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Mikumo never cared much for finding a soulmate. His mother could see in colours of the rainbow yet his father left just the same and hasn’t returned despite still being very much alive.
It wasn’t that big of a deal. Mikumo could live his days in monochromatic black, white, and shaded greys. He didn’t need to see the red his mother said his eyes were, the dark green she said his hair was.
He lived just fine without colour. Why should he go out of his way to find some person that’s gonna leave the instant they’ve passed on their bloodline.
His clock says it’s 10:57, stark and white against his dark background.
He never cared much for flash, but he did have an appreciation for art, and so his screensaver everyday was a piece of artwork he’d found at a museum. Sure, he couldn’t see any of the colours, but whatever.
It was pretty enough as it was.
The world is painted in dark greys around him and the sky is very dark grey, the lamplights shedding a warm lighter grey. It’s dark outside, that much is clear.
Mikumo walks with his hands stuck in his pockets, his feet thumping almost deafeningly against the silent street.
Silent, that is, until a heavy, almost hoarse breathing catches his ear.
He stops.
It’s in the alleyway nearby, jagged and painful.
Oh, damn his loving heart.
He steps inside.
In the alleyway, he spies out a man. He looks around Mikumo’s age, though his hair is pale and spiky. His clothings are lose, though his eyes are scrunched tight and shut in pain. His hand clutches over his side tightly, but through it he can see a dark, wet substance falling and splurging from it. Blood.
Panic blossoms in his chest, and he snatches up his phone, fingers moving fast over the numbers as he dashes over.
”911, what’s your-“
”I FOUND A MAN IN AN ALLEYWAY AND HES BLEEDING OUT FUCK!”
Not the most eloquent he’d ever been, but he’s panicking. His voice even cracks in the middle, something he hasn’t done for years.
He hastily hands over his address, and slams the phone to the side as he practically rips off his shirt, not caring anymore.
The man sucks in a breath as Mikumo claws away at his tight hands in favour for wrapping his shirt around the man’s stomach.
He doesn’t even really know what he’s doing anymore, but he knows that you need to a) bandage the damn thing and b) put pressure on it.
The dark shirt bleeds into the even darker substance, and Mikumo looks up at the same time the man cracks open an eye.
They lock eyes.
Mikumo freezes.
The world bleeds into colour. The man’s eyes are a startling crimson against his pale skin. His hair is blonde like what he’s been told sand is like. The wall behind him is a dark grey, but now it’s filtered in with faint gold light thanks to the distant streetlights.
The man seems just as shocked as him, even if a little paler thanks to the blood loss.
Mikumo still keeps pressing on the wound as the lady on the phone tries to get him to answer her many questions but he can’t focus anymore.
All he sees his crimson eyes and blonde hair and colours.
When he was younger, he expected his soulmate’s first words to him to be something like “Hi!” Or “Good evening” or “How are you?”
Maybe “I guess we’re partners” or “looks like you’re my soulmate.”
What he does not expect is for a red-eyed man he found bleeding out in an alleyway at midnight to crack a dizzy smile, raise two shaky hands that drip crimson blood, throw him two weak finger guns and go “Hey there, hot shit.”
And he never expected “Jesus Christ” to be his answer.
”So, we’re soulmates now?” The man checks him over, and whistles weakly, “I got lucky.”
Mikumo blinks at him exasperatedly. Why? He wonders to any God there may be.
The sky is silent.
The man chuckles wobblingly.
There are sirens in the distance.
”Ah, they’re here” Mikumo breathes a sigh of relief.
Woah, siren lights are pretty. They’re blinding, but pretty. Sure, he’s seen the different shades whenever they drove by, but now, seeing the blue and red beam onto grey pavement, painting it colours like no other, is a completely different feeling.
Still, as the man is carried away into a white and red - white and red, pretty colours - ambulance, he can’t help but flush bright when the man sluggishly points to him and goes “Let him in my room when I wake up, we’re gonna get married.”
Oh, God. This is his soulmate. This is his soulmate.
Not that he hates him, but still. Mikumo hoped for someone who was just as aloof and tired as him. Someone who could understand his almost emo woes, but now, he realizes that his forever is a blonde-haired doofus who thinks a panicking man with only one working eye sitting shirtless in an alleyway is hot shit.
He hopes when he’s lucid, he’s better.
He is not, in fact, better when he’s lucid.
Maybe less sluggish and outwardly flirtatious, but when he steps into the hospital and the first thing the man says to him, not drunk on anesthesia, pain meds, or whatever other things they get people drunk on, is “Kitten!” He can’t help but groan inwardly.
Still, he finds himself falling for this self-sacrificing, overemotional man with everyday that passes. His name is Katsuki Bakugo.
Still, kitten sticks, and so does, unfortunately, hot shit.
Still, Mikumo adores the red flowers that adorn the wedding. The two of them agree they look like each other’s eyes.
And if Yuu calls him, “an emo little bitch whom I love nonetheless and whom this puppydog married” Well, then that part can just be lost to history.