Chapter Text
It’s late in the evening when Locus wakes with a quiet breath of sound, eyes blinking open in the dull light of the bedside lamp Felix had turned on so he could see.
Felix stops picking his nails with the chromatic adjustment information pamphlet when he spots the movement in the corner of his vision, straightening his back as he drops the paper to the floor, surreptitiously so Locus doesn’t catch sight of what it was he was reading.
Locus blinks blearily at him, sitting up and glancing briefly at the clock on the side table, clarity returning quickly to his eyes as Felix turns away, mechanically, staring ahead at the window at the other side of the room, pulling his gaze, reluctantly, away from the faint flecks of green in his partner’s eyes.
“Felix,” he says, simply, in acknowledgement, but likely equally in question. Felix never sits idly by when he’s recovering. Neither of them do, for each other, Felix too frenetic to sit still, Locus too guarded to stay close, neither amenable to the other sitting by in some apologetic gesture for injuries received. The fact Felix is, after all, sitting by, and has been for a while now, is probably surprising, enough to alert Locus to something different, that Felix is unsettled by something, or that something is wrong.
That’s besides the obvious questions he still has, about Felix’s outburst the day previous - his uncharacteristic expression of angry concern.
For an awkward moment, there’s just a confused silence, as Locus asks what he’s doing without words, and Felix fails to answer, thoughts still jumbled in a confused cloud of uncertainty about where to start.
Felix looks down at his hands, unsure, fiddling with his fingers, chewing on his lip as Locus leans back against the headboard, patient as he waits for Felix to figure out where to begin.
“…Your eyes are green,” Felix decides on, finally, after a long, uncertain silence, gaze flickering once to Locus’ eyes before darting away again, as if the colour unsettles him.
Locus just blinks, unconsciously straightening his posture, wincing once when the movement bothers his injuries. Aside from the brief reaction to pain, there are no other signs of surprise, or emotion. Merely the brief widening of eyes, breath paused by pain before it resumes, same as before. Felix doesn’t have any means of checking his pulse, with his small distance.
Felix doesn’t outwardly acknowledge his movement, more preoccupied with the silence in the room, as Locus waits and listens.
“Well, they’re grey, mostly,” Felix continues, when the silence starts to bother him, rambling on to fill the quiet, “which is kind of lame, I gotta say, I mean, the buildup through all this and… chromatic adjustment and everything… and it turns out you don’t have much colour there,” he laughs, a quiet half-hearted sound, turning back to look at Locus, “Like, all the stupid romantics who write this shit go on about the eyes or the hair and with you, it’s…” he gestures absently at his partner, “you know, kind of a downer.”
Locus doesn’t answer in words, but deadpan expression says more than enough, eyes moving briefly in a half-hearted roll at Felix’s choice of words. Felix turns away, feeling the subtle burn of embarrassment, even as the familiar tired motion of Locus’ eyes comforts him, easing the tension out of his frame while Locus silently judges him for maybe wanting to see more than what flecks of colour he had to offer.
“Oh fuck off,” Felix mutters, and Locus’ lip twitches in mild amusement, the tension between them breaking and fading away to make room for quiet familiarity, “It’s… I’m dealing with it, okay?”
Locus waits a beat before speaking, letting Felix relax a little more before he moves the conversation along, “So,” he says, quietly, a little hoarsely, “you see…?” he trails off, finding the rest of the his words unnecessary to convey the rest of the question.
Felix nods, briefly, “Yeah, I…” he pauses, unsure of how to finish the thought, before finishing, lamely with, “….yeah.”
“…Hm,” Locus says, simply, in response, and they drop back into awkward silence, unsure of where to go from here.
Felix frowns, frustrated that even talking with Locus isn’t helping him understand more, especially with how he’s so unresponsive in general, “…I just…” he says, with a huff, “I don’t get it.
Locus watches him carefully, waiting for him to continue as Felix taps his thumbs on the bed and arranges his words in order.
“I’ve known you for years, Locus,” Felix points out, leaning back, scraping his nails into the covers, “We met years ago, and, sure, after the war we didn’t see much of each other for a bit, but now we work together and…” he shrugs, waving a hand absently through the air, “I’ve seen your face tons of times, we’ve touched, tons of times… so, why now?”
Locus takes a breath, and says, to Felix’s disappointment, “…I don’t know.”
“It’s supposed to be first sight,” Felix continues, brow furrowing with Locus’ inability to give him an answer, crossing his arms on the bed, “First touch?” he asks, “First… something. I… we’ve had a lot of firsts, already, Locus. Why is this… now?”
