Bruce laughed, a light and happy sound as he shrugged away
from Leo to go and rummage through his old stuff. Sure, things
still fit him. Not as if he grew much, even in the military. Muscle
just wasn’t part of his DNA, apparently.The boy shuffled around until he found a shirt that (mostly) fit,
and then made his way back to Leo. He stood there for a short
moment, watching. The Warlock hadn’t aged a day since Bruce
was a boy, and vaguely, he wondered if he’d ever have to worry
about losing his father to old age like other boys did. Maybe the
man would never die.
”It’ll be something I can eat, right?” Bruce joked, subtly hinting
that the food in the military wasn’t particularly edible. Well— it
was sometimes, but they switched cooks so often, it was nigh
impossible to hold onto the good ones.
Leo was likewise content, grinning ear to ear. Bruce was a light in his life.
Maybe it was because they both went through so much tribulations that
they found comfort in each other. Related to each other in ways others
would not. He never expected to grow so attached to the lad when he
found him on the curbside.
Humming something he’d heard on the radio that morning, he pulled two
foiled dishes out of the fridge and unstacked two plates. Inside one box
was angel-hair marinated in a sauce Leo had created himself: garlic butter,
lemon, a careful picking of Mediterranean herbs. In the other box were
drumsticks seasoned with rosemary and roasted to a melt-in-your-mouth
finish. Both dishes went straight into the oven for a reheat, while a large bowl
of carrot soup was poured into a pot and set on the stove.
Caught up in his thoughts and a trail of pleasant memories as he stirred, he
had not sensed Bruce’s approach, but when he spoke, Leo’s humming cut
off, and he raised a brow at the question. “A thin little thing like y'self, I am
uncertain. What’ve they been feeding ye over there?”
