Hue

It was white day. The skies were a grey too bright to be considered anything but startling white. Fog hung about, causing the landscape to drift away into tints of its original colors. It was as if the world were fading away into the whiteness. Arthur sat staring out the window at the grimness and wondered how he would ever capture the trees' white flecks. It looked fake. Not real. People would wonder why he had made the painting overly dramatic.

He sighed and reached for his Earl grey tea. He bumped it instead. "Bollocks!" he hissed as the hot tea splashed on his hand.

Tears came to his eyes. It was from the burning tea, he told himself sternly, it had nothing to do with the lovely couple walking down the street outside the window. They were the only vivid colors in the grim, washed out world.

The man's neck was covered by a cerulean colored scarf, like the ocean, but truly closer to the color of his eyes. Arthur would know. Winter weather even though it was still May making it uncommonly cold for summer, the girl was wearing a red coat, slashed scarlet that twirled about her legs. Even though she did not smile, her coat did.

Drown me, thought Arthur miserably. The sinking feeling grew as he saw them turn to enter the coffee shop he was in, and the man opened the door for the slender blonde. No, he thought with an internal groan, as the small bell jingled announcing their arrival. He ducked his head down, and traced the tea stain on his paper with his pen. Slowly he followed the curves of the stain, tracing the silhouette out and out like ripples from a stone on a calm pond.

Pages were white too. Void pages. Black was too cold. White was perfect hell. Pages without words, emails not written, and references not asked or written. The memory of sweet words, like coppery chimes, his advisor saying desperately, "Tell me a school Arthur and I'll get you in." He buried that memory into the deep murk.

Murky pond, like his feelings. Drown his feelings in the pond. Drown them under layers of ripples. Deep down into the murk, the layers of water above shot with sunshine. Golden. The cheerful male voice reached deep into the depths of that lake.

"Ah, yeah, that's all! Thanks! Hey, Nadia where do you want to sit?"

He could feel it. Like the sun on a foggy day, or cloudy day when the clouds were far between, and the light fell about them and then vanished as they passed over. How could one miss the sunshine? He ignored the blue eyes fastened on him. He ignored the tear dripping down his face.

He wasn't worried; his head was propped up by his arm just right, so that the sunshine wouldn't see the rain. Rain was always so hard to capture, or condensation, really, it had no true color; it only reflected those about it. Arthur banished his mental wanderings to the void.

"Wow! You got in there?" Yes, Nadia was going to one of the top Master of Arts schools. Even had solicited them first, like an artist who knew what they wanted. Arthur didn't know anything. He was white like the fog outside.

"I must go. It was good to see you," came the woman's voice, the color of rust, accented like steel.

Silence. Good. Arthur was now staring at his page when a shadow overhead engulfed his doodling.

"I wanna say sorry."

It startled him like coming out from a dark tunnel into the light.

"What ever for, Alfred?" The irritation was plainly there, as was the bemusement as if this were a dream or fantasy.

"I said mean things…about your art…last year."

Were they really talking about art? Arthur just shrugged; he couldn't look up into those sky blue eyes.

"Nadia says you aren't going for your Masters."

"Why should I?"

"Because you are good."

He looked up to see Alfred perplexed, his face a twist. Arthur laughed. By looking at Alfred it was a risk to start crying again, but Alfred's beauty was worth it, he told himself.

To his surprise, Alfred was looking at him cheeks pink and mouth slightly open. His mouth snapped shut and his cheeks flushed deeper when he rattled out, "Show me your stuff and then I can tell you more about why I think it's good."

His studio? Only Francis had been there, but now Francis was in his hometown in France.

He led Alfred up the stairs, opened the room to show the myriads of four years worth of work. It seemed riotous against the plain walls. Arthur could pick every flaw, every spot in the work that bothered him, and each mess up he had painted. Arthur just looked at Alfred expectantly.

He noted how that scarf made Alfred's eyes turquoise like the vast ocean. How Alfred wasn't looking at his art, just at himself.

There was that smile like the sun.

Then there was nothing but lips on his own, a kiss that made him stiffen and then open like the first mark on a canvas.

It didn't stop, this madness, this beauty, it continued. Clothes filled with brilliance of colors strewn like drips of paint on the floor. Nude against white sheets of his bed, red lips against skin. The soft laughter of tripping across the room and falling into softness. Heated skin against skin, hands trembling exploring as if it was a dream. Flushed want contained in the depths of the body, and Arthur clung to his deepest love as he took and gave. Crying out over the flashes that sparked across his eyes as he let Alfred bring himself to the heaven he was already lingering in.

"Oh, how I wanted to do that for so long," his love whispered in his ear, nuzzling Arthur's sticky neck from sweat. "You smell so good, Arthur. I missed you so much."

Arthur could only swallow hard, this had been better than his fevered dreams, and his desire for years. "You are my everything, you know that, Alfred?"

"Mmm." The boy murmured into his shoulder.

"Everything. Every color, you are my colors. The world is white without you," Arthur wondered out loud.

" 'Snice." A light snore came by Arthur's ear. He turned to see Alfred's sleeping form against Arthur's shoulder. Alfred's lips were upturned in happiness, causing Arthur to give a faint smile.

"I wish I could see the world like you do," Alfred said, hand propped up in the pillows.

"What do you mean?" Arthur was at a loss.

Thoughtfully, Alfred said, "It's like you see it differently, as if it were a piece of art. Describe me right now."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, causing Alfred to draw a finger through them and then bend to kiss them.

Arthur scowled and pulled away, but took in his naked love entwined in sheets. He would line draw him first, let those beautiful muscles that lingered under the skin, contrast against the soft white of the wall, the sheets.

"I like this." He finally said, tracing Alfred's collarbone.

"Why?"

Arthur scowled deeper. "Because. The shadows… I like how it plays your skin… It's a beautiful spot. Don't ask me these stupid questions."

Alfred grinned. "You are beautiful."

"What?" Arthur's scowl was fierce by this time.

"And you scowl when you are at a loss."

"Plonker," Arthur scoffed, and turned away. He felt Alfred's strong hand pull him back towards him. He shivered with delight.

"You are handsome, and mine," Alfred crowed, delightedly, kissing Arthur's nose.

Arthur wanted to cry.

"You and me. We never got off on the right foot, did we? Lots of stuff to go through? I suppose, that's how it was in school too. Don't tell Mattie that either. He said I should just talk to you, ever since the last year's show. He would totally rub it in. I mean, what, ever since you came into the art store, I thought you were cute. And Francis, he said I should just keep trying. You know, and you are so cool, Arthur, I love you."

Rambling stopped suddenly, Alfred's cheeks were as red as a stop sign. The confession must have slipped out unintentionally. Silly lad, Arthur thought, his cheeks mirroring Alfred's, talking too much.

"Yeah…I love you," Alfred said softer now. "Do you still love me?" he asked quieter, a pain showing through.

Arthur just traced Alfred's face. "I love you," he said finally, his lips meeting Alfred's. Forever.

The pond was still there. Deep, recessed. He knew it existed, but no longer did he wade or sink into it anymore. He wandered around it holding his lover's hand and enjoyed the sun. His complement. Antonio had been right. "I think I'm purple." He confessed one day shyly as they sat in Alfred's apartment while Alfred worked on his blueprints. Alfred grinned a megawatt smile when he told him that.

"Ah, so my complement. What do you think?"

He showed his work to Arthur. "It's lovely," Arthur said truthfully, he could envision the walls, the window, the light.

"Like you." Alfred smiled. Arthur scowled, and Alfred laughed.

Alfred was yellow. He was like the sun, annoying, and happy.

Francis said blue, but Arthur disagreed.