Work Text:
In a world where the unreachable sky had the same shades as the bumpy road, and the never-seen birds shared tones with the rumbling of passing cars, Hime walked, one foot dragged after another. She had walked this path many times, knew every stone and corner, but no one called her name, just like her eyes never strayed to them, never had, never would. A grey, monotonous life.
Her flat shoes were worn down, she had forgotten the whisper of her voice, and the cold metal in the pocket pressed against her fingers. Not even when she grasped it tightly, did its temperature change. It stayed the same, always, like the click from turning the key in the door. She threw her bag on the floor upon entering, and was greeted by a black shadow.
A sigh escaped her lips, as she bent down and briefly stroke the young cat’s neck, getting a soft purr in return, and it followed her to the kitchen, where she filled a small bowl, which got placed at the refrigerator. The kitten licked its paw, glanced at her with seeming disapproval. Hime ignored it, turned her back and stumbled towards the table, where she dropped onto the chair with a plop.
In front of her laid countless papers, some crumbled, others with scribbling on, but most were untouched and blank, ready for the pens spread all over the table. She grabbed one, tryingly, disregarded it, and instead went with the one filled with teeth marks. One stroke after another, she filled the paper, so absorbed she did not even notice the sleeping bundle of fur curled at her feet.
Nor did she pay attention to the setting sun of blandness, neither did she realize the rising of the cold moon, fore the two were interchangeable, and only the whiteness to blackness and back again revealed the course of time. Her tired shoulders stiffened, her back ached and her fingers cramped, but Hime continued on without sparing herself break for what could have been an entire eternity.
First when the rounded eyes had gotten their sparkle, the dimples graced the smooth cheeks and the hair fell in feathery cascades as a frame around his face, did she let herself stretch her beaten body and rested, while she viewed the face of an angel on the paper in front of her, created by the yet another shaded unity of whites and blacks in that pressing feeling called solidarity surrounding her.
With a final look at the charcoal drawing, Hime slid out of the chair, walked a couple of steps and then collapsed onto her bed, exhausted, drifting off to a dreamless but restless sleep within seconds. A meow made her frown, but not enough to make her open her eyes. If she had done that however, she would have witnessed a spectacular sight happening less than six feet away from her.
The following morning should have been like any other, but somehow before even opening her eyes, subconsciously she knew something was different. There was a presence, a warmth, too big to be that of a cat. Sleep threatened to embrace her again, but the feel of actual arms around made her wide awake and aware of her surroundings. She did not need to look far; she was staring right into his eyes.
They were small galaxies, full of twinkling stars, and their gravity sucked her in, making her body freeze still. Then his smile and the gentle hand caressing her cheek melted Hime back to life, and with an inner struggle that surprised her, she sprung up and out of bed, scooting away from the unknown man lying there, nude and pure, until she hit the table at which she had created him.
For she recognized him immediately, although he had no name and could impossibly be real and living, and that was when she noticed he was colourless. Or rather, almost without colour. Because while she looked on, the hand with which he had touched her, it turned from a light grey to a faded pinkish shade that resembled her own skin colour, and it slowly spread up his arm, shoulder, neck and finally his face, with his cheeks slightly darker.
She hurried to her closet, after a thought had strayed to what else might have a different colour, and she quickly searched through the limited collection of clothes. Fortunately, the man was not big or buff of build, and some of Hime’s more loose and baggy clothes actually fit him well.
She turned away from him, while he got dressed, and when she gazed back, she wondered what to do with him. Kick him, abandon him? Was he even safe to be with? He was not real, real the traditional way at least, although he looked real enough, as he stood there, with a tad naïve look in his eyes. Then the morning sunlight shone in through the window, hit his hair, which absorbed its colour, and it looked like he wore a glory.