On genuine disinterest
"I saw the sunrise today."
"And?"
Disbelief. Then anger. He pushes down the tiny bit of familiar rage begging to escalate this.
"I do not see many sunrises anymore." Not when he sleeps well past noon. "It was... pleasant."
"Swell."
It isn't said with any malice. In fact, it's quite convincing; Jesse does, undoubtedly, find it all swell.
Hanzo's eyes narrow and his mouth threatens to scowl, and Jesse deserves it no matter how genuine he was sounding.
"I realise I miss the sunrise. It was once my favourite-"
"Mhm."
"I wish to-"
"Yep."
"I did enjoy it."
"Well, maybe you should quit sleepin' so late and start wakin' up earlier an' you'll see s'more of 'em."
He's silenced entirely. No, there is nothing wrong with Jesse's suggestion, no jab or snark behind it, just a harmless, well-meaning piece of advice from one man to another. He's the very personification of good intentions.
"Perhaps I should."
"There ya go."
A dismissal. As clear as day.
It's barely approaching 8 AM as Hanzo returns to his own quarters, the light pouring in from his open window and spilling over his unmade bed and the clothes slipping off his chair onto the floor. The gradual shift from a gentle blue glow of the moments before dawn to bright, white, natural light was done, and Hanzo had been an accidental audience to the captivating phenomenon.
He squints. Shuffles over to the offending window. And yanks the curtains closed. The room falls into a comfortable darkness, save for a sliver of light painting a crooked stripe on the opposing wall. He crawls into bed until he's awoken not by light, but by the afternoon heat following the afternoon sun.
When he inevitably fails to sleep before 5 AM again, and dark blue is slowly lightening around the edges of his curtains, he draws towards the window.
So that he may pull and twist the curtains around and cover all edges of his window, and the unwelcome sunrise can find an audience in someone else.