Well. This whole meeting is entirely not what Michael wanted from anything. He looks around the room, fidgety and contemplating the possibility of just dodging into the nearest shadow and getting the fuck out. He can do that now. He can do what he wants when he wants to, and it’s because of Wolfgang. The short fingernails of his right hand bite at his palm.
“Someone said you can do something about my eyes,” he says after an awkward pause. “Instead of contacts.”