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i. yellow
People are always telling Eijun that he reminds them of the color yellow.
He doesn’t quite know what they mean by that because he’s never seen the color before. He’s never seen any color before, his world painted in shades of black and white and grey.
One day, he tells himself.
One day he’ll find his soulmate, and he’ll know what it’s like to live his life in color.
But he didn’t think one day would be today.
He didn’t think it would happen here, next to the concession stand during the first baseball game of the season. He didn’t think it would happen like this, with the smell of pizza and popcorn and summer in the air.
It happens so quickly, he doesn’t know how to react. One second, he’s looking down at the baseball field, taking in the grey grass and white bases, the black scoreboard behind the fence - the next, he’s stumbling on his feet, smacking into something firm and warm.
When he looks up, he’s met with wide, surprised irises. Luminous and lively and -
Gorgeous.
That’s the only thing Eijun can think before his world shifts before his eyes.
It’s as if someone pulls the film off the back of a photo, burns the cover off a picture book to reveal what’s underneath. It starts at the center of his vision, at the eyes he’s still caught in, and then bleeds outward, hues and shades Eijun has never seen before filtering into his consciousness.
And before him, at the center of it all, is Miyuki Kazuya, the star catcher for the Tokyo Giants.
Eijun forgets how to breathe.
Eijun stares as his gaze sweeps down Miyuki’s features. He gapes. Openly. Embarrassingly.
Maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s seeing someone like this, in color, full, unfiltered, shaded in ways Eijun can’t comprehend.
Maybe Miyuki is just really that pretty.
Either way, Eijun is absolutely ensnared.
Eijun immediately wishes he knew how to describe what he’s seeing. He doesn’t have a name for the hues, the tints, the tones, but they’re beautiful, all of them, and he wants to touch them, learn them, memorize them.
He thinks he might cry.
Actually, he knows he’s going to cry.
He’s twenty-two and about to graduate college. He’s lived twenty-two years, eight thousand and thirty days, and he’s never really seen the world before.
He doesn’t know that Miyuki’s hair is honey-brown and his eyes are hazel, but they’re lovely shades. He knows his mouth is ruddy, pink, red, because he’s read enough shoujo manga to know that’s the color they should be. His shirt is white and black - easy, familiar - with the Giants’ logo looping across the front. Eijun doesn’t know that his nails are sunflower yellow, painted to make them easier to see when he’s in position behind home plate, but it’s eye-catching and mesmerizing.
Sunflower yellow.
It’s bright and stunning, just like everything else about the man standing before him.
“Hi,” Eijun says airily, completely overwhelmed by everything. The world is so vibrant. Magnificent. Breathtaking. “I like your nails.”
Miyuki blinks down at him, just as speechless as Eijun feels, floundering. Neither of them came here today expecting this, expecting to suddenly see the world through a completely different lens. “Thanks,” Miyuki responds. He glances away awkwardly as if trying to figure out what to say. “I… like your eyes.”
Eijun’s brows furrow because he has no idea what color his own eyes are. He’s been told that they’re golden-brown, melted caramel, but Eijun doesn’t know what that is. His heart feels as if it’s simultaneously racing and slowing down, as if he’s moving underwater. “Oh,” he says, completely stunned, a little endeared by Miyuki’s obvious flustering. “Um. What color are they?”
At this, Miyuki laughs, cheeks darkening, dimple peeking out at the corner of his mouth. He’s extraordinarily nice to look at. “I have no idea,” he admits, shifting on his feet. “I’m Miyuki Kazuya, by the way,” he greets, holding out his hand, like Eijun doesn’t know who he is. Who doesn’t know who Miyuki Kazuya is? “Apparently… I’m your - uh, you know.”
His soulmate.
Eijun’s stomach flips. He takes the offered hand, shaking it gingerly, yellow nails gleaming back up at him. “I’m Sawamura Eijun,” he says in return. “It’s nice to meet you.” He pauses, glances towards the field below. Grass green and clay red. Eijun knows because that’s what he’s been told, but he’s never seen it before. “You better win today, Miyuki Kazuya.”
Miyuki looks surprised by Eijun’s demand. He recovers quickly, raising a brow, lips pulling into a cocky grin. “I plan on it.”
And later, when Eijun watches the Tokyo Giants’ star catcher call for the final strike of the game, when he watches him sweep the field with a swift throw to second base, Eijun thinks he can see the tint of Miyuki’s nails all the way from the stands.
Sunflower yellow.
Eijun’s favorite color.
--
ii. green
One of the first things Eijun learns about Miyuki - besides the obvious, that he’s the star catcher for the Tokyo Giants, that his smile makes Eijun feel a little wobbly in the knees, and that he’s, apparently, Eijun’s soulmate - is that he’s hilariously awful at minigolf.
