True Colors (JohnDave OneShot)

True Colors

Your name is Dave Strider and you're not sure what to think when you see something flicker from behind your shades.

Because you know it's impossible and stupid of you to think but

It's right there.

Or rather, he's right there. On the bench in the park, earbuds in his ears as he taps away on his smartphone.

To make sure your eyes aren't fucking around with you, you slip your shades on top of your head to be out of the way and

yep.

Clear as day.

Color.

First, there's this tiny, crazy, eruption of the stuff. It's blue, your mind tells you. It's his eyes, and his shirt, and his phone case, and his fucking aura and it's nothing you've ever seen before.

And as you stare, mouth parted slightly, you feel yourself walking forward and no no stop, you're going to make a fool out of yourself.

What are you supposed to say? 'hi yes i can't help but notice you're my soulmate wanna get some coffee?'

You wonder if he likes coffee. And if he does, how does he like it? Maybe he prefers tea and what the hell are you thinking about shut up. When you finally get control of your legs back, you're about ten yards away from him and you stop walking and maybe, just maybe you stop breathing but then there's more, oh my god.

You see it everywhere now. Color. It's in the trees from the corner of your now unconcealed eyes. You notice it in the sky, the grass, the sun, the clouds, the birds, the little ice cream stand across the street and it's so fucking bright. But you don't take your eyes off of him or more than a second. He's amazing. His hair is the night sky and his eyes are the day sky. His skin is creamy and smooth and flawless and perfect, and your chest is so tight it's physically hurting. You heard that finding your soulmate is emotional, but shit. You feel like your heart is going to swell up and pop and you cannot take your eyes off of him.

His eyelashes are long and dark behind his glasses, framing his eyes perfectly like they were photoshopped. His soft smile is a calm meadow and his shirt is the cool breeze and his hands are those of an artists, his nose is small and delicate and you want to talk to him.

You're going to talk to him.

Or, at least approach him. He obviously hasn't seen you yet- meaning his world is still black and white and grays and bluh, while your world is him and bright and it's amazing.

As you have this thought, you almost have a heart attack as those damned baby blues look up at you, abruptly snapping you out of your soulmate-induced trance. You see a spark of recognition flash in those eyes of his and they widen, his smile dropping to change into an expression of what? Surprise? Anxiety?.

And then you see his mouth move as if he were saying something.

You're not sure what it was, but you're pretty sure he whispered something. Something quiet and bright and warm and firey, and you.

"Red"

Your name is Dave Strider, and is this what flying feels like?