The suit's expensive. Most of what he wears is. Even the jeans and hoodie he'll change into, to go out again at some later point were 'nice' - they're just old as hell and beat half to death.
Bruce veers right when tugged, and looks up the street to see the direction they're going. "This is an area I'd choose if I wanted to pull off high profitable small scale crime," he admits. "But I don't think most would."
He'll figure out what to order - and how Matt uses a menu, maybe - when they get to the apartment. "I already have a room at a fairly expensive hotel. I'll make my exit some time before dawn. The public one, anyway. If I need to change before then I'll be more discrete in my exit and return."
"I think that's a way of saying the neighborhood is gentrified to hell, in which case I would agree with you," he says with a short laugh.
He picks up on a few double-takes. Probably not as many as they might get in Gotham but it's not as if Bruce Wayne is an entirely unknown quantity, especially for those with an interest in the gossip pages based on Matt's online searching. Good. This is already doing some of the work. Little hints dropped out in the world and breadcrumbs that a gullible press will follow.
"I might be the one who has to make a dramatic exit at some point," he answers. He has the intentions of staying in while they work on their cover story but he hears things and it's hard to ignore the world outside his window and beyond his rooftop sometimes. "I trust you to be discrete. I'm on the top floor--obviously. If that helps one way or another now or in the future."
"I'm glad to know my impressions aren't off base."
Bruce is noticing the occasional look, but there is no, even subconscious reaction to it. Not so much as a change in his heart rate or muscle tension.
"Top floor will help with discrete, both now and in the future. More in the future. I'm also prepared to be 'abandoned' if the need rises. If something comes up for me, I should be able to handle it without leaving. If I can't, you may get Superman in your living room. Fortunately, he's learned to open windows in the last decade or so." that one's fond.
They have a lot to talk about. Some of it things that haven't come up at all and have little to do with crime fighting.
"When I was growing up, this neighborhood was all of the rough Kitchen Irish families who'd been here since they got off the boat back when they were told they 'need not apply' and carved out a place. Then aliens came down and half of the neighborhood got wrecked and the developers came in to 'fix' it. Which meant rebuilding apartments without rent control no one could afford and trying to remind everyone we're supposed to call it Clinton or Midtown West," he answers before offering a faint, almost self conscious smile. That's not an unrehearsed rant, to say the least.
He notices Bruce's calm and keeps his own reaction steady. He's good at that because he's not supposed to know these things around him so he's well trained in a placid expression.
"I figured you, of all people, would understand that my schedule is sometimes filled last minute. And I do have a balcony so that might make things a little easier for him if he does." But Matt hopes there isn't an emergency on either of their parts. Outside of the constant fleeting hope that maybe the world will be quiet for a while, they have a lot to figure out. He gives Bruce's arm a soft squeeze again with a draw to a left turn. "We go three blocks down this way and it's the building on the right at the end of the block. Can't miss it."
"I've always lived outside Gotham, among the sprawling estates owned by the same families for generations. They're very much Ivory Towers by design. Even my father couldn't stand that part, even while he couldn't quite bring himself to live anywhere else."
There's no change in his pace or the cadence of it, but once he's sure of where he's going the motion itself becomes more... fluid. What he thinks, but does not say, is that he understands last minute interruptions, but also that sometimes you're just so damn tired that they ... hit harder than others. Even if they're not interrupting anything important and the tired is mostly not physical.
"A golden cage is still a cage, so I'm told," he answers with a faint shrug of his shoulders. A sprawling estate on its surface sounds lovely but it doesn't feel like Bruce thinks so. Not from his tone or the way he speaks of it.
Playing that part seems like it would be just as exhausting as the one that Matt himself performs every day. Illusions and deceptions for what is expected.
"Is it strange to say that I love Hell's Kitchen? I still do. Despite everything. There's never anywhere that's going to feel like home. That's why it's important to do what I can to help." On the surface, he could just as easily be speaking of his work as a lawyer. Helping around the neighborhood and lending assistance to the people he grew up around. They both know what it really means. Even if he stops sometimes because he gets broken down, bone deep tired from what it takes and what it has cost him, he comes back to the Kitchen. Every single time.
