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Pink, orange, blue.
The sky made her think of something Liliyana had said once - that the earth bled the colours of its emotions across the sky when the sun rose. Pink for love, orange for passion, blue for sadness. Stains of colour that streaked across the horizon, blending into each other and dappling behind sketch drawn clouds.
Everything we give to the world, it gives back to us. We show our earth love and kindness, we water its plants and adorn it with flowers, it will love us back through its golden pink sunsets and burning, warm summers. We show it cruelty and misery, we throw our waste at its feet and cut it at its roots, it will hurt us back, with its blistering rain and raging storms. Don’t forget to show love to the earth and its people, Zoya. As long as you do, they will show that love back to you.
Images flocked to her mind unbidden, as they always did at this hour. Sabina, draped in pearls, her keys jostling as she slammed an alder door in Zoya’s face. Valentin, his eyebrows arched meanly and his eyes narrow and greedy, his fingers circled around a small child’s wrist. Aleksander, whispering in her ear that age was just a number even as his hand slid down below her waist. With nothing but these memories to fill her head on nights such as this, Zoya thought grimly, there wasn’t much stock to be put in Liliyana’s adage. Beautiful as it was, such sentiment was no protection from the real world. Zoya was a mosaic of every experience she had ever gone through, every wall she had ever built in her own interest. And this early sunrise, she thought as she pressed a hand up against the glass, this blue sky streaked with bruises of purple knew that better than most.
She found her feet carrying her across to the other side of the room, past the bright red 04:03 blinking on the bedside table, the light summer sheets twisted around a motionless figure strewn across the bedspread. The window on the opposite side of the room told a different story, still bathed in darkness and freckled by weakly glowing stars, suffocated by city lights. The moon was thin and waning, swallowed by shadow and sinking into its own backdrop. If she strained her eyes, she could just about see her own reflection in the glass, sullen and sunken-eyed, staring stonily back at her. She pressed a hand to the glass once more, tracing the frame of her face, the angle of her neck. A shaky breath filled her lungs, was exhaled back out again.
“Zoya?”
There it was, that voice. The beauty in this room. This was her favourite way to see him, she thought, as she turned around and took him in. Wildflower hair, sandy and messed by his pillow, eyes that were barely open. He had swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up, supporting himself with one arm on the mattress. She took a second, took advantage of his sleepy disorientation, to drink in the sight of him a little bit longer. He blinked a few times, stared at her, a hand coming up to scratch at his head. “It’s four in the morning. Come back to bed”. He stretched a hand out, beseeching, a picture of domesticity. This was her secret from the sunrise, Zoya mused. This was the corner of the universe that she poured all of her love into, because this was the corner of the universe that would always give it back.
She had made her way into his embrace, her hand falling into his as he pulled her in. She wrapped a hand around his head and drew him into her chest, caving under the grasp of his hand around her waist. His fingers drew mindless patterns on the small of her back, a deep inhale tangible through the soft cotton of her shirt. “Liliyana would have loved you.” She whispered into his hair, a moment of weakness, almost lost to the sound of his breathing. He pulled back slightly, looked up at her, and in a second he was wiping a tear from her cheek that she hadn’t even realised was there. “I’m sorry.” She took another shaky breath, swiped a hand across her face.
“Don’t be.” His eyes were as open and earnest as always, hazel and glowing. “I’ve told you before, you don’t need to keep throwing up walls. Nobody can see you here but me.” He shifted back onto the bed, moving over to her side and pulling her in with him. She fell into his arms, only now feeling the weight on her eyes and the fog of exhaustion clouding her head. She tucked herself into his arms, her grasp remaining firm on his hand. Once more it was Liliyana’s voice in her head, tucking her into bed.
This is the safe place, Zoya. You will always be safe here.
In the haze of impending sleep, it was Nikolai’s face in her head, his arms wrapped around her, his breath on the back of her neck. This is the safe place. This, a cramped college dormitory on a poorly ventilated third floor, swimming in the premature heat of early April, was a safe place. Here, in Nikolai’s arms, was a safe place. Even under the bruised sunrise, even under the fog of the memories, this was a safe pocket of the world, a pocket that returned all of the colours to her, a riot of sadness and love and passion.
Pink, orange, blue.