Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alex had always hated that he couldn’t see the colour of the sky. 

His first memories were of sitting around the dining table with his siblings, drinking from a plastic cup with a colour he couldn’t see.

He grew up in a little town next to the sea, and although everybody promised him it was beautiful, everything just looked gloomy without the colour blue. 

Alex couldn’t even tell the weather by looking at the sky, the slight nuances of the clouds over the plain white-grey sky sometimes escaping his awareness. 

The only times Alex could bear being outside were the times the sky wasn’t blue. 

He woke up unnecessarily early in the mornings, especially during summer, just to see the hint of orange and fiery red of sunrise, that whisper of lilac and rose, before the sky turned into nothingness later in the day.

In the evenings, he would sit in the backyard and watch the angry sky return, the sharp amber hues slowly giving way to darker purple.

He hoped that one day he could see the sky, but for now, fifteen minutes each morning and fifteen every evening would have to do.

*

Alex’s favourite colours were purple and green, because Luca told him blue was the closest to those two colours.

He tried his hardest to come up with a colour that was a mixture of the two, but he never really managed to come up with anything.

After all, it was impossible to imagine a colour he had never seen before.

*

Alex loved it when his parents would take him to the city for a weekend, and Alex could bury himself beneath the skyscrapers that reached so high, he didn’t have to worry about the sky.

In the city, everything had a colour – everything was made to attract attention, and so nothing was blue, or green, or brown, nothing anyone designed took the risk of not being able to be seen by someone. Sometimes, the bright colours, the reds and pinks and oranges, the lemon yellow and neon purple, they blinded Alex, but at least they made him forget about the blue. 

Alex spent his nights dreaming about moving to the city.

------

Pierre didn’t really think he was missing any particular colour in his life until he was five years old and his oldest brother told him that his skin wasn’t supposed to look ashy white.

And since that moment, Pierre had hated that he literally couldn’t even see himself.

When he looked in the mirror, all he saw of himself was a blank sheet of paper, whiter in the winter and greyer in the summer, when he got a tan. He didn’t know what kind of clothes went with his skin. His mother dressed him in reds and yellows, and maman was always right, so Pierre never argued.

He didn’t really believe in soulmates, and he thought the idea was a tad nonsensical – he was a child of two second marriages, after all – and so the fact that he would only be able to see all of himself if he found his soulmate, Pierre just found utterly unnecessary.

But the fact that he could see parts of himself if they turned colour into a bruise – it was fascinating.

Pierre was an active child, so that was something he figured out pretty early in his childhood. 

Maman would scold him and try all sorts of home remedies to get rid of the purple and blue on his knees and elbows, but Pierre would secretly be proud of them, and he would wear them like badges of honour, because those were the only parts of himself the world would allow him to see.

*

Pierre was in Year 6 when he found a love for football. 

He loved it not so much for the thrill of scoring a goal or the excitement of making new friends, and more for the tan he got that sometimes made his arms burst into the red of sunburn, or the bruises he got from his knees down to his ankles. 

When he came home from school, he would sit down in the backyard with his arms and legs stretched out in front of him, and even though it sometimes physically hurt him to move, the sight of his coloured skin would make him smile.

The fact that he was beating the system made him smile.

*

Pierre hated the colour blue.

He hated that when he stood in front of the mirror after a shower, buck naked, all he saw was the pale pink of his lips and the blue of his eyes, taunting him. 

His hair changed colour when the light hit it differently, but it was still a colour Pierre couldn’t see.

He looked so ugly, like a cartoon someone had drawn but forgotten to colour any part of except his eyes.

His family lived in a big house next to a forest, and in the autumn, everything would turn grey.

In the summer, Pierre would wander into it, into the trees with the green leaves and grey trunks, until he found the meadow, in which he would lie and look up at the clear blue sky. 

He hated that clear blue sky. He hated everything that it reminded him of.

He was lying in the meadow on one of the last days of summer, at the start of Year 7, when some footsteps rustled in the trees lining it. 

Pierre hoped that they would go on by, but they stopped next to him.

“Hey,” a voice said. “You’re in my year, right?”

Pierre opened his eyes and squinted at him. He looked pale, but so did everyone else, so it wasn’t anything new, but the green of his eyes stood out. “Hey,” Pierre said. “Yeah. You sit in the back in homeroom.”

“I’m Charles.”

“Pierre.”

Charles seemed to be comfortable inviting himself to be in Pierre’s company. He lay down next to Pierre with a sigh, his arms under his head. “Weather seems pretty good today,” he said.

“Mhm.” Pierre glared up at the striking blue. “God. I hate the fucking sky.”

Charles was quiet at that. It didn’t matter to Pierre. He didn’t really have any friends, and if anyone didn’t like him, they were free to leave.

“Why?” Charles eventually asked. “Can you see it?”

“Yeah, I can see it.”

“What colour can’t you see?”

“Brown.”

The trees rustled above them as Charles went quiet again. In the distance, birds chirped. Pierre swatted away a fly that came too close to his ear.

“So why do you hate the sky so much?” Charles asked.

Pierre only hated the sky out of spite. “It just makes me angry that we all have to be born with this stupid little rule.”

“Don’t you ever think about how your soulmate can’t see the sky?”

That question actually made Pierre pause and think a little.

The fact that there was someone, somewhere in the world, who loved Pierre, and couldn’t see the sky because of him.

“I can’t see the sky,” Charles continued.

Pierre turned to him. “Really?”

Charles nodded. “I can’t see blue. Your eyes are just grey to me.”

“That’s a pity. The sky looks beautiful.”

Charles smiled. “Yeah, I mean, I guess it’s alright as long as I know that.”

Pierre wished he could accept things that easily.

They lay there for the rest of the afternoon, Charles under the shade of a tree and Pierre further out into the glare of the sun; at least, if he got sunburnt, he would be able to see some semblance of a face.

------

When Year 7 started, Alex attended a really fancy Catholic boys’ school with old brick buildings and classes for art and film and music, on top of the usual ones.

His family wasn’t all that religious, and only sent Alex there for the education, and Alex loved it there. He loved all the people he met and all his teachers and he loved learning new things every day. 

The only thing he hated was the blue uniform he had to put on every day.

He would stand in front of the mirror and put on his grey pants and his grey tie, which he knew in his mind were anything but grey, and he would go to school and see everyone else in that same drab suit. 

Alex was tall and lanky and was no good at any sport, so he usually spent his afternoons studying under the shade of a tree in one of the school fields, watching the lacrosse team train. Sometimes, he would get so engrossed in his books, the lacrosse team would’ve left and the sun would’ve set by the time he looked up for a break.

He was back at his usual spot one afternoon, head buried in his science textbook, when a hand grabbed his wrist and dragged him, with his books flapping and his backpack hanging off one arm, into the nearest building, which happened to be where the music rooms were.

“Where are you taking me?” was all Alex thought to ask, instead of who it was or why he was pulling Alex. 

“It’s going to rain. You shouldn’t be under a tree when there’s lightning,” the boy said.

“Oh.” Alex peered out the window. The sky looked the same to him. Grey. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.” The boy stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing Alex up and down. His shirt was untucked on one side and flapped over his pants. He was quite tall, about Alex’s height, but his trousers were tapered and ended just above his ankles, making him look even taller. He stuck out a hand towards Alex. “I’m George.”

“I’m Alex.” Alex put down his bag and his books and shook George’s hand. “I think I’ve seen you in math class.”

George smiled. Alex couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, so he bet they were blue. “So,” George said, as light rain began to fall outside. He sat down on the floor, beside what appeared to be his own school bag. “I guess we’re stuck here for a bit.”

Alex sat down next to him, his science book forgotten. Not that it really mattered, because Alex came to realise that once George began talking, he really couldn’t shut up.

That was the day Alex made a new friend named George, and spent the whole afternoon sitting with him outside the music rooms, talking about everything and nothing, as the rain battered the building holding them dry. 

------

George couldn’t see the colour green.

He couldn’t see the colour green, but he loved being outdoors, and Alex wished he had the free spirit of this boy.

Their school was nestled in the middle of a lush forest, and every day after school Alex and George would make the twenty-minute walk home through the greenery. 

“How do the trees look today?” he would ask Alex.

Alex would describe them to him to the best of his ability, until autumn came and the green gave way to brown, and it would be the only time of year that they could both see the trees. 

“It’s nice that you can still see the trees for half a year,” Alex told him. “I can’t ever see the sky.”

“You’ll see the sky,” George said. “I know you will.”

Alex really wanted to believe that, too.

*

Right at the border of their town, near Alex’s house, was a cliff overlooking the sea. Behind, it was surrounded by rolling green hills as far as the eye could see. Ahead, in the distance, the grey sky merged with an even greyer sea. 

It was on this cliff that Alex spent his happiest days, sitting in the breeze, relishing the calmness of sunrise and the fury of sunset. And it was on this cliff that he experienced his worst days, berating the world that the sky and sea in front of him were nothing but a depressing grey.

Whenever the weather wasn’t too cold, Alex would sit with George on the cliffside; sometimes, when George had a bad day, they would sit facing the sea, so George could see. On Alex’s bad days, they sat with their backs to the sea, their attention focused on the green hills.

“You ever think about what it looks like?” Alex asked. “Green?”

“All the time.” George’s voice was soft. The wind carried it away as they both lay in the tall grass on the cliffside, looking up at the dull sky.

“Green is my favourite colour.”

“Really?”

Alex nodded. “Luca told me green is pretty close to blue.”

George smiled then, and he looked happier than Alex had ever seen him. “That’s really nice.”

“All my siblings can’t see brown,” Alex said. “So I just find it very cruel that I can’t see the colour blue and yet I was born next to a blue sea.”

George chuckled. “And me in the thriving greenery.”

“What do you think green looks like?” 

“I don’t know,” George said. “It’s hard to imagine something you’ve never seen. My dad told me it’s between yellow and blue. But in my mind, I can’t put it together.”

Alex recalled how hard it was for him to try and put purple and green together, so he didn’t contest that. Besides, he didn’t even know how blue looked like, so it wasn’t as if he could confirm that for George.

“Do you think we’ll ever see our colours?” he asked.

“We will, Alex.” George sounded resolute, and Alex found it hard not to believe him. “I don’t know if we’ll be together then. But I hope we will when we do.”

The sky slowly took colour above them, the slight hues of coral and thistle appearing in Alex’s vision. The edges of the clouds began to show, and towards the horizon, the sky became orange.

“Alex,” George said softly.

“Yeah?”

“What does green feel like?”

Alex closed his eyes and thought of everything that was green. 

“When it’s bright, it feels fresh.” The crisp, new grass of spring. “Like new beginnings. It feels peaceful and calming.” Alex remembered the walks he used to take alone, in the meadows and forests that lined their town. “Seeing green makes you feel relaxed right away. It’s the colour of success and growth.” The traffic lights, the green marks that represented an increase. 

“But when it gets darker, green is...it’s mysterious.” Alex imagined the dark green of velvet chairs and library ceilings. “It’s royalty and it’s ambition.” He thought of the feelings that came with the colour green. “Sometimes people say it represents jealousy, or envy. But I’ve seen a few green eyes. And I think green is just a really happy colour.”

George was smiling when Alex finally turned to him. The stars had come out above them, and a crescent moon slowly rose. 

“Green is my favourite colour, too,” he said, his voice now striking against the silence of the night. 

“Why?” Alex asked. “You can’t see it.”

“It represents all my future hope and happiness. So it’s my favourite colour.”

Alex really wished he could be just like his best friend George.

------

Try as he might, Alex never managed to build any upper body strength, so he hated PE class the most. He was only decent in art and music, but he did find a great interest in science. 

Science lab was his favourite lesson of the day, and he would frequently turn up earlier than he needed to, just to read through the protocol and explore what was set out on the desks. 

“Why’re you looking so blue?” George asked as he dropped his book bag next to Alex. He seemed completely unperturbed that he’d walked into science lab thirty minutes late.

“I can’t look blue if I don’t know what blue looks like.”

“You can, too.” George took out his notebook. “Blue is like...cool and calm. If electricity had a colour, it’d be blue.”

“Really?” Alex fiddled with the bunsen burner until he got it to turn on. “So what do you mean I’m looking blue?”

“You just look sad, that’s all. Blue is also kinda a sad colour. It’s...very cold and depressing.”

Alex stared at the flame coming out of the bunsen burner. It was grey. Or blue. “Hmm,” he said.

“It can be really hot, like electricity, or it can be really cold, like the deepest parts of the sea.”

Alex wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Was his soulmate warm, or were they cold?

All Alex wanted was to feel peace when he looked into their eyes. 

------

When he was in Year 8 or Year 9, Pierre began to realise that he was actually good enough at football, and he enjoyed it enough, to carry through with it as he progressed with school.

Papa and maman made sure he got everything he needed; all the equipment, the boots, the adequate training, and in return, Pierre made sure he did well enough to be given the role of captain of the football team. 

He had a reputation of being a tough defender, and he carried it with him every match.

And after every match, he would go home and stand naked in front of his mirror, watching the marks form on his skin, a dark purple in some areas and green in others, and some scratches bleeding red. 

It was always those moments, when Pierre was lit up like a Christmas tree, that he felt most alive.