“I don’t know,” Locus repeats, glancing down at Felix’s hands, where they draw lines into the sheets with his nails.
“You are not helpful at all,” Felix huffs, wringing the covers in his hands.
“I know as little as you do, Felix,” Locus points out, reasonably, and Felix frowns, a little bit chided with the realization that he’d failed to realize the possibility that Locus wouldn’t know anything either.
“How long have you seen in colour, anyway?” Felix asks, after a moment, the question he’d wondered briefly for a time. While Felix had frozen at the the blooming stains of red when he first began to see, Locus hadn’t reacted at all like there was a sudden shift in his vision. At first, Felix wasn’t sure that Locus had undergone adjustment at all, that maybe it was just him for which it had triggered, but now, with the conversation as it’s gone, his lack of reaction to Felix’s subtle, should-have-been-a-shock reveal, it’s clear Locus has gone through it, at least prior to this awkward talk.
Locus confirms that by not answering, instead tugging at the covers, as he stares past Felix at the foot of the bed.
“Locus,” Felix presses, leaning in so his partner has to look at him, nervous, suddenly, with Locus’ reluctance to answer..
Locus stares a moment, gaze running over his face, stopping at the piercings on his brow, the beauty mark under his eye, trailing down his cheek, his nose, his lips.
Felix waits, patiently, as his partner steels his resolve, and looks back up into his eyes.
“Since the day I first met you, Felix,” he says, quietly, tone and gaze and voice steady as he speaks.
Felix feels it, then, the stutter of his heart at the revelation, the spread of warmth through his chest at the realization that Locus has known for years what they could have, that first moment Felix had been reassigned to his squadron, a cocky delinquent good enough with a gun and a knife that the army wanted him sorted out rather than thrown to the wolves to buy time for their better soldiers. He struggles with the confused shuffle in his mind, the unwarranted embarrassment as he realizes that he was the slow one, still blind while Locus adjusted alone to his new sense of sight, in the middle of a war, knowing that every day, all it would take was one unlucky shot, one mistimed move, one mistake, and that bloom of colour would have meant nothing after all.
Nobody in their squad was supposed to be colour-sighted.
Locus could see, and kept pretending he couldn’t. And even after the war ended, continuing pretending he was colour blind.
Why?
“Oh,” he says, dumbly, leaning back in surprise as he adjusts his understanding of what it all means, grapples with the growing confusion he can’t puzzle out..
Locus reads his shock, perhaps too much his discomfort, reaching to tug on his forearm, to grab his attention before he gets lost in his mind, “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he assures him, tonelessly. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking, as he stares Felix down, trying, perhaps, to keep him from acting rashly or retreating.
Felix laughs, a little forced, a little uncertain, “Don’t be an idiot, Locus,” he says, with an uncertain grin, “how can it not? Everything’s… different,” he finishes, uncertain, gaze drawn again to the colours in his vision, popping out among the greys.
It is, clearly. Everything is different. Not only that he sees differently, that his physical perception of things has now changed, but also the situation, potentially their relationship. Felix has been struggling to understand, considering the idea of how it could all work for a a few hours, maybe a few days. Locus had been struck with the realization of what Felix could be to him, then kept it under wraps for years.
It explains, a little, how easy it had been for him, to shield Felix from the blast at the risk of his own life. It does not explain why he’d kept it quiet for so long. Felix doesn’t quite know, and he’s a little afraid of knowing, what it is that Locus thinks of him, why he would prefer to hide it away rather than bring it to light.
“No, everything just looks different,” Locus continues, voice firm, grip a little tight, but steady, mostly, and warm, “You’ll adjust,” he assures him, and the words do little but make Felix more uncertain.
Because what does that even mean? He’ll learn to ignore it? This so called earth-shattering realization? That it doesn’t mean anything, the burst of colour into his life, brief highlights of red and green wherever he looks, the supposed blooming of the development of a bond that could - should - will mean something, the supposed element of love, a lasting relationship - that everybody knows, that supposedly people yearn for.
Has this been Locus’ thoughts regarding the matter all this time? Is this how he’s coped with it since the start?
Does Locus not care, really, at all, what it all means?
Felix swallows, feels a worm of discontent wriggle in the back of his throat at that. Then he buries it, quickly, after all, didn’t he too consider adjusting quietly to it earlier in the week?
Can he just do that? He wonders, as Locus holds on and keeps him rooted in the now.
