His palms sweat as he picks up his pace, fingertips gripping the plastic bag tightly. He exhales, breath fanning against his face as the cold, winter air breezes past. Teeth chattering, skin reddening, Kane decides to find a bench to sit on. The steps he takes are hesitant and small, eyes darting around to observe the darkness and it’s possible inhabitants. Apprehension swells inside of him and within a few hasty motions, he has the plastic bag clutched tightly to his chest along with an item in his hand.
“Jessica,” his murmurs are as inaudible as the wind. “My precious wife.”
The tomato stares back with the stoic expression Kane has learned to accept, and it causes his heart to skip a beat. He knows that whilst he is in her presence, he will truly be safe. Although, he wouldn't mind this being both of their resting places — at least then they'd get to die together; the cliché ending he believed she deserved. After all, tomato's lifespans weren't exceptionally long.
“It's okay, you're okay. Sh.”
Seemingly unbothered, Kane's grip loosens on the plastic bag he had recently clung to as if his life depended on it, allowing it to drop to the floor. Immediately he begins to caress the tomato, a serene expression plastered on his face. A glint of admiration shines in his eyes, and it never fades as his gaze locks on the luscious red skin of his wife.