THE COLOR ORANGE | -> toji fushiguro
toji sees you in the time between the sunset and when sky has fully darkened. when night has covered most of the sky with it's dark blues and strong oranges from the setting sun as it peaks from the mountain tops.
orange like the the color of the fruit toji used to peel for you when you felt blue. when your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.
you'd snuggle next to him on the couch as he peeled the skin of the clementine, section by section, picking off the white pieces as to not dilute the color of his love and affection.
he was content watching you eat the slices he peeled for you, watching your frown turn up into a soft smile. warm and bright like the color of the clementine.
orange like the yukata you wore on new years. bright like your laughter, with white flowers that danced along the bottom, in whites and greens. a large bow wrapped around your middle that was more white than orange.
you were stunning that day, as oranges, reds, and yellows illuminated your face from the blasting of the fireworks. you admired the bright lights and their reflection onto the lake's surface. he loved the way your face lit up as more fireworks went off into the night sky.
orange like the buttons you used to collect. random buttons in the shapes of circles, squares, butterflies, and everything in orange.
you'd sow them onto your shared quilt, glue them onto the picture frames that hang in the hallway and in the living room, make bracelets or necklaces out of mismatched shapes and sizes.
orange like the polaroid camera you brought with you all the time. you would take pictures of random moments, whenever and whatever you saw fit.
when you saw a flower grow from the cracks of a sidewalk. when the neighborhood tabby purred and brushed itself around toji's leg. when toji tried to make you breakfast in bed, but accidentally set the pan on fire. (he chuckles thinking back to that memory).
orange like the flowers he bought you. big marigolds, daylilies, and some other orange flowers. (the florist told him the name but he forgot).
toji removes the old flowers that have withered and gone brown from your gravestone. using his hand, he sweeps the crumbs of the once orange and bright petals away from where you now lay forever.
orange like the end of toji's cigarette. the end of it lighting up in a hue of orange when he takes a deep breath. you never liked when he smoked; you hated the smell and the taste of it on his lips.
as toji finishes his cigarette, the sun disappears completely from the mountain tops. the sun's orange and strong light has gone. nature has lain her blanket onto the world below her, to put all creations down to sleep.
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