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Harvey rolled his head to the side against the smooth wall and closed his eyes. It was humid; he was uncomfortable. One of his legs was pushed up to him, propping him up, the other limply off to the side in the direction of one of the empty bottles. He twitched his left eye a little before lazily bringing it up to survey his surroundings.
He'd heard the call, and disregarded it in his dazed state. Another inconsequential hallucination. They were obsessed with him lately.
But his gaze came to rest on a familiar face, a trait none of the voices possessed. It almost moved him to groan, the pedantic and graceful movements that approached him, mirroring the tone one would use with a rabid animal. Maybe he was a rabid animal; his disheveled clothing, disordered hair, and the blood that dripped down his arm were nothing short of an uncharacteristic savagery.
Bruce squatted down on his shoes, getting a little dirt on their sparkling, hundred-dollar material. The ridiculously informal suit he wore was jet black, of course, but his pale disquiet shone through all those wayward demons sent to stalk the shadows. He never matched the environment he was in. Always overdressed for everything and in line with nothing.
He was visibly concerned as he always was, but stayed silent like he always would. Without fail, he behaved like they were broaching some unspeakable secret when it came to these long nights. Which never worked; Harvey only felt more and more like he wanted to scream it all from the rooftops of this damned city. Layers and layers of high society and velvet and pretty champagne glasses bit through his façade and shred it until there was nothing left but a husk of what he was. Disingenuous smiles, prying compliments, stares that could kill. Lace-curtain bastards were identical to the monsters prowling the streets. Only real difference was that their costumes were more fun to shred, and-
“Harvey. Look at me.”
Bruce reached down and touched his shirt all gentle on the shoulder. The contact was unexpected, bit him in the lungs.
He shuddered in an instant, a violent rush of adrenaline sparking through his system and rousing him to seize the hand by the wrist, wrench it forward regardless of the strangled cry ushered with it.
Focusing in and out, he backed up farther against the wall and shivered. His grasp felt a speeding pulse reverberating against his skin. It grounded him; Harvey held on tighter, as if it was a life-raft pulling him back to shore. The waters choking his lungs, closing in on him like prey.
A small murmur escaped the unformed person leaning over him and he gazed up at a blurry memory. The feeling of missing something crucial took root as he searched for recognition above him.
“Hey,” Bruce said, plain as ever.
Harvey made no answer, only pushed the hand away and stood. He tried to calm his trembling with internal mantras, scolding, and fumbling for the coin in his pocket. Didn't work. Nothing worked. He wanted to scratch bloody lines down his arms. God, he was losing it. He couldn't lose it right now. Bruce was talking to him, saying some shit about breathing and relaxing his hands, the ones clawing at his skin.
"Come on. You're okay, you're okay. Watch me, count to four. Hold" -he counted up on his hand posed in the air as if it were inviting Harvey back to the land of the living- "Exhale. Good."
Showy light escaped from the front of the bar and striking sounds trickled into his psyche like shattered glass as the world took shape again. He shut his eyes, tight, until amorphous fractal patterns appeared before his eyelids, and the hitched gasps tapered off.
Music was slow at this time of night, painted murals and indulged primal thoughts in one's mind. Hysteria became a danger when the number of eyes started to blend in with the number of stars in the sky.
The sequence of counting was repeated softly until he was nauseated by the overwhelming cigarette smoke in the air, filtered through the abused windows lining Gotham's streets.
"Stop," Harvey finally rasped, "stop. I'm fine."
"You aren't."
"I am," he returned, "better."
Blue eyes pierced his own with such an earnest appeal that when he shook his head, the act felt shameful. Harvey couldn't afford to open his mouth to answer, for fear that his soul be revealed in its twisted terror. Small and frightened, running from a monster that forever clung to his back, whispering sweet nothings dripping with hatred. How dare he be backed into a corner now; lovingly, paralyzed by eyes that promised him that there was another way. The nerve they had to look at him as though he were human. Anyone else, it would've been laughing and flippant quips about hangovers. Bruce never fit in, didn't know his place. Didn't turn his head like he was supposed to.
He needed to get away from here, sleep; he hadn't slept in ages. His heart was beating so fast, a lion trying to tear its way free from its own body.
"I'm fine," he affirmed.
Bruce's expression was unreadable in the darkness, an aspect of their surroundings he'd be fond of, if his concentration wasn't stolen by the tremors dancing across Harvey's nerves. Brown hair was swept across his countenance and framed his oblique expression. It was stunning, left Bruce speechless in the wake of his charm. He was viscerally aware of the still between them.
The peril of the scrutiny they'd both be under was mounting. If anyone saw the district attorney in such an unstable manner...
To his credit and the glee of his better judgment, he did not lean in, only massaged his left wrist and let the quiet grow on them. He knew exactly what he wanted, and more. That was the incessant problem with the charade they insisted on furthering, even when it bore down like an oncoming rainstorm in the summer heat.
A few stray droplets fell onto his back, prompting Bruce to sigh, just a little, and pat his friend's arm.
"Let me take you home.”