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Ink finds joy in a lot of things.
Ink enjoys sitting outside and watching the sun. He loves to paint out in the garden where the trees are noisy but quiet, where the light feels warm like sitting in a bath, and where everything becomes so brightly cast in that strange, golden glow. He adores basking in the color yellow, feeling the way that it warms through his hands and knees, in his joints, like honey between cracks or gold repairing broken pottery. It makes him feel whole, if only for a while, where he can forget the sound of people whispering over one another and simply think about what's in front of him.
He enjoys the way that Dream’s eyes quirk a little when he smiles at Ink. He enjoys the way that Dream fiddles with his hands when he thinks, or when Dream looks around as if trying to find someone who will remind him what he's saying mid-sentence. He likes when Dream doesn’t remember things either, because it simply makes him feel yellow.
Ink also enjoys the way that his scarf feels. It's a lot of fabric, weight on his shoulders and looping around his neck in comforting security and knowledge, holding little secrets for him to remember.
He enjoys the way hands feel, how it feels to walk and feel things under his feet, he enjoys seeing someone who knows who he is and he loves to hear his name.
But Ink, while loving and enjoying many things, is afraid.
Ink is always afraid, actually. It's a burning, searing, acidic taste of pink. Bubblegum, cherries, cough syrup, perfume. It lives a bitter aftertaste and lingers too long like a headache. But Dream doesn’t get it. Dream always gets confused when Ink avoids his pink.
Not because he didn't know what emotion it was for, but because Ink... is vigilant with his routine. Ink takes a sip of every emotion each day, an extra bit of yellow, but he always avoids pink.
Ink finds this range and balance very important. Now, something that important should not be missed, and Ink would be vigilant enough not to miss it.
However, there's another issue. Why wouldn't he take it for the balance? What is it that Ink would ever be afraid of, reckless and careless as he is?
Ink only smiles when he asks.
"Well you see, Dreamy," Ink stood, tip toeing along the tops of someone's fence. He balanced on the line, teetering slightly, but laughing as he nearly falls.
"I wouldn't be the same Ink you know if I were bogged down by something as silly as fear!"