“Aren’t you supposed to have good aim?” Eijun taunts, amused as he watches Miyuki swing and miss the ball, slicing through the air with a woosh. “Aren’t you the cleanup or something?”
“Hey,” Miyuki grumbles, hitting Eijun’s sneaker with his club gently. His cheeks are pink, brought out by the soft green of his sweater. “Golf and baseball are totally different.”
“No kidding,” Eijun quips playfully, lining up to take his turn at the tee. “You’re so bad at this it’s hurting my eyes. Don’t quit your day job.”
He takes his swing and completely misses, club whacking against the grass.
Miyuki laughs so hard he nearly starts crying. “That’s karma, you brat,” he says once he’s composed himself. He grins and bumps his shoulder against Eijun’s, warm and teasing, mouth turned up into an attractive smirk. “What was that you said? Don’t quit your day job.”
Eijun huffs, cheeks burning.
They spend the rest of the evening like that - getting to know each other through banter. Eijun learns that Miyuki is a little shit, will do almost anything to get a rise out of Eijun, amused by his puffy cheeks, poking them when he gets the chance. He learns that Miyuki likes to cook and he doesn’t like sweets, that he’s close with his dad and he doesn’t have a favorite season. He likes taking long drives at night and he wants to get a cat one day.
And at the end of the night, Eijun really doesn’t want to see him go.
“I’m not great at romance,” Miyuki begins. “And the whole concept of soulmates has always been weird to me,” he continues. “But we could… do this again.” He shifts his weight between his feet. He looks nervous, fingers plucking at the sleeve of his sweater. “If you want.”
Eijun bites the inside of his cheek, heart fluttering. He reaches out tugs at Miyuki’s sleeve. It’s soft beneath his touch, velvety. He lets their hands brush, skin tingling, and feels as if the world has realigned for the second time in his life.
He glances down shyly, taking in the viridian of Miyuki’s sweater. It’s a pretty color. It looks nice against Miyuki’s skin. Eijun thinks maybe it’s his new favorite.
He smiles when he looks back up to catch Miyuki’s eye. “I’d like that.”
--
iii. red
For their third date, Eijun buys a brand new tube of chapstick.
Cherry flavored. Candy-apple red. It leaves his lips feeling smooth and soft, a little glossy, and totally kissable.
At least, that’s what he hopes - he hopes his lips look kissable.
Because he really wants Miyuki Kazuya to kiss him tonight.
Eijun is dying for it. He can’t stop thinking about it. Imagining it. He thinks about it in class, at practice, in bed. He thinks about it every time Miyuki’s name lights up his phone and when he reads I’ll pick you up at 8 the day they make plans for their third date.
He thinks about it when Miyuki shows up at 7:58 p.m. with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Red snapdragons and purple peonies and little white daisies.
Flowers look different now that he can see them in color.
(They also look different because Miyuki’s callused fingers are the ones holding them.)
Eijun takes them with ginger hands. “Thank you,” he says sweetly, biting his lip and wishing Miyuki were biting it instead. “And you said you aren’t good at romance.”
Miyuki’s neck burns red, the same color as the V-neck shirt he has on, the same as the fragrant snapdragons. “I guess I know a thing or two,” he says playfully, even though he fiddles with the door jam nervously. “But don’t go expecting me to kiss you in the rain or sprinkle rose petals on your bed. I draw the line at the flowers.”
Eijun puts the flowers in a vase and grabs his coat. “Rose petals on the bed?” he echoes, grinning mischievously. “And what exactly have you been thinking about, Miyuki Kazuya?”
Miyuki’s blush spreads to his ears and Eijun’s smile widens like he’s won the lottery.
They go out to dinner, sitting across from each other at the booth, ankles crossing, knees knocking, paying more attention to each other than their food. Their waitress makes heart eyes at Miyuki one too many times, staring at his soft hair and crooked smile, and Eijun reaches across the table in response, fiddling with the watch on Miyuki’s wrist, stroking the knuckles at the back of his palm.
He’s my soulmate, Eijun silently says, fending off her subtle interest. Some people don’t care about soulmates, but Eijun does. He’s my color palette.
When they return to Eijun’s apartment, he invites Miyuki inside. “I can make us some tea?” he asks coyly, hand on his doorknob, heart in his throat. He kind of wants Miyuki to kiss him right here, wants him to push him up against the wall, crowd into his space, put his hands on his hips.
Miyuki’s throat works as he swallows, eyes roaming over Eijun’s features, catching on his mouth. “That sounds nice,” he answers, stepping closer as Eijun opens the door.
