Ehhh... a little bit more of "My Prize".
Standard warnings apply. Watch for some sappy cuteness.
"Then she's an idiot," John Hinkley said with more conviction than he usually possessed. Czolgosz opened his eyes and flashed a look of surprise at John; encouraged, John put what he hoped was a friendly hand on Leon's shoulder.
Eyes snapping open, Leon turned to look at John. Timid, wallflower-ish John Hinkley, who was suddenly leaning in strangely close and touching his shoulder. Leon blinked. Few people touched him anymore, seeing him as a poor and dirty factory worker. The contact with another person felt strange and foreign to him.
"Did this hurt?" John asked, trailing on finger down Leon's temple, tracing the line of a thin, white scar. "It looks like it hurt." His warm breath rebounded off of Leon's skin, and, in embarrassment, the laborer turned his head the side.
"Yes. It hurt very much." Czolgosz smiled without humor. "Unless you like feeling of glass in your skin."
"It must have been awful," John murmured. He turned his attention to Leon's exposed wrist, upon which a wide and ugly scar was visible. "Did this come from the glass factory too?"
Leon glanced absently down at where John was indicating. "Yes. It hurt even more." John's fingers had made their way down to his wrist, where he feeling the smooth bump of healed flesh.
"Why did you keep working there… if you kept getting hurt?" The young man's eyes were clouded with confusion behind his large spectacles. "Couldn't you find another job?"
"What other job is there for son of immigrants with no training?" Leon shrugged. "There aren't many places for those like me."
John stared at Leon's wrist for another moment, gently studying it. Then, to Leon's bemusement, he lifted the extremity to his lips and pressed a fleeting kiss onto the injured skin.
"What was that for?" John stared into space for a moment, lost in thought.
"I'm… not sure. My mother always… y'know… kissed it to make it feel better." He looked back to Leon. "Does it still hurt?"
"It may itch, sometime." He removed his cap to reveal his delicate hair and features; they seemed unsuited for his profession. With a sigh, he shot a calculating look at John. "It still hurt you?"
"Your Jodie. She still hurt you?" Leon's tone was calm, controlled, almost conversational. He leaned in closer; the sudden shift in position made John gulp in a great breath of air.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, she… hurts sometimes, I guess." He avoided Leon's eyes as he admitted the truth to himself. "She hurts all the time."
Leon's eyes almost seemed to gleam and sparkle in the low light, his hands wound possessively around the handle of his gun. "And your matka would always kiss it? To make it feel better?"