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Shakespeare once said that the eyes are the window to one’s soul. It reveals their true emotions, inner thoughts, and character. He’d never been one to judge a body or the shape it took, but if he wanted to understand someone, he would look to their eyes.
In a single glance, they revealed what words refused to confess—fear carefully masked as confidence, warmth hidden beneath restraint, longing softened into something almost fragile. They revealed a person as they truly were, stripped of pretense and performance.
He was never one to treasure something, but he finds himself so deeply fascinated by one person—those citrine eyes. Warm and luminous, like sunlight caught in amber, they seemed to glow even in shadow. Flecks of gold shimmered within them, shifting with every subtle change in expression—never still, never empty. They were eyes that noticed things, that held onto moments as if afraid of letting them slip away.
They were beautiful. Not because of their color or shape, but because they were alive. Bright with feeling, heavy with unspoken thoughts, carrying a depth that made it impossible to look away. Eyes that the world didn’t deserve to see.
So full of life it almost hurt to witness.
He wanted to be selfish. He only wants those eyes to focus on him, to see his reflection through them. He wanted those eyes to look only at him—to linger, to soften, to reflect him through them, as if for one fleeting moment, he could be the center of that light.
And that is what he did. Befriend the person who held those eyes, taking every chance when it shone brightly at him. He often complimented the white-haired boy about his eyes, and yet he was met with a humble response, and that his amethyst ones were far more interesting. He disagrees. But of course, the avian wouldn’t believe him.
“I told you multiple times, my eyes aren’t that beautiful.”
“Well, I believe you’re just being humble, Saps.” he had tried to make it known that he truly adores his eyes, how they sparkle at anything that Saps is interested in. Somehow, seeing them sparkle was always enough for him to face the day head-on.
Back and forth, again. The day always turns into some ridiculous argument between them about just their eyes. He always tried to remain the victor, though.
He finds himself comparing those citrine eyes to a lot of things. Things he deemed worthy to be compared to it, and he often gets lost when thinking about it, so he had to be pulled back into reality.
He wishes to keep those eyes sparkling at him forever. But he was never that lucky, was he?
He froze, breath caught in his throat as he stared at what was in front of him. The eyes that sparkled ever so brightly, eyes that he had adored, now stared at him blankly. Empty.
He didn't like that. He didn't want that. He wanted it to keep shining forever for him. He clenched his fists, desperately running towards him, knees crumbling down. He had never felt more pain than ever, to see the light die in front of him. He pulled him into his arms, nails digging into his skin, trying to hold onto the fact that he's still alive.
His hand felt too small in his grasp. Too still. His fingers lay cold and unresponsive against his skin as he pressed his thumb to his wrist, harder than necessary, as if he could apply enough force to summon something back. He didn’t know what he was looking for anymore—only that he needed something.
He held his breath. Listened for any signs. No matter how small. He concentrated until the edges of his vision blurred. There was no rhythm, no pulse, no warmth that he used to know, nothing. Just pure silence. Nothing that would pull him back to when the man was still alive.
He adjusted his grip, reaching for his neck, desperate, methodical. There was still time. There had to be. He wasn’t measuring correctly, and he wasn’t calculating correctly. His technique was wrong.
And yet, his fingers trembled. His touch faltered. The more he searched for signs of life, the more they slipped from him, like water through open hands.
“Saps.” His voice reached out, hands tightly gripping his wrist, refusing to let go. His mind convinced him that if he let go, he'd disappear. He'd truly accept his death, but he doesn't. He just wished to see those bright citrine eyes sparkling once more.
He always liked yellow, not only because it complements his eyes, but it's just a lovely colour that he grew quite fond of. Until he met those eyes. They weren’t the kind that shone brightly or offered comfort at a glance. They didn’t promise hope, nor did they pretend to. Still, it was enough for him to keep his attention on them, enough to keep him grounded.
If anything, they unsettled him. There was something about them that sent a shiver down his spine when they lingered too long, something that made him feel seen in ways he hadn’t agreed to.
And yet, that was their beauty.
Those amethyst eyes…
There was something insistent and unrelenting about their gaze; there was a deep intensity that seemed out of place in their appearance. The way they looked didn't convey either kindness or cruelty, just the knowing. Instead of reflecting light back out into the world as most people do, their eyes pulled in light and devoured it, taking every excuse and false pretense that he attempted to put in between them.
He liked the way those sharp eyes always seemed to cut straight through him. The way they rolled at every foolish remark, the way they lingered in open distaste when patience wore thin. He liked how honest they were, how they never softened themselves for the sake of politeness. Everything those eyes revealed—every glance, every look, they showed him things he hadn’t known he was searching for.
He knew he could lose himself in them if he allowed it. Forever, if given the choice.
And maybe that was why they drew him closer. Pulled him deeper. Because before he ever had the chance to think twice, he found himself following them, willingly into every absurd quest, every reckless idea, dragged along by the quiet gravity of amethyst eyes that never once asked, only expected him to follow.
And follow he did. He ignored his friend's weird behaviour, fixated with his eyes, so that he was being blinded by what was happening around him.
He wanted to follow those very same eyes that hypnotized him, that sparkled when it had something to do with ominous things. Yet here he is, standing in front of the solid reminder that he's never gonna be able to look at those beautiful eyes ever again.
Fluixon
Goodbye, friend.
Maybe in their next lives, they will be friends again. That their eyes would shine together, without one ever losing its spark.