He keeps his head forward while they walk. "Directly behind you, maybe forty feet, someone snapped your picture. Quick gait, trying to keep up and still keep distance." He could hear the click of the lens.
"It was meant to be social commentary on the wealthy, not personal complaint," Bruce says, with a faint smile that warms his voice just a touch. "Much of the Manor is very... public space, and my attachment to it is more as a legacy than a home, but that would be true no matter what sort of place it was."
Probably. He is very attached to the City. Gotham is his. Wayne Manor is something he is the inheritor and...caretaker of, in a sense. His father and mother's that he happens to live in.
"It's very similar to my relationship with the family fortune, actually." Similar sort of thing. Use it well, keep the companies and businesses intact, grow them where he can, but they don't feel like this. "It is no more strange to love Hell's Kitchen than it is to live Gotham. It might even be less strange, since you live there." He has no problem with any of that being overheard, if it is, though.
"Thank you. Hopefully someone will appear in front of us so they get a picture that's not largely composed of my ass - however good it looks in these pants."
"Legacy is a strange thing to have to contend with," he answers, though he thinks they have very different histories and points of reference for that sort of thing. Matt's own is his memory of his father more than anything tangible like land and property but sometimes the immaterial is just as difficult to sort through.
Hell's Kitchen belongs to the Devil, if the papers are to be believed and in some way, maybe Matt internalizes that too. He has a stewardship over it that would be difficult to explain to most people but not, seemingly, to Bruce.
"Sometimes places are just in your blood. You can try to change the scenery but we are who we are," he replies with a faint tilt of his head toward Bruce. "Your ass might have to contend with mine for space on the tabloid cover. But when we get to my door, it's a buzzer system so we can stop at it and pause. Have a moment that they can take a good shot of." A little canoodling on the stoop of the apartment building seems like it might make a decent enough photograph for a tabloid. He can only assume Bruce Wayne was followed at a distance from when he arrived in the city by one zealous photographer since paparazzi are a rare thing in the neighborhood.
"Legacy will always be complicated." It's barely a murmur, because... physical or not, money or ethics or both, it simply is. He is more than intelligent enough to delve deeply into the topic, find the points of commonality and differences between the two of them.
But he's also just intelligent enough to not do that, at least right now.
"The amount of speculation about our respective asses that is likely to hit the papers is enough to almost make even me uncomfortable." Almost is relative. He does not care at all. He is slightly concerned about Matt, but. "If you want to give them a brief show, we can certainly do that. Just poke me if I'm taking it further than you want it taken."
Matt doesn't push the issue. It's not really his place to comment on the legacy of a wealthy family in Gotham any more than it would be Bruce's to comment on the one left by a broken down boxer to the son he wished wouldn't have to grow up to use his fists to fight. Funny how things work out.
He quietly scoffs at the remark and shakes his head. "Oh, I'm sure." The idea of scrutiny, even if it's built on a lie and half truth is still strange. Daredevil gets splashed across websites and youtube. Matt Murdock gets mentioned when he happens to associate with a case that matters but, like everything in the city, it's a glimmer of attention before it fades to the next big story. He's setting himself up to be part of a ruse that lingers longer than the public's care about a trial.
"I'm sure I'll let you know." It didn't feel like it'd have to be a huge presentation of public affection. As long as it wouldn't be construed as 'just friends' then it would be enough.
"I may be projecting," he says, tone very dry, "or paranoid." There's some humor in that, and in time he will trust communication to happen - without the 'stop' signaling being his nose getting broken.
Meanwhile he's not planning a make-out session on the building door, but fair warning and a method of stop determined between them just seems like the smart thing to do.
Meanwhile he slips his arm from Matt's hand, trails his fingers down to Matt's hand and weaves their fingers together. Still functional (to observers) but much less platonic and more obvious. especially staying as close as he is to the other man. "We'll be there soon."
He'll pretend he's not making a list of shit they need to cover, meanwhile.
