Bruce peeks up at him with the wide eyes of a kid at story time. Going along with Captain America to where it all began, helping him go back, that's. He's not sure how he can say no to that. Then a small wrinkle forms between his eyebrows because... 'Runt'? It's hard to imagine Steve as some scrawny kid on the playground, as being anything less than what he sees here.

"...I never really got that at school," he offers tentatively, unsure if this is the right way to go. "I got shoved in a few lockers, but. Mostly I was just, uh. Ignored." His fingers tap together nervously, then he blurts out, "Which was okay, I mean, it wasn't that bad, and. I don't know."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he pulls his legs up onto the bed as he puts his back against the wall. "Why, uh. I mean, you don't have to answer it at all if you don't want, obviously, but. Why were you getting hit on? Er, that's. I mean, beaten up. I get that you couldn't have always been so." He gestures at Steve vaguely. "But were you, uh. Really that small?"