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It wasn’t the color that irked him. Quite the contrary, Riddle was quite familiar with the pigment-less hue of grey. His whole life had been soaked in the sterile shade.
But then why did it frustrate him so when the blanket of red washed clean off his head?
Why did he loathe the stain that washed too cleanly off? He couldn’t quite grasp it, much like the dye that slipped to be swallowed by the drain. It shouldn’t take so much effort just to return to the color that was his to claim, yet it did. There really was no justice to it at all.
Even so, mighty was the queen who strut in his kingdom of cards. A crown of silver, a warrior’s wear, sparkling in the light. His eyes, equally cold and firm like steel, cut through their arrogance as it often did, but he could feel their stares stabbing back.
Maybe out of fear, or maybe a twisted love only he could understand, no one said anything.
It was just like before, a distant part of him remembered. (The memory alone made his stomach ill) He was an untouchable picture, too fragile to touch.
“It’s not so bad,” Cater had assured him, sprawling over the table. “I mean, you look good in any color, Riddle! Which is like, totally annoying. Never put me in orange. Or yellow. Blech !”
“I can try using my Unique Magic again,” Trey offered.
“Don’t bother.” Riddle’s answer was firm. “It’s a waste of Magic.”
“It’s still kinda weird, though,” the ginger sophomore drawled in a hum. “Like, Trey’s Magic can override yours, but not your hair? Like, what’s up with that? It’s wild.”
That’s what he wanted to know.
It wasn’t fair.
“It has fo have something to do with Blot exposure.” The defense, probably true, felt wrong in his mouth. It burned and sang a sour flavor that made him want to gag.
Cater’s head bobbed up and down. “Probs.”
Trey, ever the optimist, offered a wobbly grin. The reassurance it gave him was just as shaky. “It could be worse.”
True. Although Riddle didn’t indulge in rumors, Ace was too loud to ignore. From what he could garner, Azul’s whole appearance had changed, and Leona had developed some breed of asthma. By all accounts, a mere change in hue was nothing - that was what the logical part of his brain told him. And he was a logical person.
What he was feeling was illogical.
He was a liar, or perhaps hypothermic. Deceiving with one shade to hide the uglier hue beneath. Was this how Vil felt? Or even Jamil? It was suffocating . A stranger in his own skin, and a foreigner in his own reflection.
But even so, she understood.
“Y’know,” Yuu hummed, twirling her hair with her fingers. They were enjoying tea together in the courtyard. “I remember when my hair first changed, I couldn’t even recognize myself. It was like,” she considered, “the person staring back at me was wearing my face.”
Riddle’s chuckle rung hollow in his chest. “I can understand.”
She stared at him. Like his, her eyes were equally devoid of color. Hers were hardly ever cold- unlike his. The comparison was like a wound he didn’t remember inflicting. He remembered vividly how the cool steel of his gaze would make his card soldier shudder. Yuu’s weren’t so callous.
“What about you, though?” She asked him, leaning on her palms. The teacup clinked against its porcelain plate. “How do you feel about it?”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it.” He didn’t mean for it to be so harsh. “It’s irreversible.”
What he didn’t tell her was how mortified he was. What he didn’t tell her was how he loathed the idea of his mother finding out. What he didn’t tell her was how he almost shaved it all off in some poppycock chance it would grow back red. What he didn’t tell her was how managing his makeup, a usually grounding routine, suddenly felt like bleaching the image into his soul.
What he didn’t tell her was how unfair it all was. And there was nothing he could do to overturn it.
She, to her credit, didn’t falter. Yuu only sighed at his hot-cold answer, before leaning forward. He watched her carefully shuffle closer on the small blanket.
His body went rigid.
Her hands felt the silver silk of his crown, the fingers rubbing each strand between them. She hummed listlessly as she did so. Her visage spared him any cruelty. She was just… observing him. Taking in what he couldn’t bear to look at.
“It’s soft,” he heard her say. “Way softer than mine.”
“I-I see.” At least his face could still turn pink. He wished it hadn’t. But with her so close, though she meant nothing by it, his mind melted to mush.
She chuckled, moving her hands up the loose locks framing his face. Her hands ( were they always that warm? ) tucked the pieces behind his face. Up close, he discovered something extraordinary. Her eyes, even with their notable lack of pigment, were not devoid of hue. Splashes of warm grays and cool blues splattered her iris. White freckles starred the darker parts.
It wasn’t all gray.
“It’s not fair, is it?”
The question snapped him out of his trance.
Yuu chuckled at the sight. “None of this should have happened, y’know? It’s not anyone’s fault, but it still sucks.” She swallowed thickly, the confession only barely above a whisper. “It’s hard to explain. It’s something superficial, y’know? But you have to live with it every day. It’s a reminder that it did happen. It’s like a scar, I guess. But yours are beautiful, y’know?”
“Beautiful.” The thought tickled him. He took her fingers gingerly (had they always been so warm?) away from his hair. He caressed each edge of the indentions, letting the prints mark his memory. “That’s strange.”
Her smile was innocent, but it still set something in him aflame. “You think so?”
“I don’t think the words ‘scars’ and ‘beautiful’ really belong together,” he confessed. Although if she said they were, he was inclined to believe her.
“You can do worse than having your hair bleached,” Yuu offered with a chuckle.
“You’re probably right,” Riddle relented. “But if it’s your color, I wouldn’t mind sharing it with you.”