Work Text:
Hunter has always worn gold. Ever since the moment he came into this world, he has donned gold. He’s never had the opportunity to wear other colors, nor has he ever had the need. Why should he wear blue, pink, or green when he can shine brightly? Everything else is simply impractical, as well. Gold is perfect.
His armor is gold, his tunic, his pauldron; even his hair is golden, although of a much duller shade. His home is filled with gold, from the marbled floors all the way up to the curved ceilings. Every portrait is framed by it, every piece of pottery shimmering with it, every door handle is made of it, every tile is speckled with it, every room lined with it. The throne is made from it. It frames and guards the great, pounding heart just above said throne.
Gold is something Hunter is used to. Its familiarity is comforting.
Red is much the same.
It’s in the crunch of bones, crusted under broken noses and spit from the mouths of the wounded. It stains cloth, decorates snow, fills vision. It drips from fresh wounds, quietly bandaged in the dark of the night. It’s what prisoners choke on, their faces covered in red, black, purple, and blue. It’s the color of fallen feathers, lazily floating to the ground, only to be swept away by a swift broom. Red is dangerous in every way—save for one.
Hunter will never be certain why Flapjack chose him. He supposes it doesn’t matter.
Sometimes, when it’s late at night, and he has a fresh wound, the blood doesn’t seem as bad. He’s used to it, true, but the worried chirps are something new. Another scar to add to the collection , is the bitter thought. It’s accompanied by, Everything will be alright, it’s okay, shh, shh.
He now knows he isn’t real gold. He never was. Never will be. He’s a cheap imitation. He isn’t malleable, isn’t regal, isn’t gorgeous, isn’t superior, isn’t divine. He’s the gold of liars, so good at faking that he even had himself fooled. He tricked them all. Dirty, tarnished, unfit, despicable. He isn't worthy of any other color, and should be trapped in the golden misery. It’s what he deserves.
But he has red, regardless. Flapjack is far too stubborn to leave him, no matter how hard Hunter tries. So he gives up. Shockingly, he is rewarded for giving in. Red introduces him to all the colors he never got to know, to have. Gold is slowly drowned out by purple, pink, green, and blue. And at first, it’s terrifying. But red is always there to offer its support. And besides, he doesn’t have to leave gold behind—it’s a part of him, after all. They wouldn’t want him to cut it out.
He still wears gold. Just smaller, subtler. For all the pain gold has brought him, it’s still his. He doesn’t have to let him have it.
So he won’t.