A squeeze or a sound too soft to be heard by any interloper would be sufficient, he thinks, and Matt doesn't expect that he will ever have to escalate to the level of nose-breaking. In the world as Matt Murdock, he's good at tempering himself and his instincts in general anyway and Bruce doesn't seem like the type to flout that sort of thing without reason.
He tilts his head in Bruce's direction to offer a smile when he takes his hand; it offers a profile photograph, he figures, and he's been told that he's got a pretty good smile so he thinks it will add another piece to the puzzle. Sure enough, there's a couple of fast clicks of the camera. For an amateur, he thinks he's got pretty good instincts so far as to what presenting this brand of image to the world means.
They still have a lot to figure out. Stories to rehearse and lies to form so that they know they're telling the same one. His usual brand of half-truths and outright fabrications is a solo effort so this is a new challenge.
The list of things they're going to talk about, by necessity, is long and covers a lot of ground. Some of the ground it covers is why Bruce's concern about getting punched in the face might be called 'projection', but that can wait.
He deliberately looks a little concerned, even paranoid, when Matt smiles and turns his head toward him, assuming that pose is for a photograph. Looking like he's not quite sneaking, but not eager for exposure immediately is a story he'd prefer.
Meanwhile they've worked out enough that when we make it to the building he presses the buzzer, but also pulls Matt in to a light kiss. On the lips, slow and soft and practiced and without letting go of their joined hands, but brief.
On the steps of his building, when he's pulled into the light kiss, he's not surprised. He lets it linger just long enough so that it doesn't appear rushed but also so that it doesn't last more than what would be expected from one of those kisses that come just because it's been too long. That's the story he thinks is sold there; a kiss that comes because they both have missed it, even if it's presumably only been the time that they've been walking since they've shared such intimacy. It's a good story.
He just gives Bruce a smile and a, "Come on," before he lets them into the building. There's an elevator that goes to the top floor where Matt's apartment is and he doesn't drop anything of the act there. There's the security camera, after all, that he can hear as an ever soft electronic whir.
On his floor, he unlocks the door and lets them in. As soon as the door is closed, Matt tosses his keys into a dish meant to hold them and just laughs. "Do you think he got a good picture?"
There isn't much of note from Bruce between the kiss and the apartment, except a very subtle air of relief (easier breathing, slightly slower pulse) when the kiss breaks and they're inside. There'd probably be more, but he often has a choke-hold on his biometrics.
That relief intensifies when they're inside the apartment. He takes his suit jacket off immediately and tosses it on the nearest piece of furniture. "I hope so. That was a lot of work, if he can't sell the pictures for a decent price. You seem to be have fun with this."
...Bruce is going off toward the kitchen and 'junk' drawer to find the take out menus. Sue him - seriously, he's loaded. He's also starving.
It's a strange thing to kiss someone without the reason being solely want. Matt can't recall that ever happening in his lifetime but there's a first time for everything and while it certainly wasn't unpleasant, there was a task to be done. He thinks they did a good job. "I'm used to portraying an image. It's just a different one. It's actually kind of fun to be pretending at something that isn't the whole, you know." Matt makes a motion to his face as indication. He folds up the cane and sets it and his glasses aside in their usual place by the door. It's still daylight but he reaches for the light switch on the wall for Bruce's benefit for later when the day dims.
He takes off his jacket, hangs it, and removes his shoes. "You seem to be making yourself at home. I'm going to change out of the button down and tie. There's water in the refrigerator. Some energy drinks. Gatorade. And protein bars in the third cupboard to the right if you can't wait for pizza," he says before padding across the apartment to the bedroom to change.
"Playing with people's perceptions can be fun. Sometimes, even for me. Right now, this counts." That wasn't the source of his relief. He'll consider explaining, and probably soon. In the moment...
Yeah, he's rude. He watches to see the direction that Matt goes, so he understands the apartment's layout better, finds a protein bar that he opens with his teeth and one hand, while grabbing a pizza delivery menu with the other.
