----Closed starter for @twomindedsubject !!----
The hospital was sterile, the faint smell of medicine and chemical cleaning agents lingered in the air, faintly singing at the man's nostrils. It was something that Bruce found oddly soothing, reminding him of his father upon his late-night returns from the surgery. As he walked down the halls, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, he could feel the anxiety creeping over him.
He reached the door, the large, metal 202 plastered on the front of it. Sheepishly, he knocked, taking a deep breath in before slowly pushing the door open.
"Harv?" His voice was quiet, uncertain, head tilting around the heavy wood of the door. He stepped in, gently placing the flowers on a nearby table, covered in various gifts and flowers.
"Looks like you're as popular as ever, huh?" An attempt at easing the tension in the air, though as he turned to look at Harvey - or half of him, at least, he could feel the tension practically smack him in the face. He stepped over to the bed that his friend was laying in, a look of sympathy washing over him.
"How do you feel?" The voice creaking out of his throat was barely more than a whisper. "I hope they're at least givin' you decent food. Let me know if the food sucks, and I'll sneak in something good for you."
The joke couldn't seem to cut through the tension Bruce was feeling. Was it coming from Harvey, his old friend, or was it coming from him? His guilty conscience? It was hard to tell.










