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“All I’m saying is they clash. It’s a horrible, violent clash.”
“Since when did you give a shit about colour theory?” Axel’s skeptic eyes look over his way, but he pays it no mind.
It’s a fair question, but not one Kevin is willing to answer. The answer is far more complex than colour theory. It’s not about how close the two colours are on the colour wheel, or about silly English language sayings that not even the natives understand. More about how close the two people wearing those colours were, but he knows better than to voice that. Not brave enough to see that conversation through to its conclusion, nor stupid enough to act upon it. And brave is by far a kinder word for stupid…
“All I’m saying,” Kevin repeats, “Is that they clash! And it’s awful” he points between the shiny suits, “Awful!” he repeats.
“And you have a suggestion?” Jakob asks, his voice innocent and light, but there’s a flash of something across his face. He knows what Kevin’s getting at, and is apparently brave enough to plough straight into it.
Looking down at his own suit, Kevin mumbles, “A little bit of silver, I guess…”