Annie

"So sorry I'm late!" I flustered, brushing my hair out from my face. Tucking it hurridly behind my ear, I extended my palm out for the doctor in front of me to shake. "I'm Annie, from the paper," I smiled sweetly, hoping that he'd find my faux clumsy nature endearing. 

It wasn't entirely fake, but I definitely wasn't naturally as charming as the person I pretended to be on the job. 

I could sense a pair of eyes on me from the corner of the waiting room, observing the interaction with great interest. Like a set of opposing magnets, my own gaze was drawn to his. Greeted by a charming smirk, the rest of his expression oozed with scrutiny. His eyes were dark; so dark in fact that I wouldn't have been surprised if they were the same colour in Mono as they were in Multi.  A curious brow raised above them, questioning just exactly who I was putting on this show for. 

'Not him', was the answer, as I averted my gaze back to the likeable older man in front of me. He took my hand gratefully, welcoming me to the clinic.

The melancholic waiting room would have been almost silent, had it not been for a baby crying its tiny heart out for everyone to hear. Its mother bounced gently, trying to soothe and remedy its upset.

"Thanks for taking the time to come and talk to us about this," he smiled enthusiastically, paying no notice to the wailing. "With more publicity, we're hoping for greater funding, so this is really helping us out."

"Oh not a bother," I smiled, following him down the hallway to his office. "We're hoping it will be mutually beneficial! I must say, it's a fascinating study. How long have you been working on developing the drug?"

"Ohh," he pondered, placing his palms on his desk as he lowered his body into his seat. "Ten, maybe twelve years? A long time, that's for sure!"

"Over a decade!" I exclaimed, a little surprised by the revelation. "Gosh, that's a lot of hard work."

"Not really," he jibed, a warm grin illuminating his soft face. "Formulating the drug was a piece of cake. Getting funding was the issue,"  he admitted with a shrug. "Mono's make up roughly 40% of the world. That's a huge amount of business to lose if the products catered towards them are no longer needed. Investors have seen us as a bit of a menace, I think," he chuckled heartily, obviously just glad to finally be able to test his hard work out.

I considered his words and the relevance they had to my own life. From my computer screen to my wardrobe choices, everything was slightly different when I was Mono. Walking down the high street, there were Mono exclusive department stores, tech services geared towards those with Monovision and arcades specially made to accommodate them.

It kind of pissed me off knowing that I had been planning on going to a Mono specific store on my way home to grab dinner. The prices were always marked up, but I just accepted it as a reality of everyday life. Perhaps I should have been more critical of the world I called my home.

"So it's corporate businesses who have been preventing developments?" I pried, seeing what juice I could get from the intriguing old man in front of me.

"Yes and no," he considered. His hair was white. Even with Mono, I could tell. "There's a big risk of public backlash too. We've already had a few protesters accusing us of playing God."

"Do you think that you are?" I pressed.

"I choose to see it as a way of enabling people to live life to their fullest. No different from plastic surgery, or buying a faster car. If it makes someone happy, then why not?"

I considered his words, before shrugging in agreement. Armed and ready with questions, I made the most of my limited time with the doctor. 

"It all goes back to our prehistoric ancestors," he explained, when I questioned the origins of our collective trait. "Most likely a mutation to encourage finding a mate. As hunter-gatherers, colour vision was essential for personal survival, but reproduction was essential to species survival. Falling in love served to remedy both of these - the species would keep developing, and the more people who saw colour, the better the hunt would be. Now, we might have developed a lot since then, but we've not yet reached the stage in our evolution where this little snag in our brains has been ironed out. We're hoping our drug will help to do that."

"By allowing Mono's to see as if they were Multi's?" I clarified, using shorthand to jot down his response. "By artificially providing colour vision?"

"Precisely," the doctor nodded.

It was a curious concept, and not one that I was sure I agreed with. As an old school romantic, there was nothing I loved more than the butterflies that came with each new colour activating in my brain. 

My friends and I would giggle like school girls whenever one of us started dating someone new; Were we really seeing colour? Was our brain just playing tricks on us? Surely we wouldn't be seeing colours over him?! And why can't we see colours for all the boys we fancy?! 

It had been our favourite topic of conversation since we were teenagers, and I hated the idea of losing something so special.

"Actually, there's someone I'd like you to meet - one of our test participants, 613," the doctor rambled on as our conversation was drawing to a close. "He's a curious case, because despite believing he's been in love, he's never experienced Multivision. His CAT scans seem to align with what he's saying, so we're interested to see what effect the drug will have on him."

