Pigment (Millard Nullings X Reader)

1972

"Oh my god, I love this song!" My cousin, Heather, chirped excitedly as a new song started to play in the car.

She reached towards the volume button on her radio as she drove. Slowly, the song Ain't No Mountain High Enough started to blare at full volume. Thank goodness no one else was on the road, especially since Heather decided earlier to take the roof off of her new car. Heather smiled at me excitedly, and I could see her blue eyes light up underneath her pink tinted glasses.

"Sing with me, (Y/N)!" She called out to me over the speaker.

"I don't want to upstage you," I said, brushing it off. "Plus, you can carry the whole tune."

"Oh come on! It's not fun if it's just me singing by myself," Heather said. "Please?"

I would never say it to her face, but I did love her choice in music. It wasn't what I would listen to (she mostly sings along to The Beatles), but she gave the music so much energy that it was fun to sing along to! The music was just like her: Upbeat, loud, and everyone knew the tune.

She looked like she should have came straight out of an American movie, with curly blond hair, and a face full of freckles. She often ydressed for warm weather with shorts and tank tops color coordinated to match her mood. (Today it was a lot of orange with silver bracelets)

Heather was like my best friend--no, she was my best friend-- and keeping secrets from her was hard, which was why I asked her to drive the two of us around the village's perimeter for a bit. She lived in a crowded cottage with our big family, and I had decided to stay with her for the summer. Sure, I lived nearby, but my house wasn't very homely at the moment, if that made any sense.

It was 1972, and we all needed a bit of good news. Well, what I needed to tell Heather wasn't necessarily good news, as it was weird news.

At the beginning of the summer, I figured out something about me that never really needed exploring. I used to be a big painter as a kid, and my family had saved up a bit of money to get me a nice set of paints. I would draw and paint whatever came to mind, and I eventually started using it as a coping method when things would start to get rough. Whenever I was bored, I would start asking questions, like 'What would it be like if skin was tainted green?' and 'What if the world was black and white until you met the right person?'

I never thought I would have those questions answered.

I remembered waking up one morning and looking in the mirror at my gross hair. I started to comb my fingers through it, and found myself wondering what it would be like if my hair was a bright shade of blue. As I started imagining my hair being the same hue as one of my favorite blue paints, my reflection slowly changed, until I had the blue hair I jokingly imagined having. The colour wouldn't come out, until I imagined it turning back to its normal shade. I later figured out that I was able to change the color (or pigment, as I liked to call it in my head) of whatever I wanted.

It was strange, and despite all the research I have been doing at the local library, I haven't been able to self-diagnose it. The idea of keeping it a secret was killing me inside, and Heather had always said that she would have my back if anything were to happen. I hoped that even despite how abnormal this all was, she would except it and help me find out how to fix my problem. Because the longer I have had it, the less control I seemed to have. Sometimes I would find myself changing the hue of everything I touch, including the footsteps I left on the floor.

"Heather, can I tell you something?" I asked nervously, looking at my shoes.

"Is this about your white shirt?" Heather asked. "I swear to God that I didn't tie-dye it. I wouldn't be surprised if Taylor did it, since she wanted to go to that weird hippie festival coming here? Plus, if-"

"It's not about that!" I said, sighing. "I don't care that my shirt's missing. It's just that..... You know The X-Men, right? The, uh, mutants who are born with strange abilities that they cannot get rid of, no matter what?"

Heather snorted. "Of course I do. I got you to read those books, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." How could I have forgotten about that? At least it would make explaining my scenario easier. "What if.... what if I were to tell you that I have powers like them?"

Silence from Heather was never good. She would never shut up, and stupid jokes were her coping mechanism. The hot winds and loud stereo were the only noise being made, and I mentally pinched myself on the arm. Heather was probably thinking I was on crack or something. I mean, we often joked that we were high, but neither of us ever meant it.

Heather pulled over to the side of the road, and stopped the car. She pulled her glasses up to the top of her head, so she could look at me, straight on. Her normally cheerful face was flat as she knit together her eyebrows sternfully.

"(Y/N), please don't be pulling my tail," she told me.

"It's true!" I exclaimed. "I don't know why, or how, but I have, like, the power to change the color of whatever I want. Watch!"

I put a hand on the car's dashboard and closed my eyes. I imagined its normal gray complexion turning black, and I heard Heather gasp. Cautiously, I opened my eyes and looked at Heather. She looked at her car in amazement and touched it, as if trying to make herself certain that it was real.

"This is hilarious," she finally said. 

I dejectedly took offense to that. Sure, this whole thing was dumb and creepy, but it was a part of me now. It was like an important detail to who I was, and who I would be.... Dear god, I started to sound like a bloody philosophy professor!

"No, it's not like that," Heather defended. "It's funny, because I have an odd quirk just like that! I don't know how, but I'm able to change the temperature of whatever I touch, like this."

She grabbed a water bottle from the car's cup holder, and squeezed it tightly in her hand. Slowly, the water inside began to crystallize until it became ice. After a while, it began to melt, until all of the water evaporated into steam.

"Woah," I let out. It was an amazing spectacle, after all.

We sat in the car quietly, saying nothing. Instead, we just stared at each other in amazement, not really knowing what to do or think. I knew I had to break the ice somehow (no pun intended), so I began to talk.

"Hey, are you hungry?" I asked.

Heather just snorted, and rolled her eyes. She pulled her glasses back down on her face, and turned the car back on. A manicured hand flicked on the turn signal, as Heather sighed.

"Are you ever not hungry?" She asked in response. "Yeah, I could eat."

"Wanna go to Jason's Place, then?"

"Why not."

I smiled at her, and she smiled back. Heather began driving yet again, and I adjusted the volume to be annoyingly loud (just as Heather liked it). It was strange knowing that I wasn't the only person in the family who had an abnormal trait that no one else possessed, but it was also comforting in a way.

I turned on The Beatles, and Heather squealed. She owned almost every album, and was heartbroken when they broken up almost two years ago. Her favorite conversation starter was talking about how their music slowly changed throughout the years, and how "bloody adorable" John Lennon's wife was.

It was their last album, and Here Comes the Sun came on. I tapped my fingers on the door, and Heather sang from the top of her lungs just like she always did. Thank God she was a good singer.

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun (doo doo doo)
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right