He remembers the colours of life all too well. He remembers them, even if sometimes he doubts himself. Proton whispers in his mind, tells him he was mistaken. That he was disillusioned. Because there are no colours for people like them. He had protested at first, snarled at the other, bared his teeth and fought as hard as he could to get away. But he couldn't. And he started sinking down back in the darkness slowly but surely. And it is often that he looks in the mirror and tells himself, it was all a lie.
Colours are not meant for monsters.
And if there was one colour that stayed with him, it was the red. And he started to both hate and love the colour. Every time he had ended up torturing some poor soul who had gone against his wishes or that of his boss. He had watched the blood flow from the other's veins.
But it never turned back into that colour.
Red was the colour of passion, they said. But red was simply the colour of your blood. It was the colour that you would see last. Even if most did not see it. Sometimes he could pretend he did.
And then there were times when he tortured them painfully slow. Seeing and hoping that maybe if he tried hard enough, went by it slow enough, he could see those colours bloom again. But really. He should have known colours were not for him.
So it is nine years further when all that is left is a husk, a murder machine. A bastard. Someone who people went to, someone who got paid for doing the job right. Someone needed to keep their mouth shut? The white-haired was their man. Easy as rain.
Nine years since the colours.
Nobody could have blamed him for thinking they were a myth. Just a trick of the mind. And they would never return. Because you could not have two soulmates, it wasn't true. You just had to move on. And soulmates? That was bull shit to begin with.
It's one night in a stupid local bar.
When a girl sits next to him and offers him a drink, and he looks up.
And their eyes meet. And he thinks that she has the most beautiful smile ever, and her eyes remind him of the sky.
He does the first thing in mind.
