Some of the tension knotting his shoulders fades when he feels Bruce's hand on his arm. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to grab onto his hand and refuse to let go. But it's weak and childish, not to mention selfish, and Bruce is the last person to whom he wants to appear that way.

"Do you want the honest answer or the bullshit answer?" He says it wryly, the corner of his mouth twisting into something that's trying, and failing, to be a smile. "I'd say I wanted whiskey, but I don't know if there's any left in this stupid town and I don't think I really want to stumbling around for more reasons than one." Even though it would take some of the edge off.

"How are you? Can you—You're still okay, right?"