He hadn't meant for it to happen, hadn't looked for it, had even tried to pull away from it. But life without Viggo was a grey emptiness, a lack. Only with him was the emptiness filled. Only with him did the lack become completion.
With Viggo, grey disappeared and colour ruled his life: the blue of eyes, newly awakened and looking at him in wonder; the red of oil paint embedded in the whorls of a finger; the yellow of the sun, casting its warming glow across naked skin.
Taking Viggo fiercely in his arms, he fully embraced it all.
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