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Stiles has never seen colours before, most people haven’t until they met their soul mate. His mom and dad tried to explain colours to him at first, but for him living in black and white was no different than living in colour because that’s all he’s ever known. All he’d probably ever know.
He remembered the first time Scott saw his first speckle of colour, the colour brown. He was giddy talking about it, pointing anything that had a piece of that colour, Allison’s hair, and her leather jacket but always ended with the warm colour of Stiles’s eyes. Until that day, Stiles was never jealous of anyone who saw colour. He knew his eyes were brown, on drunken nights his dad would mention how much they reminded him of mom. He wished he could see them as they were, not the light grey that shone in the light, but the richness of colour Scott tried to explain. Every day Scott would grasp more colours, reds, greens, and blues. Some days he would slip and forget Stiles couldn’t see what he saw, but Stiles would brush it off. He was happy for him.
Stiles had always hoped Lydia would be his soul mate, he held onto the thin thread of hope that maybe he was just defective, that when they met she could see colours but he would only see in black and white. He’s read stories of that happening to people. But his hope died when she met Jackson, he saw it then as he sees it every day, the small lift of her lips, the way she walks a little lighter in his presence. They were not meant for each other. But it was easier to hold onto something hopeless then to give up altogether.
The first colour Stiles saw was red. It was nothing like anyone had ever explained to him. It was pain, it was anger, it was passion. The colour exploded through his eyes when he came face to face with the alpha. Maybe it was stupid of him to taunt the beast but he was stocked up on adrenaline and he just outsmarted the damn thing for god’s sake. The burst only lasted a second but it felt like forever, it flooded his senses, his brain screamed the word over and over again. Soul mate. Stiles knew he was damned then, not only was his soul mate a werewolf, an alpha werewolf that had a thirst of murder, but the same werewolf that bit Scott. When they escaped the school that night he did not breathe a word of it to Scott, he doubted he ever would. He laid in bed, thinking that he would be fine living the rest of his life without colour but when he closed his eyes all he could see was the colour red.
The second colour he saw was blue. Stiles assumed he must have some fascination with the colours of people’s eyes, he was always drawn to those colours first. This colour was unlike the first one he saw, it was calm, it was pure, it was filled with sadness. Derek decided to bring Stiles to his uncle Peter, his last surviving family member, but when the new colour washed over his senses he knew something was wrong. The man was his soul mate, the alpha.
“You must be Stiles.”
Those were the first words he heard come from his mouth and he loved the way his name rolled off Peter’s lips. Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to run away in fear or jump into the man’s arms. To hold him until the feelings of sadness and anger washed away from him but when Derek jumped in his decision was made. He would run. When he got home he hoped Derek made it out, he was pretty sure that Peter wouldn’t hurt his last remaining family member but he could never be too sure. When he laid in his bed that night he brushed his fingers across the walls and muttered the word ‘blue’ before he drifted off into sleep.
Stiles started to understand Scott’s giddiness when he first saw colours, it was happening to Stiles now. The greys were contrasted every once and a while with shades of red or blue and he wondered how he was ever satisfied before seeing them.
The next colour he saw was green. It was the colour that died when Peter bit Lydia in the middle of the field. He remembered his mother used to say green was the colour of growth and fresh starts but through his eyes all he saw was envy.
Peter took him so he could help find Derek and slowly, one by one, colours emerged from the dull greys. He wondered if Peter saw the same things he was seeing, acknowledging the fact that his soul mater was someone half his age, and taking in the colours until there was no grey left.
When Peter took Stiles wrist in his hand he saw red again, the pain and anger were gone and were replaced only with passion. The grip sent sparks up his spine but he didn’t want what the bite would give him. He wanted more. Pulling his arm away from the grip was like dousing himself with cold water, he could feel the loss settling in his gut and wondered if Peter felt it too. Peter had called out on his lie, the words ‘I don’t want.’ Because they were a lie, Stiles had wanted Peter but Peter didn’t want him, not truly. Peter left for Derek and Stiles stood in place for a long time, cursing himself for letting go. For wanting more.
The last colour that left Stiles’s eyes was red. He knew what was going to happen, first all the browns were gone, then the yellows. He knew what happened to people who didn’t bond with their soul mates before they died; he knew he would lose all the colours grew to love. Red was the last colour because it was the colour of fire. When he threw the Molotov cocktail he wished it didn’t have to be this way. He wished that no one had killed Peter's family, wished he didn’t have to die. Red was the same colour that left Peter’s eyes when Derek slashed across his throat, and it was what covered his body in ribbons. This time red was the colour of pain.
The greys came back at full force and it was only then did Stiles understand what they were. They were the colour of loss, and emptiness of something they never had. It was dull, it was cold, and it was a reminder. A reminder for Stiles that he had lost what he could have had. That night Stiles curled up in his bed and cried holding onto his last vivid memory of colours.
Stiles saw the colour blue a month later and thought he was imagining it. He caught glimpses of the colour throughout the day and drove home shaking in his seat. Stiles had to remind himself over and over again that a person can only have one soul mate and he lost his. He did his daily routine but from the corner of his eye he could always spot a speck of something blue.
Stiles woke up in the middle of the night feeling warm and content. Across his waist an arm rested, bringing him closer to the others body. He looked up and saw the familiar face.
“Peter?” Stiles said in disbelief.
Peter grumbled before opening his eyes, letting Stiles drown in colours. Peter lifted the hand on Stiles waist to caress Stiles’s face.
“I’ve missed you.”
“But, you were dead, I ….. I saw what we did to you. Then the colours, they were all gone.” Stiles shuffled in closer to Peter taking in the warmth he had to offer. He tried to stop the tears from flowing from his eyes but he was too weak, the feeling of relief flowed throughout him. Peter was alive.
Peter brought Stiles face to his and kissed the corners of his eyes, his nose and brushed across his lips. It was soft and reassuring, the gesture telling Stiles that Peter was here and was alive.
“Did you know, when I first saw you only you were in colour. The rest of the world was still in black and white.” Peter said. “It was like you were the only thing that could ever keep me human, something that was anchoring me in a world that was lacking everything. You were mine.”
“Were?” Stiles asked.
“Are.” Peter said. The words drifted off his lips like a promise. He kissed Stiles once more before draping his arm across his waist again.
“We can talk more tomorrow, just sleep now.” Peter whispered and breathed in the scent of Stiles.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
For once Stiles forgave himself for wanted more back then, because Peter was here with him and in his arms everything just seemed right.