Work Text:
Colors
It's all colors.
That's all he could see.
The world he perceived was a canvas of watercolor paintings—like a brush swish leaving everything in an abstract, blurry mess. But it was beautiful in it's own way.
He hadn't always been blind. At first, he saw the world perfectly fine. But once he obtained the mace, everything went downhill. Constant stress gnawed at him, anxiety kept him awake, and over time, he barely slept. That shit slowly ruined his eyesight.
He never told anyone about it. Others would use it as leverage, making him vulnerable.
Besides, he didn't need fully functioning eyesight for mundane tasks, right?
...
Right?
⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆
Eye and Vista were at their End home. Eye rummaged through his shulker box, searching for a mending book to enchant his elytra. It was a challenge—he had to feel the galactic standard text with his fingertips to identify each one.
He'd already skimmed three enchantment books. God, this is frustrating.
From behind, he sensed soft vibrations of footsteps—calm, with the clicking of heels.
"Need anything, Vista?" Eye said without looking back, still focused.
"Jeez, I still don't know how you do that," the blonde chuckled, stepping up beside him. He peered at his friend curiously. "What are you even searching for?" Vista asked, peeking into the shulker box.
"A book."
"Yeah, I can tell," Vista deadpanned. "What kind of book?"
Eye stayed silent for a moment, unsure if he should admit it. If he did, Vista might notice he couldn't read the letters and kept tracing the text by feel—but he's not going to spend hours going through a box full of enchantment books.
"I... I'm trying to find my mending book," Eye sighed.
"Bet, let me help," Vista said, ever helpful. He scanned the books with ease and pulled out the right one. "Here you go!"
"Oh, thank you, Vista," Eye said softly, heading to the anvil. He pulled his elytra from his inventory and got to work enchanting it.
"You know, Eye, I've been wondering..." Vista said suddenly, hopping up to sit on the shulker box.
Eye froze, biting his lip. Shit, shit— did he notice? Holy shit, why is this guy so observant? I'm cooked—
"I've noticed you've always taken quite a long time going through your books."
Eye's panicked thoughts halted at Vista's next words.
"I mean, it's okay if you don't wanna admit it... but..."
We're so cooked—
"Are you illiterate, Eye?" Vista asked, tilting his head.
"What?" Eye blurted, genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected that.
He kept working, though his movements turned rigid and nervous. "No, I'm not illiterate."
Vista, who noticed the smallest things about him, wasn't convinced. "Hey man, there's nothing to be ashamed of!"
Eye just sighed, finishing the enchantment.
"I mean, reading isn't that important! You can still function in society without it—"
"Vista," Eye said, turning to face his friend on the shulker box.
"Well, technically you can't sign or read official documents, but you have me! I can read them out and highlight the important bits—"
"Vista..."
"But you know, if you want, I can teach you. I'm a really good teacher, trust me—"
Eye groaned. Despite calling out multiple times, Vista kept going. "Vista, I'm blind," he said, way too calmly, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb.
"What?" The blonde stopped mid-ramble, staring.
"I'm blind."
...
Vista paused, looking at Eye. "Like... everything's pitch black for you?"
Eye sighed—he'd known this conversation would happen someday. He set his elytra down on the anvil. "No, like... I'm legally blind. Everything's insanely blurry."
"Oh."
"Oh."
"Wait, that explains your super-sensitive hearing and all the times you've bumped into things! I thought you were just clumsy," Vista mumbled the last part.
"Yeah... clumsy," Eye chuckled nervously, looking away.
"How can you even see me? Does that mean you don't know what I look like this whole time? Wait, should I get you a walking cane?"
Eye sighed again, amused. "You're very yellow. Yes. And no."
"What do you mean 'very yellow'?!" Vista said, bewildered. "I have other colors too!"
"They're not as dominant," Eye muttered.
"I—no, wait, let's go back to the fact that you're blind," Vista backtracked. "How long?"
"Uh... I don't really keep track," Eye said sheepishly. "It just worsened over time, and I kinda accepted it."
"This is why I told you to wear goggles, man. You're always airborne." Vista sighed, shaking his head.
Eye just hummed.
It grew quiet—the comfortable kind, not awkward or rigid.
"So, you... really don't know what I look like, huh?" Vista said, standing and walking toward Eye.
Even blurry, the splotches of yellow—Vista—approached. "Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble."
"Well, how about this," Vista said. Eye could tell he was smiling, even without seeing clearly.
Vista took both of Eye's hands and gently placed them on his cheeks. "This way, you can imagine what I look like."
The moment Eye's hands touched, his fingers caressed softly on instinct. A sharp yet soft jawline—wait, this is kinda weird if you think about it.
"Are you sure?" Eye asked.
"Very. Ask questions too—I'll try to answer in details."
Eye took that as permission. He traced Vista's face carefully, nervously—each slope, the softness of his hair. He asked a few questions along the way.
"Oh, this dark color on your face wasn't an eyepatch?" Eye said slowly, feeling the flesh.
"Careful, that's my eye. Don't poke it."
"Oh." Eye pulled back slightly. "Sorry..."
Silence stretched. Vista tilted his head, a smile tugging his lips. "So?"
"You're... pretty."
"You have a sharp jaw but really soft cheeks... silky long hair, pointy ears... and I just learned you have heterochromia," Eye listed off softly. "Pretty."
Vista's cheeks warmed under Eye's palms, and he laughed—a bright, golden sound that pierced the blur like sunlight on rippling water. "Glad you finally have an image of what I look like. But is 'pretty' the only adjective you've got for me?"
Eye's fingers lingered a second longer before dropping. For the first time in ages, the watercolor world felt less lonely. His blindness had stolen the sharp edges, but moments like this painted in something better: trust, warmth, the vague outline of a friend who saw him clearly.
"Yes... pretty—the softest, warmest shade that's ever painted my life."
And in that blurry mess of colors, it was the most beautiful one yet.