Work Text:
Yellow. Not even the warm sun could bring light into the daily habits of Oikawa Tooru. The soft beams that once tanned his skin and brought freckles to the surface never reached him. He no longer felt their warmth, comfort, or kindness. The childlike fondness he used to hold for summer had evaporated. He could no longer remember the scent of the sea or the color yellow.
Blue. The sea he played in. The colors he wore. The night sky he was fascinated with. Waves would never again lap at his skin. He used to feel at home in soft teal. Now it was a cage. The night sky was stifling and he never saw it. Oikawa Tooru could no longer stomach the site of the sky or reach toward the stars. They burned too brightly and he could no longer remember the color blue.
Yellow and blue. They spun fast at him and he missed them. Their trajectory was too much for him to handle as they bounced off his arms. Yellow and blue, the colors of failure.
Green. Eyes that once danced with delight. Eyes that made his heart race. Eyes filled with kindness, compassion, and love. They were as vibrant as new growth in spring. The green of fireworks as he fell asleep in the arms of the one who possessed such beautiful eyes. The memory of those eyes faded rapidly as the kindness dimmed and the warmth of the embrace vanished. Oikawa Tooru could no longer remember the color green.
Red. Flushed cheeks. Skinned knees. Soft lips. Passionate and warm love. Love he could no longer grasp. Lips that he no longer ached to touch. Skinned knees he would never kiss again. Cheeks he would never see flush again. Such memories he had held dear as they pushed him forward. Those lips that encouraged him and told him he was amazing. He resented those words. They hurt too much and so Oikawa Tooru pushed away the color red.
White. Soft snow. Hot sand. Pain. Pain that ripped through his leg as fast as lightning. Sand that scorched his skin when he fell. Snow that cushioned his fall as he tripped into the arms of the one he loved. White was now hollow, cold, and distant. Oikawa Tooru hated the color white.
Green, red, and white. How he used to dance with those colors. He made them obey his very will as they soared through the sky, fingertips grazing their beautiful edges. It was never enough. He was never enough. Everytime he touched those colors he was filled with fear. Green, red, and white were the colors of fear.
What colors were left? Oikawa Tooru could not remember as he absentmindedly typed on his keyboard with shoulders hunched. The stiffness of his back and shoulders did not alarm him even as his shoulders crept closer and closer to his ears.
And there he sat.
Everyday. The same cubicle. The same people. The same muted conversations. The same shades of gray.
There was no color.
There were days when he spoke to no one. When the buzz of conversation never reached his ears. It was easier that way. If they did not know him then he could not fail them. The stares of his coworkers never penetrated the disinterested mask he wore, and if he wore it long enough they would stop wondering about the handsome man who never smiled. To them the name Oikawa Tooru meant nothing, and he was okay with that.
A small meaningless life where he could forget about his worthless pride.
There was nothing to be proud of and he finally accepted what he was. Oikawa Tooru had never been anything but average. Average looking. Average student. Average setter. His pride was nothing but a lie. He never had anything to be proud of.
A meaningless life was punishment for his hubris.
A life without color was punishment for his passion.
A life without love was punishment for loving too much.
He accepted his fate and kept living. If that is what you would call it. Life in muted shades of gray.