My chest was too tight. My mouth opened as I inhaled, but no oxygen would come to me, only coldness, only shadows. They filled me with nothing. So much nothing.
Then he was back. Harper at my side, each of his hands reaching for mine, his thumbs smoothing over my knuckles. “Jack.”
My eyes burned, my vision blurred.
“Jack.”
That wasn’t me. I wasn’t Jack. I wasn’t who he thought I was, and he was about to find out. I shook my head.
“Look at me.”
I couldn’t. I could see only red and blue, only the shadows between flashes.
“What color are my eyes?”
The question was unexpected, hooking my attention even as I fought it.
“W-what?”
“My eyes. What color are they?”
“B-blue.”
“Are you sure?”
I spared him a glance, but it was hard to tell with the brightness of the lights, his eyes seeming to absorb the color and direct it back at me.
“Blue?” I said again, uncertain. “G-gray?”
“Look at them.” He moved closer until his knees brushed mine. “You decide and tell me.”
I looked closer, trying to figure out the correct color beyond the flickering lights.
A door opened and slammed closed. There were voices outside the door.
“Hey. Don’t worry about that. They aren’t here for us. What color are my eyes?”
“They’re going to—”
“No. Don’t worry about that. Just look at me. Focus on me. Answer the question. Blue or gray?”
I looked between his eyes, one framed by a fading bruise. The lights flickered red and blue. His eyes were red then blue. Then white. The flashes of color disappeared as suddenly as they’d flooded through the window and swallowed me whole. Not quite. A faint reflection of pink from the neon sign across the road. A hint of warm white from the streetlamp. His eyes were blue.
“Blue,” I answered, more confidently this time.
“Good.” His thumbs traced my knuckles again. “What color is my shirt?”
My eyes flicked to the oversized tee covering his slender frame, the one we’d picked up at a thrift store that he’d said smelled like moths. “Orange.”
“What else is orange?”
Another unexpected question, my mind grasped for answers. Flashes of neon orange pulling from my memories. Becca. “M-my friend. She has orange hair.”
“What kind of orange?”
“Neon.”
“What can you smell?”
