You’ve always dreamt in black and white; except him. He’s the only one in color. You can remember every intricate detail about him.

The exact length of his pearly hair in different perspectives; every reflection, shade and line in his sapphire eyes; each vein in his slender hands; and even his muscle placement. You remember it all. You could become an artist who only paints him as your muse.

You could never interact with him. You watched him grow up with you like a movie, every day was a new episode. Until the movie ends.

He died. He died by the antagonist. But he’s here; alive. The only hint you aren’t dreaming is the vivid colors of your room. An extreme contrast to the black and white of your dreams.

“I’m not dead? I’m—not dead. This is real. Wait, you seem somewhat familiar. Ah-hah! It’s you. You’re the presence I felt all this time. You’re the only one I couldn’t detect with my Six Eyes; I subconsciously knew you were there like a sixth—no seventh sense. But I couldn’t prove it, until now. Who are you? Are you my Six Eyes? Your bed is comfy.”