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Eudora had always felt a little off, a little different from her peers, but she never bothered herself with it too much, too busy excitedly asking her dad about his day at work, watching the umbrella academy kids beat bad guys on tv.
As she got older and more wise to the ways of the world, it became harder to ignore. Most people, she noticed, didn’t smile tightly when asked about their crushes. Most people at least had some idea of what they felt about the flirty glances they would receive their way.
And then one day at the police academy she meets this feisty, dumbass, secret teddy bear sort of guy, and she feels…
Something. A compulsion to spend time with him, and if that isn’t a crush then she doesn't know what is.
So she hangs out with Diego, she goes to bars with him, teases him about the dramatic flair he refuses he has, hides her impressed face when Diego makes an almost physics defying throw, and silently listens to him as he cries about how he got his scar, her hand gently over his.
Then Diego leans in to kiss her, and she thinks this is it, if it isn’t him, then it’s no one.
She waits for the fireworks to explode, she waits for some deep hidden part of herself she could never reach to unlock itself, but.
Nothing
Just flesh on flesh and Diego’s dopey smile
The worst part is, there are butterflies in her stomach, but instead of pink wings fluttering in excitement and nervousness and love, there are just yellow butterflies flitting from one place to another, restless.
And there are purple butterflies that she won’t acknowledge, that she chooses to interpret as something else. A different type of love that flies all the way up to her chest in joy, whenever she and Diego laugh until their stomach hurts over a stupid inside joke, or they solve a particulary hard case together and go out for drinks to celebrate, or when they just sit together, not interacting, but not ignoring each other either, just existing in tandem.
A few months in, while Eudora is still struggling to quell the yellow butterflies, Diego comes out to her as bisexual, and she goes to an LGBT meeting with him as moral support so he won’t feel so alone, make some friends other than her and beaman for once.
Once Diego winks at her–their agreed upon signal to let her know he’s fine on his own, she passes a poster on the way out, that is green and white and grey and black, and she discreetly stuffs it in her jacket to read it at home
An aromantic is a person who experiences little or no romantic attraction to others. People identifying as aromantic can also experience romance in a way otherwise disconnected from normative societal expectations (for example due to feeling repulsed by romance, or being uninterested in romantic relationships.) Where alloromantic people have an emotional need to be with another person in a romantic relationship, aromantics are often satisfied with friendships and other non-romantic relationships.
She stares, and reads it again, and again and again and again.
There’s a word
She is a detective at heart, and she is determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, get to the bottom of her, and she spends weeks and weeks researching everything there is to know about aromantics, and asexuals, and the split attraction model, and the spectrum of attraction and queerplatonic relationships and–
She finally understands why the butterflies that flutter everytime Diego kisses her are yellow, and understands that the butterflies with purple wings are just as important and real as the butterflies in pink.
And she understands what it means for her and Diego’s relationship
Breaking up hurt more than she thought it would, and for a moment she panics that what if she was wrong, what if she’s destroying their relationship for no good reason, what if it was worth it to remain Diego's girlfriend if she could keep his friendship– until Diego demands to know, “why?”
So she explains, and instead of the confused, borderline angry look she expected, she gets a thoughtful one, his mouth busy chewing one of his knives, a bad habit that had always annoyed her, for fear of him cutting his lips on accident and looking like the joker, but one that always told her he was genuinely paying attention.
He listens, and takes her hand, rubbing them gently, but not tenderly, and she is surprised to find that there is such a stark difference, how much she prefers the former.
“You know that I love you no matter what, right?” He asks.
She blinks.
“I mean it, I don't care if we’re a couple or not, I just love you for you, Eudora, you’re my best friend.”
She blinks as hard as she can and swallows past the lump that has grown in her throat and she thinks that for a man who claims emotions give him hives, he is very good at making her cry in happiness–joy–in relief.
Their relationship has ups and downs, maybe more extreme than most other relationships do, but the important thing was that they loved each other, come rain or shine, and the purple butterflies had long since drowned out any hint of yellow.