Rigid. That's what he was - rigid - and Zach looked at the other man's posture, the way that he stood, with his jaw lifted and his face pale against the spring sunlight and understood. Nothing he could say would ever make sense, or matter, and that was what made him angry.
His fist clenched as he looked at him, noting the way that his cheekbones outlined his face, the dark wave of hair that fell over an eyebrow, and the pale eyes that caught him in their depths, like a wall of glass that only he could see. His nails were digging into his palms now, digging hard, and he didn't look away, his eyes reaching for Christopher in the ways that his body could not- would not - intense despite the tired ache of his arm, wanting to strike at that calm stance, wanting to tear it down.
"Nothing," he said and then his head dropped down with another shrug. "Have a good fucking day, is all." His feet scuffed the pavement as he knelt, not leaving but staring quietly at the shadow burnt into concrete. At something that had been lost.