as you can see, this one-shot isn't written by me but one of my close friends irl! she's left wattpad, unfortunately, but she wanted me to help post this and she wants to see how it does <3 please leave some nice comments for her because she's a great person and a great writer!

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He doesn't know when he notices all the blue around her.

There's blue in her fashion, dressed in head to toe. He finds several shades of it and learns to recognise them all; azures for bright days, navies for low ones, cobalts for when she's clingy, ceruleans when she needs space. It's a wonder how colour can conveys one's emotions so well, he discovers.

There's blue in her hair, a small streak, done on an impulse, on a dare. Electric blue, she calls it. She giggles when asked and makes up some extravagant story like slaying a mythical beast, coated in lazuli fur. No one believes it, but everyone basks in the innocent teal that rains. He appreciates it, a source of joy in his otherwise bleak life. After all, it's hard to find such purity these days.

There's blue on her tongue, coating every inch of the bud of speech that's blooming every second. Of course, there is the artificial blueberry ice-cream that she consumes, without a care or doubt in the world, savoring that false sweetness and letting the iris treat slide down her throat. She devours the saccharine like there's no tomorrow. He ponders how she does it.

There's blue in her accessories, adorning herself with countless alluring minerals. He recognises the apatite round her neck, hanging loose from a rose-gold chain, sparkling with delicacy. He sees the cordierite on her wrist, shifting from indigoes to slates in mere seconds. He listens to her talks, laughing about the healing properties of these rocks, about increasing inner strength and handling stress. Sometimes, he doesn't think she's joking.

There's blue in her tears, seeming so wrong on that rosy face on hers. They're like pearls of glass, so fragile and yet so transparent. Though at the end of the day, remaining invisible to the people around seems like the norm. They glimmer and sparkle in the sunlight, opalescent artics reflecting. She did have a penchant for shimmering things, he realises.

The thing that sticks out to him the most however is not blue, but gold.

There's gold on her lips, though it's not the same sophisticated and elegant gold that's so fake nowadays. He identifies it more akin to the old aurum, fancy and valued but peeling. The kind of gold foil stuck to ancient katanas that anthropologists adore, yet breaks so easily, sticking to each and every surrounding objects. Still, its precious, growing with value as she ages, a real antique if he says so himself.

Its flaying, that's a definite but everything can be mended in some way or form. That's his belief anyway. So he'll stay by her side and blend her strengths and flaws, blemishes and virtues; complementary colours, black and white, for one cannot be without the other. She's both blue and gold, letting them both shine, their beauty endless. He will be here through it all, he decided. These colours are one to be admired.