Pink fades back to gray so quickly you can almost hear a faint sucking sound echoing between the identical workdesks. It’s easy enough, being gray again, standing there dully as his boss yells at him and slams a new pile of code on his desk. Turning around was the hardest part. It felt like giving up and tasted like old newsprint. Getting one’s hopes up is a terrible thing to do, he decides, and he determines to never do it again.
He slumps back into his chair and swivels around a bit, watching his boss retreat back to his office, and sighs. A chance glance out the window as his limp fingers toy with the idea of crushing the lipstick-stained plane in his hands to a lipstick-stained ball—
His chair crashes, papers fly, and his boss only has time to catch sight of the back of his jacket as he leaves the room, footsteps echoing louder than giving up.
He takes the stairs because if he stood there waiting in an elevator he’d go crazy; at least this way the slapping of his soles on carpet and stone make him feel like he’s working for it. And he’s not sure exactly what it is he’s working for but he’ll gladly give up this secure life of gray for even a little bit of her fire.
He’s out of breath and his legs ache when he comes to a sudden, messy stop in front of his company building and he looks left, looks right, up and down and left again and god damn it, she is gone again.
He lets out a long breath and looks towards the subway station. Going back to gray from pink is easy. Going back from nearly red is painful.
Might as well get in a nap before the official termination notice comes through.
He starts trudging towards the station, tossing away his stupid plane lamely, wishing he had enough red in him even to throw it with a little bit of anger.
Paper doesn’t seem to enjoy being a secondhand litter perpetrator under any circumstances, through, angry or not, and it’s pushing the limits of his mind to make himself believe it’s only very strange wind patterns that convey a sense of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven vengeance upon him moments later. He’s caught up in a veritable paper storm and seeing white, being thrust around very unceremoniously and not at all in the direction he had been going.
He struggles against it, red in the face, white in his eyes, but is ultimately pushed in nearly the opposite direction of his home, and white and red make pink, quite obviously, but it had no plans to stop there at all.
Pink led her around in graceful circles, under bridges and weaving through cafe tables where she leaves her purse so she can hop the gate, because being led around by paper planes is an adventure and adventures are life to her.
It brings her to a subway station.
It falls limply in her hands.
She looks around, red subdued, eyes confused, lips pressed.
A train pulls in and the doors open. A disgruntled, angry pink young man steps out and drops paper planes all over the floor. They stare at each other.
He glances down at his hands, white-knuckled, tight-fisted, and slowly uncurls them. A crumpled paper plane sits there between them, and two pairs of hands unfold it, one gentle, both nervous.
A smudged, red lip-print stares back up at them.
They look at each other and smile.
[okay so right after i sent the last one i got really sick and then school hit me like a ton of bricks! i’m so sorry if this last part turned out kinda funny but wow the paperchase scene was difficult to put into words… regardless i hope you liked it! <3]
((I’m so sorry about how long it took to put this up ;n; Thank you so much for these, I’ve loved them so much <3 You are an amazing writer and you really brought them to life! I’m going to miss seeing these in my askbox :D thankyouthankyouthankyou!))