Prologue
It feels like purple; purple and blue and just a touch of red. He's flying high off of nothing but adrenaline but as he gurgles in the back of his throat, he finds he just can't care. There's a butt rubbing against his and another rubbing against his crotch but, again, he just doesn't care. He doesn't care about the fact that he doesn't know either of the people to whom those butts belong because it feels so good, like purple and blue.
He tilts his head back and sighs opening his eyes to the pulsing lights and he's off flying again and there's the red passing over his head and then just a little bit of green and maybe a hint of brown, too.
'Freckles,' he thinks dully, before closing his eyes and lolling his head to the side. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to come down, doesn't want to know that colors will go back to being a murky grey. So he slides away from the butts in front and back and stumbles to the bar, knowing that if he just got another drink he'd be able to go back to seeing in color, back to thinking of purple and blue.
'Grey doesn't exist, grey doesn't exist, it doesn't,' he stutters, 'does... doesn't, nope, doesn't.' But peach does and that's the color of the frozen drink slid down the bar and into his waiting hand and he drinks quickly, ignoring the way the ice wraps around his head. He knows he'll feel it in the morning but that's tomorrow and this is now and he'll just ignore that pain and focus on the ice slithering down his throat and settling into his stomach and for a moment he feels he's going to be sick but he swallows it down and heads back onto the dance floor, peach and puke on his tongue and he doesn't caredoesn't... care doesntcare.
Roxas is not color blind. He knows nothing about those who are and he's never met one who is. But Roxas thinks in colors and he feels in colors and his day to day life is a dull grey, rusting at the edges and orange is such a hateful color anyway. Roxas hates grey. It's only when there's nothing in him but the fear of flying that he can finally see the colors for what they are, finally see the purples and the blues, the hints of reds and the murky browns just waiting at the corner. He hates it when the brown creeps out of its corner and films everything over and then fades to grey. He hates it, hatesithatesit.
His eyes roll back in his head and he tilts his head again and he just blanks, just opens his eyes and stares at the nothing and everything and he wants to fly just so damn bad but he can't anymore, he can't for the fear, for the brown pushing its way in and he knows that black will come soon and then everything will be grey and he doesn't want it. Doesn't want to remember just how pathetic he is, just how pathetic life is, just how pathetic everyone else is, too. He huffs and pushes away the butt against his crotch that's doing nothing to turn him on (just because he's hard doesn't mean he's turned on, doesn't mean he wants it, doesn't mean you're ever going to get your slutty, cum-covered hands on it, he'd die first) and leaves the dance floor, stumbling even more but the high's gone, just gone and nothing will get it back because it's just not that easy to be happy.
And then he stumbles into red and green and just a touch of brown and white and black and green and his head lolls back because the colors are tall and he's not and then the colors are speaking, smirking just a bit and Roxas thinks in the back of his mind that he's never seen any colors so colorful, never felt so much so he presses closely to the colors and then he's kissing a peachy mouth and peach is responding and he's flying again, flying harder and faster and maybe he's tripping just a little bit but as places flash by his inebriated mind he doesn't care because even though the brown is pressing in and dulling to grey those colors are still formed in the shape of someone else and he can stare at those colors and they don't fade and then he's pressed against a wall and pressed into the feathers of a bed and his hands are fisting in sheets and he's moaning and the colors don't fade, they don't... fadedontfade.
© LifesLover