Do I want to do that? He asks himself, as he considers the warmth of Locus’ touch, the bloom of heat in his chest, the ever slight quickened beat of his heart, the uncertain buzz in his mind.
After all, he’s fond of their partnership. He’s comfortable with what they do, how they work. He’s not sure he wants to risk losing that yet. He’s not a solitary person, and Locus has been… good company throughout the years, despite his obstinate and nitpicky attitude. He’s not sure he wants things to change.
At the same time, he’s not sure if he doesn’t want things to change after all.
“Like you did?” he asks Locus, quietly, meeting the other man’s steady gaze with his uncertain own.
Locus blinks, a little taken aback, perhaps at his question, perhaps at the uncertainty in his tone, “…Nothing has to change, Felix,” he reiterates quietly, tonelessly. He’s intent. Too much so.
“Right…” Felix mutters, easing his arm from Locus’ grip, “That’s the thing though…” he says, feels his uncertainty gather in the beat of his heart, the clammy feel of his palms.
Locus tilts his head in question, pulling his arm back as he relinquishes his grip.
“I’m not sure that I don’t want things to change,” Felix admits, quietly, gaze flickering up to his bedridden partner before darting away, unwilling to watch too carefully if Locus reacts negatively.
He doesn’t. Instead, looks on, with a considering look, that is so frustratingly blank of any cues Felix could read, though, to be fair, Felix finds it hard to look him in the eye as he does it, “What do you want, Felix?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never…” Felix fumbles with words, uncertainly, gesturing in small frustrated motions, “I’ve never thought about this. Ever.”
Locus nods in understanding, waits for him to continue.
“But it means something, right?” Felix dares to ask, turning back to look at his partner, “This should be a big deal. Meet your soulmate, see in colour, blah blah blah. This is a forever thing or… something,” he growls, frustrated, raising a hand to his head, “I don’t know, the information isn’t really clear.”
“Nothing is so simple,” Locus says. Empty words that say the obvious. Felix hates it, the non-committal answers, the cautious tone, the obvious lack of initiative Locus has in advancing the conversation.
“Do you even care?” Felix blurts out, with frustration, narrowing his eyes to glare at Locus’ bandaged form, tension flooding back into his frame.
Locus visibly reels back, startled at the sudden aggression, looking confused as Felix struggles to voice his thoughts clearly.
“I mean, you’ve seen in…” Felix sputters, “full colour or whatever for years, if you’re telling the truth,” he gestures at Locus, waving aggressively at him, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Locus hesitates, the seconds ticking by as he gathers his thoughts, processes Felix’s outburst.
Maybe he didn’t expect Felix to want to know.
Maybe he didn’t expect him to care.
“…I thought you would,” Locus says, after a moment. And Felix frowns, because why would he? There was nothing to say before now. Things were… normal, before.
“I’ve never…” Locus stops himself, pauses to rearrange his thoughts, “I’ve never been forward about this sort of thing,” he admits, quietly.
Felix nods. He’s fully aware of it. Locus has never been overtly friendly, shared affection by being slightly more overbearing, slightly less cold. Friendship was shared with verbal barbs, snappy banter, and a reluctance to hurt the other, not with discussions of feelings or… displays of affection. Locus has never been great with people. Felix knows.
“Then it became clear you didn’t…”
Oh. Felix thinks, and he feels his brow lose its hard angry downturn.
Because Locus went through this too, years ago, a paradigm shift brought on by a visual change, and no indications from the person who caused it that it meant anything, or would mean anything, despite all the popular and common ideas of what it should all mean.
“You’re far from an affectionate person, Felix,” Locus says, and the words parse their way through the strange sensation of guilt and rare empathetic understanding floating in Felix’s head, “I thought you’d never see.”
Felix looks down. He feels chided, somehow. These few days Locus has been the target of his confused mental frustrations, a figure he indirectly blamed for what he was feeling, what he was seeing, and his anxieties about what things would mean for himself, what he wanted for himself, their partnership.
Now it’s clear that Locus must have felt this before too, and lived with it resigned to the fact Felix wouldn’t ever care, despite whatever it was he decided he’d wanted from the partnership after all.
Until now.
They sit in silence a little longer, Felix unsure of what to say, Locus, perhaps, unwilling to say more, after his quiet confession.
After a moment, the silence becomes too much, so Felix talks, trying to set his thoughts in order as the words find their way out, “Someone told me that seeing or touching or whatever doesn’t always trigger chromatic adjustment,” he says, slowly, trying to remember what the old florist at the shop had said, “What’s important isn’t that you meet someone, it’s that both compatible parties are open to… something at the time of the meeting.”
