Written For
Ultimate Patronus Quest: Tarantula (write something sad)
Character Boost: Lisa Turpin
Days of the Year Challenge: World Braille Day (write about someone who is blind)
For Anna for giving me a new ship to sail
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
Lisa tips her head to the source of the voice. It comes as something of a shock to her. No one has ever wanted to join her for her morning coffee, no matter how crowded the cafe is. She supposes no one cares to be spotted with the blind girl. "Go ahead," she says with a shrug.
"I'm Dean," he says, and she can't help but to think that he has a lovely voice, soft as silk, and so full of kindness.
"Lisa," she says, reaching her hand unsteadily out to him, hoping that she doesn't knock over his coffee.
She can hear the smile in his laugh. "Pretty name."
Her cheeks heat. She drops her hand and takes her coffee, sipping it.
"Do you come here often?"
Lisa can't help but to laugh at that. "Terrible line," she says, shaking her head.
"I know. Did sound a bit cheesy."
"I'm here every morning," she answers, taking another sip of her coffee.
"I've never seen you here before."
"Oddly enough, I've never seen you either."
She can't see his expression, but she can feel the silence. It's a tense, shocked absence of sound. Lisa leans back in her chair, a smile on her lips. "You can laugh, you know. I didn't think you were being insensitive. I was making a joke."
"Right. Sorry. I'd better go."
She hears shuffling, then the metallic scrape of his chair sliding across the pavement. Lisa tries not groan. She's blown her chance of friendship, of hearing that beautiful voice some more.
"Have a nice day," she grumbles.
...
"Hello again."
Lisa can't help but to smile at the voice. "Hello, Dean."
She listens as he takes a seat. His movements sound so slow, cautious. She wonders if that's his nature or if he's just unsure about her.
"Sorry for running off yesterday. I felt awkward for feeling awkward."
Lisa waves a dismissive hand. "You don't have to explain yourself."
"So, tell me about yourself."
The request catches her off guard. No one has ever cared to hear her story. They've only ever wondered about her blindness, like she's some exhibit on display at a museum.
"What do you want to know?" she asks, testing to water, trying to determine if he's actually curious about her or just her sight.
"What's your favorite coffee flavor?"
"Black. Like everything I see."
A wet sound follows, and she's almost sure that Dean has spat out his coffee. Lisa grins. "Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I don't have a sense of humor," she teases. "Vanilla, sprinkle of cinnamon."
"Good to know."
"Any other questions?"
"Not today."
...
"I've already got your coffee for you," comes that warm, beautiful voice.
Lisa smiles, sweeping her cane across the pavement as she follows his voice. "That's awfully sweet of you," she says.
"I thought maybe we could have our coffee on the go today," he says.
Our coffee. The words cause a sudden flutter in her stomach. Our coffee. Like it's their special moment, a secret bond.
"I'd like that."
His arm links in hers. Lisa has to take a deep breath to steady herself. It takes a lot of trust to let someone guide her. She's only known Dean for a few days, and only over brief conversations over coffee. And yet she trusts the boy with the velvet voice.
As they walk, he tells her about his life. His art, his mother and four sisters, his pyromaniac of a best friend.
She tells him about her life. Her love of reading and thirst for knowledge, her parents and pet cat, the loneliness that she feels.
"I wasn't always blind," she explains. "It was from a sickness when I was younger. I lost vision in both of my eyes, but I still remember the colors. Blue was my favorite."
"I'd offer to paint you something in blue, but…"
"I would like that, actually," she says with a smile. "You could describe it to me, all the shades. I'd keep it forever."
Dean laughs, and God she loves that sound so much. "Maybe I will, then."
...
"It starts out as navy," he tells her, guiding her hand over the canvas. "Then it fades into a cerulean."
Lisa can almost recall the exact colors as he guides her through the spectrum of blue. "And here, at the end, it's turquoise."
She can't help it. She leans in and kisses him, her lips awkward as she finds his lips. Dean wraps his arms around her, smiling into the kiss.
...
She begins to live for those morning coffees. What had once become little more than a routine has become her favorite part of the day. Weeks pass, and still they meet.
She doesn't know exactly when it happens, but she falls in love with him. And the first time he tells her that he loves her, she feels like there is color in her world again.
...
Lisa taps her fingers impatiently on the table. She has the walk timed. She's factored in the time she's waited in line.
Dean should be here.
"Lisa?"
She jerks her head up in confusion. The voice is most certainly not Dean's. It's just a touch lower, Irish, and not as warm.
"Are you Lisa?"
She nods. There's the familiar scraping of metal against the pavement, but it's not the boy she loves who joins her. "I'm Seamus. I'm Dean's-"
"Friend," she finishes with a nod. "Is he okay? He's never late."
She doesn't like the silence that follows. She listens as he sucks in a breath, the exhale strained, exhausted. "I'm sorry," he says.
She can already feel the world falling away. No one who apologizes in that tone has anything good to follow it with. "Where's Dean?" she demands.
"There was an accident. He- he didn't make it," he whispers.
"How did you know to find me?" she asks, pointedly avoiding commenting on this news because it would mean that she has to acknowledge that Dean is gone, that their coffee dates are no more, that the world is being drained of all its blue, replaced with black again.
"His desk calendar. Every day, he has your name there, coffee, and a bunch of hearts," Seamus says gently. "He talked about you a lot. I know you were important to him, and I-"
Talked. Were. She can't think of Dean in the past tense.
"Thank you for telling me," she says, her voice strained. "I- I have to go."
...
She traces her fingers over the canvas. Navy, cerulean, sapphire, sky, turquoise. Her blues. Her beautiful blues painted by the boy who loved her.
She holds the canvas close to her chest and weeps.