He does at least swallow before: "What do you want on the pizza?" he asks from where he's standing and does not bother raising his voice.
He's amused enough that Bruce is already digging through his cupboards and drawers to find what he needs. It doesn't bother him; he figures that this strange arrangement is going to entwine them in each other's lives pretty significantly so he might as well share the good protein bars with him.
In the bedroom, he takes off his button-down shirt and absently pushes his hand against a bruise on his rib cage to see how far alone it is in healing. Suits hide a lot. Probably a couple of days before it fades. So it goes. He puts on a pair of black pajama bottoms and an old, faded Columbia shirt. "No olives, no peppers, no pineapple. Otherwise go nuts," he calls back, loud enough that Bruce will be able to hear him.
Once he finishes, he steps back into the living room and the open concept floor plan back to the kitchen.
"Our first argument is going to be about whether pineapple belongs on pizza." That is mostly a joke - but only mostly.
He's finishing the protein bar, leaned against Matt's counter when he comes back into the room. He looks up from the menu and tilts his head at what Matt's changed into and actually, sincerely, smiles. "That's a good look."
Suits Matt in a specific kind of way and feels very... undone and out of any sort of uniform.
"I'm not inherently opposed on principle but I'm not in the mood and it has to be a specific kind of pizza. Otherwise the flavor profiles clash," he argues as he goes to the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of water for himself.
He flashes an easy smile in response. "A little bit of a downgrade from the sale Nordstrom suit or the really good one that's in my locked storage." There doesn't seem to a need to keep up appearances and maybe this is a decidedly softer image but it's his home and he thinks they should probably be comfortable around one another.
He flicks the cap for the water into the trash. "Did you decide?"
"It does need to be a fairly simple pizza. Ideally with a very good cheese blend and some sort of cured meat. Bacon will work, prosciutto is better."
Bruce actually is comfortable now. That's almost a surprise even to him, but the second he got into the apartment, understood the layout and exits, he's unwound in a way he rarely does. A lot of that, admittedly, is not just that he isn't performing. It's that he's not anywhere in the vicinity of any of the work he does.
"I'm ordering it with everything but olives, pineapple and peppers. You could use the calories." So could Bruce. Regardless it should taste pretty good at that point. " ...Or pickles. Those don't belong on any pizza or most food."
Matt can tell in the way that Bruce's body has relaxed a little bit since they arrived in the apartment. It makes sense. There are no prying eyes. No images to maintain and nothing that should be carrying on his shoulders at the moment except for the questions of future expectations. Those conversations haven't been particularly painful.
"Did you just call me skinny?" he asks about the remark on the calories, though it's punctuated with a smile. "I didn't even realize that pickles were an option. Truly a cursed food. I don't like much that just carries the taste of the brine it was sitting in."
"I either called you skinny, or implied you burn off the calories too fast for it to make a difference. You can pick your own interpretation."
He continues his casual lean, while dialing the number for the pizza place. "I have never liked pickles, but after experiencing a 'high end' pickle that amounted to dill pickles with an obscene amount of saffron dumped in the jar, I'm not convinced I'll ever be able to eat another one."
Then he makes the call and places the order. When he hangs up? No real.. lead in, but: "Are you dating or having sex with anyone now, and do you expect to be in the future?" What? They're ironing out some details. That's a potentially big one.
"Just because you've got--what, thirty pounds--of muscle on me doesn't mean I'm skinny," he laughs but there's something easily good natured about it. He doesn't necessarily mind the remark.
He shakes his head, "Thus proving how much of a scam high end is," he grins.
Matt isn't sure if he's surprised by the question and its directness or if he appreciates it. He snickers all the same and takes a sip of his water. "No, I am not dating or sleeping with anyone currently. I broke up with the therapist and I'm not seeing anyone. I have the expectation that the image of monogamy is somewhat central to this whole thing so I don't expect to, no. And you?"
"Good to know you'll choose the potential insult." That, too, is truly just a tease.
He pushes slowly up on Matt's counter to sit, while they wait on the pizza and talk. He's impressed at how easily Matt answered the question and got involved in asking his own. Not that he expected Matt to refuse to answer, but a snicker instead of a splutter is appreciated.
