pieces of stories that will never be written

colours fade // peter & caspian (narnia)

A/N: A shitty soulmate au. I don't know where this came from or where it was going, but it demanded to be written.

Caspian's eyes were brown. That was the first thing that Peter could think when he looked up.

It wasn't a magical explosion of colour, he hadn't even noticed it at first.

It was everything slowly melting into the bright colours that now surrounded him, the black and white ever so slowly being overtaken by the blues and browns and greens that had slowly crept in, filling the earth, the trees, the sky.

But most of all it was the sense of belonging and calm he felt as he looked into his soulmate's eyes for the first time as the rest of the world filled itself in around them.

It was Lucy's cry of "Stop!" that brought him back to reality.

"Prince... Caspian?" He asked, he didn't feel capable of saying much else then.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not here, not now, when he could, and probably would end up leaving as soon as Caspian had taken his rightful place on the throne.

"And who are you?"

Peter may have been in the middle of it all, but he had no recollection of that moment from then on. Everything other than him and Caspian was drowned out, because there was no fucking way that this could be happening. The universe, or God or Aslan or whoever the hell chooses who has who for a soulmate had to have something against him personally. It was like the universe was playing a huge cosmic joke on him.

As time went by, Peter kept his distance from Caspian more and more blaming anything and everything he could on the other boy, just so that he could tell himself, when he lay awake at four in the bloody morning that it was because he hated Caspian.

Nothing else. It was hate. He couldn't let it be anything else. Even if Caspian did make the world colourful.

Of course, as it always would, everything came to a head one evening when Peter was sat alone at the stone table, thinking about nothing in particular, just enjoying his own company by the dying embers still lit on the torches. Caspian had entered, and sat next to Peter without so much as a word.

Neither of them said anything for a while, Peter was perfectly content just to ignore that the younger male was even there, but Caspian was having none of it.

"Why do you refuse to talk about it?" He'd asked, and Peter continued staring ahead, not turning his head to look at Caspian, giving no indication that he had even heard him, other than his reply.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Caspian." He did. Of course he did. The colours. What else would Caspian be talking about? He feigned innocence, hoping that his voice didn't sound too nervous.

'You do. I just don't understand what I have done to make my own soulmate -" Peter flinched at Caspian's use of the word, "hate me so."

Caspian's voice was cool and showed no sign of emotion, but Peter knew better. he could hear the desperation that Caspian had tried so hard to cover up, and he hated it. He hated that Caspian really thought Peter hated him, as though he could truly hate his own soulmate.

He searched for the right words, the perfect way to phrase everything that he was feeling, both everything that he wouldn't let himself feel and everything that he was forcing himself to believe that he felt.

But he couldn't, and so he sighed, and settled for,

"I don't hate you."

He knew that he wouldn't, but he silently prayed that Caspian would accept that as a valid answer and let the matter go entirely.

"Then why do you blame me for everything? Why do you fight my every move? Why, Peter?"

Caspian's voice was no longer calm, yet he did not sound angry. His words seemed to be growing into a whine, almost as though he were desperate for answers.

"Because." Peter stated, he couldn't trust himself to say anything more, he could feel the words gathering in his throat, and he wouldn't allow them to be said. He could barely lie to himself about how he felt about Caspian as it was.

"Because why?" Caspian was raising his voice now, and Peter was tired. Tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of hating the person he was supposed to love. The person he hadn't let himself love.

"Because, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that if we stop fighting then we might... "

Peter snapped, trailing off at the end of his sentence, and Caspian stood from where he was seated next to Peter. He walked until he was standing in front of the older boy, before bending down and pressing his lips softly to Peter's. It was only for a second, and then the soft warmth of Caspian's lips were gone from Peter's, and then Caspian spoke.

"Do that?"

it took Peter a moment to realise exactly what Caspian was talking about, and when he remembered what he had been saying, he nodded.

"Yes," he whispered, "exactly that."