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Summary
Then Verso felt it, a strange pulling sensation, not quite in his foot but through it. Like something was being drawn out of him, gentle and careful.
The sensation intensified, and Verso watched in fascination as faint tendrils of color—his color, the gold of his chroma—began to drift from his skin toward Monoco. It moved like ink in water, curling and flowing in patterns that shouldn't exist in the air but did anyway.
When the light faded, there was a man sitting in front of him.
A naked man holding Verso's foot with hands that were now flesh instead of wood, skin tanned and weathered and very, very warm.
"Holy shit," Verso breathed.
In which a lazy afternoon leads to new discoveries.
Or; Monoco transforms into a human using Verso's chroma for the first time, and then they fuck about it.