A/N: Written strictly for Louise Foxhall 's "Skittles" Challenge. In which I had to use all the colors of the 'rainbow' and write a drabble.
I also included Draco Malfoy with Synaesthesia Disorder from astronauts 's Psychological Disorder Comp.
(In which numbers are perceived as pink and pain can taste like chocolate ice cream)
I'm proud because this is the fastest I've ever finished a challenge~! :3
Draco felt red. Red like the lipstick Pansy sometimes wore. Red like the fervent orbs that hung themselves on the godforsaken holiday trees. His fingers twisting into one another. Like the red they shed.
Pansy coddled him. Kissing him and hugging him. Her gestures felt like discomfort and rage. Her narrow face like an octagonal heart. Still her bittersweet words caressed his ears, tickling him mercilessly. He couldn't sense it that much. She made him breathe smoke.
The red sky whispered above them as the sun disappeared. It'd been Monday for far too long.
xxx
Tuesday. Days that reminded Draco of heartlessness. But Pansy looked edible, smiling from across the classroom. He glanced away from her, back down into his smoky orange potion. She did love him.
Together they'd used to bound through the corridors of Hogwarts. Skidding and skipping and sprinting. Now 'around the corner' was a twenty mile jog. His big clumsy feet dragged on, so that his running became walking became standing stock still. Like lava going down a hill. Slowly.
It was just his potion. Pansy could run enough for the both of them. She owed it to him. Her shoes still fit. She wore them like they did at least.
xxx
Who am I? Draco asked her, as she tried to escape. Her cheeks were oh-so-Pansy.
Your Draco Malfoy, you're my boyfriend. She chanted, looking like she thought he was mad. But her eyes still had this devotion, like she'd never leave him. No one could break them apart.
She was too bright, she felt sharp. He was dark. Moony. He felt like she'd crossed an invisible line by being happy. An invisible yellow line. One she couldn't uncross from. She'd done something irreversible.
The fault was all hers.
Did Draco Malfoy love her?
He let her go.
xxx
Numbers like triangles formed in his mind. It wasn't his fault, not his fault. Like it was Pansy's. Pansy who hugged the green walls of the common room to get by, rather then face him. Was he so unbearable? The probabilities were numbers. Colorful and in-his-face and endless. Like HER.
Every time he looked at her she was looking away. Was he catching her at the exact moment that she was no longer catching him? All things green, like a Wonderland of colors. Greens make you strong, Draco. He told himself. But he pushed aside the long vegetables and eyed Pansy. The Great Hall was empty, because they were alone.
A clock was ticking in his head. A facet dripping. Something squeaking. That was Pansy.
She wouldn't talk.
xxx
Blue like the night sky. Like a new discovery waiting to be made. He felt the music under his skin. Tasted it too. Why couldn't he just ask her-
-What the hell is wrong with you?
She didn't have a problem. She shook her hair. Had her eyes always been blue? Were they blue? Blue tasted good, like the melody. Harmony was sardonic. Like vegetables, he couldn't stand vegetables.
Why have you been ignoring me? He asked her, not pleading, but wondering.
But she didn't respond. Had she heard him? Was he even in her reality, or was he a voice in his own head? Marionette.
xxx
Inky. She kissed him and her lips were inky. He'd been sleeping, watching each hand tick a little further in time. She was such a pain. In the good way. But she made him slip faster through the hourglass. She limited his moments.
You're not crazy. She told him. But she had told a little indigo lie. Not white, unpure. She was the color indigo, she was the action smile. And what was he then? If not what he thought. What lies had he hidden behind each grain of sand, beneath each star in the ocean's surface at night. The icicles that ran themselves up and down the corridors like with the smaller feet. Always the ground was too close, and the sky out of reach.
If he wasn't crazy, she certainly was.
He no longer looked in mirrors.
xxx
In dreams, anything had seemed like reality. He could ask the same question a thousand times, and get equal results by the hand of different answers. There had been a field of thousands of flowers. Pansy's. And violets. And buttercups. So it HAD been love then. That makes more sense. Made.
Pansy had MADE Draco swear never to leave, not that she'd made the same vow. But she tickled his head too long. She'd worried his lips longer. She'd studded him with kisses and wishes and she'd made him lose himself.
At least, now he didn't know what he was.
But he didn't feel like this Draco Malfoy anymore.