Locus tilts his head. Felix isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe his breath picked up briefly, but it could just be a reaction to residual pain. He still has a stitched up hole in his side, after all.
“…and?” he asks, quietly.
Felix shrugs, avoiding Locus’ gaze, “I guess I hadn’t been open to such a dumb romantic notion.”
“Until now,” Locus says, putting the pieces together from what Felix doesn’t say.
Felix finds he doesn’t disagree with the assessment, his mouth moving to make a brief curve of a smile, “Apparently,” he concedes, running his thumbnail down the back of a finger.
He likes Locus. He doesn’t think he’ll be opting out of their work partnership any time soon.
Perhaps it was inevitable that he’d be okay with sticking with Locus for whatever reason beyond that.
“Hm…” Locus doesn’t say much in response. It’s likely he needs to think. This is a quiet revelation, maybe. Felix doesn’t know what he’s thinking, what he wants.
He ought to be worried about that. He finds he isn’t.
“Why’d you stick around, anyway?” Felix asks, after a moment. Curiosity getting the better of him, silence doing nothing to settle the sense of anticipation in his mind, “Business aside, because, well, you’d be hard pressed to find a better partner,” he says, self assured with a grin, “But aside from that, wasn’t it…” he shrugs a shoulder, “I don’t know, weird, working with me, living with me, knowing that I had no fucking idea? You saw it immediately. Obviously you were kind of into the idea, and I…” he pauses, can’t find a delicate word, “Wasn’t. ”
Locus sighs, fingers tapping over his covers.
He takes a moment to find his answer.
“The colours started fading when we parted ways after the war,” he starts by saying.
Felix listens.
“It seems silly, since I’d lived most my life without it until the war, but…” Locus’ gaze is arresting, Felix feels a little lost in it, the flecks of green in his irises, among the grey, “Losing it once you have it is far more difficult than never living with it at all.”
Felix grins, unsure of what Locus means, teases, instead in hopes it might relax him, the sense of tension he feels growing slightly as they keep talking, “You still talking about colour, or…?”
Locus doesn’t answer, he just stares and there’s suddenly too much in his eyes.
Felix feels silly for asking, can’t hold his gaze. “Ah,” he says.
“Do you see in full colour yet?” Locus asks, before Felix can think too much, draw too many conclusions from what Locus doesn’t say.
“Uh. No,” Felix responds, grateful for a change in topic, the brief distraction. The conversation is enlightening, but it’s hasn’t… done much to alleviate the confusion, the feeling of uncertainty he’s felt grow since everything started, with Locus bleeding in a scrap yard with a twist of metal in his side, “Not… no… Just… green. Red, sometimes.”
“So you haven’t seen yourself yet,” Locus concludes.
“Not in colour, if that’s what you’re asking,” Felix responds.
Locus hums.
“I’m missing out, then,” Felix says with a huff and a crooked grin, half in jest, “Must be something spectacular.”’
“…At times,” Locus agrees, quietly, like he knows, admitting his thoughts perhaps a little too honestly, and Felix feels his cheeks warm at the fondness in his tone, the flustered sensation in his chest at the brush of Locus’ fingers over the back of his hand.
For once, he can’t find words, as he looks up, leaning back slightly when he finds Locus leaning just a little too close, his breath ghosting across his cheek, as Felix’s heart beats its hard and steady rhythm. When had he gotten so close? He hadn’t even made a sound. Isn’t he injured?
Or something…?
“What do you want, Felix?” Locus asks, watching him closely, as Felix tries not to stare too long at the specks of green hiding in the grey of his eyes.
“Generally?” he asks, with a nervous laugh, “Or…”
“…From this,” Locus specifies. This: this uncertain addition to their relationship, a factor Felix has never considered, not until after the explosion, where Locus probably saved his life, the burst of sudden colour in the aftermath of it, the past five days entertaining the thoughts as Locus recovered.
“I…” he stutters, finding it hard to concentrate with Locus leaning so close, flecks of green in his eyes, reminding him of what’s at stake, what could happen, if he lets it, if he wants to accept it, “I’m not sure.”
Locus waits, certain that he’ll find the words, waiting for Felix to say something specific, maybe, a key word, perhaps, or give permission. He doesn’t lean any closer, but he doesn’t move away. Felix isn’t quite sure what he wants for him to do more.
“But…” Felix continues, inching just a tad closer, “I think maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to try and see where it goes,” he decides, with an uncertain smile, unlike his usual toothy grins, “I already deal with you every day,” he decides, “What’s a little more?”