Charles was on the football team with him; his wide shoulders made him a good goalkeeper, but he often suffered the wrath of Pierre when he commanded the team. He certainly took it into stride, though, because he would still hang out with Pierre in the locker room after training and wait for him so they could cycle home together. 

“Is something bothering you?” Charles asked, pushing his bike next to Pierre as they walked home one day, Pierre’s ankle hurting too badly for him to cycle. “You seem very upset.”

Sometimes, Pierre admired Charles’s patience with him despite how ill-tempered Pierre was turning out to be.

“Nothing’s bothering me.” The uneven muddy path down a clearing in the forest was making it hard for Pierre to limp his way along. So that was one thing that was bothering him. But otherwise.

“You’re angry all the time.”

Autumn was upon them, and everything around Pierre was grey. It just...made him so angry.

But he remembered that their football jerseys were a beautiful steel blue that Charles couldn’t see, and it made him feel bad for always making everything about himself.

They went to Pierre’s house and maman made them macaroni soup for dinner, and neither Pierre nor Charles brought up Pierre being angry again for the rest of the night.

Instead, they spent their time watching funny cat videos on the internet, and for a few hours, Pierre was able to forget that everything around him looked like a 60s movie at this time of year. 

*

Pierre’s toughness only began to be a problem when he progressed to representing his school in regional competitions.

He was called out for fouls way too often, and shown cards, yellow and red, colours he didn’t wish to see. 

But it only spurred Pierre on, and he got braver and braver, and the tackles he made got harder and harder, and soon enough Pierre could see the colour of his legs all the time.

The worst thing about Pierre’s scars was that they faded. 

They faded into a grey only slightly darker than that of his skin, and they reminded Pierre that no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t see himself.

They were at an away game, playing against the school team from the neighbouring town, when Pierre got way too into a game and earned himself a stud to the face.

He was pouring blood out of his cheek and had to sit out the rest of the game, which really didn’t make things any better. 

They spent the night in a small hotel, where Pierre shared a room with Charles, and he didn’t mention the gaping hole in his face when he called maman to tell her they won the game, afraid that she would want to make the drive over that night.

Charles helped him dress the wound, his hands gentle and his expression concerned. “You get hurt a lot.”

It sounded like a statement, although he looked at Pierre as if he expected a response. Pierre stared back at him with the one eye that wasn’t swelling.

“Are you hurting yourself on purpose?” Charles asked. 

Pierre shook his head. The cotton bud Charles was holding zipped across his cheek, and Pierre pretended he didn’t notice the pain. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Charles tipped Pierre’s chin so he could see the wound better. His touch was rougher now as he applied the yellow antiseptic, as if he was angry with Pierre and wasn’t going to care if it hurt him. “I’ve seen your shin pads. They’re three sizes too small. Pierre, you go home with bruises all over your shins. You go into every tackle as if you’re aiming for their boots to hit your ankles. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“It’s the only way I can see myself.” Pierre hated that his voice was soft and weak. He hated that he was soft and weak. He hated that even though his voice was faint, it still bounced off the papered walls of the room and struck back at him, reminding him of the fact.

“How do you think your soulmate would feel? That you’re hurting yourself because of them?”

“I don’t care about my fucking soulmate,” Pierre spat. 

“But you do, don't you?” Charles asked quietly. “You do. You care too much about them.”

“I don't.” Pierre did. He did. He just didn’t want to say it out loud, because it would mean he felt something besides anger. 

“It’s not their fault that you can’t see brown.”

“But it is.” Pierre’s tears stung his wound, but he tried not to let it bother him. “It is.”

“Pierre, I –” Charles sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care about having a soulmate. I don’t. I just want to live my life. And I hate that I can’t. I hate that I can’t actually see you, or myself, or anyone else. I just want to live.”

“You can. You can live without this much hate in your heart.”

“How?”

“We’re all born lacking one colour. Some people two. It’s just something we all have to live with.” Charles put the tube of antiseptic down and taped a piece of gauze over Pierre’s cheek. “We can’t do anything to change that. But somewhere out there in the world, there’s someone who can’t wait to meet you. And they can’t wait for you to show them the colour blue. And in return, that person will teach you all about the colour brown, and they’ll show you why it was worth it to wait so long. Don’t you think that’s exciting?”

Pierre really didn’t, but when Charles put it that way…

The sound of the sink was deafening as Charles washed his hands. He wiped them on his shorts and climbed into his bed next to Pierre’s, stretching to turn off his bedside light. 

“Good night, Pierre.”

Pierre sat on the side of his bed, surrounded by blood-soaked tissues, sobbing under the small bubble of light from the old lamp on the table.

------

Pierre didn’t stop using his tiny shin pads, nor did he change the way he went into every tackle. 

He did learn to make them more legal, so he got away with them more often than not. But he still went home with his legs blue and purple and his arms red from the sun, and he would feel satisfied when he looked in the mirror.

“It’s not healthy,” Charles would tell him.

Pierre didn’t care.

He was just...so angry.

And if he didn’t play the way he did, if he didn’t have anywhere to channel all that anger, then Pierre…

He might as well be dead.

Despite all the apprehension Charles held towards the way Pierre behaved, he still stuck by Pierre’s side, and he still went home with Pierre after every game and he would bring a little first aid kit and help Pierre dress all his wounds and he wouldn’t say a word. 

Pierre often wondered how Charles could hold so little resentment towards somebody who was the sole reason Charles couldn’t see the colour blue.

But he knew if he asked Charles, all Charles would say would be, “I can’t be angry with someone who’s going to show me the rest of the world,” and he would make Pierre accept what he had known from the very start – that he was only so angry because he cared more about his soulmate than he convinced himself. That he was only hurting himself over and over again because he was trying so hard to be complete without the one person he was born to love. That deep down, subconsciously, he was only so angry with them because he had to wait so long to meet them.

So he didn’t.

Besides, as the months passed, Pierre began realising that it was getting easier to convince himself that he didn’t so much care about it. He’d lived fifteen, sixteen years without the colour brown, and he’d survived just fine. He could live the rest of his life that way.

Even if it meant he had to keep hurting himself to forget it.

Towards the end of secondary school, the opportunity arose for Pierre to get a sports scholarship to study at the big university in the city. Pierre hadn’t decided what he wanted to study yet, but the opportunity seemed interesting. 

The chance to get away from their little suburban town, where for a few months every year Pierre would be made to feel like he was in a black and white movie, was too good to resist. 

Charles was up for the same scholarship, so they went to the open house together that summer, their last summer before graduation. 

The city was...it was big and overwhelming but it was a different kind of grey than the one awaiting Pierre at home in the autumn that would come in the next few months. The grey was almost completely obscured by everything else that littered it; all the colourful signs and shopfronts, the painted wooden doors that lined alleyways, and the big adverts that jumped out at Pierre with striking colours that everybody could see without a doubt. 

The university was big and sprawling, though some parts were more modern than others. The oldest buildings were built with red brick, and others with a grey brick that Charles confirmed for Pierre was actually grey, and not brown. Pierre immediately fell in love with the prospect of studying sports physiology.

They stayed the weekend there, the two of them and their parents, and they explored the city together. The cobblestone roads were a fresh change from all the muddy rural roads that Pierre and Charles were so used to, and the neon lights of the night reflected off them, making it feel like they were suspended in an illusion. 

“Pierre.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“If you could describe blue to me, what would it be like?”

Pierre realised the way the grey of the city and the bright white lights came together gave the entire night a blue hue that Charles couldn’t see. The lights were harsher than the warm orange ones they were used to back at home, and it must’ve been quite disorienting to Charles.

“It can be cold, and hostile, and jarring.” Pierre remembered the way his eyes looked in the mirror, and realised he only made those associations because he saw them in relation to his grey skin. “But blue is...it’s calming. It’s cool and relaxing and looking at it makes you feel like you can do great things.” Pierre thought about the sky they would look up at in their meadow. “It’s the colour of glory to me, but also the colour of work, of motivation.” The blue-tinted silhouettes of the faraway mountains that Pierre could see from his roof brought Pierre feelings of peace, and the lake behind their houses reminded Pierre of summers with his brothers. “Many people think blue is a sad colour. That it’s opposite to red. But I think blue represents so many other things. When I think of blue, I always think about the sky, and the sea, and the mountains. That the world is so big, but if we try hard enough, we can achieve whatever we want to.”

Charles smiled. “That’s really nice, Pierre. Thank you.”

If blue didn’t look as harsh as it did on Pierre’s skin, then perhaps Pierre might’ve learned to appreciate it earlier. Blue was the colour of so many things that made Pierre feel some sort of happy.

But all of that just made Pierre realise – 

In their little town, they were surrounded by blue just as much as they were surrounded by brown.

Charles was surrounded by blue just as much as Pierre was surrounded by brown.

And Charles had been by Pierre’s side from the very start, even though every time he looked at Pierre, he could only see grey in Pierre’s eyes. Every time he looked at Pierre, he would be reminded of the missing piece in his life.

As much as Pierre had hated it, it was the same, if not worse, for Charles.

Yet Pierre had never heard a single word of complaint from him. 

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Charles whispered.

Pierre stopped him from walking; he grabbed Charles’s wrist and he stopped Charles and he pulled Charles into a tight hug. 

“Thank you.” Pierre tried not to let his tears show in his voice. “For always being here for me. I know...I know I haven’t been the best person to be around. I’m angry all the time and I never listen to you and I –” Pierre gulped. “Yeah.”

Charles chuckled, sounding relieved that Pierre was finally, after all these years, showing him a hint of emotion. “Hey. You’re my best friend. There’s no one else I’d rather be here for.”

“I hope you find the person that will show you how beautiful blue can be.”

“And I hope you find yours.”

Pierre didn’t really.

He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He had never allowed himself any love from anyone besides his parents. Not from Charles. Not even from himself. 

So how was he just supposed to let some stranger with brown eyes love him?

“We’ll get into this school together, and we’ll be teammates for a long time,” he said instead. “Yeah?”

“Deal.”

They spent the rest of the weekend browsing the different little brochures for the university, and neither of them brought up that conversation again.

------

That summer after graduation, Alex and George went on vacation with their families. 

Alex’s siblings and parents went, and so did George’s siblings and parents, and they all went to a nice little beachside town where they could actually be next to the sea instead of watching it from a cliff. 

The sea was beautiful, although Alex couldn’t see it; it was a swirling grey, transparent, and it glittered under the sunlight. They snorkeled in it for a while, and Alex enjoyed himself seeing how excited George got over the schools of little fish. 

Everybody had so much fun in the afternoon, splashing around in the water, playing games, jet skiing, and just laughing at each other’s antics. 

But out of the ten or so of them, Alex was the only one who couldn’t see blue.

He was the only one who didn’t understand what was so beautiful about the place they were in. 

He was sure it was a lovely day, but the grey surrounding him overwhelmed him, almost blending into the white sand of the beach. The sky was clear, but it caved in on Alex, as did the clear water, and he found himself having to escape to the rocky pier some distance down the beach, where he climbed out to the edge and sat on a rock. 

The water closest to the rocks was a murkier brown, contaminated by the stray leaves and twigs that were swept in by the tide. The fact that Alex could see this bit of the water made him a bit more relieved. 

George found him again at the end of the afternoon, when the sky was beginning to turn a darker shade of grey. The smaller stones crunched under his slippers as he made his way down the pier to Alex and sat down next to him.

“Is the water greener nearer to the shore or is it just my eyes playing tricks on me?” he asked.

He was leaning over to look at the half-submerged parts of the pier, so Alex assumed he was talking about the brown bits near their feet. 

“It’s brown,” Alex told him. “It’s dirtier, with leaves and stuff.”

“Oh.” George looked perplexed. “Okay. It looks quite grey.”

“I thought you could see brown.”

“Yeah, I can. I...sometimes I can’t differentiate brown shades very well. I could see brown more clearly when I was younger. Now it’s worse.”

“D’you think it’s something to do with your soulmate?”

“Maybe.” George shrugged. “Maybe they have one of those nice multi-coloured eyes. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“That’d be really cool.”

“What’s up with you?” George nudged Alex with his shoulder. “You’ve been very quiet.”

“It’s a bit overwhelming. I can’t really...see anything.”

George was quiet then, but he stayed, and Alex was grateful that he always knew what to do. Alex knew the anxiety of being surrounded by faux grey was something George was very familiar with. And he was glad that they’d both had each other to share their stories of blue and green with throughout the years.

“And?” George eventually asked, further boosting Alex’s theory.

“I’m just a little bit nervous,” Alex whispered. “About the city.”

“Why?”

“I mean, I’ve wanted to move to the city since I was a little kid. But it’s just…” Alex sighed. “George. Do you think I’ll meet my soulmate there?”

“You know what I really think?” George was staring right ahead at the sea, the very sea that Alex couldn’t bear to look at. “I think if there’s been something so strong pulling you to the city since you were a child, then it must mean you’ll find something there that will make you happy.”

Alex lifted his head again. The sunset here was different; the sun went down behind them, so all Alex could see was a small band of orange that cut the horizon. Everything else was just as it had been for the rest of the day – grey.

“I just want so badly to meet them,” he told the light, breezy, dimming summer air in front of him. “I know that it’s silly. But I know that I’m going to love them and I can’t wait to meet them and I can’t wait to find out how beautiful blue is. And I hope they’ll be as happy to meet me as I will be to meet them.”

“It’s not silly.”

