Author's note: It's… romantic, yet not. I wish these two characters could be more romantic, yet… that isn't how they are. I'll probably write a multi-chapter fic that develops them into having a romantic situation (by romantic, I mean they have a bearable, "I won't kill you right now" conversation, not mushy or whatever). Honestly, in terms of characterization, I think this was really pushing the envelope in terms of how forgiving/open they would be to each other. Hopefully it's not absurdly OOC, but please kindly notify me if it is.
Constructive criticism and general reviews are appreciated, but flames are not. Don't like the pairing, don't read. And yes, I have dubbed Riven x Varus, "Rivarus". There are only TWO fan-arts out there depicting them in a vaguely romantic sense, and I am the one who requested both of them. n_n Perhaps this fic will get you to change your mind on the "pairing". :3
Thanks in advance! I hope you enjoy.
The world offers him the most beautiful colors one would ever dream of seeing, but Varus ignores it.
He can't see the purple and yellow of Lulu's hat, nor the magenta hue Pix gives off when he floats around the marksman's head.
He doesn't notice the bright blue reflections bouncing off Taric's gems, and he can never quite understand all the different shades and sparks exploding from the multitude of Jinx's weapons.
He never questions why Syndra chooses to wear charcoal-stained armor, nor why Yi's goggles seem to meld together into a single blob of grey.
He doesn't realize that his own scarf is a bright red and can't even remember that his wife made it for him before he deserted his family.
All he sees is grey.
His trained grey eyes travel across equally grey slabs of bark, as he leans his head against what he sees as a lifeless tree.
A squirrel rushes past him, its bushy tail practically blending in to its surroundings.
The leaves on a healthy oak dance in the wind, but he can't discern it from the bleak, somber sky.
His fidgety corruption-laced fingers run through the blades of silver-streaked grass, and he can't seem to stop trembling as a hand shoots up to clench the dull pendant around his neck.
He stares at himself and his old warden gear, fingering the colorless scarf wrapped around his neck.
The first color he sees is white, in the form of messy bangs falling over furrowed eyebrows.
"Marksman, get your act together!"
As the Noxian woman sprints past him into the thick of battle, the contrast between his dark hair and white scarf becomes clear, and he nods an affirmative, unable to retort with a clever line.
It takes the cool edge of her blade pressed against his throat for him to see the luscious trees glowing with a vibrant green hue. Though he has his back against the wall while on the brink of death, he thinks about how beautiful the view is, and what a fool he is for never noticing it before.
He dares to look into her eyes and see that they're as fiery as the rising flames in his memories, but then they soften, shifting to a pale turquoise of a lake that he only saw once before. With a flutter of eyelashes, her irises match the emerald of the trees behind her, only to darken once more to a color more familiar to him - a warm, comforting hazel, almost like her eyes.
He freezes, mouth agape, eyebrow cocked warily.
And she takes that chance to bash him on the head with the hilt of her blade.
"Idiot."
The warm liquid drips onto his nose, onto his pale chest, staining light with dark as he leans back against the rocks, a groan escaping his lips.
It takes a moment, but he finally sees her as she reaches toward him with a white cloth to wipe away whatever is all over him. As soon as she lifts it away from his skin, he notes the dark red splotches all over it - and realizes that it's blood, his blood, his warm, red blood.
His hands curl up into fists, and he tries to stand up as quickly as possible, not really knowing - or questioning - why. He has to leave, he has to get out, he needs to run from someone, something before he goes insane.
Her deft, calloused fingers press against his chest, not to stop any potential wounds, but to prevent him from squirming in panic. She knows that look in a man's eye and that it takes the right person to reduce a fearless man to nothing.
"Idiot! You're a real goddamn idiot, Varus."
She grins and clasps her hand on his shoulder as her heart fills with both regret and hope.
He could be built back up again.
She holds her hand out because she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's her responsibility to save him, and he takes it because he doesn't know what else to do.
Her raggedy brown gauntlet scattered with green and yellow runes pop out at him, and he can't help but let out a hollow laugh.
The irony, oh, the irony, the sickening realization that the one person he wants to kill is the only person that can help him regain sight of the things he lost.
But she still looks at him as if she doesn't think he's crazy, as if she actually, really, truly believes in him.
"I can't bring them back, but I can bring you back."
He doesn't think he can trust her.
Sometimes the colors fade again, and sometimes the colors don't quite show up the way she thinks they should. But she's patient, and she believes what she's doing is right.
So she'll paint the whole world for him if it means she can cover the pain in his heart caused by her sword.
He doesn't believe her, but What the hell, there isn't anything else he can do but sit there and smell the damn roses. He even throws in Noxian bitch for good measure.
She smiles when he says that.
He notices this and rolls his faded purple eyes, commenting on how he hates the way her green ones light up.
She laughs, sticking her tongue out. The color he sees might be wrong, but it's a start.
As she looks up to stare at a white cloud hovering around the beautiful blue sky, she feels a warm, tingly sensation lace through her fingers. She allows herself to enjoy it, until a quick squeeze catches her attention. When she glances to her left, his eyes are closed, but the faint tug on the corner of his mouth is enough to pin him for the crime.
Riven clutches his hand as tightly as she can before tilting her head back to enjoy the view, a view she knows that he can see too.
"I know it's not an apology just yet, but... it's a start." She leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, eyes focused on the colors around them.
He snorts. "I really don't care." She glances at him, but he keeps trying to burn a hole through her head with his glares. She knows how he is. How he lies to cover his pain. But she doesn't mind it.
"It's okay. You will. I'll remind you. I'll help you. Okay?" Her voice is quiet, soft, like her tousled white locks pressing against his skin, but her words imply a painful struggle, reminding him of the rough callouses he feels on her tanned hands.
With a half-hearted smile, he tries to nod. He doesn't want her help. He keeps trying to tell himself he doesn't need it.
"...Okay."
He sighs and touches his pendant, lifting it to look at its deep crimson gem. His eyes automatically turn upward, and he mouths an apology to his loved ones before turning his attention back to the Noxian, who, in his opinion, is smiling at him like a total idiot.
Yet he can't help but smile back.
He knows that if anyone can bring him back to reality, it's her.
She'll paint the whole world for him for as long as he'll let her hold the brush.