Locus doesn’t say anything, but he does give a small huff of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small but noticeable smile. Felix isn’t sure, but he thinks his shoulders settle back in something like relief, and Felix finds his own posture echoes it, with the positive response. Locus settles his hand onto Felix’s, comfortable enough with Felix’s words to move on from light and careful touch.
“What do you want from this?” Felix asks, curious, aware, suddenly, that he’s still not sure what it is Locus is looking for, even though he knows, or can infer, that Locus wants this, at least a little - hasn’t been aggressively ignoring it over the years, after all.
Locus doesn’t answer. Deflects, instead, with another question, “…Would you like to see in full colour?” he murmurs, quietly, close enough for Felix to hear clearly.
“To start, yeah, that’d be nice,” Felix says, allows him to avoid answering, turning away to briefly glance at the greys and blacks that still dominate how he sees most of the room, “The contrast sometimes hurts my eyes,” he says, before he pauses, considering the words again, then turns to face Locus with his thoughts, “Wait, can that be–”
Locus doesn’t let him finish his question, pressing forward to capture his lips in an unexpected kiss. A light touch and chaste press that is surprising in how gentle it is, perhaps, only because of Felix’s preconceptions of how Locus is, as a person, primarily seen through the lens of conflict and war - consistently cold and precise and brutal he is in business, and yet none of that carries over into this
Locus kisses like he’s asking a question, the meaning of which Felix isn’t versed enough to parse out.
So he lets Locus lead, lets the action, the kiss carry him on.
It’s gentle, never ventures far enough to become heavy, or more, just enough to dare to hope for more, equal parts a request of Felix, and a suggestion of what Locus can offer.
Felix closes his eyes and answers by kissing back. He may as well enjoy it.
These kinds of kisses, well, he hasn’t had many in the past.
It’s nice.
Locus lets his lips linger, even after they’re done, and when he leans back and away, Felix opens his eyes and blinks…
…and he sees.
“What do you see?” Locus asks, as Felix hesitates, breath caught as greys begin to fade, blacks lighten, whites change shade.
He jerks back, suddenly, catching on the brief flit of concern across Locus’ features, before he turns his head to the side, gaze darting from corner to corner of the room, catching new bright hues and other subdued shades, leaking across his vision, blending together and separating contrasting shades to make old objects look new.
His hands itch for the pamphlet he dropped on the floor, with it’s silly explanations and colour legend on the back, so he can compare and put names to the new hues he can see.
He turns back to Locus, swallowing nervously, as he catalogues everything new in what he sees.
Locus is all subdued shades, and yet still he somehow manages to appear be the most colourful thing in the room.
Felix laughs, and the sound is breathless, “You,” he says, as his gaze darts up and down and around, trying to catch sight of all the colours he can see - faded lines in square patterns on the sheets, the lighter scars carving marks and shapes on Locus’ dark skin, the blooming mar of bruises and half-healed wounds scattered over his arm, peeking over his collar - returning, always, back up to the flecks of green in his eyes.
It’s early, still, but Felix might dare to say the green is his favourite colour.
“Take it slow, Felix,” Locus says, a steady rock in the sea of colourful change happening around him, as Felix’s gaze flits from one side of the room to the other, trying to catch all the tiny details between the hues.
It’s nothing less than a revelation. Did he really used to think it wouldn’t matter, that it wouldn’t make a difference? How different the world looks, from greys to splashes of colour. Even in the dark of evening there’s so much to see.
Felix laughs, “Slow?” he asks, turning to face him, “Locus, you know me,” he says, leaning forward with a grin.
He hasn’t seen himself yet, there’s no mirror in Locus’ room. But right now, he’s certain, of all the hues and shades in the room, the green is the nicest one yet.
Locus doesn’t move when he leans close, merely watches, still, nothing but the briefest of breaths, the slightest flick of his gaze down to his lips before it moves back up to meet Felix’s eyes again.
Felix presses his forehead to Locus’ own, just the slightest firm touch before he tilts his head as his grin fades to a smile.
“No fucking way,” he whispers, before he closes his eyes and presses his lips to Locus’ own.
There is a novelty to the world now, a vibrancy he’d never known could be this interesting, a previously undealt with potential for the relationship between Locus and himself, an uncertain stutter in his heart.
He’s not entirely sure what it means, what he wants, if it means anything, or if it’s just another stage of development, a change to get used to as time goes on. He can’t be sure where things will go.
But this, he decides, as Locus hums, grabs his collar, tugs him closer - this is a good way to start.