Eijun makes tea and Miyuki hovers, too close, arms brushing, fingers curiously fiddling with the salt and pepper shaker on Eijun’s counter. They’re shaped like little foxes. “I bet you have cute stuff like this all over your apartment, don’t you?” Miyuki teases, bumping his hip into Eijun’s.
Eijun pours boiling water over the leaves in their mugs. Peach green tea. Eijun’s favorite. He likes the color it turns as it steeps - olive green, like the little veggies he always picks out of martinis. “You can find out,” he responds, smiling cheekily, a little suggestive, a little flirtatious.
Miyuki raises a brow and presses further into his side. “Brat,” he mutters, fondly, gaze at Eijun’s chin.
Eijun bites the corner of his lip and hands Miyuki a mug, leaning in as he does, lashes hooding over his eyes. “What are you gonna do about it?” he breathes out, letting his eyes linger over what he wants - pink lips, pink tongue. Pink is a nice color, too.
Miyuki rises to the challenge, pushing forward, just enough to make Eijun’s breath hitch. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” he responds, taking the mug, pulling back with a saucy smirk. He leaves Eijun reeling in the tension, the longing in his chest seeping into his bloodstream.
They settle on the couch, drinking their tea, thighs pressed together. Eijun toes at Miyuki’s ankle and Miyuki lets his hand rest at Eijun’s knee. They talk about anything, everything, nothing, and before he knows it, it’s been fifty-two minutes and Eijun still hasn’t been kissed.
He sets his mug on the coffee table and twists his torso to face Miyuki. “I had a good time tonight,” Eijun says, leaning his temple against the back of the couch, fingers gently dusting over Miyuki’s palm.
Miyuki catches his hand and brushes his thumb over his knuckles. “Me too,” he responds.
Eijun doesn’t know who leans in first - both of them, maybe, meeting in the middle, caught up in sparks between them. Eijun doesn’t quite care though, because it’s been fifty-three minutes now and he’s finally being kissed.
It’s tender, a little cautious, questioning. Miyuki’s mouth brushes Eijun’s like a caress, an exploration, and Eijun yearns . He lets out a quiet noise, pressing back against Miyuki enthusiastically, sighing warmly when Miyuki’s hand comes to rest at his thigh, tentative and gentle.
Miyuki’s mouth says I want this and Eijun’s says God, yes, please, me too.
Eijun tries to quell his disappointment when Miyuki pulls away, already too eager for more. Eijun’s lashes flutter open, giddy excitement pooling in his belly as Miyuki looks down at him.
“Okay?” Miyuki asks, voice shaking, caught in his throat.
Eijun smiles and glances away shyly, catching sight of the pretty red flowers on the coffee table. Every time Eijun sees snapdragons, he’s going to think of this moment. Miyuki’s mouth on his, a brand, a claim, and Eijun’s heart in his hands, wrapped up in a little bow, ready for the taking.
“Yeah,” Eijun responds, licking his lips, shifting to wrap his arms around Miyuki’s neck. He takes in the rouge of Miyuki’s cheeks, his ruddy, spit-slick mouth, the carmine of his shirt. “I’m definitely okay.”
Miyuki hums and slides his hand up to Eijun’s waist, smiling boyishly, smugly, flirtatiously. It’s an attractive look, handsome, and Eijun likes it a little too much. “Yeah?” Miyuki says, fingers teasing at Eijun’s midline. “Does that mean I can kiss you again?”
Eijun toys with the hair at Miyuki’s neck. “You better,” he responds cheekily, even though he’s breathless. “If you don’t, I’ll be upset.”
Miyuki’s brows jump into his hairline. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
Then, he kisses Eijun again.
And again.
And again.
Over and over, until all Eijun can think about is the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his touch.
At the end of the night, when Eijun reluctantly lets Miyuki go, when he walks him back to his car and kisses him against the hood, when he returns back to his apartment alone, and absolutely, irrevocably, totally in love -
He sees the flowers on his coffee table and thinks -
Red is definitely my favorite color.
--
iv. purple
Eijun wore his best sweater tonight. Soft burgundy, pulling out the depths of gold in his eyes, accentuating the flush of his skin.
It’s currently lying on Miyuki’s floor.
“Can I?” Miyuki asks, fingers dancing along the waistband of Eijun’s briefs. Navy blue, like the night sky stretched over his hips. The final article of clothing adorning his body.
His heart rattles in his ribcage, nervous, but excited. Eager. Wanting. He reaches out and sneaks a finger beneath Miyuki’s own boxers - forest green, like the summer trees behind Eijun’s apartment. “Only if I get to take yours off too,” he responds.
