D. N. Angel Fan Fiction ❯ Color Me Red ❯ Color Me Red ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: The series D.N.Angel doesn't belong to me, no matter how much I wish it did. Yukiru Sugisaki owns this amazing bit of Japanese literature, and try as I might, he hasn't been responding to my desperate pleading e-mails of offers to buy his manga for $6.44. (All that is currently in my wallet.) So currently, it isn't mine and I don't claim credit for his work. *sighs* I only own this over-used idea and my own pathetic attempt at decent fan fiction.

 

Authors note: Hey all! This is my first fan fiction. It isn't technically Sat/Dai, (more of my attempt to follow the characterization and tone of the story,) but if it floats your boat, then sure, it's Sat/Dai. Hm. Just a drabblish sort of fic, but I was bored and wrote it and decided it was OK. Reviews greatly appreciated. Wow. This note is probably longer than the fic. If there are any mistakes or awkward wording, please feel free to point them out! Gracias Amigos!

 

 

Color Me Red

 

Satoshi had never liked the color red.

 

He reflected on this as he dipped the bristles of his fanned brush into a generous dollop of the shade. He painstakingly applied each stroke to his already mostly filled canvas, aiming and succeeding to breathe life into it through the texture of said strokes.

 

Red meant violence. If someone where to ask Satoshi what he thought of when he heard the word `red,' he would have immediately replied, “blood.” Red meant power and violence, and passion. It was bold, and depthless to his eyes, eyes that saw the world through freezing pastels.

 

Painting with crimson was a nightmare. No matter where you bought your supplies, the color red was an expensive pigment, and so it was diluted in the acrylics by the manufacturers. Instead of a solid wash of color, the painter was usually stuck with a translucent square of reddish canvas.

 

No doubt about it, Satoshi had never liked red.

 

But…

 

As of recently, red was a blush that took over the whole face on a frequent basis. Red was the color of a container strawberries happily shared with a friend. Red was the color of the uniforms they were all forced to wear, but someone was actually able to still look adorable. Red was the color of certain soft spikes of hair, and certain scarlet eyes that could be so expressive they were loud. Or not. Sometimes those eyes where calm and contemplating, other times soft and understanding. On occasion they took on a vacant cast as their owner turned to intimate thoughts with him who shared his mind. But they were always red. Always.

 

Satoshi added a final sweep of a mixture of red and gold to his painting and leaned back satisfied. A boy leaned against a desk, his head tilted and slightly back. His

eyes were opened but crinkled from a large satisfied smile that graced his features. His hair was in disarrayed spikes and his school bag was slung over his shoulder as if he were only there to stay for a short while.

 

He realized, something he never noticed before. Red was a lot of things, but mostly, it was warmth. He smiled and began to put his supplied back into their places, thinking about a lot of things, but mostly of how his perspective had changed so dramatically.

 

Because now he loved red. For red was the color of Daisuke.