Colours

o n e

There was something saccharine about one's first crush. It happens unexpectedly, an attachment to one person, feelings things for them that you did not for others. You'll drive yourself mad trying to figure out what it is you're feeling, everything turning you upside down and the only thing that makes sense is that you want to be with them. You'll do stupid things to achieve that. You'll get jealous when they smile or laugh with others and then one day, one day you'll look at that person and feel nothing but a faint fondness for your washed up feelings.

Not you though. You took one look at h/n as he dug a hole in the sand and your world slowed down and all you could focus on was him. A weird pain formed in your chest and it only got easier the longer you looked at him. He was the most beautiful boy you'd ever laid eyes on, causing you to wonder how such beauty could exist and how could it appear in front of you?

That's when it started, this so called crush but calling it a crush felt insulting. The word didn't do justice to explain the emotion that swelled in your chest at the mere thought of him.

At first, he didn't really talk to you. He mostly kept to himself and did his thing. You were the social butterfly, drifting from one person to another making sure no one was lonely but every time you tried to play with him, he politely refused and would go off on his own.

It hurt — each time he did that — but you never let it stop you from asking him again and again and again until one day he let out a sigh much too heavy for a four year old and let you follow him around.

You were content with that, just being near him calmed you in a way that was foreign to you. Time passed by quickly all the same, him trying to be alone and you being near him.

Then came high school and it became harder to be around him, with all the raging hormones and girls realizing that he was beautiful. He basked in their attention while all he did was glower at yours.

But did that stop you? No. You did your best to remain even on the edge of his circle and it continued that way all through to college but following him around became harder as your course load grew thick.

Come spring time, graduation rolled around and you proudly accepted the document that was proof of your hard work for four years. It felt ironic, working hard just for a paper that would be imprisoned in frame on a wall somewhere.

H/n graduated with honours and you couldn't be more proud. You looked on as he celebrated with his family, taking pictures and holding a bouquet of flowers while all you had to look towards were empty seats.

"Y/N!" His mother yelled. "Get in here!"

You smiled, feeling warm at her words. To her, she was just being nice and offering the girl that followed her son around a chance to be in the graduation photos but to you? It was a lifeboat away from the crushing loneliness that only made itself obvious during moments like these.

You clutched your diploma as you stood near him, eyes laser focused on the lens that would take the photo you would cherish for years to come. H/N held an indifferent expression, as he always did when you were around, but the ghost of the smiles he used with his loved ones were still on his lips and that was enough for you.

Flash. It was done. You had written yourself into an important moment of your lives and it was permanently captured. You hoped the camera didn't also capture the light missing from your eyes.

A year later

You had gotten a job as a graphic designer at the same publishing company h/n worked at. It felt like a dream working on the same floor as him even if he was in the finance department and he barely paid any attention to you.

You were really good at your job and you enjoyed it, working with authors to bring the images in their minds to life with your drawings.

Feeling a cramp, you pulled off your drawing glove and stretched out your hand. The pain has slowly been getting worse lately so you made a mental note to see a doctor soon.

You gathered up the items you were going to take home and made sure everything was turned off, taking one last look to admire the knickknacks that called your desk home, before you headed to the stairwell that soon led to the parking lot.

You had just pushed open the door when you heard voice echoing.

"She's literally always there. With her high lighter colours and bright hair ties. I can't even hook up with girls because she won't give me space."

That was the unmistakeable voice that had imprinted itself in your brain the first moment you heard it, adding a new memory any time it changed with age.

"She thinks I don't know this but she's in love with me. It's hard not to know when she stares when she thinks I'm not looking," he groaned in annoyance. "She's such an eyesore."

Was he talking about you? Looking down at your green pants and yellow shirt, your eyes became wet with unshed tears. Did he really think your colourful, happy outfits were an eyesore?

Over the years, you had grown a reputation for wearing bright colours. Yellow, orange, green, red pink, you've worn them all. Your colours didn't always match but they were your shield. They protected you from the darkness that has been threatening to take over inside of you.

"I wish she would just disappear sometimes."

The tears were now free flowing and you slowly moved a hand to wipe them away. There have been moments where h/n has been blunt with you but you never took it personally. That's just how he was, he said things without sugar coating them.

But hearing him say he wished you would disappear broke you in a way you didn't know was possible and for the first time ever, all you wanted was to be as far away from him as possible.