It's the answer that comes quickest of anything Kim has asked, only half a moment's thought:] Blue.
[Blue like the skies. Of the ocean. The blue of those eyes that looked at him nervous and unsure.
Hey, sorry. You haven't seen a dog have you?
The blue eyes that fussed and flustered, kept looking at him worried when Jon had stopped going to physical therapy too early in favor of returning to work. That were scared and annoyed when he'd handed Jon the can of silver-tipped worms. I just wanted to take a picture of the thing. To prove to you that it happened – you’re always so quick to dismiss these statements and I wanted proof for you.
Those bright blue eyes that had jeered at Jon when he suggested they run together. The skies in those eyes that had been leeched out by the grays and browns, that Jon had never realized he would miss until he'd dragged Martin out of the Lonely and couldn't see the blue anymore.
It's an easy answer to say 'blue'. Had those eyes been blue again when the knife plunged? Likely not. Maybe he'd been imagining it at the end.
He follows the worker to the washroom, just thinking on those last lingering moments before he's presented with the sinks and mirror in front of him. Washes his hands clean and deciding... He really should. Takes some extra soap and water in his hands to give his whole face and neck a wash, splashing it all clean. He takes his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves to get his forearms as well. It's surreal, really. Months of literal hell on earth of his own making only to die, wake up in actual Hell, and it's as mundane as walking into Westfield.
When Jon does come back out, his face and hands are all clean, but the circle pocked scars all over, the jagged line scar across his neck, and the burned hand are more prominent.]
Sorry. Thank you. I think I just needed a moment. That's what you found? [He gestures to the sets Kim's holding.] I think those will do perfectly. Thank you, Mr. Kitsuragi.
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It's the answer that comes quickest of anything Kim has asked, only half a moment's thought:] Blue.
[Blue like the skies. Of the ocean. The blue of those eyes that looked at him nervous and unsure.
Hey, sorry. You haven't seen a dog have you?
The blue eyes that fussed and flustered, kept looking at him worried when Jon had stopped going to physical therapy too early in favor of returning to work. That were scared and annoyed when he'd handed Jon the can of silver-tipped worms. I just wanted to take a picture of the thing. To prove to you that it happened – you’re always so quick to dismiss these statements and I wanted proof for you.
Those bright blue eyes that had jeered at Jon when he suggested they run together. The skies in those eyes that had been leeched out by the grays and browns, that Jon had never realized he would miss until he'd dragged Martin out of the Lonely and couldn't see the blue anymore.
It's an easy answer to say 'blue'. Had those eyes been blue again when the knife plunged? Likely not. Maybe he'd been imagining it at the end.
He follows the worker to the washroom, just thinking on those last lingering moments before he's presented with the sinks and mirror in front of him. Washes his hands clean and deciding... He really should. Takes some extra soap and water in his hands to give his whole face and neck a wash, splashing it all clean. He takes his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves to get his forearms as well. It's surreal, really. Months of literal hell on earth of his own making only to die, wake up in actual Hell, and it's as mundane as walking into Westfield.
When Jon does come back out, his face and hands are all clean, but the circle pocked scars all over, the jagged line scar across his neck, and the burned hand are more prominent.]
Sorry. Thank you. I think I just needed a moment. That's what you found? [He gestures to the sets Kim's holding.] I think those will do perfectly. Thank you, Mr. Kitsuragi.