“I just think that…” Alex swallowed. “I’m going to be so happy to find them. To feel...complete.”

“You will, Alex. You’re gonna meet them.”

Alex didn’t know what to say to that. He just looked down at the greyish, brownish rocks at his feet, trying not to cry at all the blue he couldn’t see around him. His little town, the house he grew up in – it might’ve been surrounded by miles and miles of blue, but the prospect of leaving it still scared Alex. 

It was a strange feeling, hating something this much and yet not wanting to leave it.

The tide rose slightly as the moon climbed, but the summer was more humid in these parts near the sea, so they sat there on the pier, their shirts drying and flapping in the wind. 

Alex’s urge to cry disappeared with the grey sky as it turned to purple, then eventually black. George sat silently next to him, staring thoughtfully out at the horizon.

Alex just wanted to cherish these last moments he had with George before they went to different cities for university.

Although Alex was headed for the bright city he’d been craving to go to since before he could even remember, George was headed in the opposite direction, to the second closest city, where he would study communications.

“George.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“Me too, buddy.” George wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders, and he was warm, and Alex couldn’t help but lean into him. “But we’ll call often, yeah? And you’ll tell me everything that’s going on in your life.”

“And you.”

“I can’t wait to meet your soulmate, Alex.”

Alex couldn’t, either.

------

The city didn’t seem so overwhelming once Pierre got used to everything being so colourful. 

Charles took up art, and he had his lessons on the other side of campus from where Pierre had his near the science department. They lived in the same dorm with some of their teammates from the football team, though, so they still saw each other every day. 

No one asked Pierre about the marks on his legs, or the size of his shin pads, or why his boots were a size and a half smaller than they were supposed to be. No one mentioned the scar on his face from that stud he took, the scar Pierre knew would take years to fade. 

No one but Charles.

Pierre wondered if anything he did would ever drive Charles away.

He wasn’t going to try, but as he watched Charles try to patch up a wound on his ankle, he couldn’t help but say, “I think your soulmate is very lucky.”

Charles peered up at him. “Why?”

Pierre shrugged. “Just because you’re the way you are.”

Charles smiled, though his gaze returned to Pierre’s foot. “I didn’t know you started caring about soulmates.”

“I don’t. Just yours.”

"Will it ever change?"

Pierre didn't think so. 

*

It was strange being away from papa and maman for such a long time, but Pierre quickly got into the thick of university life. 

There was training three times a week, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, but even on his free days Pierre still trained on his own. Sometimes Charles joined him, but most times he just sat by the side waiting for Pierre, doing some sketching or scrolling on his phone. 

Pierre didn’t stop for one minute, because he thought if he stopped, then he would easily be overwhelmed by all his thoughts.

So he kept going, pushing his body to the limit, as if it was merely a machine and not the vessel of Pierre’s entire life.

When he wasn’t training, he spent time with his head buried in his books, reading about how the human body worked. As the days passed, he became more and more convinced that his body really was just a machine.

The biggest library on campus sat in the oldest building, and it had tall windows and high ceilings and old banisters made of wood. Pierre would find a table right in the middle of the first floor, where he wouldn’t be suffocated by the lying brown shelves masquerading as grey. The polished oak of the table still taunted him as he studied, but it was better than having the dark shelves cave in on him. 

When night fell, he escaped the frightening embrace of the dark library and went out to dinner with Charles or ran laps around the field alone.

If he had no time for himself, then he had no time to think about how all of this was just a form of escape.

The guys on the football team were as rowdy as they were friendly, but since Pierre and Charles were on scholarships, they had joined the team before tryouts for the new season, so they integrated nicely.

Pierre was already eighteen, but it was two weeks before Charles’s birthday when tryouts happened, so they all snuck Charles into a bar that night to celebrate. 

It was an old bar that was about a ten-minute walk from the dorms, and the interior looked like an old Western bar with wooden walls and wooden tables and dark hardwood flooring. The only thing Pierre could see was the red cushioned bar stools. The whole place looked like it was used to accomodating an entire football team’s worth of rowdy university boys.

A pint of beer with a colour he couldn’t see was placed in front of him. 

Pierre closed his eyes and downed it in a few gulps. The thunk of the thick-bottomed glass on the bar counter was deafening to him. 

No one else seemed to notice. Pierre ordered another beer.

He had stuck by Charles for most of the journey there, and Charles did the same, standing next to Pierre and leaning against the counter as he spoke to a senior.

Pierre stared straight ahead, trying not to notice that the pseudo-grey walls were closing in on him. 

He wasn’t sure how many beers it took him to finally be hyper-aware of the fact that he couldn’t see anybody save for the monotone of their black jerseys with the single red stripe down each side. 

People milled around him, a mix of grey and crimson, the colour of the blood that rushed to Pierre’s feet as he tried to stand up and get to someplace where he could breathe.

It was dark outside, and it was smack in the middle of autumn, so the leaves of the trees offering him shade like umbrellas were grey under the glow of the streetlights.

Pierre started running.

He ran and he ran until all the grey gave way to the red of the dorm buildings and the vibrance of the evergreen trees lining the main gate and pathway, at which point he collapsed on the ground, vomiting into a bush.

Quick footsteps approached him, and Pierre had no time to process them before Charles was crouching next to him, a concerned expression on his face. 

"What's going on?" he asked. 

Pierre shook his head. “I just don’t feel too well.”

“Have you eaten anything at all today?”

Pierre pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t have to answer, but Charles was just staring at him, so Pierre shook his head again.

Charles sighed. He sat down next to Pierre and handed Pierre a paper napkin that he’d nicked from the bar. Pierre used it to clean the vomit off his lips. 

When he looked down the streets, he could still see the grey of the autumn leaves framing the sidewalk like a depressing crown. But the darkest blue Pierre could make out when he looked up at the sky, the green of the benches outside the dorm building, and the warm orange light shining out from inside – it all gave Pierre at least some reason to hope. 

Charles tugged at Pierre’s elbow and got them both inside their dorms, away from the chilly night. They made a detour to Charles’s room, where he took two boxes of instant mac and cheese and brought them back to the shared kitchen on their level.

“How are you doing?” he asked as he ripped one of the boxes open, mixed everything together, and placed it in the microwave.

Pierre sat down at the little round communal table. “I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Charles stared at the turntable in the microwave for a while. Then he stopped it before it beeped, and put his own portion inside before bringing the piping hot mac and cheese to Pierre.

“You never think about yourself, do you?” he asked, his back to Pierre as he returned to the microwave to guard his own serving. “You’re constantly only thinking about all the ways you can pay yourself zero attention.”

Pierre picked up his fork. His hand was shaking, but he didn’t know if it was due to hunger or because he’d started to cry. He was just. Pierre was just suddenly so exhausted. He was so tired and he’d refused to admit it to himself earlier but he couldn’t bear the weight of constantly being busy with schoolwork or football and allowing himself no time to think.

The microwave beeped once before Charles took his mac and cheese out. He sat down next to Pierre, though he didn’t touch Pierre. They ate quietly for a while, Charles shoveling macaroni into his mouth while Pierre took smaller bites. 

But Pierre was wrong when he thought he’d successfully escaped Charles’s questioning, because the moment Pierre took his last bite, Charles said, “Pierre. Talk to me.”

Pierre shook his head.

Charles put his fork down with a sigh. Pierre didn’t dare look up at him. He didn’t want Charles to see him crying. 

“Are you going to live like this forever?” Charles asked. The heartbreak, the desperation in his voice – it almost swayed Pierre. “Pierre. Do you want to live like this forever?”

Pierre just – 

What if he didn’t want to live like this forever?

Pierre had spent all his life convincing himself that he didn’t need the colour brown, but what if he really did care more than he was willing to admit?

It was just so hard for Pierre to think about loving anyone.

It was so hard for him to love himself. 

And sometimes he wanted to, he really did, but...he just didn’t know how.

Charles didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well, because Pierre didn’t think he had one. 

“Pierre,” he said softly, all the anger and distress in his voice now gone. “We’re going to count to ten. Okay? Ten is your favourite number, right? We’re gonna count to ten, and when we reach ten, you tell me what you want to do right now, and we’ll go do it. Okay?”

Pierre nodded. He listened to Charles whisper the numbers one through ten, ten seconds for Pierre to listen to his instincts about what he needed right then, then peer back up at Pierre.

“I just want to shower and sleep,” Pierre whispered.

Charles smiled. “Okay, we’ll go do that,” he said, getting rid of their empty mac and cheese containers and taking Pierre back to their rooms. He collected everything he needed for his shower, then waited for Pierre to do the same. They showered silently in neighbouring stalls, and for the first time, Pierre discovered that listening to what his body was trying to tell him was actually relaxing.

Charles waited until Pierre was tucked in bed, warm and comfortable with all the lights off, before he closed the door.

“Good night, Pierre,” he whispered.

Pierre cried himself to sleep that night, and it was cathartic.

------

The campus was all browns and greens that time of year, and Alex loved it. 

The university he attended wasn’t so much known for lacrosse like his previous school, but they had one of the best football teams in the region. They trained three times a week, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays Alex would find a tree to hang out under as he watched them from afar like he was so used to, sometimes while revising his biochemistry notes.

He took some time to make some friends, but eventually started hanging out more with his benchmates from the lab, a boy named Lando and a girl named Layla.

Sometimes, they would study with Alex under the shade of the tree like George used to, but they mostly only spent breaks and lunches together – George’s ‘don’t you dare find replacements for me’ came to mind – and at the end of the day it was always just Alex, sitting in his room with his laptop, on the phone with his mom or George.

But Alex had to admit that some nights, it got lonely.

He would lie in bed and close his eyes and think about the sound of the waves hitting the cliff that he and George used to sit on, and he would try again and again to imagine the colour blue.

He went into town with Lando and Layla once for weekend brunch, and came back with a lava lamp that Lando convinced him was blue.

When the nights got too quiet, he would stare at the little floating bubbles and think about the day he could finally see them. 

He didn’t dare tell Lando or Layla he did that, because he knew they’d laugh at him. 

The only person he would talk to about it was George.

“I’ll get a green lava lamp, too, and we can be lava lamp buddies,” he said once.

The next day, Alex received a photo from him, of a green rocket-shaped lava lamp that George put on proud display on his bedside table.

At times, talking to George and thinking of stories he was going to tell George – it made Alex miss the simpler times, when they would sit on their cliff and watch the world go by around them. 

But George was a four-hour drive away, so Alex had nothing but himself and his grey lava lamp.

Alex kept to himself mostly throughout each day, and sometimes it could get lonely. He started popping by the other side of campus, where the music rooms were, and sitting in on some of the guitar club practice sessions. One thing led to another, and a few weekends later Alex found himself with an acoustic guitar of his own and Lando roped in to do the same.

Since he wasn’t on a full scholarship, he also got himself a part-time job delivering food around campus on his bicycle, and it gave him a topic to talk to his family about on their calls.

He tried to keep himself busy, but not too busy, because being alone at university was an adventure on its own and Alex didn’t want to be too burnt out to enjoy it.

When winter came, Alex had fewer opportunities to hang out with Lando and Layla under their tree and play some songs on his guitar. Instead, there were more people in the dorms and some even living slightly outside of campus who ordered in, so Alex earned more tips in the first half of December than he did in the entire of November.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and not cold enough that day for Alex to skip his break, which he spent watching the football team train. He didn’t know any of the guys, none of them majored in biochemistry like he did – which was a good thing, because it made it easier for Alex to watch without getting roped into anything.

He received a ping to pick up a dinner order from the nearby cafeteria, so he got to his feet, passing the football team as they dispersed after training. He popped the takeaway boxes into the insulated bag on the back of his bike and started pedaling towards the dorms at the far end of campus.

It had rained earlier that day and the gloomy weather meant that none of it had been able to dry, so the roads were slippery as Alex pedaled along. He passed some of the football guys on the way, giving his bell a few friendly rings so they would get out of the way.

What happened next seemed to pass in slow motion in front of Alex.

He saw one of the boys slip on the slick pavement as his ankles gave way under him. He attempted grabbing the hand of the boy next to him, but he missed, and toppled off the sidewalk into the path of Alex's bicycle. 

Alex clamped on the brakes immediately, but the slippery road didn’t help, not even when Alex put his feet down to stop the bicycle. The crunch his front wheel made on impact with the boy’s side was loud, but it wasn’t as deafening as the thud the boy made as he fell on the hard ground. 

“Oh, fuck,” Alex muttered, flinging his bike to the ground, the sound of all the food collapsing escaping his consciousness for the moment. He crouched down next to the boy, together with all his teammates, who’d scrambled over to check on him. “I’m so sorry. Fuck.”

Not that the boy could hear him, anyway, because he was knocked unconscious with blood pouring out of a gash on the side of his forehead.

“Fuck,” Alex said again, his palms starting to get cold and sweaty. He wanted to pull the boy off the cold ground, but he wasn’t sure which parts of him were broken. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“I’ve called one,” someone shouted from the middle of the pack. 

Alex couldn’t think of anything to do except to take off his sweatshirt and fold it up so he could place it under the boy’s head. The ambulance came by about ten minutes later, and one of the guys – the one whose hand the boy had tried to grab – climbed in with him. 

Alex cycled behind the ambulance as quickly as his legs would allow him, then followed the other boy around as nurses swarmed around the stretcher before disappearing into the emergency room. 

