A/N: Hi! I wrote this in response to the prompt "Heart Song" on tumblr. Very vague, that one. I thought about some music, and some other things, but I eventually landed on this. For once, here, I'm going to write something personally motivated. Don't shoot me, thanks.

Enjoy?

For some of the people that do fall in love, it is a single, vibrant shade of natural warmth. It comes or it goes, but the expression is the same. Each motion is filtered clearly and calmly. They see love as part three, or four or five, of a grand plan and scheme their life is bound to forever. Clean, simple, and with finite error in detail... however, this is their life.

This is not April's life.

Instead of the monochrome dream she wishes she lived in, April collects new colorful insights with each passing thought. What used to be red of love and lust can die to gray in a matter of breaths. Her silken dream of calm blue is only for a moment before April is reeled back into a haze of disappointment. Every constant in someone else's life is a variable, a question hanging over her head with cruel intent in hers; a rainbow of shades indecipherable. Even with him. And this, this universal truth in her life, taunts her. "What if," it asks, "he is through with you?"

Even worse, "What if," it asks with its curling lips of bruised purple, "you tire of him?"

The question is venomous. What if this exaltation of her "true" feelings, this overwhelming sense of closeness and ability to confide in Andy, fails? The doubt sends iron-cold spikes down her spine.

And it scares, oh God it terrifies her in the same way that any of these thoughts do - they're legitimate. Some days, April is barely in control of anything. She's otherworldly angry at nothing in particular. Some days, she feels a terrible fear that comes out as introverted avoidance and the usual pranking, annoyance, and jokes that have evolved over the years.

"What if, I dunno, one day it's just, like, gone," she tries to explain to Andy one day, "and we, like, just... what if I can't figure this stupid crap out-?"

"Babe, that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

"The part where I opened up to you or the part where I can't tell what the hell I'm feeling half the time?"

"No, it's the part where you're unsure of me..."

There is a long silence afterwards. April reaches for his hand on the couch, the simple gesture in their comfortable embrace softening the mood further. He obeys. Andy squeezes, his grip strong.

"Look at me," she pulls at his hand.

"Yeah, and?" he asks.

"Some days, I never know if I'll want to wake up and hug you or sit in a corner for ten years. I don't understand why I can't just... understand how I'll feel one day after another..." April trails off, shrugging. "Okay, this doesn't make any sense."

Andy shrugs as if he's been following the whole time and April can't help but give him the faintest of smiles. Eventually he says, "Well maybe you can explain it to me-?"

"I just said I don't even get it," April reiterates, bristling a little at the perceived lack of attention.

Andy shakes his head in response. "No, I mean like you can explain how you feel on a day or how you think you're gonna feel... or, like, whatever and we can make sense of it y'know?"

"We?" April whispers, a bit incredulous still.

"Duh," Andy scoffs at her.

The days will be blue and yellow, bruised with purples and confusing whirlpools of shades and mixtures. But with Andy, would it be so bad? Perhaps, or maybe even worse, but for once April thinks trying might not be the absolute worst. Some colors, especially between them, could be so much fun.

After all, what's life without a little bit more passionate red?