Celadon

Chapter 1

Summary: Dan lives in a world of black and white, only to be brought to color when one is united with their one soulmate. But Dan found who's supposed to be his soulmate... two years ago. So why is it that he's finally seeing all the colors now, when he lays eyes on a boy he doesn't know?

A/N: A shoutout to holysmokesphan and her wonderful fic Color that you should really read as it has the same exact concept and it's very very very good.

Genre: Soulmate au, angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: Swearing, suicidal themes, smut in later chapters, representation of homophobia

They call it celadon. The condition I'm in. Everyone learns about it in schools, once you're old enough to learn about your soulmate, you're old enough to know about celadon.

"Scandalous." That's what they say. "A curse. A sickness."

I don't disagree.

The dictionary definition of celadon?

Cel-a-don (n) - 1. the state in which you are an individual's soulmate, but they, respectively, are not yours.

2. a willow-green color.

Our eyes, they're created only seeing the blacks and whites, the shadows of this world, until you find the one. Your 'soulmate'. The person, essentially, you will spend the rest of your natural-born life with, seeing the world in color and living happily ever after.

Some don't think it exists. Celadon. It's rare, unique, a sad spectacle. There's never been a case of celadon in which the victim ends up with a soulmate of their own. Edgar Allen Poe, Tchaikovsky, Alexander the Great, Leonardo Da Vinci, Freddie Mercury, they were all people who had it. All great people who had it. But somehow I don't think "Dan Howell" will be added to the list of celebrities with celadon. Just, you know, the sad losers who had celadon that eventually offed themselves.

What people don't seem to realize is that we do see color. One color, really, but we still don't see entirely in black and white. All we can see is that damn shade of green. The shade of green on willow trees and in marshes and in some less sun-touched glades. That's what the bloody condition is named after, our one true bane, the reminder that we're screw ups.

I've never met anyone else with celadon. There's support groups, that some with it are forced to attend, there's even some 'conditioning', in which clueless doctors think they can remedy the oppressed into seeing the colors and being soulmates with the one who saw colors for them.

But me? I've never told anyone. It's terrible and I'm ashamed of it every day, but I just can never find a way to say it.

I blame my cripplingly awkward disposition. When she approached me two years ago, well, I really should have said something.

I was in a park, with my parents and younger brother, eating an ice cream when she saw me. I remember being utterly confused when she ran to me, crying and flinging her arms around my neck while I patted her back uncomfortably and tried desperately not to drop my ice cream.

"You're it! You're him," she had said to me, pulling away and wiping the tears from her eyes with a laugh as I took another unsure lick from my ice lolly. "I'm Charlie."

It was at this very moment that I realized what the fuck was happening. I had glanced around me and realized that things looked different, yeah, but not overwhelmingly spectacular. Most everything was still black and white, except the few leaves and blades of grass that were that very shade my eyes decided to pick up. And, I had realized as I looked back at the girl claiming to be my soulmate, her eyes were changed, too.