"Yeah," the Bull murmurs, sounding distracted. For all the time he's already had to take in the fact that it's Dorian walking up to him and what that might mean, it's distracting just looking at him and his eye moves over Dorian quickly, looking for the slightest thing that might be off. Or for signs that Dorian's healthy, but it's weird to think about it that way after so long of - he realises now, feeling himself trying to break out of it - expecting to hear anything about Dorian except good news.
"If he's really pissed off Krem'll let him bitch about me later, I'll buy him a couple drinks, he'll get over it. Hey, so." He shouldn't have to ask, it should be clear already, but something in him needs to hear it. "They finally let you back into the world, huh?"
Not, he guesses, that he's not going to chicken out of asking Dorian so are you going to die or not outright. He got close enough. Sometimes with Dorian you don't have to ask outright, you just have to ask a little and let him keep talking and he'll get there himself and it's weird to think that, like Dorian's going to be around long enough that the Bull's going to have to remember techniques for dealing with him. It feels like opening up a locked box you already tucked away in the dark before it's even had time to start getting dusty. This isn't like a teammate getting bed-bound for a while or even going into surgery, it sits in his head different, and he can't take his gaze off Dorian.
He can. He could. But Dorian is in front of him and the last time the Bull saw him Dorian was a number, the latest of many, a calculation about how much the boss might slip when she started grieving and here he is, whole and alive in front of him, he doesn't need to look away just yet. He wants to see the look on Dorian's face when Dorian answers, one way or the other, and it's okay if that's more than a little obvious.
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"If he's really pissed off Krem'll let him bitch about me later, I'll buy him a couple drinks, he'll get over it. Hey, so." He shouldn't have to ask, it should be clear already, but something in him needs to hear it. "They finally let you back into the world, huh?"
Not, he guesses, that he's not going to chicken out of asking Dorian so are you going to die or not outright. He got close enough. Sometimes with Dorian you don't have to ask outright, you just have to ask a little and let him keep talking and he'll get there himself and it's weird to think that, like Dorian's going to be around long enough that the Bull's going to have to remember techniques for dealing with him. It feels like opening up a locked box you already tucked away in the dark before it's even had time to start getting dusty. This isn't like a teammate getting bed-bound for a while or even going into surgery, it sits in his head different, and he can't take his gaze off Dorian.
He can. He could. But Dorian is in front of him and the last time the Bull saw him Dorian was a number, the latest of many, a calculation about how much the boss might slip when she started grieving and here he is, whole and alive in front of him, he doesn't need to look away just yet. He wants to see the look on Dorian's face when Dorian answers, one way or the other, and it's okay if that's more than a little obvious.