Miyuki hums. “I guess that’s fair,” he teases, lifting his hips, letting Eijun slip the material down his thighs.
Eijun fumbles as he tries to kick his own boxers away from his ankles. They’re both a little clumsy, a little flustered. Eijun is the first to put his hands on Miyuki, too impatient, running warm fingers over sensitive skin. He’s enraptured by the way Miyuki’s body responds to his curious touch, entranced by the ruddy hue that begins to blossom down his chest and between his thighs.
Eijun takes his time, exploring, learning, testing. He relishes the soft noises Miyuki makes when Eijun sucks at his collarbone, reveling in the way he squirms. He kicks Eijun in the hip when he rubs his thumbs into the tendon of Miyuki’s inner thigh, muttering out a strangled, breathless accusation - “You’re such a tease, God.”
Eijun smirks hotly until Miyuki wipes it off his face, pushing him down into the sheets - white and pure, crisp and clean. Miyuki gives his teasing back to him tenfold, thick, callused fingers shooting heat down Eijun’s spine. Eijun is a panting, needy, desperate mess by the time they actually do anything, by the time gentle fingers begin preparing him, working him open, warm and attentive, dragging pinpricks of pleasure straight from his core.
His toes curl into the sheets and his hands slide over Miyuki’s shoulders. His jaw falls open and his back arches, knees parting, body burning as Miyuki takes care of him, pulls him apart, stitches him back together. Miyuki whispers sweet, seductive words into his ear and Eijun’s soul claws at the cavity of his ribcage, intent on twining itself between the gaps of Miyuki’s own.
Eijun shudders and tries to hold on, swept away by the dark, tawny gleam of Miyuki’s irises and his sweaty, caramel bangs, by the pink of his tongue and the tan, toned muscles of his back. He buries his face in Miyuki’s neck, smears his lips over all the places he can reach, and says, “I’m totally in love with you, holy shit,” when Miyuki nips at his ear, groaning against the shell.
In the aftermath, Miyuki nuzzles against his shoulder, purring as Eijun runs his fingers through his hair, and slurs out a sleepy, “I’m a little in love with you, too.”
Eijun falls asleep, sweaty and gross and happy, too warm because of Miyuki’s extra body heat. He wakes up feeling exactly the same.
Miyuki’s face is peaceful in his sleep. He’s beautiful in the morning light, with gilded sunbeams dancing over his skin. There’s a birthmark on his shoulder, shaped like a tiny, mahogany moon, a scar on his right hip, and a pretty bruise the shape of Eijun’s mouth peeking out from the hollow of his throat.
Eijun swallows and traces a gentle finger along the mark flowering over Miyuki’s clavicle. Purple, like the wisteria trees blossoming in the streets downtown.
It’s a good color on Miyuki.
Miyuki’s lashes flutter when Eijun runs his fingers up the side of his neck to toy with his hair. His hazel eyes are dark and unfocused in the early morning, but his touch is warm and comforting on Eijun’s hip as he wakes.
“Hi,” Miyuki rasps, voice scratchy with sleep. “Did you sleep okay?”
Eijun scoots closer and traces the shell of Miyuki’s ear. “Yeah,” he says, leaning forward, kissing Miyuki’s mouth awake. “G’morning.”
Miyuki smiles and stretches, and the purple mark stretches with him.
Eijun thinks it might be his new favorite.
--
v. gold
People are always telling Eijun that he reminds them of the color yellow.
It’s a bright color. Cheerful. Energetic. Resilient. Eijun knows what it looks like now.
He’s staring at it now, gleaming, shiny, beautiful, set in a velvet box, held in Miyuki’s hand.
Miyuki looks up at him with ruddy cheeks and familiar tawny eyes, Eijun’s favorite green sweater on his shoulders, and a new purple bruise peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt.
“Will you marry me?” Miyuki’s mouth is saying, but Eijun is hardly listening, because he’s already nodding and he’s already crying, the colors of his world blurring together through his tears. He’s already dropping to his knees to wrap his arms around Miyuki’s neck, already tugging at the forest of his sweater and catching his pink mouth beneath his own. He’s already thumbing at the violet mark on Miyuki’s throat, eager to leave more, already getting lost in Miyuki’s gilded irises.
“What a dumb question,” Eijun says eventually, letting Miyuki slide the gold band on his finger, captivated by the way it shimmers against his skin. This is definitely his favorite color, hands down. “Like I was going to say no.”
Miyuki rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, arms around Eijun’s waist, lips at his temple. “Yet you would have been pissed if I didn’t ask properly,” he says, tickling Eijun in the ribs.
Eijun laughs because Miyuki is right, and Eijun is in love.
And he thinks there’s nothing better than that - living life in love - and in color.