Two Pieces of a Puzzle ✔

Chapter Eight

[A/N; song above for the feels! (why do i say this so often LMAO)]

ELIOTT

"What's your favourite colour?" 

"Why does that matter?"

"Come on, just tell me."

I was still smiling. 

Even if what we were talking about was the most pointless thing ever; I couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice. 

The voice I hadn't heard in over ten years. 

"Black," I stated. 

"Why black?"

Because that's the colour of your eyes - I had wanted to say.

"No reason," I said instead.

"Do you wanna guess mine?"

"Blue?" 

"How'd you know?"

I didn't respond, I just hummed.

How could I forget?

"What's your favourite colour?" Eric had asked out of nowhere whilst drawing stick figures onto the sand with a stick he had found on the damp grass.

"Mine? It's black, and yours?" I questioned, observing his movements from where I was seated on the swing. 

"Blue," he began. "It's such a pretty colour. The sky is blue, the water's blue."

And then he paused before looking over at me with a cheeky grin, "Your eyes are blue, too."

Those electrifying blue eyes of mine had faded into a dull grey with age and sadness, and now I was left wondering; would he still love my eyes? Even if they didn't hold the beauty of the sky and the sea? Even when they were a dull grey that lost the shine they carried ten years ago? Would his favourite colour be grey now?

"I really like your eyes," I blurted out of nowhere. "I like how dark they are."

"That's nice of you to say," he hummed. "What colour are yours?"

"Grey."

"That's so pretty," he said with a gasp. "It's like the moon!"

The moon.

I'd always associated my eyes with silver that had lost it's lustrous specialty over time. I'd always associated them with the clouds that crowded the sky moments before heavy downpour. I'd always associated them with the smoke that fills your lungs to the very brim, choking you till your last breath.

And here he was associating them with something I'd always associated happiness with. 

"I really like the moon," I confessed. "I think of it as my own personal.. happy machine. No, that sounds stupid."

"It doesn't at all actually," he reassured. "I think it's pretty cool. Have you found your moon then?"

"My moon?"

"You know.. your own source of happiness."

I paused before letting out a soft breath.

I have.

It's you.

It's always been you.

Instead, I said, "Maybe, maybe not."

"Understandable."

"Have you found yours?"

"Not yet," he confessed. "I think I will, soon enough."

The both of us went silent once again before he cleared his throat, "Have you ever read that one book where this guy goes on an entire journey to find some girl he was attached to only to find out he was a guy in the end?"

"I have! I had to write a seven page review about it, actually," I said with a chuckle. "I loved that book. Love the way the author describes things that don't even matter."

"Things that don't matter like?"

"Like.. y'know.. when he's feeling sad and all that, the author describes it in such detail."

"That does matter," he said, I could almost hear his smile. "When the author describes it like that, it makes you feel what the character's feeling too. Makes you get attached."

"Hate getting attached."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Just pointless. It brings unnecessary pain," I admitted. 

"You keep going behind the wrong people then," he said with a quiet chuckle. "I hope one day you'll find the person who will change your views on love."

"Impossible," I lied.

It was possible and it had always been so. 

Eric was the one who made me believe love existed - and the one who made me believe it didn't exist at all. 

With him, I always felt like I was everything in the world but nothing at all at the same time.

I always felt like I was all the galaxies in the universe combined but the tiniest star at the same time. 

I always felt wanted with him. 

"I read the book in my high school year," he confessed. "Loved it so much. Would definitely read it again." 

"I don't read things twice, don't get how people can do that," I confessed. "Knowing what happens just takes away the specialty."

"But it prepares you well enough," he began before correcting himself. "Or so you think. Rereading a sad book, for example, you always think you're prepared for what's about to come, but then the emotions hit you all at once."

All at once.

"All at once?"

"All at once."

"You sound like you know a lot about emotions."

"Or maybe I just know a lot about books."

"Or maybe it's both."

"Both."

I stayed silent for a moment before a question came to mind, "Do you play the piano?"

"Yes, actually."

"No way! How long have you been learning?"

"For more than a decade," he said with a chuckle. "And you'd think I'd be a professional at it. There's really only one song I enjoy playing. Can't seem to perfect it anymore, though."

"Same!" I gasped. "You should let me hear you play sometime."

"Will do. You sound quite attached to the piano. How come?"

"It's just.. I guess passion? Passion because of a certain someone I can't seem to.. well, does that even matter- you know what? Maybe I should shut up."

"Maybe," he responded with a quiet chuckle. "But I like hearing you rant."

My heart constricted in my chest.

"Why won't you say anything?" Eric questioned, nudging me with his elbow. "It's so boring, say something. Say anything."

"There's nothing interesting to talk about."

"Then talk about uninteresting things, I don't care, I just want to hear you talk," he urged. "I like hearing you talk."