MITSUYA TAKASHI had always said he didn’t have a favorite color.
When his classmates argued about which shade was the prettiest–some said sky blue, others cherry red, and a few, emerald green–he barely listened. Someone even mentioned a hex code he couldn’t be bothered to remember. With a pencil between his fingers, he was sketching something no one else could see. “Colors don’t mean anything unless you give them purpose.” he used to believe.
But that was before you.
You showed up at the sewing club one afternoon wearing a lilac cardigan, the kind of soft purple shade that looked like it could melt into spring air. Mitsuya looked up from his work, halfway through hemming Smiley's jacket, and forgot what he was doing for an embarrassing second.
“Hey, 'kashi,” you greeted with that smile that always made his chest feel too small. Not to mention the nickname only you got to use. “Could you help me fix this? The button fell off.”
He nodded, took the cardigan, and set to work with quiet focus. You leaned on the table beside him, watching his hands move–steady, precise, looking angelic as ever. He had to admit it was a little pressuring, especially when someone good-looking was watching—definitely different from those times the principal came by for the yearly observation.
When he finished, he handed it back shyly, without looking at you as he packed up. “There. Good as new.”
You slipped it on again, smoothing the fabric. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one.”
He smiled, whispering a soft, ‘you’re welcome. But when you left, the faint scent of lavender lingered.
That night, he sat at his desk under the warm lamplight, flipping through his collection of fabric. Blues, greens, reds–all of them dull and lifeless. Then he found it: a scrap of pastel lilac he’d bought months ago and never thought of using.
It was soft to the touch. Comforting. Familiar. You.
The next day, when Draken asked in passing what color he wanted for a keychain (probably another one of Mikey and Takemichi’s stunts), this time Mitsuya didn’t even hesitate.
He smiled as if remembering a fond memory.
“Lilac.” he answered, as if it had always been his favorite.
