YBC Challenge: The Fourth Day -- Green

He never stuck to a schedule. On most days, Matt just rolled out of bed, had a quick shower and changed into whatever he pulled out of his closet. Afterwards, he would race out of his room, video game stuffed in his pocket, and raced down the stairs, rushing to the doors that would lead outside.

Upon stepping outside, Matt would eagerly scan the area, running behind a tree, eyes searching the gardens for the large oak tree that was right in the middle of the outdoors. And when he found it, his gaze would travel down the leaves and down the trunk, to the grass where a small girl would sit would a book in her hands.

At that moment, he’d blush a heavy red and would rake his fingers through his messy hair, watching silently and hiding from another tree meters away from where she was. The girl would normally be facing elsewhere, and he would do his best to catch a glimpse of her face. This was always part of his mornings. Wake up, dress, run and watch quietly until he had to go. In truth, Matt had always wanted to talk to her. She was the girl in the white dress, the girl with long hair and bangs, the girl who always carried something in her hands.

The girl was an enigma to him. He knew her name, which classes she went to – but he wanted to know more. He wanted to know her name even though they weren’t supposed to share their true name, he wanted to accompany her to the music room just so he had an excuse to watch her play the piano. Matt wanted to be with her, simply to find out more and dwell deeper.

But he couldn’t. He was a boy with freckles on his face and wild, unruly ginger hair. The scabs on his knees wouldn’t go away unless he picked at them, and he sure as hell guessed that a geeky boy who spent all day playing video games wasn’t her type. Maybe she’d smile, but eventually, she would drift away from him.

With that, he concluded that she was out of his league.

But no matter what, he watched her when he could. On a few occasions, he would offer her a smile just to see her smile back and send his heart going a hundred miles per hour.

The first time he smiled at her, he realized how vibrant the color green was.

Her smile was radiant, her eyes lit up. They were big and green and lashed, and he wondered if he was seeing things because no eyes could never be that green. On the day where he smiled at her for the first time in history, it seemed like time stopped just so he could analyze her face, her hair, her eyes, her smile that lit up the remainder of his day. Her hair was down and neatly-combed, and she wore a pea-green sweater for it was the middle of autumn. The sweater covered the top and he noticed her cream-colored skirt, and how she sat with her legs tucked away, under the cool shade of the Oak tree.

She was initially surprised at the sight of him, he assumed. And then her lips curved up slowly, surely at this newcomer who stood there gaping like an idiot, like a blind man who had seen the sun for the first time. It wasn’t a smile that bore all teeth nor was it a smile that held hidden, evil intentions. It showed no teeth, but all traces of sweetness were in there. It wasn’t too big, but it still showed the cheerful expression on her young face.

And after smiling, he recalled her lifting a hand as if calling him over to talk. And Matt was about to make his way to her, pleading himself not to trip.

At the worst moment, his friend came along and dragged him away, complaining about the day’s events. He tried moving away but couldn’t, and he saw the look in her eyes change, turning into a deeper, sadder shade of green as she lowered her hand and continued reading.

And the radiance, he found himself thinking, is gone.  

The memory carried itself with him as he grew older. Every once in a while, Matt would close his eyes and the memory would crawl back into his subconscious, playing clearly and showing him every single detail; from how she smiled to the soft texture of her sweater.

Everything around her would be shrouded in green, and he eventually associated her with that color.

* * * * *

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

“You always say that,” A scoffed, but the smile on her face told him otherwise. The two of them were close under the covers, A on top of Matt and her fingers gently playing with the locks of his hair. Her own hair fell in waves down her back and Matt held her gently, softly rubbing circles on his lover’s wrists. “You always say they’re beautiful.”

“So is your voice. When you speak German like you are right now.” he grinned up at her and A rolled her eyes playfully, a smirk curving the edge of her mouth. “Every single part of you is beautiful and life-giving.”

Her green eyes softened. “You’re too much.”

“I’m merely stating the truth,” Matt retorted, and switched back to his native tongue. “You are. You really are.” She simply smiled in return and the ginger watched as she went from on top to beside him in a matter of seconds, easily taking her into his arms and feeling the cold of her skin melt away at his warmth. Matt pressed his lips against her forehead.

Green was for her vivacity, for the way she continued to give him life.

When the nights were rough, the cut on his cheek was bleeding too much and when the gun refused to cooperate, Matt merely thought of her – his A – waiting or working into the night. His grip on the gun would tighten and the sting from the wound would hurt less.

I’m not leaving you behind this time.

When he would arrive home, she would throw his arms around him and bury her face into his neck.

(“You’re an idiot, you’re a stupid idiot,” she would hiss while inspecting the wounds on his face and he would laugh because her concern resembled a mother’s but he loved it.)

The pains would vanish almost instantly when he would watch her fuss over him and take out her emergency kit, let her voice wash over him as she fumbled around and bandaged each part that needed fixing. “You shouldn’t do this anymore,” she would grumble. “Honestly, you’re in more risk than I am–”

And she would fuss, worry, care and repeat.

She was vitality in dozens of ways.

A tended to think that Matt was the one who gave life in the relationship – that he was the one who was pulling her out of her own dark phases.

Little did she know that she gave him life, too. She pushed him to keep moving, whether consciously or not. All of her pushed all of him, from her eyes to her toes with that upset frown he'd see when he'd comment about potentially dying in the field. 

"I'm not going to die, sweetheart," he tried telling her.

"You better not. Because we - you - have so much ahead of you." A gave him a long look before turning and walking off, Matt realizing how his words might have been taken the wrong way. 

Her unspoken words hung in the air.

We've been through so much. You've been through so much.

Don't waste this chance, Matt. Please don't. 

So he resolved to fight for survival. 

All because a raven-haired lady was waiting for him back home.

(And he aimed to return to her every night - for as long as he lived.)