Warning: Mentions of sex

Red

Describe a colour without using the word.

He loves the colour.

It reminds him of her beautiful hair, the way it tumbles down her shoulders in waves, soft and silky as he runs his hands through them; it reminds him of her favourite dress and how it feels against his fingertips as he runs them down her sides and pulls her close to his chest, swaying gently to the music that dances around them; it reminds him of the very first bracelet he's ever given her and how captivating she looks as it sparkles under the ballroom lights when she brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It's the flush that flares up her cheeks when he leans forwards and whispers sweet things in her ear, fingers dancing and tracing down her spine lovingly, showering her with promises that he would give her everything that she desired, that she deserved, and nothing less. It's the fire in her brown eyes, burning with such an unusual intensity that he can almost feel her love settle around him like a thick blanket, warm and comforting.

He loves the colour.

It's what he sees when his eyes flicker down to her lips before he captures them tenderly as she shrugs off her clothes, the two of them stumbling over to the bed. It's what he hears when he feels the pulse of her beating heart against his bare skin, steady and true. It's the colour that runs down her thighs as he kisses the tears from her cheeks. And it's a reminder when her fingers dig into his back, leaving deep scratches down its length as they move together as one in sync with their pounding hearts, gasps and moans echoing throughout the room – he is hers and hers alone.

It's her colour.

And it's all over his hands as he cradles her to his chest, choking back the tears that threaten to fall. It starts to fade away like the dying embers in her eyes, the world blurring into a swirl of grey and white until he can no longer see the colour. But it lingers in the air, invisible against the backdrop of the fiery sunset, taunting and mocking him for his helplessness, his incompetence. He has failed her, again, and with that thought, it returns full force - it's in his screams and behind the arcane madness in his eyes. He sees it clearer then ever now. It's all he can see.

He loves and hates the colour.

Because it reminds him of her.

It's her colour.

Author's note:

I'm back after 2 years. And leaving again lol. Jerza or Mystwalker works for this so yeah. Saw this thing on tumblr and really wanted to try my hand at it.