nothing but drag it to the forefront. The last thing he can afford, at this moment, is to come apart.
But unlike most- Fitz doesn't push. Asks him about dinner, of all things. Like that's why Dick is here- to leech off a free meal, needle Fitz about his organizational system- bump shoulders and be on his way, before Fitz can start a work shift. He likes that about him- that everything seems to go with only Dick's comfort level in mind. There's a laugh- something a little ugly, not quite right- but the fondness that flickers across his expression before his hands run through his hair, is what's become standard.
Instead of answering, he's kicking off the lazy, untied sneakers he'd been wearing, and finally turning to face him, eyes and cheeks slightly reddened, but old- he'd already done all the crying he felt like he was going to do, hours before, and pads over gently. It's convenient, that Fitz has made himself a leaning figure against his desk, because all Dick does, is slot his foot neatly between Fitz', to be able to get close, and bridges the rest of the distance, until his nose is pressing hard into the groove of Fitz shoulder, and more of his weight is resting on him, than on the balls of his feet.]
no subject
[But there isn't any laughter in his voice, and he doesn't explain. Just the slightest quirk of his mouth that wavers- an in-joke for another time. Showing off- performing, it's something Dick does with nearly everything, no matter the subject matter or how genuinely he considers it.
Except now. Beyond the initially entry of sliding down off the window ledge, and moving aside so that Fitz can lock it up behind him, he's still. Staring off at a point just above the headboard, face turned away. He's- not used to this part, for all the various people who've tried to be this for him, over the years.
He's always done this part, mostly alone. Fray apart at the edges, and then a little bit more- and always managed to find some way to tie the ends back together, fingers raw. No matter how anyone's ever tried to help- they'd only ever managed to mildly delay the inevitable. It's what he expects Fitz to be able to do, because truthfully, he's been fraying apart for months, before he'd even gotten here- and Bruce's arrival has done nothing but drag it to the forefront. The last thing he can afford, at this moment, is to come apart.
But unlike most- Fitz doesn't push. Asks him about dinner, of all things. Like that's why Dick is here- to leech off a free meal, needle Fitz about his organizational system- bump shoulders and be on his way, before Fitz can start a work shift. He likes that about him- that everything seems to go with only Dick's comfort level in mind. There's a laugh- something a little ugly, not quite right- but the fondness that flickers across his expression before his hands run through his hair, is what's become standard.
Instead of answering, he's kicking off the lazy, untied sneakers he'd been wearing, and finally turning to face him, eyes and cheeks slightly reddened, but old- he'd already done all the crying he felt like he was going to do, hours before, and pads over gently. It's convenient, that Fitz has made himself a leaning figure against his desk, because all Dick does, is slot his foot neatly between Fitz', to be able to get close, and bridges the rest of the distance, until his nose is pressing hard into the groove of Fitz shoulder, and more of his weight is resting on him, than on the balls of his feet.]