quick lil’ minty people only see color for the first time when they meet their soulmate au for @madgesundersee to get her week started off on the right foot <33333333333
The first thing Miller notices is that the boy’s sweater is blue. Or, maybe it’s not blue—it’s hard to tell, what with never having blue before—but the kind of cool, deep color he always imagined blue to be when he read about it in books. Blue like the ocean, Miller thinks; blue like the sky.
The second thing Miller notices is the boy’s smile, so wide it’s dimpling his cheeks. A smile that would be unquestionably bright even in the monochromatic world Miller’s lived in all his life. He stares across the dining hall, watches as the boy snags a bite of cake from his friend’s plate, and it’s all in perfect, vivid color.
With a deep, shaky breath, Miller taps Bellamy on the shoulder. His roommate looks up from his pizza, and whatever it was he was about to say immediately dies on his lips as he sees the look on Miller’s face.
“What is it?” Bellamy asks. “You okay?”
“I think—” starts Miller. “I think I’m seeing color.”
Bellamy looks at him for a long moment, eyes wide. He follows Miller’s gaze across the hall, locks in on the group clustered at one of the tables by the windows.
“Yeah?” Even Bellamy sounds a bit breathless. It’s a rare and special thing, actually getting to meet your soulmate. “Which one do you think it is?”
“Boy in the sweater,” says Miller. “The one who’s trying not to laugh.”
Bellamy glances at Miller, grins. “You think, or you hope?”
Miller shakes his head, still a little awed. “I know.”
“Well, then.” Bellamy nudges his shoulder. “Go over there.”
Miller nods, absent. He’s already pushing to his feet.
He walks to the table in a kind of numb stupor, eyes trained on the boy in the midst of an onslaught of new shades, new tints, color everywhere. As he approaches, the boy happens to look up, catch his eye.
Miller stops. The boy blinks.
The boy’s friends glance at him. Clearly, this is not a phrase he uses often.
“Monty?” asks a girl with honey-blonde hair, all gentle concern. “You okay?”
But the boy—Monty—is already scrambling to his feet, stumbling towards Miller. His eyes are wide, lips parted and pink.
“Are you seeing this, too?” he asks, with something like wonder.
Miller lets out a breath, then sticks his hand forward. “I’m Nate.”
“Monty.” He smiles, taking Miller’s hand, and it’s like lightning under Miller’s skin. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting—wow.”
“You see this too, right?” Monty asks, his hand still tight around Miller’s. “It’s not just me?”
“Okay,” Monty says, nodding. “Okay.” He pauses, bites his lip. “Hello.”
Miller grins, takes a step closer.
