Gone isn't literal in your case, you're not dead or missing, just... gone. In your absence, everything has been harder—heavier. It's a weight Bruce has never felt before, a kind that feels like icy fingertips creeping up beneath his ribs to squeeze his lungs.

Bruce understands that people and relationships require communication, affection, understanding, all of those things... and while Bruce is a great man, he can't say, with full confidence, that he is 'great' at any of those things.

You're the opposite, were the opposite; full of life, energy, every tacky thing that made you you, the one person who seemed to radiate wherever they went—well, at least to Bruce you did. Because you were his. And now? You're not.

Now, you're sitting across from a new guy in one of the booths of your favourite restaurant, and Bruce, ever-so-stoic, usually responsible, somewhat rational Bruce, is sitting at a nearby table, skimming the menu all while obviously observing you from over the laminated pamphlet of tasteless food he wasn't interested in.

He abhors the way you look so... happy? It's not joy, that's for sure, thank God, but there's something about the way you smile at the guy across from you that makes Bruce want to gnaw on the menu to keep himself from hauling a wine glass at someone.

So, he lurches out of his chair, flinging his menu back onto his table like a frisbee, and hurries over like the whole restaurant is actively going up in flames. Then, he clears his throat. Once, twice, then once again to gain your attention, "Excuse me. Could I possibly steal you away for a moment?"

A moment? Forever.