"I hope the image of monogamy unless we need a public scandal is the expectation." He's tired. He is so, so, tired. If he can drop even some of that, he can - redirect to the business and Batman. He'll still be less tired. "I'm sleeping with a couple of people, occasionally. Both have their own secret identities and occasionally is 'rare but not never'."
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Bruce veers right when tugged, and looks up the street to see the direction they're going. "This is an area I'd choose if I wanted to pull off high profitable small scale crime," he admits. "But I don't think most would."
He'll figure out what to order - and how Matt uses a menu, maybe - when they get to the apartment. "I already have a room at a fairly expensive hotel. I'll make my exit some time before dawn. The public one, anyway. If I need to change before then I'll be more discrete in my exit and return."
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He picks up on a few double-takes. Probably not as many as they might get in Gotham but it's not as if Bruce Wayne is an entirely unknown quantity, especially for those with an interest in the gossip pages based on Matt's online searching. Good. This is already doing some of the work. Little hints dropped out in the world and breadcrumbs that a gullible press will follow.
"I might be the one who has to make a dramatic exit at some point," he answers. He has the intentions of staying in while they work on their cover story but he hears things and it's hard to ignore the world outside his window and beyond his rooftop sometimes. "I trust you to be discrete. I'm on the top floor--obviously. If that helps one way or another now or in the future."
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Bruce is noticing the occasional look, but there is no, even subconscious reaction to it. Not so much as a change in his heart rate or muscle tension.
"Top floor will help with discrete, both now and in the future. More in the future. I'm also prepared to be 'abandoned' if the need rises. If something comes up for me, I should be able to handle it without leaving. If I can't, you may get Superman in your living room. Fortunately, he's learned to open windows in the last decade or so." that one's fond.
They have a lot to talk about. Some of it things that haven't come up at all and have little to do with crime fighting.
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He notices Bruce's calm and keeps his own reaction steady. He's good at that because he's not supposed to know these things around him so he's well trained in a placid expression.
"I figured you, of all people, would understand that my schedule is sometimes filled last minute. And I do have a balcony so that might make things a little easier for him if he does." But Matt hopes there isn't an emergency on either of their parts. Outside of the constant fleeting hope that maybe the world will be quiet for a while, they have a lot to figure out. He gives Bruce's arm a soft squeeze again with a draw to a left turn. "We go three blocks down this way and it's the building on the right at the end of the block. Can't miss it."
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There's no change in his pace or the cadence of it, but once he's sure of where he's going the motion itself becomes more... fluid. What he thinks, but does not say, is that he understands last minute interruptions, but also that sometimes you're just so damn tired that they ... hit harder than others. Even if they're not interrupting anything important and the tired is mostly not physical.
"I think my mother hated it more."
Or maybe that's just him.
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Playing that part seems like it would be just as exhausting as the one that Matt himself performs every day. Illusions and deceptions for what is expected.
"Is it strange to say that I love Hell's Kitchen? I still do. Despite everything. There's never anywhere that's going to feel like home. That's why it's important to do what I can to help." On the surface, he could just as easily be speaking of his work as a lawyer. Helping around the neighborhood and lending assistance to the people he grew up around. They both know what it really means. Even if he stops sometimes because he gets broken down, bone deep tired from what it takes and what it has cost him, he comes back to the Kitchen. Every single time.
He keeps his head forward while they walk. "Directly behind you, maybe forty feet, someone snapped your picture. Quick gait, trying to keep up and still keep distance." He could hear the click of the lens.
So far, so good.
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Probably. He is very attached to the City. Gotham is his. Wayne Manor is something he is the inheritor and...caretaker of, in a sense. His father and mother's that he happens to live in.
"It's very similar to my relationship with the family fortune, actually." Similar sort of thing. Use it well, keep the companies and businesses intact, grow them where he can, but they don't feel like this. "It is no more strange to love Hell's Kitchen than it is to live Gotham. It might even be less strange, since you live there." He has no problem with any of that being overheard, if it is, though.