The silence that ensued was even more deafening than the sound that boy’s body had made against the concrete.

“I’m so sorry,” Alex whispered.

The boy turned around, his hands clasped together nervously. He gave Alex a shaky smile. “It wasn’t your fault. The floor was slippery,” he said. “He’ll be fine. I think he’ll be fine. He’s much, much stronger than he looks. He’s used to getting hurt.”

Alex wanted to ask what the hell he meant by that, but managed to refrain himself. Instead, he said, “I’m Alex, by the way.”

“Hey. I’m Charles.”

Alex guessed the walls of the hospital weren’t supposed to be grey. Perhaps they were supposed to be blue. When he asked Charles, Charles told him they looked grey to him as well.

Despite the circumstances, the fact they both couldn’t see blue still warranted a fistbump.

Alex stayed even though Charles told him he could leave, in case there was something else he could help with. And he thought he would keep Charles company. They sat outside the emergency room for a few hours, just talking lazily about their majors. Alex asked him if the other guys on the team were coming by, and Charles said he’d told them not to.

“So…” Alex said, after they’d exhausted all their topics. He gestured at the closed doors of the emergency room. “What’s his name?”

“Pierre.”

“Cool.”

Pierre was moved to a ward and had nothing but bruised ribs and a possible concussion, aside from the gash on his head, but he was still asleep, so Alex and Charles sat outside in the corridor. The constant whirring of machines was loud enough, but it was the background white noise, the sound of shoes against smooth linoleum, and the eerie rattling of metal trolleys that got to Alex. It didn’t help that everywhere he looked, he saw people in grey clothes, and he saw walls in differing shades of grey, and everything just looked so...ominous and lifeless.

Sometimes, being surrounded by the colour blue infuriated Alex to no end.

Just like those days in the summer by the beach, it suffocated Alex.

But he pushed it aside, telling himself it was silly, and he sat back in his chair and listened to Charles talk about all the stories he’d heard about the colour blue. He was a pretty good listener, he reckoned, if all his years with George taught him anything at all.

Besides, at least listening to Charles could help Alex forget the bleak grey walls of the hospital corridor.

------

Pierre’s head was spinning more quickly than a washing machine when he woke up. 

The room he was in was dark, although he could make out some blue hospital curtains and someone in a bed next to him dressed in a lighter blue. He looked out the window and saw Charles sitting with another boy, so he called weakly, hoping Charles could hear him.

“Charles?”

Charles turned to him at once, then hurried into what Pierre was beginning to realise was a hospital ward he had woken up in. The other boy ran in the opposite direction, probably to get a nurse.

“Pierre,” Charles said, softly. “Hey. How do you feel?”

“Sick as fuck,” Pierre said. “My head hurts. What happened?”

“You fell.” A doctor and nurse appeared behind Charles, together with the boy Pierre had seen earlier. Charles gestured to him. “And, uh...you fell into Alex’s bike.”

Pierre didn’t have any time to respond to that before the doctor and nurse were conducting tests on him and what he remembered or didn’t remember, if he could see and hear and squeeze the stress ball, and if he could remember what he ate that morning and the previous night. 

When they were satisfied with whatever information Pierre had given them, they told Pierre that his ribs were bruised and he had a mild concussion and a slightly bleeding wound on his forehead, so it was best if he stayed a night at the hospital. 

Pierre didn’t even have it in him to argue. He was just so exhausted and his ribs were beginning to ache, so he asked for some painkillers.

When he lifted his shirt to check on his abdomen, the sight of the most gigantic, gruesome-looking reddish purple spotted wound greeted him, and for some sadistic reason, the colour of it against his light grey skin made Pierre feel some sort of relieved.

“Uh, Pierre,” Charles said. “This is Alex. Alex, this is Pierre.”

Alex stepped into the little bubble of light above Pierre’s bed, and Pierre saw his face for the first time.

He saw Alex’s bright eyes, eyes of a colour Pierre had never seen before.

Brown.

Pierre had never seen it, but he knew instantly it was brown. 

Alex was his soulmate.

The first thought that overcame Pierre was repulsion, and he leaned over the side of his bed and vomited all over the floor.

The next emotion that flooded him was anger. Anger at this boy, appearing in his life out of nowhere. This boy who thought he had the right to rob Pierre of one part of his life for almost nineteen years. Pierre was finally able to put a face on him. 

Charles went away to get a janitor, but Alex stood where he was, paralysed, staring at Pierre. Pierre wanted to ask him what the hell he was staring at.

“Pierre.” Alex had the gentlest voice Pierre had ever heard. “You’re –”

“Don’t say it,” Pierre spat. 

Alex’s mouth pressed into a line as he was caught off guard by Pierre’s hostility.

Pierre examined the back of his hands. They weren’t grey any longer; they were a new colour, a little darker than he was used to, and more orangey than grey. He looked at Alex again, and Alex’s skin was a darker shade of Pierre’s, and it brought out his bright eyes, and if Pierre looked at him too long he could’ve allowed himself to be mesmerised. 

Brown was – it was a little like yellow, a little like orange, and a little like red. The brown in Alex’s eyes was closer to shimmering gold.

Anger rushed over Pierre once again. Anger that he had been fighting Alex in his mind for all his life, and now that Alex was standing in front of him, he had nothing to say. 

He peeled his eyes off Alex’s face and lifted his hospital shirt again to look at the same bruise.

Against his brown skin, the wound on his abdomen didn’t look any less threatening. It didn’t stand out any less.

Pierre stared at the back of his hands again, wondering if he liked this version of himself.

He knew he had always been angry because he thought for some reason or another that he would feel more complete if he could see himself, but now that he could – Pierre felt like he hated himself even more.

The janitor came by and cleaned up all of Pierre’s brown vomit, and Charles fussed over Pierre’s pillows for a while, but Alex stood still where he was throughout.

“I’m sorry I hit you with my bike,” he offered, as if he thought Pierre was angry at him because of that.

“Please go away,” Pierre whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by how...vibrant and healthy he looked with brown skin. He was suddenly cold and hot and the room started spinning again and Pierre felt panic take over him. “Charles. Can you make him leave?”

“I’ll leave,” Alex said. Pierre could see his hands shaking. And even if he hadn’t, he could almost feel Alex’s trepidation “I, uh...I’m sorry. About...about the bike.”

Pierre didn’t look at him again. He couldn’t bear to. 

Instead, he sat in bed, examining the line of newly visible dark brown separating his skin from his fingernails. 

------

Alex didn’t think he would ever forget the first time he saw blue.

He would never forget the moment he saw Pierre's eyes, and the way he felt nothing else besides the purest happiness – but what he would remember more was the way it was snatched right away from him the moment after.

He would never forget the moment his eyes met Pierre’s, and the moment his entire world was flooded with the one colour he had only heard of in stories.

It was more beautiful than anything else Alex had ever seen. 

But Pierre refused to look at him again, and Alex felt a sort of ache in his heart that came with losing something he’d never even had.

The hospital walls were now blue, though they couldn’t live up to the same blue in Pierre’s eyes. It was calm but depressing, exactly like how George had described it to Alex all those years ago.

They still caved in on Alex, though in a different way the grey walls did.

“Alex,” Charles called from behind him as he ran to catch up. “Hey. Sorry. I think he’s just confused and in pain. It’s not your fault, okay? I know Pierre isn’t angry because of the bike. It’s just how banged up he is.”

“Look, he doesn’t want to see me, and that’s fine. I get it.” Alex didn’t really. But he didn’t have it in him to tell Charles.

“He’ll come around. Sorry. He’s very...he’s very angry most of the time.”

“No, I –” Alex stumbled over the right words with which to tell Charles he knew Pierre was angry because Alex was his soulmate. He just didn’t know why. Alex gestured at the handguard on the wall of the corridor. “I can see blue now.”

Realisation dawned on Charles’s face in a way Alex had never seen before. He almost paled down to his very bones, before a look of pure heartbreak took over. He must’ve known why Pierre was so angry, but Alex didn’t dare ask.

“Come by tomorrow, yeah?” Charles said, although he sounded a little hesitant doing so. “Maybe after he’s had some rest, he’ll talk to you.”

“Bye, Charles.”

Alex went back outside, dumped out all the spoiled food in the back of his bike, swept the frost off the seat, and rode home as quickly as he could.

He got into bed, breathless, and realised his entire room was lit up by the blue glow of the lava lamp on his table.

It was the colour of electricity.

Alex closed his eyes with a sigh.

One thought dominated all the hundreds of others running in his head – for all the times he had envisioned meeting his soulmate and loving them, not once had he imagined things would’ve turned out this way.

In all those dreams, Alex had always imagined a happy ending.

He couldn’t even get himself a happy beginning.

Meeting Pierre was supposed to be magical. It was supposed to be magical. 

Alex fell asleep trying to understand how feeling complete also made him feel this awful.

*

Alex found some time between classes and deliveries to pop by the hospital the next day, armed with a takeaway box of oat porridge for Pierre, and a renewed but inexplicable hope that Pierre would be willing to talk to him that day.

The entire football team seemed to be crowded around Pierre’s bed, though they parted when Charles saw Alex at the door to the ward and called out to him. 

“Hey! It’s bike boy!” one of the guys exclaimed, thumping Alex on the shoulder and almost sending him flying across the room. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Alex said, surprised that no one was blaming him for knocking Pierre the fuck out.

“Okay, everyone get out, you’re suffocating Pierre,” Charles said, ushering everyone except Alex towards the door. Soon, it was only Pierre and Alex, separated from the neighbouring beds by dark blue curtains.

Pierre looked calmer than he had the previous night, though he still avoided eye contact with Alex. Alex placed the box of food on the table with the bag of fruits he’d brought, and wheeled it towards Pierre.

Pierre didn’t touch it.

He just sat quietly, head hung low, hands fidgeting in his lap.

For the first time in the daylight, Alex saw all the scars and bruises that lined his arms, and all the other bigger ones on his leg that was peeking out from under the blanket. He saw the big brown scar on Pierre’s cheek.

And he suddenly understood what Charles had meant when he’d said that Pierre was used to getting hurt.

“Alex, right?”

The sound of Pierre’s voice startled Alex. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Um...you’re Pierre, yeah?”

Pierre nodded. Those two words seemed to have sucked all the energy out of him, and he didn’t say anything else.

“Nice to meet you,” Alex continued. “I…I’m sorry we had to meet this way.”

Pierre didn’t respond. The two of them just sat there, the only sound between them the whooshing of the air conditioning. Alex stared at the light blue blanket that covered Pierre’s lower body. It was the same colour as the little patch of blue sky he’d seen earlier that morning.

It really was a mesmerizing colour.

“Do you want something else?” Alex asked. “I could get you a sandwich, maybe. Or some chicken?”

Pierre shook his head.

Alex didn’t know how to continue the conversation on his own, so he just sat there, willing Pierre to move his hands to the porridge.

Charles appeared again a while later, like he was tired of the two of them just sitting there. He sat on Pierre’s bed opposite from the chair Alex was on, and placed a palm on Pierre’s leg.

“Let’s count to ten, okay?” he whispered.

Pierre nodded, and the room was still as Charles recited the numbers from one to ten. Then he gave Pierre’s knee a little squeeze.

“I’ll eat.” Pierre’s voice was weak and a little broken, but he picked up the spoon and dug into the bowl of oat porridge. 

He was very, very quiet, but the way he radiated anxiousness and stubbornness along with an unusual kind of chaos almost pushed Alex to tears.

Alex just wanted to see the blue in Pierre’s eyes again.

Since the night before, he had seen so much blue – in the sky that morning, floating in the bubbles of his lava lamp, on the bulletin board at the science building, on the bottle caps of the chemicals on his bench, and in the photos he had in his phone of him and George in their old school uniforms.

But Alex already knew that his favourite shade of blue was the one in Pierre’s eyes.

“I...I guess I’ll go,” Alex said, standing up. “Sorry about the bike. Again.”

It took all of Alex’s strength to tear himself away from Pierre’s bedside, although Pierre didn’t so much as lift his head to look at Alex. Charles, though, came running after him again, catching Alex just as he was about to get back on his bike.

“Hey,” he said. “You up for a walk?”

Alex shrugged a reply. He had nothing else to do until dinnertime, when he’d start delivering food again, so he took a walk with Charles in the hospital gardens.

“Who’s taking care of Pierre while you’re out?”

“The other guys will,” Charles said. “A nurse comes by every couple hours to wake him up and check on him.”

“Okay.” Alex cleared his throat. “So...does he usually listen to you after you count to ten for him?” 

Charles chuckled. “No. I do it when he gets stubborn. It gives him some time to calm down from his tantrum and think about what he wants or needs to do.”

It made sense to Alex that that was the only thing that would work with Pierre. 

“You must’ve known him for a long time.”

“Since Year 6, yeah,” Charles said. “Alex, Pierre...I don’t know if he wants you to know this, but I feel like you should. I feel like you can help him.”

“Okay.”

Their footsteps crunched in the sandy path through the lush green plants of the garden. Charles seemed to take some time to compose himself.

