It depends on the shift of light, the colour of her eyes.
He mused while she is flustered and a pretty shade of red paints her cheeks.
In the morning, with the barest glimpse of sun blinking in the horizon, as her eyes flutter open and he is lying right beside her molded to her curves, he noticed that they are the palest shade of…green.
Odd.
Maybe it's because – and he theorized – that they reflect, for some bizarre reason, the colours of his bed sheets or maybe sometimes the green curtains that hung limply off the windows…
Whatever it was, her eyes were the palest green.
Content.
It had never occurred to him that it might be content that could bring that shade of colour in her eyes. After all, sleep often does that to anyone.
At mid-noon when the sun was high in the sky and he couldn't help but wander his eyes to her form and automatically their eyes meet (but will quickly dart away because people will notice he's staring and she's staring and he really doesn't want to explain right now because she is a secret that everybody would hate him for) and he willl then see that her eyes had shifted to a pale blue.
Of course, he couldn't surmise that it was because it reflected off the dunce's eyes because…just because she was with him and not with him anymore. The past is the past after all and it'll only anger him at the thought of it.
So he thought it might've been reflected off the lake that was a very silver blue.
There is a memory he remember that she has a fondness for water. Or lakes to be specific.
Warmth.
That was what it was. She loves practicing near the lake or on the lake and has a knack for swimming.
Suddenly, he has the desire to see that whenever she looks his way.
When night bids a greeting and he goes home, weary and tired of everything and nothing and wishes to just sleep but he clearly understand that life is nothing short of cruel, she would announce her presence to him in silent contradiction to his life and her eyes became an intense shade of purple.
He knows desire and maybe possibly love. Two things that, really, cannot live one without the other; that he didn't know he could introduce when his soul shattered too many times to count and in the end all he knows is death.
Red is not the colour of love. It is the colour of death.
Funny how his eyes are always red.
He is curious to know why she wears desire and love but he doesn't want to know right now because she fills up all the empty spaces in his mind when she is everywhere.
Purple is when she is strong and calm and works her mouth on his so sweetly, offering things decidedly wanton he can only respond appropriately. Too appropriately sometimes it's unsettling to him.
He then announced to no one in particular that for anyone to say that her eyes are the colour white were really stupid and blind because any other person can see that they were not white.
They were really stupid.
He is ignoring the looks that his teammates are giving him.
Her eyes were a kaleidoscope of colours because she feels when she is forced not to and he wants to see that reflect through her expressions, her gestures and the quirks of her lips.
He tells her all this when he is bored; she is instantly flustered even while her head sleeps on his shoulder and a moment of silence enveloped them.
"Your eyes are not always red you know," she whispered to him.
Author's Notes: Ehm. 2:57 in the morning brings about rather odd inspirations. Very rough and will eventually refine to perfection. Reviews would be nice. I think I write a horrible Sasuke.