Work Text:
Two reds. One black. One white.
Even in darkness, on her left wrist, she memorized the first three: two reds and one black.
Teony always been her first for everything– she was soft, warm, with childhood love sweetness. She doesn’t quite remember when the tally appeared, they knew each other for an eternity and a day, so it could’ve always been there from the start. They still talked, love weathered into an always, even with the distance that kept them.
The second dash was for Ivy, a personification of passion. If Teony was a comforting camp fire to warm you on a cold night, Ivy was like the cliche about wildfires; frightening beautiful, fleeting and hot in every way. A spark turned into an inferno, Ivy always stumbled through the ashes she made with a grin, and left Katelyn wondering if the next time she comes, she’d stay.
Jeffory and her never was a tale of love in the romantic sense, but in a dear way only friends could connect. If her loves were like fires, then he was an early morning drizzle, cozy and cool, not quite her icy exterior but had a way to ward people to seek shelter from (or for the adventurous, to find a sense of childish playfulness in). Wise in some ways, foolish in others, he knew and she knew they’d were old friends and old souls who found each other cycle after cycle of life. The black line haunts her still, even with this comfort in mind.
She lived her life in simplicity; no, even if the impression was given, she wasn’t spartan in personality but because she felt life with complexities wasn’t meant for her.
A soulmate or without, she didn’t feel desperate because in the end, happiness found a home within her life.
The white dash appeared over loud music, air choked with questionable aftersmoke and bad colonge, sweaty bodies and loud chatter. He plopped beside her, red cup and other hand offering a shake. “–Travis.”
Against her better judgement, maybe because this greeting caught her off guard and a distraction from all around, she took the hand with half smile, half confused amusement; never was one for parties, though she had a personal rule of not being a flake either, especially for her friend’s birthday.
“Katelyn.”
“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
She knew of him; the proclaimed protege of Laurance, somebody who he often talked about but up until now, never had a face to the name.
The first thing she noticed was how expressive he was. If eyes were gates to the soul, then he was as open book as they come. They talked that night, conversation moving from the crowded living room to the roof of the apartment, drinks and a stolen bag of chips from the refreshment table.
Words never were her forte. But they were certainly his.
He poked buttons, exasperating, amusement, and every in between; by the time they parted, she thought: I want to talk again.
So did he.
She noticed the mark, almost invisible against her skin, the next morning: red, red, black… and white.
And from his messages, he was aware of it too.
“Ankle,” he said, pulling up the pant leg and pushing down the sock to show the two little dash lines– one red, one white.
She, in turned, showed him hers; undoing her watch, she turned her wrist towards him almost shyly.
Two reds, one black and one white.
It took her a while to figure out what sort of poetic analogy to compare him to her life. He was warm, inviting but also eager; he lived so openly, so differently, he was a change of status. A before and after.
He adored sunflowers, sunsets and wiggle his way into her arms. Found content with lazy days, cheesy flirts and as he loved proclaim, her smiles. Though he had his clouds in his life, nothing shone better than his beam of happiness.
It took a while to realize.
In metaphors of fire, rain and ice, in the darkness of her room, late at night as he quietly slept, she finally realized.
His little white tally, her soulmate, was the sun in her life.