Phosphenes
Word Count: 723
Timeline/Spoilers: pre-series through Promised Day (though not quite in order); spoilers up to end of manga
Summary: There's something to be said about someone who enters your life and has you seeing a myriad of colours behind closed eyes. — Royai Week, Day 2: Colour
Notes: This may be day 2, but this was actually the last fic I wrote this week and probably the one that best adheres to its theme. I'm actually quite happy with how it turned out.
"If you feel discouraged
That there's a lack of colour here;
Please don't worry, lover
It's really bursting at the seams
For absorbing everything;
The spectrum's a to z"
— Death Cab For Cutie
act i, scene i
The brilliant gold crown of her hair is impossible to miss in the midst of this devil's nest they call the Ishbalan Desert. Mayhap it's the tempest of the swirling desert sand or the relentless sun rays finally getting the better of him, but it appears like a halo in his vision, and he can't help but regard her as his angel on the battlefield, come to judge him for his sins at last. As vast as his regret and dismay is at seeing her here, a small part of him can't help but revere her as a blessing in disguise. His soul is parched in this dry heat, and he soaks her up like the holy water he has been without.
It's no wonder she doesn't hesitate to swear that she'll see him through hell should it come down to it; they've already trudged through the deepest trenches of it together.
.
act i, scene ii
The sterile white of his alchemy gloves is pure and unsullied in a way that his hands have ceased to be for years. Despite the devastation they can wreak with a single snap, the cloth itself remains immaculate, almost unnervingly so – a stark contrast to her own rough sniper's hands. It's a solid reminder that appearances mean nothing, and even those souls with the most wholesome intentions can soon find themselves drenched in blood and not seem at all changed from the outside. It's a reminder she needs; she will never forget the role they played here in Ishbal – the role she played. He may wield the weapon, but the insignia painstakingly stitched into the backs of his gloves is the very same mark seared across the broad expanse of her back.
No amount of cleansing could ever scrub clear the emblem inked into her very pores, just as it could never rid her of the invisible stain of blood on her hands.
.
interlude
The starch blue of their strict army attire is a peculiar place to find comfort. The uniforms are crisp and pressed, leaving no room for imperfections. It's in the way they can disappear into a sea of faceless, navy-clad soldiers. It's the way the public repudiates them all equally as dogs of the military, regardless of merits or misdeeds.
Uniformity offers temporary asylum from the maddening daze of existing as an individual.
.
act ii, scene i
The red, red river of her blood is pooling rapidly around her haggard form. Ironically, the nick in her artery and the depletion of her blood volume merely accelerates the tempo at which his own blood floods his veins, like a rampant river untamed. Almost unconsciously, the formulas are coursing through his mind, simultaneously weighing the risks and chances of success, despite him having firm, living proof, in of the form of two brothers, of why the ultimate taboo should never be attempted.
The look in her eyes is killing him; the slice in her neck is killing her.
.
act ii, scene ii
The pale gray of his unseeing eyes almost breaks open the dam and sends rivulets of saltwater rain down her cheeks. She can't help but wonder if this is their comeuppance, their equivalent exchange for the sins of years past – to have the dream dangled before them and then viciously snatched away when it was just within reach. It's something akin to poetic justice. A cruel, biting voice in the back of her mind says it's his own fault for proclaiming he wanted to see her honest tears once more, just hours ago.
He always thought her most beautiful when she showed her emotions on her face. It's a shame he isn't able to witness it now.
.
.
.
prologue
He brings vivacity and vibrancy into the dull, muted tones of her sheltered home life. A healthy rosy pink has replaced the sallow, sunken look of her cheeks.
She makes him stop and smell the roses when he has grown so accustomed to seeing everything mesh together in a muddy blur in the hustle and bustle of life in the city. He begins to pick apart individual hues, learning to savor each moment.
There's something to be said about someone who enters your life and has you seeing a myriad of colours behind closed eyes.
"And I see colors when I hear your voice
Grab your wings, they're putting gravity on trial
I see colors, I don't fear the choice
Sometimes we're only flying for awhile"
— Andrew McMahon In The Wilderness
Notes: In case you missed it, phosphenes are the little spots of light or colour you see when you rub your eyes. Please let me know what you think! :)