Painted in Pastel

Yellow to green to pink to purple to blue. He loves pastel colours, she doesn't. She'll deal with them anyway.

Yellow

He smiled, sipping from his latte as he scribbled lyric after lyric onto his faded yellow notepad. We'd come to this particular coffee shop after every gruelling hospital appointment - it was his favourite. Personally, I found the pastel décor too sweet, like a unicorn had thrown-up in the room or a team of sherbet soldiers had come to claim their territory with an array of dulled down colours that tasted too sugary on my tongue. I observed him as he worked, he furrowed his eyebrows, his faded blonde fringe falling in front of his eyes; he sucked his bottom lip in deep though, his denim jacket slipping slightly off of one shoulder. I sipped from my own latte, his brown orbs meeting mine occasionally when he glanced up at me through his lashes. The sun streamed through the yellow polka-dot blinds behind him, making him appear ethereal - something he already was in my eyes. Beads of light danced across his pale skin, setting a soft yellow tone across his features. It was then that I noticed his sunken cheekbones and protruding collar bones, the fragments of yellow setting themselves into the deep grooves of his frame. I watched his fingers move across the page, slim and slender, yet his knuckles were about to burst through his thin skin. I'd been ignoring everything for so long, trying to ignore the impact of the disease on his body. He was still the same bright person, with sunlight radiating from his mind, yet his physical being was fading and the dull pastel colours were seeping in.

Green

"It's supposed to be calming" the nurse answered, her lips pulled up into a fake smile.

I pulled his hand into my own, my fingers gliding across his skeletal joints.

"It's dull and boring" I sighed.

"Well," she shifted her weight from foot to foot, eager to remove herself from my company. "It’s a hospital." She droned, tired of my complaining. She turned and strutted away, leaving us with the annoyingly dulcet green coating the walls.

He had ignored my exchange with the nurse, choosing instead to read a leaflet about the benefits of chemotherapy. Frowning at the walls, the sickening colour turned sour on my tongue, leaving an acrid taste on my palette. I turned to him, my eyes setting themselves onto his off-colour face, mimicking the colour on the walls. I despised the colour on the walls, yet I could never despise him, no matter what he looked like.

"I like the colour" he murmured, his eyes flicking to mine for a brief second before returning to the dull leaflet.

I smiled at the side of his face. "of course you do, you love pastels."

He smiled, or tried to, the small movement still proving too difficult for his weakening body, every action he made a wearisome challenge that he was silently struggling with. He'd never admit to his weakening state, not even to me. We sat for what felt like hours in the lacklustre waiting room, waiting for his name to be called. The pastel green had invaded my ears and nose now, torturing me with obstreperous sounds and repugnant smells.

"Min Yoon Gi" called the nurse, her monotonous voice only adding to my ever-growing hatred of the building.

I stood up and turned to pull him out of his seat. He shook his head at me, his determined expression setting premature wrinkles into his skin. Wobbling, but still standing, he nodded at me, as if he let me know that he wasn't completely useless - I knew this, but that didn't mean I'd stop helping. We walked towards the consulting room, his slender frame leaning on my own for support. He was happy to finally start therapy, I was happy to relieve my eyes from the awful green walls.

Blue

I sighed, my breath billowing from my chapped lips and into the cold air. He was leant against the wall, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth and a beer bottle slipping from his hands. He wore ripped denim jeans, a white tank top and a beaten leather jacket covered his slim body. I knew he was freezing, he'd never admit it to me, he was arrogant in almost every sense and ignorant in every other.

"I'm not gonna have it" he murmured, the cigarette moving up and down with his lips.

I sighed again, the tendrils of my breath reaching for him before dissipating into the night. He looked at me, his deep brown eyes piercing mine.

"You're not gonna fight me this time?" he asked, his left eyebrow raised, challenging me.

I brushed my hair from my face, my pastel blue nail polish garish under the dim light of the moon.

"No," I began, turning my entire body to face him. "Not this time."

His face dropped as though he had wanted me to fight him. He pulled a lighter from his back pocket, and brought it to his mouth.

"Why?" he asked, his thumb flicked the lighter into flame and he held it to the end of his cigarette, the mixture of paper and plant blackening. He removed his thumb from the pad and put the lighter back into his pocket, taking a long drag from the now-lit cigarette.

I picked at my nail polish, the lurid colour coating my nails and seeping into my skin. The colour was cold and muted as it coursed through my veins, sending an icy chill to the core of my body.

"I'm tired." I replied, flakes of subfusc blue flittering like insipid snowflakes to the ground.

He chuckled, the once mellifluous sound now gravelly and rasping.

"Bullshit." He spat, glaring at me.

I raised my eyebrows, now pulling the ghastly colour in sheets from my nails.

"Bullshit?" My voice was now raised, anger resonating from my tongue. "I'm knackered Yoon Gi! You've been making things difficult for everyone since the diagnosis!"

He blew his tobacco smoke into my face, the dark wisps scratching at my skin.

"Don't you dare play the victim here." he pronounced, his voice now dangerously low.

I smiled, sarcasm and exasperation emanating from my entire being. "Stop acting like an arsehole then."

He glared at me, his eyes sending waves of hatred through my body. He shook his head before walking away, taking drags from his cigarette. The smoke swirled through the air lingering above him as he left.

I looked down at my chipped nail polish, the garish tone provoking and agitating. I shivered as the colour encompassed my body with a numbing cold. I leaned back against the wall, finally allowing my body to succumb to the frost.