Chapter Text
You were overwhelmed with everything— practically unable to stop painting until the break of dawn. It wasn’t just Jason you painted… but your favorite mug, the stray cat you fed every night at 2 a.m., those delicious corn fritters Rachel made with Garfield the other day…
The world had become a muse, a living color wheel, and you couldn’t help but try to trap every shade before it disappeared.
Painting all of it felt strange. You didn’t know why— but every time you blinked, you’d imagine your work draining back to black and white, like color was just a fleeting dream. It felt like you were trying to hold sunshine in your hands, only for it to slip through your fingers. Nothing about it felt right.
You looked up at the clock and sighed. It was around 8 a.m., and you hadn’t slept a wink. So, you collapsed on your couch and let slumber take over, like waves pulling you under.
When you woke, you ate, checked your phone, and painted again.
As you dipped your fingers into the red paint, a sharp pain sliced through the tip of your finger. You winced, withdrawing your hand, and quickly rinsed the wound under cold water. The blood spiraled down the drain like a ribbon.
Bandaged and mildly annoyed, you peeked into your paint collection. Nearly empty. The red had dried... the blue was mostly dried-out sludge… and oh god, yellow was barely a smear. You sighed, wiped your hands on a towel, and grabbed your wallet. A quick Uber later, and you were on your way to the store that had practically become a second home.
Same shelves. Same chipped linoleum floors. Same bell above the door that never really rang quite right.
But now….
Everything shimmered with life. The walls, the paint tubes, the canvases—like walking into a painting that had finally decided to be seen.
“Hey, you’re staring off into the void again.” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned around and smiled.“Raven,” you greeted her.
Rachel Roth (also known as Raven), your best friend. You’d met right here. She worked part-time… and over time, your quick chats had evolved into deep talks and midnight texts.
She crossed her arms, eyeing your face. “You look… weirdly happy. What’s going on?” You shook your head. “Nothing. Just here to grab some paint. Maybe a few canvases.”
Rachel raised a brow. “Didn’t you just restock last week? Did someone hire you to paint a house?” You scratched your head, sheepish. “I mean… yeah. But it was for personal gain?” I just wanted to paint every color that looked appealing to me.
As the two of you walked toward the paint aisle, Rachel grabbed a few cans. “Oh, I just made a new palette I thought you’d like—”
“Actually,” you interrupted, “not this time. I’m looking for something specific.” Rachel paused, confused. “What, did your last auction go well?”
When you didn’t respond, her eyes widened. “You’re shitting me. You can see color?” you let out a sheepish sound, “Yeah.”
Rachel gave you a quick hug, “God, I’m so happy for you. Who’s the lucky guy?” Rachel lets out a smirk as you drift your eyes away from her, “It’s complicated.” you replied.
How could you explain it? Your soulmate didn’t even know. Rachel’s soulmate was her boyfriend Gar, a zookeeper with a contagious laugh and a weirdly accurate sixth sense for soul connections. They’d met at a pet shelter. Or, more accurately, their cats had met, rubbed heads, and stared knowingly into each other’s eyes like tiny, (smug) prophets. They’d been inseparable ever since. A healthy, glowing match.
You didn’t have that. You had color. But no certainty. No confirmation. No returning spark.
Before Rachel could ask more, a lady called over for assistance. She sighs, “I need to work. Are you good here?” you gave her a nod as you pat her shoulder, “I will.” you replied. Rachel smirked, walking backward toward the register. “You better tell me everything later!”
After grabbing buckets of paint, you headed to the canvas section, then toward the pen aisle. Just as you reached for a pack, you bumped into someone’s shoulder.
“Ugh—sorry,” you muttered, glancing up.
And there he was.
Jason.
Same white streak. Same piercing blue eyes that looked like ocean glass under moonlight. He wore a button-up today, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. His presence was like a cold breeze on a summer day.
“No worries,” he said.
“Huh. Hello again,” you greeted, smiling awkwardly.
“Shopping too?” you asked.
He sighed. “Yeah. One of my students keeps stealing my pens.”
You chuckled. “Yeah… I’ve done that once or twice.”
You could remember the vivid memory of you taking any and all unsupervised pens in sight. Once, Roy asked for an extra pen from you and when you searched through your bag for your pencil cases— Roy was flabbergasted to see four separate pencil cases full of stolen pens.
“What the fuck, that one is mine!” Wally said as he reached out a pen in your pencil case. With quick hands— you immediately block his path, “Sorry. Who’s?”
His eyes wandered to your cart, “You got a project?” he asked. You looked down at your cart then back at him, “I mean, yeah. I always do. I’m just restocking.” you replied.
He raised his brow, “How are you gonna take all of that home?” he asked. “Uber.” you replied. Jason looked at you for a moment, dumbfounded. “Right, I’ll take you home.”
You protested, but in the end, he helped you load everything into his trunk. He gestured toward the backseat, and you slid in.
His car was cluttered. A stack of English lit books sat in the front seat. A melted iced coffee lingered in the cup holder while the car screen showcased an artist whom you did not recognize.
You hear his car trunk shut as he enters the driver’s seat, “So, where to?” he asked, “Give me your google maps, I’ll pin the location.” you said as he grunted and gave you his phone.
He passed it over. You noticed his wallpaper— simple black screen. No icons cluttering it. Just the time, clean and cold.
The drive was quiet. Not uncomfortable, but dense with thoughts neither of you said aloud. The hum of the engine was your only company for a while.
Everything felt vivid. More vivid than ever. Like the world was soaking in every ounce of color and light.
If this was all because of him, what would happen if he disappeared?
“You live far,” he commented eventually.
You looked up at the rearview mirror. “Not too far from the docks, right?” he nods, “Yeah. Park from last night’s walk is near my place.”
