Nothing, as he expects.
He blinks again; still nothing.
Why does he expect anything at all?
He blinks again, holding his eyes closed against change, just to see if maybe.
When he finally opens his eyes, the world is indeed, different. Different in that there is rising tide where there was concrete, dust and marble before, and a jagged hole behind him. Down on the rocks below, there is a small form, bawling insults at the sea.
The air tangles fingers in his gold curls as he climbs down, and he remembers, absently, belatedly, his fear of heights.
Of course the blinking doesn’t matter.
It never does.