“Pierre has been hurting himself since he was younger,” he eventually said. “Not...not in the conventional ways. He does it in ways he thinks no one will notice. He was known in our previous football league for being the hardest tackler in the whole league. He intentionally gets shin pads that are way too small. His boots are a size too small. All of this because the only way he knew he could see any part of his own brown skin was if it formed a bruise. Since I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him without bruises all over his body. To everyone, it’s perfectly normal because of the way he plays football. But I know it’s because he hated that he couldn’t see brown, he hated that he couldn’t see his own skin, so he found ways to see it.”

“That’s why he has that big scar on his face?” Alex tried his hardest not to let Charles see he was crying again.

Charles nodded. “He got a boot to the face in a game once. The bottom part of the boot, you know? The studs.”

“Fuck,” Alex muttered. 

“Ever since I met him, Pierre has always been angry.” Charles stopped by a bench and gestured for Alex to sit down. “He either shows no emotion at all, or he’s furious. He’s so angry that he can’t see himself, to the point that he feels like he’s non-existent. And he took it all out on himself. Part of me knows that it must be hard for him because he took his own invisibility so seriously. But a part of me has always wished that he would allow himself some happiness.”

“I…” Alex just didn’t know what to say . He’d spent all his life blind to the beauty of the sky and the sea, but he would still never trade that over the ability to see his own skin. He had never even thought about brown that way, and he knew his siblings hadn't either, and to listen to how Pierre had suffered all these years... “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Alex,” Charles said. “I mean, of course it was because of you that Pierre wasn’t able to see brown. But deep down, I don’t think he’s really truly angry because of this. I think he’s angry because he hasn’t found a way to love himself. And I hope that you can show him.”

“I want to.” Alex couldn’t even put into words how much he wanted to. “I’m – I’m so afraid he won’t let me. That he won’t want me to.”

“He’s always put on this strong face. This strong mask. He says he doesn’t care about anything. But it’s because he doesn’t let himself. He’s so busy trying to escape that he’s never sat down to think about what life could be if he learned to accept things. So...I just think he needs someone to show him. Someone besides me. Because God knows I’ve tried, and I can’t make him better because I couldn’t show him the one colour he wanted to see. So maybe you can. If you want to try.”

“Of course I’ll try,” Alex whispered. He’d only known Charles for less than a day and he really knew nothing about Charles at all, but he couldn’t stop himself from spilling everything. “Charles, I’ve waited to meet my soulmate for years and years. I’ve thought about it every single day. How much I already love them, and how much more I’m going to love them. That my soulmate is Pierre, that he’s the complete opposite of me and he’s spent his life running away from his soulmate instead of chasing them like I have – it doesn’t change anything. I’ve waited so long to meet him and I would do anything at all to show him that he’s worth loving. Because I’ve loved him since the start. Since I was put in this world.”

Charles smiled. He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that you waited so long and it wasn’t the fairytale you imagined.”

Alex shrugged. “Hey, you know. It’s life.”

If only it had been the fairytale Alex had imagined. Meeting his soulmate, them being in love, and spending all their days happily together.

But as Alex had so suddenly and unwillingly learned, life never really was that easy. 

He knew now that he’d been so naive in the past to believe that he and his soulmate would just fall into each other like that. To believe that his soulmate loving him back was a given.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t, but Alex wasn’t about to give up just yet. He had searched for this fairytale since before he could even remember, and he wasn’t going to stop fighting for his happy ending.

------

Pierre moved back into the dorms after two nights at the hospital.

He was still way too exhausted to go for training or lectures, so he skipped all of them and just lay in bed all day.

He set alarms for every four to five hours because Charles insisted that he made sure he was still alive. Pierre thought he was recovering nicely from the concussion, but of course Charles had to make a big fuss out of everything like he was used to.

In the evenings, Alex would bring him food.

The first time it happened, it startled Pierre, because he didn’t remember telling Alex where his dorm room was. But the grilled chicken and salad he brought smelled so good, Pierre couldn’t help but finish it all as Alex stood watching.

The next few times weren’t as surprising anymore. 

Pierre deduced he was a food delivery guy, so the fact he kept bringing Pierre food wasn’t so strange. 

What was strange was the fact that he still came back every time even though Pierre never said a word to him.

He would come back with fresh, piping hot food, and he wouldn’t leave until Pierre finished it. 

The patience he had truly astounded Pierre.

It was a week after the accident that the bruise on Pierre’s ribs started to fade into a disgusting yellowish green, and Pierre hated it. 

He hated that pretty soon, he would only be greeted by his plain brown skin. By nothing but himself.

Sure, he looked a lot healthier now that he could see his skin, but he also felt so...exposed at the thought that the bruise would fade and he would have no more embellishments to hide himself behind.

The gash on Pierre’s forehead was healing well, too, and all that was left of it was a wide forming scab. Pierre was examining it in the mirror when Alex knocked on his door with a box of rice and pork. He stepped into the room to the sight of Pierre in the mirror, and Pierre heard him swallow loudly. 

"Do you wanna, uh…" He gestured vaguely. "Do you need to apply something on that? I can help you."

Pierre shook his head. He sat down at his writing table and took the food Alex put down. It was salty and spicy and Pierre loved it and he wanted to ask Alex where he'd gotten it from but he couldn't find his voice. 

Alex sat on the edge of Pierre's bed, watching. 

Pierre pushed the empty takeaway box aside and opened his desk drawer to look for the anti-inflammatory cream he was given by his doctor. He walked to the mirror to apply it, but he saw Alex approaching from behind before tugging at his shoulder and taking the tube.

His fingertips were soft as feathers, and Pierre barely felt them as they drummed over his face. There was a look of deep concentration furrowing all of Alex's features, but all Pierre could think about was that if he leaned in just that tiny bit closer, he could kiss Alex, and he could kiss it all away.

So Pierre didn't dare move, for fear of doing exactly that. 

He just closed his eyes and felt every touch Alex's skin made on his, every flutter of his fingertips and every time they softly pressed on Pierre's head. He felt himself gently sway towards Alex, and he just let himself, and for once, it didn't feel wrong that he was letting himself chase some sort of happiness. 

It was only when Alex was almost done applying the cream that Pierre found enough courage to move.

He took the cream from Alex, placed it on the table, and held both of Alex’s hands in his own.

From what Pierre had gathered about how the guys on his team had darker skin than anyone else, and how his skin used to turn a darker grey before bursting into red, he deduced that his skin was only as dark as it was because he was frequently under the sun. 

Alex’s skin was even darker.

Pierre examined the difference in their skin tones, turning Alex’s hands around and grasping at his wrists. Alex didn’t resist; if anything, he seemed to melt into Pierre’s touch. His fingers danced in Pierre’s palms like he thought Pierre wouldn’t notice. 

For all the anger he had always held, Pierre had thought that being able to see himself, being able to see others – it would bring him instant joy, instant gratification. An instant feeling of wholeness.

It hadn’t.

But when Pierre looked up, when his eyes met Alex's – when Pierre's eyes met Alex's, Pierre felt this sense of completeness that he had never felt before. 

He tried his best to hold in his tears, and from the way Alex pressed his lips together, Pierre knew he was doing the same. 

Pierre took some time to marvel in the colour. He had never seen it until a week ago, but at the same time...he knew that it had always been his favourite colour. The most beautiful colour in the world. 

Of the dark autumn trees, the different shades of their skin, and the walls of the old school library – the brown in Alex's eyes was Pierre's favourite. 

But the prospect of loving something; of loving someone, and letting them love him – it was so foreign and revolting. 

Alex was silent and still, and Pierre started counting to ten to calm his trembling heart. From the way Alex's eyes followed his for the next ten seconds, Pierre knew he was counting along. 

When the ten seconds were up, Alex gave Pierre’s hands a soft squeeze.

“I just wanna sleep,” Pierre whispered. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Alex. He just couldn’t.

Alex was…

He was so quiet, and patient, and he cared for Pierre so much, and he was just so, so beautiful.

He let go of Pierre’s hands and gently cupped Pierre’s face, and he was almost half a head taller than Pierre, so Pierre strained upwards to look at him. 

“Pierre,” he said softly. “I know you’re...you’re upset. About me. But I just want you to know that...that I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve waited all my life. I’m so happy to meet you. And all I’ve ever wanted was to love you. I’m so glad that I got to meet you in this life.”

Pierre curled his fingers around Alex’s wrists, tugging his hands off Pierre’s face. Pierre just. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to feel. He had never thought about meeting his soulmate. He had never thought about anything besides the fact that his soulmate was the only reason he hated himself so much. 

He had never thought about the possibility that he could hold so much love for his soulmate, so much love that he had never felt before in his life, that he didn’t know where to place or how to put into words or even understand .

As he stared at Alex, the feeling slowly overwhelmed him, until all that he could see, all that surrounded him, was the golden brown of Alex’s eyes.

Alex raised his hand again, this time only to softly run it through Pierre’s hair. 

“Have a good rest,” he said softly, before disappearing out the door.

Pierre spent the rest of the night staring at the backs of his hands until his crying tired him out enough for him to fall asleep.

------

The way all of Alex’s hopes and dreams had fallen apart when he’d met Pierre stopped him from telling George that he’d found his soulmate.

He just...felt so embarrassed and so stupid for having ever thought that it would be easy, that he and his soulmate would just fall into happiness.

But before the year turned, he thought that maybe George deserved to know.

After all, George was the only one who’d been by Alex’s side since the start. He was the only one who would understand Alex’s heartbreak.

George was quiet for a long time after Alex told him he’d met his soulmate at school.

Then he said, “And?”

And Alex knew that George had guessed there was more, that he knew it wasn’t the smooth-sailing story that the two of them had talked about so, so often, and Alex felt a dull ache settle in his heart, the ache of missing all the years he’d spent with George in their little town.

“He plays football,” Alex said. “And he majors in sports physiology. And he’s – he’s very handsome. He has the nicest blue eyes and he –” Alex realised he had never seen Pierre smile before. “Yeah.”

“And?” George urged again.

Alex sighed. “He hates me. He doesn’t talk to me and he doesn’t like to see me.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” George’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “I’ll listen.”

So Alex told him everything, from hitting Pierre with his bike to meeting him and realising that Pierre loathed him. Bringing food to Pierre every day even though Pierre never said more than five words to him at once. That he knew Pierre was fighting it with all his might just like he had been fighting himself for his whole life, and Alex didn’t know how to stop it. How his heart almost fell out of his chest when Pierre held his hands and looked into his eyes and Alex saw the blue that he was willing to drown to death in.

And George listened, and for the first time Alex remembered, he didn’t have anything smart to add, which was a relief. Alex didn’t think any sort of advice would help him right then. 

“You know, Alex,” George said. “I never thought that your soulmate would be a boy.”

Alex chuckled. He realised he’d never actually thought of his soulmate as any gender. “Hmm. Well, he is. And he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Wait till I meet mine. Then you’ll see who’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, shut up, George.”

George laughed. “Hey. How’s that lava lamp looking?”

Alex turned to the lamp next to him. It was calm and loyal and immersive, and it bathed the whole room in its serenity. 

“Electric,” he said. “How’s yours?”

“Hopeful.”

Alex had never missed home more than he did that night.

------

Sitting under his tree to study while the football team trained began to be a little weird now that Alex knew Pierre was on the team.

He still hung out with Lando there with their guitars, but most of the time he was there alone, trying to spot Pierre amongst the sea of black and red without being spotted himself. He didn’t think Pierre noticed. He never approached Alex, at least.

Charles did, though, one cold January afternoon after training. Alex had his head buried in his book, but was forced to look up when Charles sat down next to him, smelling like sweat and grass.

“You come here often?” he asked, like they were at a bar and he was trying to hit Alex up.

“Yeah, it’s nice to study here,” Alex said. “My old school was known for lacrosse, so I always watched the team train. Here it’s football, so...yeah. It’s just kinda a habit.”

Charles smiled. “Yeah, a few of the guys say they’ve seen you around.”

“I mean, I’m not...I’m not just coming here to watch...you know. Pierre. I’ve been here since before.”

“I know. Don’t worry about that.”

Charles just continued sitting there then, and Alex avoided asking him why he wasn’t leaving. Instead, he flipped the page of his book. 

“Have you been to any of our matches?” Charles asked Alex.

Alex shook his head. “I never found a reason to before.”

“We’re playing on the weekend of Pierre’s birthday. You should come watch, if you want. We can get you a ticket.”

“That’ll be cool.” Alex thought maybe he could hang out with Lando and Layla there. “Maybe I’ll take a couple of friends. When is it?”

“First weekend of February. We’ll get you seats.”

“Thanks.”

They sat there quietly until Pierre inevitably appeared, standing in front of them and staring down at them so his long shadow was cast over Alex’s book. 

“Pierre,” Charles greeted him. “Hey. Alex, do you want to join us for dinner?”

“It’s alright, you guys go ahead.”

“Actually, why don’t you two go ahead?” Charles seemed to pretend to check his phone. “I’ll settle my own dinner. See ya.”

He left before either of them could respond, leaving them just staring at him and his wake of confusion – well, Alex stared. Pierre glared.

“Do you...you wanna grab some food?” Alex asked him. 

Pierre was quiet for a while, and with his whole heart, Alex thought he was going to say no. 

But he decided to wait ten seconds.

Pierre cleared his throat.

“Can you take me to the place you got the spicy pork from?” he asked softly.

Alex brought him to the cozy little family-run Korean restaurant just outside of campus, and they found a small table inside, cocooned by the red walls and the black doorways. Pierre ordered two servings of meat and one serving of rice, and Alex sat across from him with his ramyun, trying not to let his knees touch Pierre’s under the table.

