Fiction: Blue

Dominic was blue, Vintersorg thought. Everything about Dominic was blue. His hair, his eyes, his eye shadow, his lips, his clothes, his guitar. His nail-polish, his jewelry, most of his apartment, his paintings, his tattoo (the one that nobody but Vintersorg got to see anymore), his drums. It was one of those things that most people found weird about him, that made people take one look and then turn away, deciding that he was too much for them, but Vintersorg loved it. He loved that Dominic was so different, that he stood out and blended in at the same time.

Vintersorg had chosen pink for his own color. Neon pink, no less. He liked it. Liked how vibrant the color was, how it made people stare at him with wide eyes, how it made most of the girls giggle and most of the guys think he was gay. Talk about true advertisement. Vintersorg had to admit; he liked being flaming. Liked the pink hair and the pink contacts and the pink clothes he usually wore, and the pink nail-polish and guitar and tattoo - the one he had gotten after he met Dominic, in honour of him.

Somehow, even Dominic's kisses felt blue, tasted blue. Vintersorg wasn't really sure how that was even remotely possible, but even when he closed his eyes when he was near the other musician, the darkness that followed was never black, it was blue. Soft sounds of Dominic's earrings jangling, soft feel of Dominic's hair against his cheek, soft taste of the iced coffee they had been drinking only moments earlier, soft sensation of Dominic smiling slightly against his lips. And somehow, it was all blue.

Vintersorg wondered if he tasted pink, smelled pink, felt pink. He didn't really think so, couldn't conceive that Dominic would be as silly as feeling something like that, and he could never seem to bring himself to ask. There was something in the thought of asking 'do I taste pink?' that struck him as vaguely ridiculous. And Vintersorg didn't want to be ridiculous. He could be silly, on occasion, even stupid on rarer occasions, but he never wanted to be ridiculous. Not with Dominic. Dominic was far too important for that.

Dominic was serious. Sure, he had his crazy moments, but for the most part he would hide behind a book, behind his drums, behind Vintersorg, and be silent and serious. Sometimes it seemed like he went days without even speaking, without interacting with anyone but Vintersorg. Dominic was everything that Vintersorg wasn't, in most respects they were total opposites, and they both knew it. Hell, everyone around them knew that, and in the beginning, most people who knew them both had thought that it wouldn't last for more than a few weeks, a month at the most.

Three years later and we're still together, Vintersorg thought to himself and looked over at the young man sleeping next to him. He looked peaceful, apart from the slight frown on his face and the way he'd whimper quietly every now and then, stirring before settling again with a soft sigh. Vintersorg wondered what he dreamed about, wondered just what thoughts and emotions might be hidden behind the mask of blueness Dominic always wore. As if it'd keep him safe, keep anyone - even Vintersorg - from getting too close.

"You're everything I love, but I don't know you," Vintersorg whispered to the sleeping Dominic, and leaned down, kissing the corner of his eye. Dominic muttered something and reached out, blindly finding Vintersorg's hand and holding on to it, surprisingly strongly. Vintersorg smiled and squeezed Dominic's hand back before settling down close to him.

When he closed his eyes, the darkness was blue.

~fin~