"Thank you. Hopefully someone will appear in front of us so they get a picture that's not largely composed of my ass - however good it looks in these pants."
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Hell's Kitchen belongs to the Devil, if the papers are to be believed and in some way, maybe Matt internalizes that too. He has a stewardship over it that would be difficult to explain to most people but not, seemingly, to Bruce.
"Sometimes places are just in your blood. You can try to change the scenery but we are who we are," he replies with a faint tilt of his head toward Bruce. "Your ass might have to contend with mine for space on the tabloid cover. But when we get to my door, it's a buzzer system so we can stop at it and pause. Have a moment that they can take a good shot of." A little canoodling on the stoop of the apartment building seems like it might make a decent enough photograph for a tabloid. He can only assume Bruce Wayne was followed at a distance from when he arrived in the city by one zealous photographer since paparazzi are a rare thing in the neighborhood.
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But he's also just intelligent enough to not do that, at least right now.
"The amount of speculation about our respective asses that is likely to hit the papers is enough to almost make even me uncomfortable." Almost is relative. He does not care at all. He is slightly concerned about Matt, but. "If you want to give them a brief show, we can certainly do that. Just poke me if I'm taking it further than you want it taken."
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He quietly scoffs at the remark and shakes his head. "Oh, I'm sure." The idea of scrutiny, even if it's built on a lie and half truth is still strange. Daredevil gets splashed across websites and youtube. Matt Murdock gets mentioned when he happens to associate with a case that matters but, like everything in the city, it's a glimmer of attention before it fades to the next big story. He's setting himself up to be part of a ruse that lingers longer than the public's care about a trial.
"I'm sure I'll let you know." It didn't feel like it'd have to be a huge presentation of public affection. As long as it wouldn't be construed as 'just friends' then it would be enough.
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Meanwhile he's not planning a make-out session on the building door, but fair warning and a method of stop determined between them just seems like the smart thing to do.
Meanwhile he slips his arm from Matt's hand, trails his fingers down to Matt's hand and weaves their fingers together. Still functional (to observers) but much less platonic and more obvious. especially staying as close as he is to the other man. "We'll be there soon."
He'll pretend he's not making a list of shit they need to cover, meanwhile.
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He tilts his head in Bruce's direction to offer a smile when he takes his hand; it offers a profile photograph, he figures, and he's been told that he's got a pretty good smile so he thinks it will add another piece to the puzzle. Sure enough, there's a couple of fast clicks of the camera. For an amateur, he thinks he's got pretty good instincts so far as to what presenting this brand of image to the world means.
They still have a lot to figure out. Stories to rehearse and lies to form so that they know they're telling the same one. His usual brand of half-truths and outright fabrications is a solo effort so this is a new challenge.
Wrong thread entirely, sorry!
He deliberately looks a little concerned, even paranoid, when Matt smiles and turns his head toward him, assuming that pose is for a photograph. Looking like he's not quite sneaking, but not eager for exposure immediately is a story he'd prefer.
Meanwhile they've worked out enough that when we make it to the building he presses the buzzer, but also pulls Matt in to a light kiss. On the lips, slow and soft and practiced and without letting go of their joined hands, but brief.
no problem it happens!
He just gives Bruce a smile and a, "Come on," before he lets them into the building. There's an elevator that goes to the top floor where Matt's apartment is and he doesn't drop anything of the act there. There's the security camera, after all, that he can hear as an ever soft electronic whir.
On his floor, he unlocks the door and lets them in. As soon as the door is closed, Matt tosses his keys into a dish meant to hold them and just laughs. "Do you think he got a good picture?"
Re: no problem it happens!
That relief intensifies when they're inside the apartment. He takes his suit jacket off immediately and tosses it on the nearest piece of furniture. "I hope so. That was a lot of work, if he can't sell the pictures for a decent price. You seem to be have fun with this."
...Bruce is going off toward the kitchen and 'junk' drawer to find the take out menus. Sue him - seriously, he's loaded. He's also starving.