Just watching Pierre eat gave Alex this...indescribable sense of happiness. 

That he was healthy, and alive, and in this wide, wide world, Alex had met him. 

Alex didn’t know when he would see the end of this, when he would emerge into the light at the end of the tunnel, when he would have Pierre smile at him or talk to him or let Alex love him, but – he couldn’t even put into words how long he was willing to wait for Pierre, and how much he loved Pierre and wanted to make him happy, and how none of this even mattered.

It was dark outside when they started walking back to the dorms. Pierre got himself a berry smoothie on the way back, and sipped quietly at it as their footsteps whispered over the wet leaves on the ground.

He was quiet, and Alex was never a talkative person, so he struggled to fill the silences by telling Pierre stories about all the antics Lando got up to in the lab.

At the end of the night, he was sure he saw Pierre smile a little, and the way his eyes lit up under the occasional streetlight was...simply phenomenal.

Alex just wanted to be by his side all the time, and see that smile every day of his life.

But for now, he was just happy he could be with Pierre, that Pierre wasn’t pushing him away as harshly as he had been before. He was so happy that he finally got to see Pierre smile. 

Alex kept that little handful of bliss safely in his heart.

------

Pierre didn’t want Alex to leave.

He didn’t want Alex to leave, and the feeling slowly grew within him as they walked, until it almost overwhelmed him when they stopped at the front entrance to Pierre’s dorm.

Alex peered hesitantly at him for a while. Pierre didn’t blame him. He’d probably radiated more hostility than he was willing to. 

Before he could change his mind, he grabbed Alex’s wrist and pulled him upstairs to Pierre’s room. 

Alex seemed as surprised as Pierre was. He stood in the middle of Pierre’s room, looking frightened and intimidated and smaller than his presence usually warranted. 

Pierre took his hands again; they were chilly from the cold, but they grasped on tenderly to Pierre's fingers, and suddenly they were warm. Pierre gazed up at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with the upturn of his lips, and Pierre just – 

He could feel all the concern Alex held towards him, and all the hope and the affection, and he had only known Alex for a couple of months and that night was the longest time they’d ever spent alone together, but. 

The brown in Alex’s eyes told Pierre everything that he needed to know. 

He felt himself drifting towards Alex, his head tilting upwards, unable to take his eyes off Alex’s face. This boy had been made for Pierre. Since day one, he’d been sculpted by a pair of angel hands specially for Pierre, and Pierre had never thought about who he might’ve been, he had never thought about looking for him or finding him – but now that he had, Pierre realised he had never felt this happy or fulfilled or complete. 

It was a strange feeling, and completely new to Pierre, so he closed his eyes and revelled in it, and he tried to understand it; he closed his eyes and he felt Alex let go of his hands and cradle his face like Pierre was a jewel he’d found in the mud. 

They gave a coordinated sigh when their foreheads touched, and when Alex breathed on Pierre’s cheeks, it felt like he was giving Pierre the air he needed in order to live, and taking it away at the same time. 

“Pierre,” he murmured. 

Pierre didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to. He was somewhere else, floating in a big blue lake, surrounded by everything that Alex was to him. He moved his face further forward to close the gap between them, feeling so out of control of his body as he nuzzled his nose against Alex’s.

Alex's lips were soft when they landed on Pierre’s, and they were as gentle as they were earnest, and his breath still tasted like the spicy noodles he'd had earlier, and Pierre was addicted. 

But he was suddenly overcome with a rage that was so pure, so intense, that he found himself shoving Alex aside. 

“Pierre,” Alex whispered again. The look on his face – he looked devastated, and Pierre didn't want to look at him, didn't want to be reminded that he was the cause of it. “What's wrong?”

Pierre was – his chest started to ache, and though he had been breathless earlier, this time it was less magical, and it started to hurt. He looked at his hands, at the backs of them and the palms, and he couldn’t recognise them. The room was suddenly just brown all over, just the brown of Alex’s eyes, and Pierre couldn’t see anything else as he suffocated in the colour.

Pierre didn’t know what feeling it was, or why he was feeling it, or why it was absolutely crushing him right down to his core. 

“It’s your fault.” Pierre broke down sobbing. “Do you know that? It’s your fault. Everything is your fault.”

“I know that,” Alex whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so angry.” Pierre was winded and panicky and his palms began to sweat. “I’m just so angry. I never cared about you. About meeting you. I never cared about soulmates. And then you came into my life and you –” Pierre choked on his words. “You took my entire heart away,” he whispered. “And this wasn’t meant to happen. It was never meant to happen. I never wanted to love you.”

“Why are you fighting it? Pierre, why are you fighting it?”

“Alex. I’ve never felt anything like this. And I don’t know what I want to do with it. I’ve never loved anyone and no one has ever loved me and I –” Pierre realised he had never said this many words to Alex at once, so he stopped right there.

He got all his breath knocked out of him again when Alex suddenly wrapped him in a tight hug.

“I know that it’s because of me that you’ve grown to hate yourself,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. I can’t explain to you how sorry I am about that. But I...I want to show you that it can be different. That life can be different. I want to make you happy, and I want to see you smile, and I – Pierre. I know you don’t care about me. I know you never cared about me, and I…”

His voice faded away, like he just didn’t know what else to say, but Pierre – 

Pierre just felt so safe and comfortable in Alex’s arms, sheltered from the rest of the world.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself more tightly into Alex's grasp, his head resting in Alex's shoulder. Alex's grip tightened, and Pierre. Pierre felt like he would always be protected from his own thoughts whenever Alex was around. Because the love Alex seemed to have for him far outweighed the self-loathing Pierre held towards himself. 

“I know it's hard,” Alex eventually continued when he found his voice again. “I know us being soulmates doesn't necessarily mean I have to love you and you have to love me. But...I do. Love you. I've been waiting my whole life to love you. And I'm not asking you to love me back. I'm just asking you for a chance for me to show you.”

It took all the strength in Pierre’s body to pull himself out of Alex’s grasp. 

They stood there, six inches apart in the middle of Pierre’s bedroom; one evening was all it took for them to get so close, but just as quickly as that had happened, Pierre felt them drifting apart.

Alex slowly reached for Pierre’s hands again, and let them hang gently in his own. His thumbs ran softly over the backs of Pierre’s hands, and Pierre felt like he was back in that lake again, calmly drifting off into nothingness.

“Can we count to ten?” Alex whispered.

Pierre nodded, despite everything. He listened to Alex recite the numbers, subtly going more slowly than one a second, like he wanted to allow Pierre more time to think. And God help him, Pierre tried, but the one thought that kept running in his mind was how much he just wanted to be alone and yet he didn’t want Alex to ever let go of him. 

“What do you want, Pierre?”

The sound of Alex’s voice was scared and helpless and hopeful all at once, and Pierre didn’t think he had ever heard a more beautiful sound. 

He hung his head so Alex wouldn’t see his tears, so he wouldn’t see how much Pierre was fighting this. He squeezed his eyes shut and said the first thing that came to mind.

“I want you to leave.”

Alex didn’t say anything for a while, and he didn’t do anything, and if Pierre couldn’t hear the soft sound of him breathing, then he would’ve thought Alex had already left. 

But when Pierre opened his eyes, Alex was still standing there, his brown eyes hurt and confused and disappointed.

Brown was…it was still the most beautiful colour Pierre had ever seen.

Alex looked away before Pierre could catch the tear falling out of his eye. He let go of Pierre’s hands, and Pierre let them fall by his sides.

“Okay,” Pierre heard him say as he walked out of the room. 

Pierre felt a piece of his heart follow him, and he collapsed on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest, wondering why he had to be like this. Berating himself for rejecting any sort of concern that had ever come his way. 

He had spent all his life being angry at Alex. 

Pierre couldn’t imagine that just...going away.

The room was quiet when Alex wasn’t there; not just because of his physical absence, but also because Alex always brought about a sense of calmness and security wherever he went. 

Pierre turned on his back and let the emptiness overwhelm him. 

------

It was Pierre’s first birthday away from home, but he hadn’t expected it to be any different. 

It really wasn’t any different, save for the fact that Pierre hadn’t seen Alex in two weeks, and the way that there was beginning to be a gaping hole in his day because Alex had stopped bringing him food.

Pierre still spotted him sometimes, sitting under that big tree near the school field, his head in his books. Occasionally, he would be with two friends, and they would be playing their guitars. Most of the time, he was alone. Not once did he try approaching Pierre or the team.

Pierre didn’t approach him either, afraid that his tendency to push Alex away would get the better of him once again. And he didn’t want it to be this way, he didn’t want to dance this tango with Alex, pulling him close only to disappoint him each time. So that was a decision that Pierre was just going to have to live with.

Still, that gaping hole remained.

Sometimes, Pierre wished that Alex had never appeared in his life.

But he would sit at his window and look at all the brown trees that lined the sidewalk below, at his wooden wardrobe and his wooden floor, and at all the scars on his legs that were beginning to fade, and he would change his mind all over again. 

The football match was on a Saturday evening, the day of Pierre’s birthday. Regardless of the result, the team was planning to take Pierre out for dinner afterwards. 

It turned out to be the best varsity game Pierre had played for the team. They won by two goals to one, and Pierre scored both goals from corner kicks, and he even got a medal for MVP. It was honestly the best birthday present he could've asked for. 

The crowd emptied out quickly, and Pierre searched around for Charles so they could hang out together during the dinner, but couldn't find him anywhere until he looked over at the bleachers. 

Charles was with Alex and two of his friends, leaning over the barrier and speaking excitedly to them. 

Pierre watched from afar. He hadn't known Alex had been there for the game. 

The fact that Alex had seen Pierre play the best game of his university life so far gave Pierre this...immeasurable pride. He felt his heart swell, and he couldn't help the smile that grew on his face, and Pierre – Pierre loved, he loved the way his mind gushed at the sight of Alex, the way his heart seemed to stop and race at the same time.

Pierre wasn't the superstitious type, but he wondered if he'd only played so well because Alex was watching him.

Curiosity took over him as he saw Alex try to pass Charles a little box, only to have Charles push it back towards him before turning to look for Pierre. 

“Pierre!” he called, waving eagerly at Pierre. “Come over here.”

Pierre went over, clutching his medal to himself. Alex looked a little hesitant seeing Pierre, but he gave Pierre the smallest smile, and Pierre's heart decided it would stop working for a few moments. 

“Alex has something for you,” Charles said.

Everything else faded away just like Pierre was so used to now around Alex, but he figured out a moment later that it was because Alex’s two friends and Charles had promptly left.

“It was a great game,” Alex eventually said. “It was, uh...I think you were really good. Congrats on being MVP.”

Pierre couldn’t think of anything to say. He stared at Alex, and Alex held out that same box he’d tried to give to Charles earlier.

“Uh...happy birthday.”

It was a flat blue box with a silver ribbon tied around it, and it was a little bigger than the size of both of Pierre’s hands put together. 

Alex gently placed the box in Pierre’s palms.

Pierre wanted to thank him, and he wanted to ask him when his birthday was so Pierre could get him a gift, and he wanted to ask if Alex was proud of the way Pierre had played, and he wanted to ask Alex to come to dinner with them. He wanted to tell Alex he loved Alex, he had always loved Alex but he had never dared to even think about it.

But he couldn’t find his voice behind the lump of tears in his throat.

When he looked up again, Alex was already in the distance, walking away with the two friends who had come to the game with him. 

Pierre found Charles again, and they all went to a steakhouse for dinner. Pierre got a porterhouse, and there was a big chocolate cake, and Pierre held that blue box close to his chest throughout the night.

It was late when he and Charles made it back to their neighbouring rooms. Charles helped Pierre open the door to his room while he was hampered by his medal, a few bags of gifts from the team, a bag of leftover ribs, and most importantly, Alex's present. 

"Good night, Pierre," he said. "Happy birthday. I wish you'll learn to let yourself be happy."

Pierre did, too. 

He went into his room and sat on his bed, ignoring all the other presents and undoing the silver ribbon on the box Alex had given him. 

Inside was a dreamcatcher, with a brown hoop and a blue web looped into the shape of a flower. From the bottom hung smaller hoops holding blue and brown feathers, and little beads holding everything together. 

Blue and brown. Both their colours. 

It was beautiful, and Pierre loved it more than anything he had ever owned. He looked in the box for a note, and found one. 

I wish you only happy dreams
Love, Alex 

Pierre ran his hands over the soft feathers. The colours blended together nicely, and stood out against the darker blues and browns of the beads above them. The web was wound intricately. There was a tag that read, ‘ Native American made’. 

Pierre hung it on his bedpost, where he knew it would protect him. Where he knew it would be the first thing he’d see when he woke up, and it would remind him of Alex.

He wanted to text Alex to thank him, but he realised he didn’t even have Alex’s number, so he sat for a while, feeling sorry for himself.

Then he called his mom, because none of Pierre's birthdays could ever be complete without talking to maman. 

She talked to him about papa for a while, then it was his turn to tell her about school and everything that had happened since he'd last called home before his spring exams. He told her about the game earlier that night and how he'd won MVP. Then they sat quietly as maman sewed something on her sewing machine, and when Pierre closed his eyes, it was like he was back home again. 

