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“Thank you,” I whispered. And then choked. A painful sound I could hold back no longer. “For finding me.” “Shh, mon chéri. You were missing. Of course I would find you.”
“I don’t know who I am any more, Florian.” “Yes, you do. You are Charles Heyer.” His thumb tracked down to my lower lip. “You are my friend, Charles Heyer. And tonight, that is enough.”
“Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you. I’m silver.” A sweet chuckle escaped his throat. “Hi, silver. I’m green. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.”
“Ssshh,” he soothed. “Come to bed, Charles. Let me take you to bed and love you and kiss you and stroke you. Let me love the colours out of you. Until there’s only us. Until only silver and green remain.”
“What colours do you see now, Charles?” As his whispered words ghosted across my cheek, the bare blank canvas rippled, as if his breath blew life into it. Bit by bit, like a shy new dawn peeking over the horizon, a lush emerald-green, hung with hundreds and thousands of brilliant silvery stars unfurled.
Until none of the white was left. “I see us, my love. Only us. And we’re beautiful.”
