[ Nothing in Bruce knows what to do when she opens that door; his heart winds up into a pace that almost seems beyond his control, his mind runs with a thousand thoughts at once and yet none at all, his body kind of freezes where it is, and his mouth doesn't seem to work. Lips part but no words come out, and all he manages in the end is a smile, weak and tired, almost distant, like he's not even sure this is real.
She seems to have a better presence of mind than he does, even if it's only by a little. He lets out a huff of surprise when he's dragged into the house, barely managing not to stumble over his own two feet, his backpack falling off his shoulder as he finally regains his balance. ]
I was in South America. [ Past tense. Evidently. He watches her frantically lock the doors, his smile turning both amused and almost nostalgic when she starts checking for injuries or just for that tangible presence of solid matter at her fingertips. He ducks his head a little, tries to look at her. ] I'm not in trouble, I'm—
[ Words are cut short when she flings herself at him, his brain lagging for the second it takes him to return the embrace, his backpack dropped to the floor so he can wrap his arms tightly around her. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was laughing at the part of him that thought he could have ever made this reunion a casual thing. There's literally nothing casual about them, there never will be, and years apart come to prove just that. Right now, she feels just the same in his arms. Same warmth, same feeling, same scent— save for the added smell of some strange plant, a trace of paint too. But mostly, it feels like home, and he could drown in that. He is. ]
I'm alright. I'm fine. Betty... [ Her name leaves him like a quiet prayer, the immeasurable relief of being away from himself for lifetimes, only to come back and find the part of himself he thought long lost. He closes his eyes, lets himself bury his head into the curve of her neck, and it feels like home. ] It's alright.
( ooc: mostly because I rarely ever spot mistakes or typos that bother me. but when I did, I had to. )
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She seems to have a better presence of mind than he does, even if it's only by a little. He lets out a huff of surprise when he's dragged into the house, barely managing not to stumble over his own two feet, his backpack falling off his shoulder as he finally regains his balance. ]
I was in South America. [ Past tense. Evidently. He watches her frantically lock the doors, his smile turning both amused and almost nostalgic when she starts checking for injuries or just for that tangible presence of solid matter at her fingertips. He ducks his head a little, tries to look at her. ] I'm not in trouble, I'm—
[ Words are cut short when she flings herself at him, his brain lagging for the second it takes him to return the embrace, his backpack dropped to the floor so he can wrap his arms tightly around her. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was laughing at the part of him that thought he could have ever made this reunion a casual thing. There's literally nothing casual about them, there never will be, and years apart come to prove just that. Right now, she feels just the same in his arms. Same warmth, same feeling, same scent— save for the added smell of some strange plant, a trace of paint too. But mostly, it feels like home, and he could drown in that. He is. ]
I'm alright. I'm fine. Betty... [ Her name leaves him like a quiet prayer, the immeasurable relief of being away from himself for lifetimes, only to come back and find the part of himself he thought long lost. He closes his eyes, lets himself bury his head into the curve of her neck, and it feels like home. ] It's alright.
( ooc: mostly because I rarely ever spot mistakes or typos that bother me. but when I did, I had to. )