Work Text:
High school feels like an experiment expertly conducted to test his patience.
He doesn’t feel like anyone. Not in classes, not in the mirror. Mom keeps telling him that’s what it’s all about; finding yourself, defining who you are, maturing, and becoming a man.
The only definition of himself Bruce can agree with is an adjective.
Cloudy.
There’s a breeze running through the trees, unfamiliar in California summer. The blue skies trace the clouds in broad strokes. The sun beats down in its golden hour. Something irks him about the idyllic glamour of it all.
He does his homework without fuss. That isn’t the hard part of the day.
That comes later, in bed. Staring up at the ceiling, Bruce isn’t certain whether the dancing shadows feel inviting or cold.
It’s too quiet at night— too calm. It’s far too easy to succumb to sleep, even knowing what nightmares surely lie ahead.
When he can no longer fight it, his heavy eyes flutter shut.
This time, he sees her first; in the garden. A trowel in her hand, she looks through the fingerprinted glass at Bruce. Her hair is as dark as her eyes; her smile is as kind as her gaze; her face is as forgettable as her name.
It starts like a dream… always.
Then, it falls apart.