Story inspired by the song Colorblind by Counting Crows. Section break text and title also taken from this track.

I am colorblind, coffee black and egg white

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, but gives his husband a kiss anyway.

“But you like my sense of humor, Soo,” Jongin insists and Kyungsoo gives him a scathing look.

“Only when you’re actually funny, you idiot. Go now, before Sehun wears out a hole in my hallway carpet with his infernal pacing.”

“Sorry, Soo,” Sehun halts in guilty mid-pace.

“Are you joining us for dinner?”

“I … thanks, Soo, but I’m meeting up with some friends. Just y’know. Catching up,” Sehun lies. He enjoys steeping himself in the snarky domesticity his best friends’ home offers but he can only cope with small doses. Spending time with Jongin and Kyungsoo is often a brutal reminder of how stark and empty his own life is.

“Let’s go,” Jongin says and they walk out to Sehun’s coupe. The summer sun feels heavy on his face and his long sleeved cotton shirt is already beginning to stifle. Fabric too thick, buttons too tight around the neck. Thank God for airconditioning, he sighs as they climb into the car like they do every weekday morning, and begin their drive to the business district. Jongin’s on his route after all and he chips in for petrol; it’s an arrangement that’s worked for them for two years now. Kyungsoo’s a graphic designer who works from home so he keeps the car so he can get groceries and other errands done during the day.

It’s a routine. Sehun likes routine. It gives his life structure. He clings to it like a drowning man clings to rotting driftwood.

There’s a tetris tower of boxes in front of the door of the apartment next to his. New neighbor. Sehun wonders if it’s newlyweds or perhaps noisy college students or perhaps even a couple of spinsters in the sunset of their lives. He’s reaching for his keys when he hears a voice coming from behind the gaily colored crates.

“This is gonna take hours, Zitao. Why didn’t you just wait till the weekend?” As the words come out in tired stream, a box moves and Sehun finds himself staring into smoky, almond shaped eyes. Straight black hair sticks to his forehead and the dim corridor lighting picks up the muted glow from the rows of piercings that embellish each ear. Sehun can never remember what all the different piercings are called - he just knows he finds them appealing in a detached kind of way.

“Hey,” the man smiles and the most attractive eye bags appear, “you must be Apartment 54?”

“Yeah, I’m Sehun. You ah … sound like you could do with some help.”

“I really could,” his new neighbor gives a low chuckle.

“Just give me a few minutes to get changed out of my work clothes.”

“I really appreciate this, Sehun. Thanks. I’m Zitao by the way.”

I know, Sehun didn’t say as he entered the cool confines of his apartment.

Pull me out from inside, I am folded and unfolded and unfolding

“You coming over for dinner tonight, Hun?” Jongin asks as he climbs into the car.

“No, I’ve got plans,” Sehun answers quickly. And this time, he’s not lying.

Sehun stacks the last dish on the rack, and watches distractedly as the white suds swirl around the steel grey surface of the sink and vanish. He walks over to the black and chrome Nespresso machine to collect the ceramic mug that’s waiting there. He always sets his coffee going before he starts doing the meagre number of dirty dishes and that way the hot macchiato is ready when he's done. The mug is solid black - Sehun’s never liked words or pictures or colors all that much.     

As he walks through the living area of his two bedroom studio apartment, he stoops down to reach for the Evening Standard lying expectantly on his coffee table. Sehun’s fingers have almost curled around the newspaper when he remembers and stops himself. Force of habit; but he really should have gotten used to this tweak in his routine already. He hasn’t had to take the newspaper out to the balcony for three days now.

There’s a sharp thud as he leaves his black mug on the glass-topped wicker table. A few steps more and Sehun’s chest is pressing against the wrought iron rails. The metal feels so much cooler than the warm air brushing against his skin. At least there’s a breeze..

“Hey.”

Sehun blinks slowly, hearing the lazy smile in Zitao’s hey.

“Hey,” he turns to the right, grinning at his neighbor. Zitao is leaning over his balcony rails in exactly the same way and there’s a scarlet mug on the table behind him, wispy curls of steam near its lip. Sehun likes the shade of red; it suits Zitao.

“Had a good day?”

“Actually, I had the tiest day.”

“Tell me.”

I am ready, I am ready, I am ready, I am fine