Achromatic [Kise Ryouta x Reader] AU

AU where your vision turns black and white whenever you fall in love with someone

Static. Love enters your world like static that’s found its way into your vision instead of the television screen.

It happens the first time you see him.

Not because you want to, but because you were forced to. He’s the cause of the huge crowd obstructing your way to the vending machine you want to use, after all.

He’s surrounded by a crowd of girls who latch themselves onto him with concerns of whether ‘he’s alright’ or a lame encouragement that ‘he’d beat them the next time’. He smiles at them - a smile that’s rehearsed and tucks his real feelings under the rug - but you see the slight tremble in his lips as he struggles to keep that smile on his face. You wonder how his fans can call themselves that if they don’t recognise that he wants to be alone.

So you open your mouth, deciding to help him, just once.

The girls glare at you as they back off, but you can hardly care less as you let out a breath and slide in front of the vending machine, feeding it double the amount you first intended to.

The blond watches you with a sort of apprehension and surprise while you do so, and when you hold out a bottle of energy drink for him, he hesitates to take it. When he does, it’s with relief and an openness that betrays the fatigue he feels.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, and the smile that graces his lips is different from the last. It’s genuine and fragile and fills your stomach with butterflies.

Static fills your vision, but it’s gone moments later, leaving you dazed and dizzy.

You brush it off.

02

You’re hunching over with your hands on your knees, panting like it’s the end of the world. The basketball that bounced back after hitting the rim of the basket slowly rolls back towards you. You know you should probably kick your ass up and continue to practice your shooting, but instead you plop yourself onto the ground, cursing the fact that you just had to have basketball for PE.

Then someone thrusts an energy drink in front of your face. You blink in surprise, eyes trailing up to meet bright hues the colour of butterscotch.

“You look like you’re about to die,” he chirps and sits down beside you, nudging your arm with the cold bottle.

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face as your fingers curl around the bottle, brushing his slightly. The contact sends tingles down your nerves.

“Thank you,” you glance at him to see him playing with the basketball that you’d been using.

He shrugs, lips quirking up. “I owed you one, anyways.

“So, basketball?”

“We’re doing basketball for PE.” You sigh, raising a shoulder in defeat. “I wouldn’t have bothered, but I need to do well in it to remain as an honour student.”

He stops spinning the ball, staring at you with wide eyes. “So you’re good at studies, right?”

Your brows furrow, and you open your mouth, the question “why” on the tip of your tongue, but he jumps up so suddenly that you’re surprised.

“I’ll coach you for basketball, and you can tutor me for my studies.”

“I never said yes,” you point out, and he blinks in surprise before his expression falls.

“Whoops, sorry. I just assumed…”

He blows out a slow breath, cheeks turning red, and you laugh. “But I wasn’t going to say no.”

A slow smile materialises on his lips, and he holds out a hand to help you up.

Just as you grab his hand, the world turns into a monotone one in a flash, then returns back to its original state. Your head spins, and its the warmth from his hand that bring you back. For a second it’s quiet, and you worry that he’s realised what happened. But he only pulls away to grin guiltily.

“Hey um… I didn’t catch your name.”

You laugh.

05

You tap your pen against your cheek as you read the question. Kise has buried his head in his arms, claiming that his eyes are tired from staring at test papers all day, and you can’t find a reason to keep him from resting while you mark his answers. Besides, you don’t think he’s really sleeping, anyway.

You write his final marks at the top of the paper before glancing up, expecting him to pop up and start boasting about his results, but his head is still buried in his arms.

“Hey, Kise,” you reach out to poke his head, but somehow your fingers end up gliding through the blond strands. It feels softer than it looks, and maybe it’s because of his modelling job, but it’s breathtakingly smooth. Your breath catches when he lifts his head, honey eyes blinking open and shooting up to meet yours. Your cheeks grow hot as you snatch your hand back.

You prepare a list of excuses you could make for touching his hair, but instead of asking, he only looks at you with his eyes wide before shaking his head.

“Don’t mess up my hair, [Name]-cchi.”

You snort as you push the paper to him, trying to shake off your nerves. “Like you’d care about that.”

His eyes light up when he sees his score on the test paper, and when he lets out a giddy laugh, looking at you like you’re everything, the world flashes again.

Everything should be the same when the static passes, but this time when the colours come back, you can’t help but notice that maybe the yellow in his eyes is… duller than before. 

And so are the rest of your surroundings.

10

Everyone tells you about how wonderful it is to be in love, how your life still stays colourful even though your world turns shades of grey. They don't tell you how awful and scary not knowing if the other person actually feels the same way. Maybe he still sees the world in bright colours and hues. Sometimes, you’d rather not feel this way at all. Yet there’s a twist in your chest whenever you think of not having this happen.

You startle as your phone vibrates with a new notification. Against your will, your fingers immediately unlock it and tap on the message that's from Kise Ryouta.

You barely manage to skim through the long message before there's soft ticks against your window. For a second you think it's your thundering heart, but someone is definitely throwing pebbles at your window.

How cliché. Your lips tilt up anyway, and the world lunges for a second.

You don’t bother to check who it is before rushing to the door and throwing it open. Your eyes meet honey hues - you know the exact shade despite the lack of colours - and there’s a huge tornado of something in your chest, growing and growing until you can’t keep track anymore.

“Hey,” his gaze drops to the phone you still hold in your hand, and a small blush runs along his cheeks.

“I… Shouldn’t have confessed by text,” he toes the ground, and you don’t know where to start. So maybe… You’ll just be you, for once. Your feet move, and before you know it you’re crashing into his chest, and your answer comes in the form of a question that you breathe into his chest.

“What colour is your shirt?”

You don’t need to look up to know that’s he’s smiling as his arms fold around you.

“Why don’t you tell me what colour is yours?”

You choke on your laugh.

“Hey, Ryouta,” you mumble.

He only hums - a rumble in his chest, a signal for you to continue.

“What colour is love?”

He laughs.

It’s achromatic.