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All colour had been drained out of his life. He realised this was true once he started dreaming occasionally in quicksilver. He'd never told them this desperate reason to get rid of the damned gland, this particular reason among so many others. He wasn't sure how he could tell them he was afraid of becoming black and white without his shades of brown and navy blue and neon orange, afraid of turning permanently into the silver ghost that no-one would ever see again.
One Simon Cole in the world was enough.
Bobby kept colour in his life. Bobby was brown for him, and his own shades of forest green and light blue and deep, dark, black red. Darien clung to Bobby's colours, and when he dreamt of Bobby in the night, he never dreamed in quicksilver, but in full, glorious Technicolour.