A/N: another drabble. I suppose that I could just consolidate them all into one, large story but I never think like that. I fail.

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My mother always told me to stick to my own kind. She once saw me talking to the fishwife's daughter who happened to be Polish. She grabbed me and told me to stick to my own kind. If they weren't amber, don't talk to them.

"Bernardo, estancia con tu familia. Te protegemos."

My mother is long dead now and I'm in love. He has a beamy face and ivory skin. Almond eyes that are the most beautiful thing you'd ever happen upon. He's almost always smiling and his teeth are a marvel to behold. They aren't perfect by any stretch but that's what makes them so entrancing.

I dream of kissing his lips at night and do so in the day but under protective shadows.

He's called yellow but he's not that color specifically. He tells me stories of dragons and pearls and gold. I tell him of kings and queens and spices. I'm called brown but he calls me amber. He speaks broken English and speaks to me in his native language. I can barely speak English but he says that Spanish is so beautiful. I say that he is.

"Tu eres hermoso. Bonito."

He smiles and lets me put my hand to the hollow of his throat as he speaks in his own language. I relish in the ups and downs.

At night, we blend together. Different cultures. Called yellow and brown. Ivory and Amber.