Glowstick, Janson and Speldor
“T̛h̨e̵se ́ar̢e reall͘y͝ ̶c̸o̢ol̨,” Janson remarked, more to himself than to Henrik as he examined the wristbands and crackable sticks, leftovers from packages that Marvin had bought for some of his child patients. Jan never actually seen a glowstick in person before. Curious, he cracked a purple one, making a pleased noise at how brightly it shone after he held it up and shook it. “N̶͠i͡͞ce! W̧e s͏ho̢u̢ļd all use ̛the͠se̵ wh͝e͡n we͠ ̀g͡o͏ ͏o̷n̛ ͟o͢ur ̶walk t̷o͠n҉i͢ǵh̷t͢, ke̵e҉p͞ b̶ętter ́t̷rack of ͘e͜ach ͝o͝t̕her.”
It was only then that he looked over to find Henrik staring at the glowstick in midair, his face blank and distant as its sheen reflected in his glasses. When Janson uncertainly shifted it, his head turned to follow.
“H̴en҉r̡ik͜? ͠Hen̡ri̧k.” Experimentally he gave it a small twirl. His friend’s glazed eyes followed it in circles, unresistant. Unnerved, he slowly lowered it to the tabletop. “It'͝s̷,̷ uh…very p̵r҉et҉ty͡,͢ ̧i̷s͡n͝’ţ i̢t?” Was this seriously happening? He could not have just mesmerized him with a friggin’ glowstick –
“…Yes,” he slurred, sighing dreamily as he folded his arms on the table and rested his chin against them, never taking his eyes off the light. “It’s very pretty.”
“O̷͢k̵͡a̶͡y̴…” Janson needed to find out how long glowsticks lasted, ASAP.
