solarcore: (#11916687)
ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ ( ᴋᴀʟ-ᴇʟ ). ([personal profile] solarcore) wrote in [personal profile] nightlife 2021-03-26 11:13 am (UTC)

Clark stays seated, at first, on the edge of the bed as Bruce takes his time, breathes. No doubt his presence is a form of pressure, invisible and weighty, but he does what he can to give Bruce a moment to calibrate, because the alternative is leaving, and he's not about to do that. Then there's that nearly twitch, the glance down, and Clark tracks that, eyes unfocusing and refocusing so that the the world shimmers into ghost-forms. His heart sinks.

"No," he says, at that apology. The urge to scramble over it with his own guilt is there, ready, but he instead brings his hands up, gently blows into his cupped palms, a wisp of icy air fluttering past his fingers, frost patterning delicately over super-cooled skin.

Standing, nearing. "My hand is cold," is a warning, as is, "Let me look," while reaching over to go and take Bruce's injured hand.

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