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Summary: Dom is in love with his guitarist, but it feels as though she speaks another language
X autistic reader, she/her pronouns used to refer to reader (A/N, I am autistic myself, this is a representation of me and how it affects me, never my intention to invalidate anyone else autistic)
Word Count: 3,250
Dom's POV
. . . . . ╰──╮ꕥ╭──╯ . . . . .
The first time I ever met Y/N, she said the day was purple.
This was the first time she had described a day as a colour to me. I had no clue what she actually meant by that, not at that time anyways.
She first told me that when we were staying up late at night, trying to finish The Underrated Youth album, and I just couldn't get the lyrics of Waiting On The Weekend right, and I was writing rewrite after rewrite.
Y/N was perched up on top of the table, her bowl of cereal propped up in her lap as she sat, legs swaying over the side of the table. I was sitting, cross legged on the floor of our basement, which we had converted into our home studio.
The floor seems to be one of my favourite places for me to sit, when I'm writing songs at least. Sometimes, it's hers as well. Whenever she's trying to sit and figure out the chords for the new songs I've written.
The day I found out Y/N was autistic, she said the day was dark blue.
I had kind of suspected for a bit that she was, a couple of months before I actually heard her say it out loud. There were things that she did, and while they of course weren't bad, she just didn't seem aware that they were things most people didn't do.
The way she would jump up and down, flapping her arms at the smallest thing that excited her. How things could take her the most part of months to do if she was bored of, but then a similar task could be completed in an hour, if she was excited about it.
How she had such dramatic reactions to the "bad" textures of clothes. How she would get so, so upset over the smallest change in her routines. How repeating things over and over strangely calmed her down. The way she rocked and swayed to soothe herself.
The earplugs she wore while she was playing at every gig of ours. How she always, always seemed to have her headphones in. How everything needed to be deadly silent when she was trying to sleep at night except the specific ambience or music she chose.
I suppose it wasn't an overly big moment or occasion. It wasn't for me, at least. Me, her and Adam were all in an interview, and the interviewer mentioned to her that he'd never seen a guitarist or band member wear earplugs on stage, she had a reply for him.
//
"So, Y/N," The interviewer, Mark, laughed, as he brought up a picture that Tom had taken off the band, as he did at pretty much every single gig.
