”Like the sky?”
It brings a brief spark of mirth
to his otherwise serious demeanor.
Simon has no idea what his eyes used to resemble. All he knows
is that his pupils were either blown or pinpricked, with no inbetween.
He remembers traipsing home, in the early days, to find his Dad
waiting up for him. Remembers him staring into those altered pupils,
curling his lip back in a snarl, you’ve been at it again.“I don’t know. Maybe,” he decides,
glancing upwards a moment
before eyeing Dakota playfully.
“Hope me bein’ blue doesn’t mean
I’m miserable to be around?”
"You don’t know?!”
A flutter on confusion flashes across ivory features,
wholly astonished by this revelation; unsure to how
re-approach their conversation, Simon doesn’t seem
phased perhaps his own image never occurred to him.
That would be an incredibly rare trait though, most of
the population were obsessive when taking note of their
own features.
“I would’ve liked to see your eyes,
they can say a lot about a person.”
A burst of laughter erupting from
the Pagan she waved off his
comment.
"Of course not! You’re more lively
than half the people I bump into.“