Celadon

Chapter 7

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, suicide, minor character death, smut in later chapters, representation of homophobia
First Chapter Previous Chapter
"She left a letter," I hear my mother say.
I've only been able to stare blankly across the kitchen for the past few hours, the morning light filtering in through the window. I've stayed up all night. I didn't go see her in the hospital. Why the hell would I want to go stare at a dead fucking body?
"Dan?" my mother says. "Did you hear me? She left a letter. Addressed to you. No one's read it."
I'm shaking my head, a cold, empty chill across my skin. Phil had walked me home, but he didn't come inside, I wasn't ready for that, I wasn't ready.
"Don't you want some closure?" she asks.
No. I already have closure. I already know why she did it. Her distant attitude directly after I told my brother, her empty smile and glazed eyes. She knew. Charlie knew that there was someone else. Charlie knew and it took away the thing in her life that she lived to perfect: her relationship with me.
I find myself nodding anyway, unable to even look at my mother, only staring vacantly at the off-white piece of paper she hands me. I unfold the letter with shaky hands, forcing myself to read the delicate lines.
Dan,
I'm not mad with you. Please know that. I loved you. And by the time you read this you'll probably know what I've done. I lived for you, for the idea of our future together, and yes, I did hear you talking about celadon and that you have a soulmate that is not me. Yes, that is the reason this happened. Because I don't think I could live in a world where I can't have you, but I also couldn't keep on being with you knowing that I was holding you back from someone that would make you happy.
When I saw the colours, I thought everything would be better. But all you ever did was force a smile and pretend you felt the same to make me happy. And though I wish you would have been honest, I understand that you were afraid of your parents, of hurting me.
And this probably seems selfish, me just ending my own life over you. But I know you have someone to spend the rest of your life with. I know you have someone to look after you and fix you. I would have had to spend my life knowing that I wasn't good enough, and that's not your fault, it's just how things worked out.
Please, don't be sad. I mean, you'll probably be sad, because death is pretty tragic, but please don't be sad for the rest of your life. I did this so we could both be happy, I guess. Please, my last wish is that you move on, that you fall in love with him, that you make a life with him, that you tell your parents about your celadon and the miracle of you having a soulmate regardless. All I ever wanted was for us to be happy, and since there isn't an 'us', all I want is for you to be happy. I love you, Dan.
Goodbye.
~ Charlie
I stare at the words, willing there to be more, willing there to be a way to undo everything, to reverse time and travel back two years to stop myself from fucking up.
"Do you want to talk?" my mother asks softly when I set down the paper and wipe at my eyes.
"No," I answer emptily. She nods, staring down at the stone counter of our kitchen before turning to leave me to my own thoughts.
My phone buzzes and it takes every ounce of my will to pick it up.
Phil Lester:
Coffee?
I don't smile, but I do nod to myself in the emptiness of my kitchen.
You:
Yes please. Right now?
Phil Lester:
Right now
I pull myself up from my stool and throw my jacket over my shoulders on the way out the door.
It's snowing again, gently, like the day Phil and I met, but I don't mind the cold when I feel so ethereally numb.
The coffeeshop isn't far, but the walk feels long, and it gives me time to wallow in how quickly everything happened, how I failed to protect Charlie from discovering on her own, how she's eternally gone because I couldn't find it in me to settle for someone I loved.
I blink a few times as I pass by a sign I remember once being green, and I think maybe it's a trick of the light, but when I stop and stare for a few seconds, I know it's not just the haze of the snow. The sign is black and white. Charlie's dead, and I've lost the ability to see the green shade I once hated. Tears prick at my eyes as I walk the few blocks left to the coffee shop, where I can see Phil waiting at a table through the windows. I stop outside with an empty stare, and he notices me soon after, rushing outside with a polite smile to those around him just to pull me close, arms securely around me, hardly giving me room to breathe, and I'm the one that begins to cry, but I can feel by the few wet drops that run down my back as Phil pulls me closer that I've made him cry, too.
"I'm sorry, Dan," Phil says softly.
I can't respond, because I know I don't deserve to cry over someone I never took the time to care about, and I keep expecting someone to call me selfish, to confirm that this is my fault, but no one seems to have the resolve to do it, to call me out.
We sit with coffee, with hollow smiles and forced conversation until we both fall silent and prefer to keep it that way, sipping for caffeine and watching for an alternate ending through the glass beside us. Because Phil's just a stranger that I lust for, a distant, unexpected hope, and everything feels so fake when you've never been in love with the one you're mourning, muted and superficial, and I begin to wonder if I even have a right to mourn, if I even have the right to a carefully-worded eulogy, if I even have a right to the black clothes that I wear regardless and the condolences of respectful relatives.
"I want to tell my parents about us." My mouth forms the words before I can even consider their meaning and Phil straightens to rigidness.
"Dan..." Phil treads. "Maybe now isn't the best time."
"What?" I ask, my mind numb. "Just because Charlie's gone? People die. It's the cycle we live. People die and we have to get over them."
"Well, yes," Phil stutters, sipping from his coffee for a few seconds. "But you don't have to get over them immediately. You're allowed time to process."
I shake my head. "I don't want time to process. I want to rip the plaster off and tell them so that Charlie's death makes more sense."
