Omi has to actively resist the desire to start yelling at him. Because he's leaving already? Because he doesn't understand anything? Because Omi's frustration simply has nowhere else to go? Every passing moment spent with Bruce Wayne makes him that much angrier, and he can't even pinpoint why. (Perhaps, Omi, this is why he's leaving.)
He keeps his mouth shut, sucking in a quiet breath and clenching his fists to contain himself. Fine, fine! It wasn't like there was ever anything Omi could do to go up against the Batman himself. What is he supposed to do for Weiss? For his friends?
He has no idea what to make of the business card either, or what the hell kind of way that was to offer one, like it was a piece of garbage for the barista to collect next time she came by to wipe the table. Of course, Bruce Wayne's phone number was Bruce Wayne's phone number. That could not be an easy commodity to come by. But Omi doesn't even have a card case with him! Where is he going to put such a valuable thing?
He drinks down the rest of the iced coffee so fast he gives himself a headache. He stands, tosses the cup of ice expertly into a trash bin four feet away, and looks again at the business card on the table. Somehow, in the time between Mr. Wayne's exit and finishing the coffee, all of his anger has drained off, leaving mostly a hollow sense of despair in its wake.
But there's something else, too. Omi carefully picks up the card with both hands and takes a few seconds to read it. And he becomes aware of a painful sensation in his chest that he doesn't understand. Like something is missing. Like a scared and childish part of himself wants to go running after Bruce Wayne and beg him not to leave him alone.
It's got to be bleed from Robin's memories.
Omi grits his teeth and runs away to the nearest supplies store for a card case.
Two minutes later, a man seated at the table behind Omi stands and disposes of his Americano, then looks off in the direction Bruce Wayne had gone. Without fanfare, he walks away in the opposite direction.
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He keeps his mouth shut, sucking in a quiet breath and clenching his fists to contain himself. Fine, fine! It wasn't like there was ever anything Omi could do to go up against the Batman himself. What is he supposed to do for Weiss? For his friends?
He has no idea what to make of the business card either, or what the hell kind of way that was to offer one, like it was a piece of garbage for the barista to collect next time she came by to wipe the table. Of course, Bruce Wayne's phone number was Bruce Wayne's phone number. That could not be an easy commodity to come by. But Omi doesn't even have a card case with him! Where is he going to put such a valuable thing?
He drinks down the rest of the iced coffee so fast he gives himself a headache. He stands, tosses the cup of ice expertly into a trash bin four feet away, and looks again at the business card on the table. Somehow, in the time between Mr. Wayne's exit and finishing the coffee, all of his anger has drained off, leaving mostly a hollow sense of despair in its wake.
But there's something else, too. Omi carefully picks up the card with both hands and takes a few seconds to read it. And he becomes aware of a painful sensation in his chest that he doesn't understand. Like something is missing. Like a scared and childish part of himself wants to go running after Bruce Wayne and beg him not to leave him alone.
It's got to be bleed from Robin's memories.
Omi grits his teeth and runs away to the nearest supplies store for a card case.
Two minutes later, a man seated at the table behind Omi stands and disposes of his Americano, then looks off in the direction Bruce Wayne had gone. Without fanfare, he walks away in the opposite direction.