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Blood, sweat, and tears.
Those were the three colors Eichi had always known.
But Wataru—
Wataru wasn’t a color Eichi knew.
Wataru was more extravagant, colors befitting of a god as opposed to a mere mortal. An ineffable being who waltzed his way into Eichi’s life. Blood especially didn’t suit him; it suited Eichi who ruled Yumenosaki with an iron fist, not Wataru who held galaxies in his eyes, dreams of faraway places that Eichi could only imagine for no one had ever invited him before (except Keito in their childhood innocence when families and ranks didn’t matter).
But Eichi learned quickly Wataru wasn’t a god incarnate like he had originally visualized, just a man who liked dressing up far too much for being the lover of a Tenshouin who possessed guns at the snap of a finger and reading Shakespeare an absurd amount of times. He thought he’d be disappointed by the fact that Wataru was nothing like he had pictured upon first encounter in a cell room, but life was never dull with Wataru, for every facet of Wataru—Wataru, beautiful, splendid Wataru—contributed to a kaleidoscope Eichi would gladly die for.