jayce's thoughts rush as fast as his thumping pulse, but he is not quick enough for this. he listens, at a loss of words. his brows curve together in an apologetic manner. he wish he could've externalized his thoughts better, but then again— can he blame him? jayce's disability was acquired. he was lucky he even got this job in the first place. no one wanted to hire him knowing he wasn't the same.
the talk of dreams sets him off, his mouth opening, closing, then considering one he may not be ready to tell viktor.
strange, he'd have them too.
a reoccuring nightmare has startled jayce since he was a child. he'd have dreams of riding his childhood horse, striker. but something terrible would happen. she'd get spooked and buck, she'd throw them down a ravine, land on his leg, shatter it— and he'd always wake up in a cold sweat with a pain that felt too real. ]
I— [ wait, he wants to say, feeling his heart sink when hands leave him. he shouldn't have asked. or maybe. no— he hoped he was there to listen and see him. the problem now came with the fact that viktor is picking up his own pace, and asking about colors—
jayce's fingers make for something daring; he reaches, without thought, to slow viktor down and catch him by the wrist. ]
Viktor, I— [ "i'm sorry" doesn't seem appropriate, for some reason. he decides to listen to his gut. and go with an answer: ] . . . I think it's green.
[ no one thinks colors when they simply are, but he figures that's a good enough hint, and the better indication as to why jayce looks a bit startled.
no subject
jayce's thoughts rush as fast as his thumping pulse, but he is not quick enough for this. he listens, at a loss of words. his brows curve together in an apologetic manner. he wish he could've externalized his thoughts better, but then again— can he blame him? jayce's disability was acquired. he was lucky he even got this job in the first place. no one wanted to hire him knowing he wasn't the same.
the talk of dreams sets him off, his mouth opening, closing, then considering one he may not be ready to tell viktor.
strange, he'd have them too.
a reoccuring nightmare has startled jayce since he was a child. he'd have dreams of riding his childhood horse, striker. but something terrible would happen. she'd get spooked and buck, she'd throw them down a ravine, land on his leg, shatter it— and he'd always wake up in a cold sweat with a pain that felt too real. ]
I— [ wait, he wants to say, feeling his heart sink when hands leave him. he shouldn't have asked. or maybe. no— he hoped he was there to listen and see him. the problem now came with the fact that viktor is picking up his own pace, and asking about colors—
jayce's fingers make for something daring; he reaches, without thought, to slow viktor down and catch him by the wrist. ]
Viktor, I— [ "i'm sorry" doesn't seem appropriate, for some reason. he decides to listen to his gut. and go with an answer: ] . . . I think it's green.
[ no one thinks colors when they simply are, but he figures that's a good enough hint, and the better indication as to why jayce looks a bit startled.
that was an odd coincidence. ]