A/N: A little bit of drabble about the color blue (because really, can I ever make it through a day without drabbling?). Jess's PoV, vaguely lit.
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His days go by slower than most. He doesn't really like the sun; it makes him feel too dark in comparison. He likes the rain. He likes it because no one else really does. It's an outcast, like him. He likes it because he can't like snow anymore, because it reminds him of too many things. Because when he sees it the sky seems bluer, and that makes him think of two orbs that were the bluest he had (has) ever seen. And he still has to stop himself when he sees someone with eyes that are nearly, virtually, practically, almost (but not quite) as blue as hers. He likes rain, though. Rain doesn't remind him of anything. He likes that the sky gets darker and that no one is around. Sometimes he will go outside and stand there, looking at the sky, letting the drops fall across his sculpted cheekbones. It is cold and wet, and sometimes he even adds his own drops to the ones that are falling. He likes it this way, because no one will notice. He can rival in his own self-pity, but he does not need anyone else to tell him that he made a mistake. Instead he has the slowly forming rainwater running down his face, mixing with salt that he can taste on his broken lips.
When he is twenty-nine, he meets a girl with a pretty face and long red hair and big brown eyes. Her eyes are impossibly beautiful for being so plain, but sometimes he sees a flash of color when he is kissing her with his own eyes closed. One day she catches him standing outside in the rain and when she tells him to come inside he doesn't oblige, instead just turns his head, knowing that if she saw his face she could separate the raindrops from tears and he is too proud to let her know that he is still in mourning for something that died so long ago. So he stays out there and tries to let his own regrets wash away with the water in the gutters, but it doesn't work—he can feel them stick to his skin like leather on a muggy day and so he tries to be content with brushing off the chip on his shoulder.
When he is thirty-two, he marries the girl with the big brown eyes. She looks incredible in her white dress, but he can't help but imagine that it is someone else who is saying I do. His chip is growing smaller and the tears fall more lightly now, but he still spends days in the rain (she knows this. She leaves him alone), listening to his own thoughts and trying to remember that his lips aren't as broken anymore. His uncle is at the wedding, and though he congratulates him, Jess can see in his eyes that he will always be the quiet boy that was more afraid then he would admit to give out his own love to the people who want it. He will always be the thrice broken boy who's heart was ripped out so many times that now it beats irregularly, and although the doctors will never say so, he knows that it will never completely heal. Because broken hearts do not fade like black eyes but remain battle scars; unnoticeable at first glance except by the people who know they exist, and they can see the flash of blood in their eyes when reminders take place.
When he is thirty-four, his wife has a baby boy who has hair like his mothers and everything else of his fathers, and Jess can't help but wonder if, in a different lifetime, on a different planet, in a different world, his baby might have eyes bluer than the sky and a face like an angel's, but this thought doesn't stick. These come less often as the days go by, and he no longer sees a chip but a dent instead, and the armor that he once wore has been shed, thanks to constant eroding from caring and love. But sometimes he feels guilty because he knows that this armor had been broken first by a girl with a knack for writing and an opinionated voice that wouldn't quit, even if people thought she was sweet. He doesn't know why he should feel guilty. It wasn't as if it was his fault.
When he is thirty-six, he goes takes his wife to Stars Hollow with him to visit his uncle, whom his wife has met before but never quite understood why they were so close, because although she knows much about her husband he never really explained what happened when he lived in a small town with nothing to entertain him but lawn gnomes and chalk outlines and Howl. When he gets there he sees a little girl with bright blue eyes and pale skin that remind him of someone, but he pretends he doesn't remember who, and doesn't stare long enough to arouse enough suspicion. His uncle smiles when he shows him his new book, and the look of pride on his face is enough to make Jess (almost) genuinely smile, and his uncle notices those parentheses but says nothing because he knows the full story and does not want to add salt to the injury. He is happy that Jess is happy, but knows that the boy, now a man, will always have a soft spot for the color blue.
When his is thirty-nine, he writes a new book about a boy who uses sarcasm as a defense mechanism and has a smirk for every occasion and falls in love with a girl who likes to learn and who's eyes the boy still can not find the right way to describe. The book is a tragedy, because in the end the boy finds that he is so desperate for the girl that he kills himself when she will not have him. The book sells so many copies that Jess and his wife and his two kids are able to buy a bigger house, one with an entire room painted an inexpressible shade of blue. The very first night when they are in the new house, it rains, and he takes a look at that room and stands outside, once again letting a cool stream of water run everywhere around him and through him, and he adds his own river to the downfall, threatening to drown himself in salt. His wife tells him that if the color of the room bothers him so much then they can re-paint it, but for reasons that he can't quite explain, he says no and finds himself staring at the walls day after day after day.