Red
Her hair was so incredibly red the first time they met. Red and alive and flowing and distracting and beautiful.
Contrasting perfectly with her flaring, emerald eyes, momentarily sidetracking him. And then, it had been so amazingly, breathtakingly redwhen she had walked down the steps of the Institute, dressed in a way that made his stomach knot and his self-control slightly waver. Still, when it was draped all over her petite shoulders, smelling of flowers and a slight hint of mint, it was partly confusing as well, so he focused on staying calm and cool and in control.
Fucking Red. He called her that. In his mind, when she was babbling or yelling or just entering his thought, she was Red. Stupid, reckless Red, running back to her apartment, almost getting herself killed. Confused and hurt and blazing Red, heaving for breath at the Seelie Court. Shocked and broken and weak Red, staring at him with a fiery hate in Alicante, reminding him again of how he would always be like him.
And her hair was always so blindingly and beautifully red. Except now. Now it flowing and splattering and clotting and so very redbut it in all the wrong ways and he couldn't stop it, hecoldn'thecouldn'thecouldn't. And she looked at him with her seizing, bright green orbs but the light and spark in them were fading, but she still clutched his hand so hard it hurt and she didn't let go. It seemed as if she wanted to say something, but all she managed was to heave for breath and more redredred came and she stopped trying to speak and he just stroked her face, her pale and marvelous face, and tried to remember all the shades of red.
How it looked in the sun, how she seemed to be practically on fire in the August heat with the sunset behind her and a soft smile on her lips. "It's okay, it's okay," he whispered, not sure whether it was to himself or to her or to neither, because it would never be okay and all the redredred wouldn't stop. It trickled from her mouth, and it pressed against his jacket on her stomach, leaving it wet and heavy and so horrifyingly red.
He could feel her grip get looser, and see how her fingernails had caused the inside of his hands to bruise, but he couldn't let her go like this, hecouldn'thecouldn'thecouldn't. With a small, but barely recognizable effort, he let her lie against him, with his jacket still pressing on the wound, holding her as lightly as he could. "It's okay, it's okay." Pressing lips towards lips, making his red too, tasting copper. She had let go of his hand, her breaths frantic now, as he put his face in her hair, seeing the redredred and whispering helpless and deserted promises into the curls.
It was all red. But it was too red.