"How about I need time to process?" Phil states quietly, and I blink in his direction a few times. He needs time to process? He's not the one who caused this. Charlie wasn't anything but an obstacle to him. If I don't need time to process, why would he?
"This isn't your problem, though," I retort with furrowed eyebrows. "This isn't your fault."
"You're my problem," Phil states. "And Charlie was a part of your life, and since you are a part of my life, by association, she was a part of mine, too. And for whatever reason, she's dead, which is something I never imagined would happen when I first saw you, and it's hard for me to even sit here and be the strong one and let you cry to me when I had plenty of shit problems before this, when you have a family and I don't. But here I am doing that, because I can't stand to see you sad, but I've been nothing but tortured since I met you."
"I understand," I answer, but really, I don't. I don't understand why Charlie is dead, I don't understand why I can't see green, I don't understand why Phil exists, I don't understand why he's sticking with me when he's obviously overwhelmed and I don't understand why I'm the one with a shot at a happy ending when I'm the lying, cheating shit bag.
"Will you at least come to the funeral?" I request softly, and he taps the rim of his white mug with downcast eyes.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, I will. For you."
It takes me a bit to convince myself that black is the right color to wear. To me, black is inviting, warm, a color to hide behind when life throws everything it has at you. Bright colors are eclectic, empty, thoughtless, and in my world, colors are cherished and a symbol of love and new life. But to me, they're bittersweet, a constant pulsing reminder of what I've done. But to show up to Charlie's funeral in bright red would be the highest offense, especially when I'll be delivering a eulogy.
I had tried to refuse the offer, when her mother had asked, but I realized that if anyone owes Charlie some final words, it would be me.
There are flowers everywhere, a feat in winter, and a distraction to my eyes as I gaze at the sight. The leaves should be green to me, and I can see the color in my mind's eye, but to my conscious vision all I see is pastel upon grey, pinks and yellows and purples, like a sunset conquering a rainstorm. Our black clothes only seem to clash.
No one here is religious, but there's a priest, for comfort, for maybe some sort of hope that Charlie is in a better place, but we're all damn atheists and we know we'll never consider Charlie anything but gone.
Phil slips in late, and I wave him over to stand next to me, the funeral hall devoid of chairs.
"I'm sorry, work held me up," Phil whispers, his suit jacket disheveled and slightly ill-fitting, and I see his head lean towards me as if he intends to kiss me, but he seems to have a moment of realization and instead clasps his hands behind his back and stares ahead to watch the ceremony.
I wish he had just kissed me.
Time flies by too quickly before they're introducing me and who I was to Charlie and what I'll be doing to contribute and my vision is a little blurry from either tears or dizziness, but my legs carry me forward anyway as Phil pats me reassuringly on the back, leaving me with the warmth to stay conscious.
The priest nods to me and my arms fall limp to my sides as I chew my lip and gather my thoughts.
"Charlie," I begin, "knew what she wanted out of life. She was ambitious, she was energetic...she was stubborn," I say with a small smile, and the mass chuckles in agreement. "The world without her..." I trail off and my eyes wander, falling onto Phil as he gives me a sad smile, and something begins to tug at my heart as the words I had planned to say fall away, and I realize that I can't hide anymore. I can't act like I don't know why she's gone.
"The world without her," I start again, "will continue to spin. And we'll miss her. But I can't," I take in a shaky breath and keep my eyes on Phil as his smile fades and his eyebrows furrow in my silence. "I can't stand here and pretend her reasons are a mystery. I owe you all that much, because you all love her in some way or another." I hear the murmurs that result, as eyes shift in apprehension and confusion.
"I cared about Charlie," I tell the crowd. "I cared about Charlie a lot. But I can't stand here and pretend she was my soulmate. Because she wasn't." I miss the whispers now that the room has dropped to a dead silence. "I have no right to be up here," I strain out. "I have no right to be here among people who cared so much about this girl. I-" my heart is pounding as I glance around the room at the restless mass and my breath quickens as I struggle to hold back tears and panic. "I'm so sorry," I choke out, unable to stay in front of judging eyes and hurt minds any longer as I hurry down the aisle, pushing through the door with finality and squinting into the dark, cold air, the wind drying my pricking tears roughly.
"Dan."
Shit.
I could just keep walking, ignore the voice, walk until I'm home in my bed where I can hear nothing but flatlining silence, but I turn regardless to face black and blue, stern eyes and a straight mouth.
"Phil, I'm sorry, I couldn-"
I flinch when he clears the space between us, expecting anything but his lips to smash into mine and linger, his hand on my neck and his arm around my waist, and when he pulls back we're both out of breath.
"Don't ever do something that stupid without telling me first again," Phil pants.
My relief at his forgiveness proves too much, and I clutch at him to bury myself into his shoulder, to breathe and sob and laugh all at once.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm sorry to you, and to Charlie, I'm sorry to my family for lying about this, I'm sorry, this is all my fault."
Phil doesn't deny my sobs, and I appreciate his silence more than any empty comfort, his arms around me enough to provide me security.
I apologize over and over, the words losing meaning and diction after a few minutes.
"Come back inside," Phil prompts gently against my hair.
"I can't go back inside," I insist. "I can't go back inside. I can't see my parents' faces yet. I can't."
"Where else would we go? It's cold." My tears slow at his easy nature, his understanding about my apprehension.
"Back to your apartment?"
Phil breathes out a defeated sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."