ღ
soulmate au. send me “ღ” to my muse’s reaction to their world suddenly becoming colorful after meeting your muse’s eyes.
It was an accident, really.
He had trained himself to understand the difference by touch: the ridges, the stem and the texture of his arrows. Knew which would touch the hearts of those who stumbled, crawled, hobbled his way. He was their paintbrush—the one that dipped in the can of color and painted their way into technicolor lives.
But it was a day he was aiming far too high, with far too much optimism, that he knew why so many people clutched for that can of wonder. It was as he started to run after the grey arrow, whizzing past others heads, stumbling to catch it.
As soon as he did, he barreled into a smaller figure, eyes squeezed shut upon impact.
"Hey, watch it!"
But all he could focus on was the heartbeat under his fingertips.
“…Open your eyes.”
His head only ducked lower as hands, unfamiliar, but so soft and so comforting, caressed his cheeks.
"Please."
And then they fluttered, blacks, whites and washed out greys vanished. He didn’t know what that color was, but her eyes looked beautiful in that shade. Her lips were rosy and parted in worry; her brows were furrowed in concern; but her eyes—her eyes caused his heart to stutter. And from the look that reflected back from hers, she could feel it, too.
“Yer kinda, sorta, really beautiful,” he breathed.
“You’re kinda, sorta, really weird,” she laughed.
He reached over and picked up the arrow that landed just behind their sprawled bodies—it was bright, like the sun beaming down on them. He wanted to learn these colors. Learn what he could whisper to her, what to describe her hair color to be and to finally find out the name of his favorite color: her eyes.
“Uh—shit. Shit, sorry. ‘m Quinn.”
She seemed to be watching his eyes, too. Before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, like she knew this was forever.
"Mary."