I turn my head to look up at him properly, which is a mistake, because he's closer than I thought.
From here, I see that his eyes aren't only blue. They also have tiny flecks of gray, like static on an old TV screen.
Snow on a frozen lake.
"More like that I've gotten very devil-may-care now that I'm dying."
His face transforms again. I'm almost giddy at learning that he is in fact capable of displaying normal human emotions.
Tonight alone, I've seen a smile, a scowl, a laugh—and now, what is this? Is that pity? Sympathy?!
I shudder and turn away. Thanks but no thanks. I don't need any of that.
Least of all from him.
"I'm not actually dying," I clarify in a mumble.
"Just being dramatic." He Chipped in
We work through the contract line by line, negotiating each clause with an attention to detail that makes me understand why he's successful.
He pushes back on some changes, accepts others, and occasionally offers alternatives
