Something to do with how absorbent that shade of black is, I think, [ Apollo replies distantly, with the air of someone who Googled it but didn't actually understand it. 'Stubbornly, ludicrously black' is all he took from that Wikipedia article. With a smile of anticipation Apollo watches as Midnighter turns it over in his hands admiringly. Pleased at the fact that he seems to like it, he resumes his place on the edge of the pristine bed; the mattress dips under his weight and a smudge of brown blood, still determined to linger on his spandex, leaves a smudged smear on the sheets. ]

It's poetry. [ Then, before Midnighter has a chance to react, Apollo quickly adds: ] I've no idea if it's any good. I thought we could read it together.