A deep navy, or possibly a grayish blue. A colour that sits on the edge of black and blue, a colour that is as deep as darkness but twice as heavy. Ravi felt it was pressing in on him from all sides. Inching in around the edges of his vision, clouding out his peripherals until he was left with tunnels. The only thing at the end of those tunnels was more pain and sadness.

His tunnelled vision fell on the sketchbook. It seemed to sneak it’s way back into his view when he thought he had hidden it from sight. The plain black cover, the swirled logo in ugly gold, the spiral spine; he hated it all with as much passion as his tired soul could muster. He had been home almost a week and all he could do was stare at the black plastic cover and scowl. He was yet to open it and check just how little talent he had left. If he did that then it would all be over, the colour would cloud over his eyes completely and his ability to See would be truly lost.

Seeing was something his Aunt Ingrid had taught him. She had always said the word with a different aura, as though it wasn’t the type of seeing you did everyday, but something special they had. Something he had been born with. If that was true, why did it feel as though it was slipping away. Month by month, week by week, he felt his ability to See fading out.

His cloud of thought was chased away as knuckles hammered against his door and it popped open easily. Ravi hung his head off the couch cushion and stared at the entryway, already knowing who it would be.

N stepped into his view, seemingly upside down (due to his head still hanging backwards) and carrying a bag from the bottle shop. He frowned at Ravi and almost pranced across the room to him.

“Are you still in track pants?” N asked, eyes sweeping across the mess in the plush apartment.

“I like track pants,” Ravi rumbled in reply, pulling his head back onto the cushion properly. His eyes hit on the sketchbook again, he moved them quickly away.

N set the bag down on the glass coffee table with a clink and set about tidying the room around him. Ravi was already lost in thought, his eyes now resting on the sculpture in the nook of the bookcase. It was calming and inoffensive, a simple asymmetrical swirl of colours. His stare was interrupted by harsh daylight striking his face as N threw the heavy drapes open. Light sparkled off the river and into his eyes, clearing a little of the grey away.

“Come on,” N stepped back over to the couch, some of the mess slightly tamed. “Get up and let’s go out onto the balcony to drink. It’s Wine Wednesday.”

“I’m not in the mood for Wine Wednesday,” Ravi grouched at him, trying to turn away from the light dancing in N’s eyes and on the river.

“You’re not in the mood for anything anymore,” N rolled his eyes and wandered away to the kitchen for glasses. “We’re all getting a little tired of it.”

Ravi sat up, feeling as though N had launched across the room and slapped his face. The other man returned carrying the glasses. His face soft and kind, Ravi was one of the only people that ever saw it that way.

“Look, we understand, really.” He reached out to rub Ravi’s hand on the couch cushion. “We do. It’s hard. But it will always be hard if you sit in here and let it.”

Ravi closed his eyes against the encroaching colours. N’s fingers gave his a squeeze.

“We care about you. I care about you. I don’t want to see you waste away your life, and your talent, on this couch.”

There was a long moment of nothing. Nothing but the ugly swirls behind his eyelids. Mustard yellow, peachy orange and a sick green. Then N shifted, the warmth of his fingers disappearing from Ravi’s own.

“So, put on something other than track pants and come and have Wine Wednesday with me.” N’s voice was sassy and commanding, back to normal.

The glass door to the balcony slid open with a swish and Ravi heard the scrape of a chair as N sat down. His eyes opened slowly, the sketchbook appearing from the swirl of chaos. With a defeated sigh he stood and crossed to his bedroom. Pants first, then sketchbooks and Seeing.

N was lounged in his chair as though he were royalty, the crystal wine glass floating in his elegant fingers as he stared at the setting sun and commuters jammed on the roads below. Ravi was almost slumped beside him, giving his best impression of a sack of potatoes and staring into his own wine glass as though it might give him the answers he was looking for. The balcony door swished open and a new figure stepped out. His profound eyes moving over N and Ravi before a slow smile lit his face.

“Good evening,” Hongbin settled into a third chair and waited for N to pour his wine. “You two got an early start on it today, it’s barely 5.”

“It’s never too early for wine,” N mumbled and passed the full glass to Hongbin. A small, silent conversation flew between them.

“How was the trip?” Hongb