Three: Study
There are many things he dedicates his times to mastering. To understanding. Music, for one, and drawing... even though many of his works he personally classifies as shitty. Sword fighting is another thing that he's studied painfully over the years, willfully or not. He's examined and utilized the different ways one can limit their emotions to a space that can be masked by shades, and how to limit one's pain behind a mask of snarky retorts. He's learned how to be patient in some ways, yet knows that this is a skill he'll have to hone over the years.
He's studied the different shades of freakish red that reside in his eyes- the different crimsons, vermilions, maroons, burgundies, and scarlets that shift and stretch between his pupil and the whites of his eyes. The burning color of his eyes make him cringe whenever he unveils them; what normal human being has red eyes?
When he examines his eyes and hair together another cringe emerges. What a horrid combination they make, he thinks to himself. He's reminded of an anime character from those mangas his Bro owns- some grumpy or villainous freak who sticks out like a sore, red thumb. As red as his abnormal eyes.
He's studied others to affirm this feeling of abnormality. He watches people's eyes where ever he goes. There are colors he's partial to. Like deep, rich browns that remind him of earth, of stability and normalcy. So many different shades of brown: chestnut, caramel, chocolate, mahogany... all vast and beautiful to the albino musician. Yet despite his preference, he cannot help but be enamored with eyes of all colors.
He's subtly glanced at a passing child with gray eyes that churned like a thunderstorm, marveled at a man with ocean blue eyes, tipped his neck forward to admire a woman's sky-colored gaze, and peeked slyly at an old man's forest eyes.
While he's studied enough brown eyes to know they are his favorite, green eyes become number two on his list of 'other possible eye colors I might want to have if I weren't a freak'.
Some eyes are green and brown- those are secretly his favorites. They remind him of forests he's never grown up with. Mystery and possibility- curiosity and vivacity. Green eyes of all variations have this quality, he concludes. If they flash bright as a young leaf, sit like teeny olives on high cheeks, or sprout little woodlands that seem to sway behind eyelashes- he's studied them all.
He's even studied hers.
Her eyes fascinate him, then proceed to shred his list of 'other possible eye colors', blotching out all the steady and smooth browns to rise to the top.
He analyzes her eyes whenever he gets a chance. He's studied how even though they soothe him with their cool shade, they glow like a flame- a lime fire that singes his fiery iris's and puts them to shame. His eyes encompass fire's color, but hers embodies fire's smolder.
While his eyes simmer, hers burn.
He watches the little green embers blaze behind her glasses, teeny reflections dancing across her corneas when she tips her sight to him. He studies the way the color shrinks behind her pupils when she's discovered something new, how it bursts wildly when she's enraged, how time and time again he sees his fire in her eyes. Her eyes make his seem less freakish. Less abnormal.
Yet he still cowers behind his shades, afraid that when she sees his eyes she'll shy away. He's petrified that she'll never make the connection between their flame: how he possesses its color, and she possesses its burn.
So when there comes a moment when it's just him and her and hushed conversation, his heart grabs onto his throat when her lithe digits skim the frame of his aviators. He stops, clenching her waist tighter as his other hand comes up in a quiet protest. Her pretty lips breathe pleas over him, and he melts under the harlequin inferno that twitters curiously below her bangs.
Slowly she pulls the mask away, and he cannot look directly into that fire. A small gasp fills the room, and his teeth clench.
She's studied him enough to know how the minute tightening of his jaw signals that a wild terror has been running rampant along his bones for far too long. She gently tips his chin up, running a thumb over his chin as she tilts forward, pressing her mouth on trembling eyelids. Over and over she blesses his eyes, the exotic auburn sending chills down her spine when he finally meets her stare.
Who knew, she mused, that his eyes simmer while hers burn.