Blue, Gold and Red
A/N: This is pretty short, but here’s one of your prompts- a soulmate au! Enjoy!
He’s twenty four, and he hasn’t seen colour. He lives in a monochrome of black and white.
Everyone around him throws around the words green, blue and yellow, but Jughead doesn’t even know what to associate those words with. He watches as people around him gasp in awe, delight and wonder, and part of him yearns to join them. The world of colour seems like a happy universe to be in.
He’s not colour-blind, no- he just hasn’t met his soulmate.
Jughead Jones sits in Starbucks, typing away on his macbook. New York is a busy place, and Starbucks is the last place you’ll ever find him in, but everything else is full and he needs his coffee. He needs to finish this article and email it to his boss by tonight, and he needs to meet his deadline.
He sips his pumpkin spice latte (He does enjoy them, but he’ll never admit it) as he stares at the blinking cursor on the bright screen, debating how to end it. He’s been working for an hour and a half now, and his time here at the coffee shop with annoying carols playing in the background, will soon come to an end.
Six sips later and and document proofread, saved and emailed, he shuts his laptop with a sigh of satisfaction and puts on his coat. It’s freezing now, and the snow outside is falling heavily. With a nod to the barista, he moves to the door.
He glances at the Christmas captions on posters around the entrance- “Share joy, “Cue the sleigh bells,” and can’t help but wonder what colour the poster is- he’s been told that christmas colours are red, green and white- but it’s not like he can tell the difference. His mind and heart flutter once again, wondering when his soulmate would come around. He thinks about her everyday.
But he pushes the feeling down and steps out into the biting cold, the snow crunching beneath his boots and the snow falling in crystals on his black leather jacket. He shoves his hands into his pockets,breathing in the smell of cinnamon, peppermint and coffee, mingled peculiarly with the smell of exhaust fumes and car pollution. The skyscrapers tower above him, lit up by the offices, the sound of taxi cabs, people talking and carols permeating the environment.
He closes his eyes, tilts his head up and clutches his satchel- his laptop is still warm.
Moving to New York is one of the best decisions he’s ever made. He loves the undeniable energy. He may be alone in all senses, but when he’s walking down Broadway, he doesn’t feel it so much.
Suddenly, he’s crashing into someone- maybe closing your eyes and strolling down a very busy street wasn’t the best idea- and he hears an indignant, “Hey!” He opens his grey eyes and the first thing he sees and feels is a hot liquid on the left side of his chest and arm- it’s so hot it’s almost scalding, and he winces.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” The person he’d bumped into asked. He looked up, about to reply, when he realises something’s different.
The girl’s hair isn’t grey. It’s- he doesn’t know what it is. It’s not any shade of black, white, or the fifty shades of grey in between. (He hates that book. And the movie.)
But it takes a while to process the… difference. He doesn’t know what to call it. Is this what’s supposed to be colour?
He looks at her again, and notices her eyes aren’t the usual shade of grey he’s accustomed to. They’re beautiful.
Then her skin- it’s beautiful, too. Everything about her is. Her lips, her teeth, her clothes, everything is perfect. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, not one strand out of place.
He realises she’s confused, too, perplexity and awe written all over her face, and Jughead knows that she can see it too. He won’t let himself believe it until he hears it himself.
“Can you see it?”
She nods, biting her lip and her eyes welling up. She’s not upset, though- a smile as wide as his is plastered on her face.
They turn three-sixty degrees together, taking in the vividness that’s inundating him; but he can’t and won’t stop- he realises the sky is the same colour as his jacket, the snow is the same shade as the pearly teeth of his newfound soulmate- he can’t imagine going back to his boring world now, not when he’s only had a taste of this. It’s like a drug- he experiences soare mething psychedelic, and he could immerse himself in this moment forever.
It strikes him that he doesn’t know the name of the girl standing next to him yet. Their hands are already intertwined, and he squeezed hers.
“Jughead Jones,” He says, happier than he has been in a long time.
The girl conceals a laugh- his name is ‘Jughead’, he knows. Her laugh is music to his ears.
Suddenly, he can place the colour of his eyes- he doesn’t know how, but his instincts are taking over.They’re blue. His gaze travels down to her lips. Red. Her hair? Golden.
So the golden girl opens her red lips and her blue orbs disappear for a fraction of a second under thick, heavy lashes, and Jughead’s already falling in love. He’s found the woman he’s going to be with till he dies, and he’s already head over heels for her. She gives his hand a squeeze, as well, as she says the name that would be the centre of his attention for years to come.