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He takes off his jacket, hangs it, and removes his shoes. "You seem to be making yourself at home. I'm going to change out of the button down and tie. There's water in the refrigerator. Some energy drinks. Gatorade. And protein bars in the third cupboard to the right if you can't wait for pizza," he says before padding across the apartment to the bedroom to change.
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Yeah, he's rude. He watches to see the direction that Matt goes, so he understands the apartment's layout better, finds a protein bar that he opens with his teeth and one hand, while grabbing a pizza delivery menu with the other.
He does at least swallow before: "What do you want on the pizza?" he asks from where he's standing and does not bother raising his voice.
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In the bedroom, he takes off his button-down shirt and absently pushes his hand against a bruise on his rib cage to see how far alone it is in healing. Suits hide a lot. Probably a couple of days before it fades. So it goes. He puts on a pair of black pajama bottoms and an old, faded Columbia shirt. "No olives, no peppers, no pineapple. Otherwise go nuts," he calls back, loud enough that Bruce will be able to hear him.
Once he finishes, he steps back into the living room and the open concept floor plan back to the kitchen.
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He's finishing the protein bar, leaned against Matt's counter when he comes back into the room. He looks up from the menu and tilts his head at what Matt's changed into and actually, sincerely, smiles. "That's a good look."
Suits Matt in a specific kind of way and feels very... undone and out of any sort of uniform.
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He flashes an easy smile in response. "A little bit of a downgrade from the sale Nordstrom suit or the really good one that's in my locked storage." There doesn't seem to a need to keep up appearances and maybe this is a decidedly softer image but it's his home and he thinks they should probably be comfortable around one another.
He flicks the cap for the water into the trash. "Did you decide?"
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Bruce actually is comfortable now. That's almost a surprise even to him, but the second he got into the apartment, understood the layout and exits, he's unwound in a way he rarely does. A lot of that, admittedly, is not just that he isn't performing. It's that he's not anywhere in the vicinity of any of the work he does.
"I'm ordering it with everything but olives, pineapple and peppers. You could use the calories." So could Bruce. Regardless it should taste pretty good at that point. " ...Or pickles. Those don't belong on any pizza or most food."
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Matt can tell in the way that Bruce's body has relaxed a little bit since they arrived in the apartment. It makes sense. There are no prying eyes. No images to maintain and nothing that should be carrying on his shoulders at the moment except for the questions of future expectations. Those conversations haven't been particularly painful.
"Did you just call me skinny?" he asks about the remark on the calories, though it's punctuated with a smile. "I didn't even realize that pickles were an option. Truly a cursed food. I don't like much that just carries the taste of the brine it was sitting in."
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He continues his casual lean, while dialing the number for the pizza place. "I have never liked pickles, but after experiencing a 'high end' pickle that amounted to dill pickles with an obscene amount of saffron dumped in the jar, I'm not convinced I'll ever be able to eat another one."
Then he makes the call and places the order. When he hangs up? No real.. lead in, but: "Are you dating or having sex with anyone now, and do you expect to be in the future?" What? They're ironing out some details. That's a potentially big one.
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He shakes his head, "Thus proving how much of a scam high end is," he grins.
Matt isn't sure if he's surprised by the question and its directness or if he appreciates it. He snickers all the same and takes a sip of his water. "No, I am not dating or sleeping with anyone currently. I broke up with the therapist and I'm not seeing anyone. I have the expectation that the image of monogamy is somewhat central to this whole thing so I don't expect to, no. And you?"
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He pushes slowly up on Matt's counter to sit, while they wait on the pizza and talk. He's impressed at how easily Matt answered the question and got involved in asking his own. Not that he expected Matt to refuse to answer, but a snicker instead of a splutter is appreciated.
"I hope the image of monogamy unless we need a public scandal is the expectation." He's tired. He is so, so, tired. If he can drop even some of that, he can - redirect to the business and Batman. He'll still be less tired. "I'm sleeping with a couple of people, occasionally. Both have their own secret identities and occasionally is 'rare but not never'."
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