“Maman,” Pierre whispered. “I met this boy.”

“Mhm.” The sewing machine stopped as maman gave Pierre her full attention.

“He’s my soulmate.”

“Yeah?” Pierre could hear the smile in maman’s voice, the hope. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Alex.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s very kind, and patient, and he’s very good-looking. He studies biochemistry and he plays the guitar, and he knows all the good food places around campus.”

“Does he make you happy?”

Pierre closed his eyes in an attempt to stop his tears, but he failed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “He...he makes me happy. He completes me.”

“And he loves you?”

Pierre clapped a hand over his mouth to cover his sob. He glanced at the new dreamcatcher, hanging on his bedpost. “Very much.”

“That’s great, Pierre,” maman said. “I’m so proud of you. Will you send me a picture of him?”

“I don’t...I don’t have one yet.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Maman still sounded like she was smiling. “I’ll get to meet him one day, yeah?”

Pierre nodded, then realised she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I...I hope so,” he said.

He managed to get through the rest of the conversation without maman figuring out that he was crying, and he even got to speak to papa when he got home from work. He finished the leftover ribs, and after his shower, he stood at Charles’s door for ten minutes, debating whether to ask Charles for Alex’s number so he could text him. 

His bed eventually came calling, so Pierre crawled into it, ignoring all the other presents he had yet to open. 

Pierre watched the blue and brown feathers flutter in the wind from the little gap in the window until he fell asleep.

------

The guitar club usually held a recital in spring for charity fundraising, and that year was no different. Alex was slotted in for a few group covers, but in his free time he thought maybe he could come up with his own tune or two.

He sat under the tree alone with his guitar most times, writing his thoughts in a notebook. He would get so lost in the sound of the trees and the leaves, the soft rumbling of the slack traffic of the small road nearby, and the occasional chirping of birds, that he would cover pages and pages of his notebook without even realising it.

The football team usually just came and went, and Alex didn’t pay too much heed. It wasn’t like Pierre really wanted him around, anyway. Alex had come to terms with that.

Or at least, he had, before that day when Pierre came up to him alone and just sat down. 

Alex stopped picking on the strings and stared at him. 

He gave Alex a little scared smile, and the way his sharp chin dimpled made Alex smile back.

His hair was a light brown, almost blonde at the tips, under the late afternoon sunlight, and Alex exhausted all his willpower trying not to reach out to touch it. His eyes were bright, a striking blue that seemed out of place in all the shrub and wood surrounding them. And when his smile grew, everything around him burst into more intense colour, as if he had given it life.

“Are you working on something?” he asked.

Alex was stumped for words for a few seconds, but recovered enough to say, “Yeah, maybe a little song.”

“A song?”

“We’re holding a fundraiser,” Alex explained. “Just a little concert with guitar covers of some songs. But some people are writing stuff, and I thought it’d be fun if I tried.”

“Cool.”

“You can – I bought some extra tickets.” Alex reached into his backpack and took out two tickets. “You can come, if you’d like. You and Charles.”

Pierre took the tickets quietly.

Alex was used to Pierre randomly not talking or responding to him by then, so he turned back to his guitar. Pierre watched with great interest as Alex plucked a few notes before pausing to write in his notebook. He sat silently, and occasionally leaned in closer to Alex, like he wanted to see what Alex was writing, but didn’t dare ask.

He eventually stood up, still clutching onto the tickets.

“Bye,” Alex offered.

Pierre stared at him, and against the backdrop of the setting sun, he looked...so beautiful.

“Alex.” He swallowed loudly. His hands tightened around the tickets. “Thank you.”

Alex had a feeling he wasn’t just thanking him for the tickets.

He watched Pierre walk away, his football boots hanging over his shoulder. He turned around once to look at Alex, but quickly turned back, embarrassed at being caught. 

Sometimes, Alex wished that Pierre would give him a clear signal, and not reel him in only to push him away once he was close enough. 

But Alex knew no matter what he did, no matter how many times he pushed Alex away – Alex would still come back, every single time, if it meant he could experience that same pure blue in Pierre’s eyes, the only blue whose truth he would believe in. 

Besides, he couldn’t just walk away from Pierre. He couldn’t not give in to Pierre. He had waited to meet Pierre all his life, and it didn’t matter that Pierre was too scared to love him back, that he might never be brave enough to love Alex back, because Alex loved him more than he could put into words.

Alex spent the rest of the day poring over the blue ink scribbles in his notebook.

------

Alex’s guitar concert was on a Friday night at dinnertime. 

Pierre debated for two whole weeks about whether to go, but eventually decided maybe he’d sit in for a while and if it overwhelmed him, he’d leave.

He put on a green flannel over a black t-shirt and some dark jeans and headed to the auditorium to meet Charles. The foyer area was filled with little stalls selling drinks and trinkets. There were the most people crowded around the small flower stand, probably buying things with which to greet their friends after the performance. Charles was already waiting by the front door, almost swamped by the crowd that was trying to enter. 

“I thought you weren’t going to come,” he greeted Pierre.

“How would you get in if I didn’t come? I have the tickets,” Pierre pointed out.

“I’d just go home.” Charles shrugged. “I’m here for you. Not for me.”

The auditorium was already about half-filled, so the fundraiser seemed to be working. They got seats towards the middle of the fifth row, and Charles handed Pierre a bottle of iced tea. Pierre looked through the program before they dimmed the lights, pleased to note that there was a list of performers for each piece. 

Alexander Albon. For some reason, that name brought a smile to Pierre’s lips.

He took mental notes which pieces Alex was in, then caught himself in it and shook it off. He turned to Charles to see Charles eyeing him with a small smirk.

“What?” he asked.

"You have a lot less bruises now," Charles noted. 

"Mm." Pierre said in response. He turned back to the booklet and noticed the few solo performances. Alex had one solo performance near the end, so he’d probably finished that song he’d been writing. 

"Since you met Alex," Charles added. 

“What are you getting at, Charles?”

“Nothing.” 

The lights went down a moment later, so Pierre gave up on giving Charles’s scepticism any attention and turned to watch the performances. Even though Pierre had to admit that he’d only come because Alex asked him to and he really was only there to watch Alex, he began to get really into the different songs everyone else was playing. In the group pieces, everyone wore a different pastel-coloured hoodie, and over the course of the night Pierre became used to looking out for the pale peach-coloured hoodie that Alex wore. 

He didn’t look directly into the audience at any point, as if he was too self-conscious and shy to do it. For some of the pieces, he provided backup vocals, and in the chorus of all the other voices, all Pierre really could hear was Alex’s.

Alex’s solo performance came a while after the intermission. He had changed into a blue hoodie and he sat on a makeshift chair made out of a crate, in the lone spotlight on the stage, his guitar in his lap and his foot resting on a pedal of a bass drum. He cleared his throat softly into the mic, and Pierre sat forward in his seat, much to Charles’s amusement.

“Hey everyone. Um...I’ve written a song, it’s for someone very special to me. I don’t know if he’s here today, but –” Alex paused when Charles nudged Pierre hard in the ribs and the movement caught his eye. He smiled nervously at them. “Yeah. I wrote this song for someone special. I hope you guys will like it. It’s called ‘Blue’.”

You were the sea
Vast, sincere, endless, free
You were the calm
That I couldn't see

You were the sky
Your arms enveloping me
But I never knew
How warm it could be

I’d wait for you
In sunsets and sunrises
And I always knew
You would come to me

You breathe heart and soul
Into everything you touch
And I've waited a lifetime
For you to set me free

We’ll raise a little hell
Burning too hot, biting too cold
But what’s to matter
If loving you kills me?

You are electric
The colour of my heart
And when I saw you
The midnight sky turned blue

You are an explosion
Of the perfect angel
Mother Earth and Father Time
Made you out to be

You're hot like fire
And cold like snow
You don't want me to leave
And yet not to come too close

You breathe heart and soul
Into everything you touch
And I've waited a lifetime
For you to set me free

We’ll raise a little hell
Burning too hot, biting too cold
But what’s to matter
If loving you kills me?

I asked you
If brown was your favourite
You said you wished
You had never known the colour 

But out of all of life’s regrets
You were never one
And I would go back and meet you
Again, and again, and again

You breathe heart and soul
Into everything you touch
And I've waited a lifetime
For you to set me free

We’ll raise a little hell
Burning too hot, biting too cold
But what’s to matter
If loving you kills me?

Because I know
Your eyes will always lead me home

The hall burst into applause once Alex had plucked his last note, but Alex didn’t lift his head as he thanked the audience and exited the stage with his guitar, one of his friends helping him with the bass drum. 

Tears blurred Pierre’s vision, but he tried not to let Charles notice. His heart was beating at a million miles an hour, and it was threatening to rip out of Pierre’s ribcage and run after Alex. He looked at the backs of his hands, and he couldn’t recognise them again. They were just – they were the colour of Alex, and they seemed distant and indifferent.

He had written a song for Pierre. A beautiful song. For Pierre . And he loved Pierre , and Pierre didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to feel; in that moment, he was overwhelmed by only one feeling, and that was the comfortable embrace of the fact that Pierre loved Alex back, he loved Alex more than he could understand, and he had tried so hard to run away from it that he had forgotten to stop and realise it and savour it.

The concert continued, the next segment a cover of a few Coldplay songs, but Pierre continued staring at his hands, trying to stop his shoulders from shaking.

He counted to ten, and the feeling didn't go away.

"It was never his fault for loving you." Charles didn't turn to look at Pierre as he said the words in a whisper so he wouldn't disturb anyone else at the concert. "It was never anyone's fault. And the sooner you realise that, Pierre, the better it is for you."

Pierre looked at Charles, and he realised – 

Maybe besides papa and maman, Pierre had been loved by someone else before.

By Charles. Since before everything had happened, and through everything that had happened.

Maybe Pierre was capable of being loved by someone like Alex. Someone so...patient and kind and loving and amazing. Someone who could teach him how to love himself.

Someone who was made just for him. 

“Pierre.” Charles turned to Pierre this time. He discreetly reached over and wiped Pierre’s tears. “Hey. I know you’re scared. And I’m not saying you have to force yourself to accept him, or to love him. I’m just telling you that you have to give yourself a chance. Let yourself try and chase some happiness for once. I know you’ve never wanted to admit it to me, and you’ve always said you didn’t care about him, but you’ve been waiting for Alex all your life, haven’t you? Now he’s here, and maybe by giving him a chance, you’ll give yourself a chance, too.”

Pierre sighed. He didn’t talk to Charles, didn’t turn to him for the remainder of the concert. He just looked down at his hands, willing them to look familiar again. 

“I gotta go,” he told Charles when the concert ended and everyone started filtering out the doors. “I...I’ll catch you later, yeah, Charles?”

Charles seemed to know what was going on. He gave Pierre a soft, understanding smile. “Yeah. Good luck, buddy.”

Pierre went outside and to the flower stand; the buckets were almost empty, but Pierre managed to get a single red rose. He popped by the trinkets stand and got a box of floral-printed guitar picks. Then he had to fight against the horde that was leaving the auditorium before he found the stage door at the back. 

He stood by it, holding his rose and his guitar picks, waiting for his Alex.

------

Even though he’d bought those two extra tickets specially for Pierre, Alex hadn’t really expected Pierre to actually turn up at the concert. 

But seeing Pierre in the middle of the auditorium, looking up expectantly and proudly at him, gave Alex all the courage he needed to finish the song, and it made his heart burst in pride and happiness that Pierre could see him do what he loved to do.

He knew it probably meant nothing to Pierre. Pierre probably didn't care about the song and he probably wasn't touched at all that Alex had written it for him, so Alex didn't dare to look at Pierre again throughout the rest of the concert, afraid what he would see in Pierre’s steely cold eyes. Besides, it didn’t really matter. Alex wrote it for Pierre because it was a way to put his feelings into words, and a gift to Pierre. It wasn’t so that Pierre would accept him. 

He put his peach hoodie back on and returned the blue hoodie he’d borrowed from Lando to wear for Pierre’s song, then hung back a little as they drank some cider, celebrated their successful fundraiser, and took many photos. It was late by the time they left, talking and laughing too loudly for the time of night.

“Alex.”

Pierre’s voice rang out in the still air behind the stage door, only half-indoors thanks to the shelter above it. Alex turned around and saw Pierre’s silhouette a short distance away, looking timid and embarrassed.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Alex told Lando and the rest of them. He split from the group and took a few steps towards Pierre, who stepped into the light and let it illuminate all of his features. 

Alex was left speechless again at how stunning he was. How the angels in heaven had specially moulded him into the way he was, so flawless and beautiful and troubled and...Alex’s.

“Hey,” Alex said.

“Um...I got these for you.” Pierre held out a red rose and a box of guitar picks. “It was a really great concert. Thanks for inviting me.”

Alex smiled. He hoisted the strap of his guitar case further up his shoulder before taking the guitar picks and twirling the rose between his fingers. “Thank you.”

“I, uh...I really liked the song. The song you wrote.”

“Thank you,” Alex said again. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Pierre smiled, and his dark-coloured clothes really brought out the colour of his eyes in the night. Alex had to look away in fear of getting lost in them. 

“Alex,” Pierre said softly. “I...I have to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?” Alex asked, although he was suddenly exhausted, and he didn’t want to look at Pierre, he didn’t want to face the inevitable heartbreak that would be thrown his way once Pierre pushed him away yet again. He didn’t want to have to confront his own feelings for Pierre, and he was so tired that he just wanted to go back to his room and cry himself to sleep. 

