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Yellow had long, long been aware that he was hopeless.
Time and time again, the exact same thing would happen. He’d fall so hard, but it’d never be enough, he’d always end up losing part of himself in the end. He’d spend so long hurting, loving, only to break and do it all again. Hurting himself and the ones he loved so, so much. Why couldn’t he stop?
Love was such a common occurrence for him. Every single one, no matter how fleeting, felt like its own little ball of glowing happiness, unique and all its own. Cutting so deep into him, burrowing and growing from a seed of a crush to a blooming flower of love, no matter how hard he tried to kill it. The cycle was never-ending, reoccurring with just the slightest changes, each person feeling just a bit different in a way that ensured that he’d never feel the same thing twice. Another person would never heal him, that was a lesson he learned early.
He wanted so hard to crush this cycle, but how could he, when he was someone who felt so deeply? Even when he was so young, his feelings had consumed him. Driven his every move. Every song he wrote had his passion woven into every single note, dripping with the feelings that had inspired him. It was never any different, no matter how he tried. It always ended the same way, and yet…
This time, his name was Blue. A student to his DJ school, new and shimmering with passion and promise. For Blue, he’d broken the rules, taught him more than just how to look like a DJ. He’d watched him absorb every lesson so eagerly, his heart had filled with pride, and something more… It was so rare for him to feel like that for someone he didn’t know, and yet, Blue made something in him spark. The first crush he’d had for as long as he could remember, and he’d been the one.
Yellow had been so awkward, then. Stammering over his words like a cowardly schoolgirl, doing anything and everything to make him smile, always on edge and ready to burst at any moment. Assistant had been the one to point it out, what his actions meant. He’d covered his face and cried out and wished that the world would swallow him whole, and she laughed good-naturedly and patted his head.
“It’s normal,” she’d reassured, “and it’s okay that you act like that. It’s cute and endearing. And if he can’t accept that, then he doesn’t deserve the normal you.”
The love Yellow felt for Assistant was of a completely different kind, but it beat just as strong. She’d been his best friend, and together they’d been through hell and back. He’d hugged her, thanked her, and went out the door to grab a few more fleeting scraps of serotonin from his newest obsession. The concentration on Blue’s face when he was at the tables made his chest fill with that heartful fondness up to and past the brim.
He wanted to know him, so much that it hurt. Every word was tucked away and catalogued as a lesson. Yellow wanted so desperately to know his mind ‘till he could wear him like a second skin, yellow and blue reaching out together and mixing to create his favourite colour, that vibrant, hopeful green. He wanted to hold the other DJ close, hold him together, learn every crack and crevice and use himself to fill them in. He’d always been the type to love so completely, in a way that burned him up until he was spent. They’d need to work on that, in that distant, hopeful future.
It’d started out so innocent, words left unspoken and hints dropped and desperate, gentle hope. Every touch made him light up so pitifully, powerless before that smile. Before he’d even realized, suddenly, he could see that beautiful blue in every star in his sky. It became so, so much more. ‘Till his heart filled his chest until nothing could come out but those words: “I’m sorry, but I like you.”
Of course, his hope had fabricated the answers, desperate just to be seen. Even though it was to be expected, he still found himself crushed under the weight of the truth. He didn’t know, he didn’t think so, he was still hurting, he wasn’t ready, he didn’t even know what that feeling was. Yellow knew what he was feeling, and that anguish; Like a chemical reaction, it spread through his chest, using up that love in lieu of hurting, hurting. Why must the world always hurt? Assistant had held him that night as he’d curled up close and tight and cried out his suffering. Oh, how he’d hoped! How it hurt to fake a smile! Why was he always doomed to fall?
Assistant rubbed his back as the love he’d fostered slowly burned him from the inside out. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it still hurt just as much every time. He knew that he’d feel alright again someday, that this hurt would someday cool and fade like every other, but for now, he simply let it consume and choke him. She held him and her love was cooling, helping him to breathe. He did not deserve her (but he did) and she stayed anyways. He loved her. (When he’d introduced Blue and Assistant to one another, it did not go well. He still regrets that, having hurt them so, and he knows that she has a good reason to disapprove of him.)
Time continued passing as it always does. They worked together and repaired their fragile friendship with promises and words. Yellow still yearned, and Blue still knew, but they turned their heads away and continued onwards anyways. He read a story about two people who loved one another and expressed their feelings with music, far above the limitations of mere words. He’d cried himself to sleep that night, and kept that book on his bedside table. When had he let it get this bad? (Deep within, he knew.)
His songs were soaked with sadness and silenced, tucked into a secret album that he’d wait to release. He knew how Blue felt guilt, and he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t dare to hurt him with the enormity of his feelings. There was no blame to be had here, no bitter, angry words. Only feelings that he knew better than to bottle up and quench. Not a person on this earth could control the ones they loved, and Yellow knew this deeply well. (When, he wondered, did he start using the word ‘love’? Was a crush not enough for his greedy heart? (It never was.))
And still, time continued on. Yellow had never really liked JJ; something about the rocker just rubbed him the wrong way. Their love of music ensured that they’d continue meeting, so Yellow tolerated him. He’d kept himself and JJ separated by a certain distance, and that was simply how things were. Eventually, they stopped going to the same venues, and that was that. He felt no grief for the loss. JJ had always felt like too much, too fragile, too dangerous. And Yellow’s vibe checker was rarely wrong.
Then there was a knock on his door in the dead of the night. Behind it was Blue, soaked from the rain and shaking with sobs. He’d let him in, held him close, made him hot chocolate and a blanket and quietly let his greedy heart revel in the closeness. He’d asked him what was wrong, ignoring the way his heart leaped at the trust (He’d gone to him! To him!). In between sobs and choked-out apologies, the slightly taller DJ vented his distress: It was JJ. Not him, not Ann (who’d admitted to him the same slowly-growing feelings for Blue, always Blue), but JJ. He’d cried and apologized for perceived inadequacy as Yellow held him amidst the growing static in his chest.
“You’re okay, it’s okay, you’ve done nothing wrong,” whispered Yellow, and he knew it was true, despite the irrational bitterness curled around his heart, “you cannot choose the one you love.” Back and forth, back and forth, as he crushed those bitter bits of him beneath his heel. JJ already had someone who loved him, and he screamed at his manic heart, for all he wanted was for Blue to be happy. He yearned for JJ to be single, to love Blue back, to treat him the way he so clearly deserved (But then, in such a world, wouldn’t he be able to make Blue happy on his own?), all for that blindingly bright burning blue smile.
After a long time spent crying, and many more hot chocolates, they said goodbye and Blue went back home. He took a deep breath, grabbed the book from his bedside table, put on the playlist that drove knives of yearning deep into his heart and allowed himself to cry bitter, angry, heartbroken tears. He let the music consume him, lost himself within the flow, and screamed his suffering out into the dead silence of the night.
(Later that night, curled up by Assistant’s side, Yellow let himself acknowledge a truth. He allowed himself to hurt, and in fact, welcomed it. He fostered that hurt, used music to magnify it, focus it. The hurt that came from love had long since become a part of him. The pain let him know that he was still alive.)
(If he wasn’t loving or hurting, he didn’t know who he was.)