Re: log: gatsby, bruce/selina
There were no words to describe just how tired he was of being Bruce Wayne. He was tired of everything, really, to the point where more often than not he was merely going through the motions. His one advantage was that he was good at hiding it; he could still pretend very, very well. Even that, though, he began to tire of. "They love me today," he scoffed, choosing to respond to the mention of the press instead. "They'll hate me tomorrow. It's all fake." As for Iris, he didn't know or care what they said about her and himself. He didn't even think that Selina might know, that she might have misunderstood the situation entirely.
"You could change that," he pointed out mildly, and he raised his eyebrows when she said the yellow was a gift. "Ah. From who?" Normally he wouldn't have asked, but what he'd have done under normal circumstances didn't really apply to the here and now.
Drunk or not, he noticed the sway of her hips. He took the tumbler with surprisingly steady fingers, and immediately took a sip. "Less like I wished I'd stayed dead," he slurred. "Less wrong." There was more, but he stopped there, downing a deep gulp before his gaze found her bandaged arm. "Are you alright?"