Pierre was silent for a long time, and Alex had half the mind to just turn around and walk away. It wasn’t so much that he was tired of Pierre. It was just – Alex loved him so much , and he had nowhere to put it, and sometimes it was enough to wear him down to his core.

“I do care about you,” Pierre eventually whispered. “I want to. I really, really want to.”

“You don’t have to,” Alex said. “I – I don’t care if you don’t. I just – I just want to take care of you. I’ve been waiting my whole life.”

“Can I try? Will you let me try?” Pierre asked. “Alex. I’ve – I’ve never cared about anything in my entire life. But you – now I want to. Care about you. And love you. Is that...is that okay?”

Alex wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if Pierre meant it, or if he was just going to run away again. But he looked at Pierre’s eager, begging eyes, and he didn’t know what else to do except to nod. “Pierre, I...I’m not asking anything from you. You know that? I just want to be by your side, and I want you to be happy.”

“Yeah.” Pierre looked down at his hands. “I know.”

“I just – “ Alex stumbled over his next words. “We have to be honest with each other. Okay?”

Pierre nodded. He peered up at Alex again, and Alex just – Pierre looked so small, and he looked so scared, and Alex didn’t know if he really wanted this or if he was forcing himself to want it, and Alex – 

“Pierre,” he said, his voice softer than he’d intended it to be. “It’s alright. I get it. Really. Thank you for – for coming. I hope you enjoyed yourself. I’ll – I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Alex turned around with his guitar over his shoulder and the rose in his hand, willing his tears not to fall until he was far enough from Pierre. He ignored the heat on his back from the hole Pierre was boring into it with his stare, and he started walking.

A few moments later a pair of arms wound around him and his guitar and his rose as Pierre crashed into the back of him, stopping him from going any further.

“Don’t go,” Pierre sobbed. “Alex. Please.”

“Pierre.”

“You wanted me to be honest with you, right? I’ll be honest. You make me so happy and so safe when you’re around. I’ve never felt this way before, and it’s not just because I can finally see my skin. It’s because I know you now, and I feel complete because you’re here, and it’s so hard to imagine that until last December, I had never known this feeling. And I want to try and show you that, too, just like how you’re trying to show me. I don’t mean to push you away. I really don’t. I’m just – I’m so used to it, and you’ve taught me that I don’t have to, that you’ll be here no matter what because I was made for you and you were made for me. I know it shouldn’t mean anything, it shouldn’t be taken for granted, but I know that I will always be yours. And I don’t want to fight it anymore. I’m so tired of fighting. I just – I want to be with you. I want to see what we can be, what we can do, together.”

Alex felt his knees buckle, and he set his guitar on the ground as support. Pierre took the opportunity to hug him more tightly, pressing his face into the space in between Alex’s shoulder blades, like he wanted to physically restrain Alex from leaving. 

“Pierre,” Alex whispered again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so mean to you and I’m sorry I made you think that I didn’t care. I do. I care more than you know, more than I even know myself. I just –” Pierre finally paused to breathe, though it melted into a loud sob. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you and I didn’t even know. I didn’t know. I’ve been waiting all my life for you and I’m not going to let you go again.”

Alex leaned his guitar against the wall and loosened Pierre’s grip just enough to turn around in his arms. He took Pierre’s face in his hands, but wasn’t able to stop Pierre’s shoulders from shaking. Tear streaks lined his cheeks, and Alex wiped them off with the edge of his sleeve.

Pierre keened upwards, his eyes searching Alex’s. He pushed his face further into Alex’s palms.

This time, when their lips met, it was sweeter and fiercer and more liberating than the first time. Their lips seemed to work in unison, scouring for something Alex didn’t know he was looking for. It was fiery and cold at once, and Pierre tasted like nothing but he felt like everything, and Alex didn’t think he had felt this much of one feeling, ever, in his life. 

Pierre sighed when they pulled apart to breathe, and he had to tiptoe to lean his head against Alex’s, and Alex was just – so fond of him. 

“I think I like you better when you talk this much,” he said.

Pierre chuckled, and his cheeks turned a deep pink, and he pushed his face into Alex’s shoulder. “Alex,” he said, his arms tightening around Alex’s waist. “I’m sorry that I hurt you because I was so bent on fighting myself.”

“It’s alright,” Alex whispered. Pierre’s hair smelled strongly of lavender, and Alex was addicted . “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re too nice to me. You’re too nice.”

“You’ve spent all your life fighting. It’s only right that I fight for you, as well.” Alex ran his fingers through Pierre’s hair, and it was soft and velvety and Alex didn’t want to stop. “You know I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you it’s worth it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m going to.”

Pierre kissed him again, softly, his lips lingering. Then he pulled himself entirely out of Alex’s grasp and picked Alex’s guitar up. 

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

Pierre shook his head. “Let’s go somewhere,” he said again. 

Alex couldn’t find the heart to argue with him, even though he was tired and Pierre looked tired as well. He walked next to Pierre as they got out of the back auditorium alley and into the main garden. He felt Pierre let his hand brush shyly against Alex’s for a few times before he took it in his, curling their fingers together.

When Alex turned to him, he was smiling a little smile at the ground, and when Alex gave his hand a squeeze, he shook off his smile as if he hadn’t noticed that his lips were acting that way.

Alex knew there were still many, many of Pierre’s walls he had yet to break down, and he knew there were still many layers of Pierre he had to peel back – but it didn’t matter how much time it would take, as long as he could see Pierre smile that way.

Pierre brought him to the bleachers next to the school field, a little ahead of where Alex would usually sit under his tree. There was a vending machine under the seats, from which Pierre bought two sodas.

They sat quietly for a while, crickets chirping all around them. Alex was facing ahead, but Pierre had one leg bent on the seat as he sat facing Alex.

He didn't say anything, and Alex counted to ten for him in his mind, out of habit.

“I really liked that song you wrote,” Pierre said, his voice like a melody in the calm night. “Will you play it for me again?”

So Alex took out his guitar and he played the song for Pierre, over and over again, the strumming of the strings striking in the quiet air, until Pierre had the biggest smile on his face. And Alex. Alex wanted to capture it, he wanted to capture not only Pierre’s smile but the feeling it gave him, and he wanted to keep it in a jar to remind himself that life’s longest waits and toughest battles often reaped the best rewards.

He was so afraid to stop playing, afraid that Pierre would stop smiling. He only stopped when Pierre reached over and removed the guitar from his hands and laid it on his lap. 

And when Alex looked at him, he was met with that same blue, that blue that had unknowingly driven him for almost nineteen years and that was going to continue to drive him for the rest of his life. Pierre’s eyes were bright and round and they became little crescent moons when he smiled, and Alex found himself mirroring it.

This was all Alex had wished for, everything he would have ever asked for, in his lifetime.

“I’m not good with words and I can’t write an entire song about it, but I just want you to know that your eyes are my favourite colour in the world,” Pierre whispered.

Alex pulled him under his arm, and Pierre melted into him immediately, pressing into Alex’s side. He was warm and his hair was soft again on Alex’s cheek, and he took Alex’s free hand in his.

They spent the rest of the night sitting on the dark bleachers, lit up only by one white light, talking to each other about the past nineteen years.

------

Pierre had always thought that his laughter was loud and obnoxious and annoying, and he never really found a reason to irritate everybody with it, so he usually never laughed in earnest. 

But Alex seemed to love it; he seemed to love the way Pierre put his entire chest into his laughter when he wanted to, and he could never seem to stop the giggle that bubbled out of his mouth whenever he heard Pierre laugh. 

That summer, when the semester broke, Pierre brought him home to meet papa and maman, and it was a pity that it was the summertime and Pierre didn’t get to see the lush forests around his hometown come to life in their full brown glory. They did look and feel more alive, though, as Pierre and Alex strolled through them.

It was aided by the fact that Alex never stopped trying to make Pierre laugh; his laughter would bounce off the leaves and travel through the trees and, when they made the trip down to Alex’s hometown, echo in the valleys near Alex’s house. Pierre would be embarrassed about it, but Alex adored it, and he told Pierre it didn’t matter that Pierre wouldn’t write a song for him, as long as Pierre let Alex make him laugh.

To think that just a few months ago, neither of them had been able to fully appreciate all this nature.

Pierre got to meet Alex’s siblings and his best friend George, and everyone welcomed Pierre and his parents with open arms. Alex’s siblings crowded around Pierre most times, begging Pierre to describe what it was like to see brown after a whole life of not being able to. Alex would sit in the back, watching Pierre proudly, a look of hope hanging off his eyes.

It was no surprise that Alex lived in a really big house, given the number of siblings he had; they would often follow him around the house, waiting for him to make them some food or play video games with them. Pierre followed suit, not helping the smile on his face at the warmth this entire house exuded.

When they could get away, Pierre and Alex would look for George and they would wander the meadows together, and George would tell them endless stories about his time in university. That boy really did not know how to shut up. But Alex was patient, and he listened, and Pierre just tucked himself into Alex’s arm and followed them around.

What amazed Pierre the most was the endless sea practically in Alex’s backyard, a sea that blended into the sky and made it seem like they were sitting on a cliff in a snow globe waiting for winter. Every morning before sunrise and every evening after dinner, Alex would tug at Pierre’s arm and bring him to that cliff, and they would watch the sky change colours entirely.

Pierre finally understood what Alex had meant when he’d said that he looked for Pierre in sunrises and sunsets.

Alex would be quiet as he sat and observed, like he was transported back to when these were the only times he could see the sky.

Pierre hated when Alex got this quiet, so one fine morning he packed a basket full of iced tea and sandwiches and fruits, and dragged along a picnic mat as he followed a sleepy Alex outside to watch the sunrise. They found a nice spot near the edge of the cliff, and Alex leaned sleepily into Pierre’s arms as they watched the sky turn orange.

The tall grass in the meadow behind them whispered stories to them as they sipped on their tea and ate their sandwiches. Alex went back inside briefly to get his guitar, then returned to play some songs for Pierre, obliging when Pierre asked him to teach him some notes.

The sun was high in the sky when they moved under the lone tree near the side of the meadow for some shade. Everything was blue around them again, the waves hitting the cliff loud enough to rival the secrets the grass tried to tell them. The blue was striking and electric and overwhelmed the drab green and brown behind them, and Pierre felt some sort of inexplicable relief that Alex could see the same colour.

“You couldn’t see all of this before?” Pierre gestured at the palette of different blues that met them at the edge of the cliff. It was quite literally the most blue Pierre had ever seen in his life.

“Yeah. Not one bit.” Alex settled on Pierre’s stomach as Pierre lay back, his head resting on one arm. He ran his other hand through Alex’s slightly sweaty hair. 

Pierre suddenly realised why Alex couldn’t take his eyes off the sky; for the week or so they’d been there, Alex had been staring up at the sky, as if he was afraid that it would disappear if he looked away. It was because he had never seen it before. He had never seen it before, and he had waited his whole life, and just like the brown of the brick walls and roofs and the forest that mesmerized Pierre, the sky mesmerized Alex.

“But you were born here. That seems a bit unfair.”

Alex chuckled. “Mhm.”

“And you didn’t hate me for it?”

“I didn’t. I just knew one day I’d find you and I could come back and see all of this with you.”

Pierre had nothing to say to that. Sometimes, he didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to return Alex the same intensity of affection that Alex awarded him. 

But Alex turned on his side so he was looking up at Pierre, and his cheeks were slightly pink from the sun, and the sight of it made Pierre’s heart burst into happiness, and he thought – it didn’t matter if he couldn’t right then. Just like Alex, he would spend his entire life trying.

Pierre just...with Alex, he felt so, so free, and so much more comfortable in his own skin. He grew to be a better person each day, and he was constantly hugged by this sense of joy and pride and happiness. He knew, just like Alex had said, that them being soulmates didn’t mean that they had to love each other, but – Pierre didn’t think he could ever feel any other way towards Alex.

Alex picked at the falling scab on Pierre’s forearm. He had gotten Pierre the right-sized boots and the right-sized shin pads and made him wear them every game, and Pierre still carried his hard-tackling character to every match, so he still bruised himself often, but…

Pierre had long stopped admiring them in the mirror, and stopped carrying them around like they were badges he earned in Boy Scouts. Pierre had come to terms with the fact that he had hurt himself on purpose in the past, and Alex knew that, and they were going to grow from it together.

Letting himself go, letting himself love Alex - it was truly such a wonderful feeling.

Pierre curled up so he could kiss Alex on the lips, and Alex tasted like lemon tea and the summer and he tasted like the salty sea air and he tasted like the love of Pierre’s life. Alex squinted up at him as he pulled away, then smiled and closed his eyes, his hand searching around for Pierre’s and only stopping when their fingers were intertwined.

“Alex.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for never giving up on me.”

Alex sighed, and turned on his side so he was facing Pierre. He pressed his lips softly on Pierre’s palm, then pushed his face into the front of Pierre’s t-shirt. 

“You know I never will, Blue.”

They stayed there, between the meadow and the sea with only each other for company, for the rest of the day, until the oranges and purples took over the sky again. And Pierre had never once in his life dared to imagine that he would feel this happy, but now he knew he was never going to run out of this feeling.