Word count: 1013
The prompt for this one was Red/Pink.
Red is the color of his hair when it's freshly dyed. It's a pretty color, something I could look at for a long time. It’s just a little shiny, but that’s only because it’s just been washed. I much prefer the look of it when the roots show just a bit, and it’s a pretty mix of red and black.
Pink is the color of when he needs a touch-up. The red fades, and he has to re-dye it. The pink is pretty, but not as pretty as the black showing through at the roots.
Red is the color of his eyes. Oh my god, his eyes. They are beautiful; deep pools of crimson, the color he loves so much. I'm pretty sure I could stare at them all day and never find an end to the kaleidoscope of different shades of scarlet coming together to form the shade of red that is distinctly his eyes.
Pink is the color of his face just after he finishes a run, or after he’s been working out for a while, and he’s just a little out of breath. It’s pretty and I spend way too much time looking at him when his face is that color. Sometimes, someone else has to yell at me to get me to stop, and sometimes it’s him that stops me by turning to look at me, giving me one of those stupid smiles that show his stupidly perfect teeth and close his stupidly pretty eyes.
Red is the color of his costume, which is just downright unfair. It’s unnecessary for him to show his stupidly perfect body to the world when it should be just me seeing it. I mean, it’s not really my place to tell him what to do or not to do, or to be mad at him for what he wears, because we’re not really together yet, but really, does he have to show off that stupid, perfect body of his?
Pink is the color of both of our faces when he catches me staring at him or when I catch him staring at me. I look away, but always find my eyes being drawn back to him, and my mind stuttering into a daydream of what could happen if I ever get my shit together and decide to tell him how I feel.
Red is the color of his face when he asks me out for the first time. I guess I don’t have to ask him out and steel myself for rejection, but it looks like he’s doing that right now. I nod my head and give a quick ‘sure’ and he has the nerve to look surprised. But then his face breaks out into that smile that looks like it’s about to split his face in two, and I know saying yes to him was the right thing to do.
Pink is the color of his lips right before our first kiss. They’re soft and taste a little bit like cherries, probably from the chapstick he put on earlier. When we separate, his face and his lips are both a few shades darker than they were before.
Red is the color of the flowers he gives me for our one month anniversary. They’re red around the edge and black in the center, and they remind me a little of his hair the way I like it best, with the roots showing. I keep them in a small flowerpot that the old hag had given me when we first moved into the dorms as a “housewarming gift,” she’d said. It had had some stupid as flowers (that were long dead by now) in it when she’d given it to me, but now it held the pansies, and it would until they died.
Pink is the color of his favorite drink, a strawberry milkshake from a local diner. It was where he had taken me for our first date, and for a few dates after that. Every time, he ordered a strawberry milkshake with two straws, and we’d share it. I never told him that I don’t like strawberry milkshakes though. And I never will.
Red is the color of the stones in the ring he gives me when he proposes at that same diner. We’re sitting in a corner booth and he orders another milkshake and it gets served while I’m in the bathroom. When I come back, he’s sitting in the booth and there’s an open ring box on the table next to the milkshake, although there’s no ring in the box. Instead, the ring is sitting on top of the whipped cream at the top of the milkshake. I sit down, picking up the ring and licking the whipped cream off of it before sliding it onto my finger. He looked at me, tilting his head and smiling as if to ask ‘Is that a yes?’ I nod my head. He gets up from his side of the booth and sits down on my side, taking a fingerful of whipped cream and hitting me on the nose with it. He laughs and starts drinking the milkshake. I do the same, taking a small sip. When I sit back, he turns my face to look at him and kisses the whipped cream off my nose. My face flushes to match the color of the small rubies now circling my left ring finger, and he laughs again. And I think that maybe it won’t be all that easy to spend the rest of my life with someone, but for him, it’ll be worth it.
Pink is the color of the cherry blossom petals as he walks down the aisle. They’re falling all around him, making everything look more like a fairytale or a movie, and for a second I think that none of it is real, because really. Why would he marry me? But then he reaches the altar and he whispers lowly, seeing how I’m doing and I realize that this is all real and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