Walking down the corridor together, the doctor ushered me back into the stark waiting room. The baby who had been crying earlier was still screaming, its skin noticeably darker than it had been before. I knew that the poor thing must have been red in the face. They say that becoming a parent unlocks an even deeper spectrum of colours, so I wondered what it's panic-stricken mother could have seen right now. To me, everything was still just grey.

Indicating for us to turn left, I followed the doctors line of direction towards the far corner of the room.

As I did so, the man who had been staring me down earlier got to his feet.

Tight black jeans hugged his slender legs, fastened round his waist with a dark leather belt. A pale shirt, that I guessed was white, hung loosely, half tucked in the front. Swinging a thick black jacket around his shoulders as he stood, there was something effortless about his style, as if monochrome was made for him. 

Though I supposed if the doctors words were anything to go by, then perhaps it was.

"You must be 613," I smiled, approaching him with an outstretched hand. Slinging his rucksack over his shoulder, he reciprocated my actions, clasping my fingers in his own. For a brief second, my eyes played tricks on me, lighting the wall behind him a soft shade of baby blue.

I knew it was impossible.

I'd lost blue weeks ago.

"Jungkook," he corrected with a polite, reserved smile. "And you must be the reporter?"

"Annie," I corrected him back, nodding, letting a smile hang on my lips for a few seconds longer than usual. "Thanks so much fo-"

"Sorry, but if I have to listen to that baby crying for any longer, I'll book myself in for a vasectomy right now," he stated bluntly, voice as monotone as my sight. Though there was a slight smirk to his lips, his frank delivery threw me off, causing me to stumble on my words. I could feel my face getting hotter and thanked my lucky stars he wouldn't be able to tell.

"Right, yeah, sure," I laughed, startled slightly by his brazen statement. "There's a cafe around the corner, might be better for our interview?"

"Please," he nodded, pausing for me to lead us out of the waiting room. 

"Not a fan of kids?" I questioned as the cold air battered against our faces almost instantly. It was autumn, my favourite time of year, and I was disappointed that I couldn't marvel at the rich ruby leaves that no doubt would be falling from trees. Wet beneath our feet, the narrow pavement only allowed for single-file, but Jungkook didn't seem to pay much notice, instead cramming himself directly beside me.

"They're fine," he shrugged, his shoulder knocking against my lightly. "Not where I'm at with life right now though."

I nodded, not wanting to bombard him with too many questions. I had plenty for him regarding the trial, but who was I to question his personal life and choices? 

Despite this, he took my pause as an invitation to continue talking.

"I'm super sensitive to sound. And smell. And touch," he listed. I was almost positive he wanted to add taste in there too, but didn't want to look facetious. "I think it's because I can't see colour, so my other senses make up for it. Something like that. Anyways, it means I find shit like that, crying babies, way more irritating than most."

"How do you know?" I took his bait, intrigued by what he had said, as I pushed the cafe door open. Warm air gushed outwards, hitting our skin like floating embers trickling away from the flames of a bonfire. Roasting coffee beans overwhelmed my sense of smell, and it felt heavenly. Yeah, autumn was definitely my favourite. 

"Know what?" He furrowed his brows, scraping a wooden chair against the tile flooring before plonking himself down in it. He was rough, boisterous almost, a boyish charm emitting from his entire being.

More demure in my actions, I took to my seat casually, crossing one leg over the other. I could tell that the wind had burned his face; this tip of his nose and peaks of his cheeks slightly darker grey than the rest of him. Had I still been a Multi, I bet I would have been greeted with a cherry nose and rosy cheeks. I think it would have suited him.

"That your senses are heightened?" I pried. "How do you know they just aren't the same as everyone else?"

"I don't," he shrugged. "I assume."

"Has no-one ever told you that assumptions are the mother of all fuck ups?"

I ignored his stare as I rooted around in my bag for my reporters pad, but could see in my peripherals that his jaw tensed a little bit - yet when I looked up, there was an undeniable grin settled at home on his lips.

"Touché," he conceded, nodding his head to the side as he spoke. Bringing his eyes back to mine, the playful nature of our retort felt like that of old friends. There was nothing better than having a good interviewee, and it felt like Jungkook had the potential to be just that. "So, Miss Annie, what do you want to know?"

I hummed, tapping my notepad with the tip of my biro. "Everything."