You hummed. “Must be nice. That area’s got great lighting.”
He glanced at you briefly in the mirror. “Yeah. It does.”
When you got to your apartment, you grabbed the canvases and Jason took the box of paints. You gave him a look. “I hope you don’t hate stairs.”
He gave a small smirk. “I don’t mind.”
You unlocked your apartment using your keys and cringed, “God— sorry my place is a mess.” you apologized. Jason looks around and places the boxes on the floor, “No worries.” he said.
“Do you want to stay? I can order takeout, it’s at least to thank you for everything.” you offered, “You know what?” Jason said “Why not.”
You smiled as you took out your phone, “You can sit down or look around. I’m just gonna order some food.” Jason placed his hands in his pockets and looked around.
Your place wasn’t spotless, not even close— but it felt warm. The floor was cluttered with canvases, dried paint palettes and a mug of murky water you forgot to dump out. And just off to the side, something caught his eyes. He leaned down to study it.
A man in a hoodie, hair streaked with white. The background glowing, golden, washed in the seaside light. His beautiful blue eyes looked away.
“This one is nice.” he said, stepping closer. You turned from your phone and flushed as he saw the painting, “Uh, yeah just something I was experimenting with.”
He tilts his head, “Looks familiar.” he said as you froze. “It’s not anyone real.” He didn’t look convinced but he didn't push you.,
“Is there something on his mind?” he asks.
You forced a smile and moved past him, voice oddly bright. “He’s just a random student. Sketch from memory, that's all.”
Lunch arrived and the two of you ate seated across from one another on that small dining table of yours— or what passed for one. You hadn’t cleared it off fully, so you were embarrassed when Jason gently pushed aside a stack of sketchbooks to make room. You were glad that he didn’t seem to mind though.
You took his drink out of the plastic bag and handed it to him, “Thanks again.” you said as you handed out his drink. He smirks, “No big deal. I owed you one for the pen theft confession.” he teases.
You laughed, “It’s not theft if no one claims them.”
“It is if your pencil case looks like an evidence locker.”
You laughed again and he relaxed a bit. For a while— the conversation drifted like smoke.
He noticed the chip in one of your plates and picked it up, “You know I could fix this next time.” You blinked, “What? Like.. glue it?”
He shrugged, “I know a person who welds. We used to fix stuff like this for fun.” you tucked that comment away, quietly holding onto the part where he said ‘next time.’
You stayed silent, fingers absentmindedly touching a blotch of dried yellow paint you’d forgotten was there on the table’s edge.
The rest of the meal was quieter. Softer. You talked about art shows. His favorite books. The playlist playing from your speaker in the background. When he asked if your works sold, you gave a small smile.
“Two of them. It’s enough.”
He watches you closely, “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”
You smiled sadly, “I’m not pretending. It’s just I— painting keeps me sane.”
Jason leans back slightly, he nods as if he understands all too well.
Then he asked: “Have you ever read The Little Prince?” You looked up and hummed, “Yeah, ‘What is essential is invincible to the eye,’ right?”
Jason nodded, “No reason but, that one always stuck with me. Especially with all this soulmate shenanigan. You’re supposed to feel it without seeing it. But I think people just see what they want.”
“I don’t know how people fall in love so fast. Like the world just shifts overnight.” he adds.
You bit your lip, then said: “It does.” you said softly, “For me it did.”
His features were embedded in your brain. His sharp jawline, that small cut on his lip, his thick brows, his white streak and especially his beautiful blue orbs that rose up to look at you.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
You couldn’t stare for his eyes for long and looked down, “I think something changed in me.. since that night. Last night, when I came home, it happened.”
He placed his fork down, “What changed?”
You hesitated, should you tell him? Will he find out?
“Everything, it’s in color now.”
A pause. Just one beat too long.
He then broke the silence by furrowing his brows. “So, who is it?” you cleared your throat, stammering a bit before answering. “Oh, I think.. I met them after I got home.” you lied, it didn’t sound convincing— even to you.
His jaw shifted slightly, but he didn’t press further. Your heart was racing from the silence.. it almost felt painful.
Then after a long breath, he spoke. “I thought I met mine once.” he said quietly. “Years ago, my world lit up,” he said. You looked up at him, heart slowly cracking open, “What?”
“She didn’t feel the same.” Jason continued. “I waited. I stayed. Told myself she’d catch up. She didn’t.”
There were some cases called ‘karmic soulmates’ . It usually happens to those who didn’t find theirs early on. It exists to pass time, nothing else. You were honestly lucky you didn’t have one, from what you’ve heard— universally, it wasn’t exactly the best experience.
You wanted to say something and comfort him, but nothing came out.
“I don’t want to feel like that again,” he said, “It nearly killed me.”
You swallowed and your chest tightened, “I’m sorry.” you whispered. Jason shrugged one shoulder, like it was nothing. But you could see it wasn't.
You cleaned up the plates in silence. He helped you without needing to be asked— his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a sponge. His touch sent a spark through you, not magic or fate but of heartbreak. It hurt.
He saw the expression on your face, “What’s wrong?” he asked.
You looked down as you washed a dish, “I’m just, worried I guess? What if my soulmate was a karmic one?” he turns his head to you, “If you’re worried because of my story— don’t be. Whoever your person is… I hope it’s nothing like mine.”
He gently touched your wrist. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t electric, but it was a silent apology.
After that he got ready to leave.
“Thanks for the food,” he said softly, standing by the door. You smiled, “Thanks for the ride,” you answered. Not quite meeting his eyes.
He hesitated and left.
You stood there for a long moment. Then you turned back to your apartment. Your eyes gaze at the canvas he paused in front of earlier. The portrait, his eyes.
You took a picture of it and took your laptop. You stared at the screen before clicking open the art auction site and began to list it.