Dark Blue.

It was a question he remembers someone asking him once before they realized their mistake, the sound of slapping skin against skin in a gasp to cover their mouths. Of course, being polite, he reassured them that it was no big deal and he gave a proper answer, furthering their curiosity in the mirror of his glasses.

“Blue,” he had said, giving a small smile at imagining the colour. “Dark blue.”

The person asking the question was surprised, he could tell even if he couldn’t see it. Just the way they made no noise, the sound of silence and tension you could slice through with a knife. Some scoffed, getting off their seat and walking away, thinking he was just another emotionless prick who faked to get attention. Others however, stayed and continued asking meaningless questions, grinning at the answers he was giving at the flick of their hands.

The believers, he called them, the ones that stood in awe and maintained eye contact, despite his dreary condition.

He was born with it, he tells them all, the ones who crowd around the fountain he always sits at exactly one thirty two, that he was born without the precious gift most people take for granted.

“Is it hard?” a voice once asked, causing his usually eternal smile to falter as he gives a sad nod to the direction the question had came from.

"But I’m learning to cope," he always replies, never stating that he has because to tell the truth? He hasn’t. Over the course of twenty one years, he still hasn’t learned to deal and stand with the obstacle that's been there for his entire life.

The dozens of heads turned down, as he’d tell them that he never knew what his mother’s face looked like, neither his father’s nor brother’s. He also added that he didn’t mind that particular fact, he'd tell them all that he could sketch their features into his mind if he felt them.

A few asked if they could do the same, decipher their faces by relying on touch and then drawing them on a scrap of paper. People half expected him to decline and shake with fear from the thought of failing the task but instead, he’d just smile, ask for a pencil and a volunteer.

Of course, there would be dozens of hands in the air like an elementary school classroom and he hear the voices shouting ‘me! Me!’ and he’d laugh, point in a random direction in front of him and say a one syllable word.

“You.”

Whoever was chosen simply stood up, a large grin on their faces, the others glaring with envy as he or she went up to him and sat down across from his body on the edge of the fountain.

He’d ask their permission like usual, questioning if it’s alright if he touches them and if they ever feel uncomfortable, to sock him right in the face.

Most laugh at this, others don’t but only watch as the person in front of him would nod and he'd bring a hand up, first making contact with their jaw, circling his fingers around the bone and nod before leaning down to the paper and sketching what he felt.

“You’re a girl,” he’d observe, hearing appreciate and encouraging murmurs, a few claps here and there to signify he was right.

He smile in their direction before trailing his hand back up to the girl’s face, tracing her lips with his thumb for a few moments, other hand still in contact with the pencil and paper as he would move up to flicker his forefinger around her nose.

“Pretty too,” he murmured, feeling the girl’s shoulders clench as she’d blush and male voices skittered along the crowd, hooting in agreement.

Moving up to her eyes, he quietly asked her to close them and she’d oblige as his finger skimmed along her lid, feeling a light feathery substance underneath his nerves, recognizing it as foundation and make-up.

He’d then move to her ears and from there, he circled around her entire head and threaded his hand through her hair before hastily drawing swirvy lines to show as the locks he felt.

People watched as he raised his hand for the final time and asked her to keep her eyes open. She did so and he trickled a finger around them, moving slowly from the right to the left. After what seemed like a minute, he smiled and relaxed his limb before turning to his audience, asking anyone if they had a dark blue pencil on them.

At this point, some people simply stood up and left, shaking their head and thinking it was all a waste of time, asking themselves how he could ask for a certain coloured thing if he’s never even seen one. To tell the truth, he often questioned this to himself aswell but the thing that always answered was his imagination. He had imagined the colour, the different cool shades and the elaborate lighter tones, recalling once when his mother had named the seven colours of a rainbow.

And he remembered all of them.

It was a few grumbles of disappointment from people that had looked through their pockets, finding them obviously empty because most don’t usually carry around coloured pencils with them. Finally, an excited female voice spoke up from the crowd and yelled out in triumph, holding up the specified colour of liner in her hands.

He gave her a smile that made her nearly crumble at the knees as he asked her if he could borrow it. Of course, she said a small stuttering ‘yes’ and placed the liner in his outstretched hand.

Feeling the thin liner in his palm, he twirled it twice around his fingers before thanking the girl and turning his attention back to the piece of paper in his hands and the other female in front of him. His other hand found its way to the tip of stick before he took the cap off and held it in his hands like a paintbrush before looking up to the person he had drawn.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, hoping that only the girl could hear as he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, “does this look like you at all?”

He held the picture up between his thumb and forefinger, showing the girl before hearing her gasp and a scoff of disbelief.

“And I’m terribly sorry if it doesn’t and it’s turned out to be some horrible monster, I assure you… you’re beautiful,” he quickly added, just in case.

She blushed again and shook her head before realizing he couldn’t see it and took a sharp intake of breath, giving him his answer.

“I-It does,” she stuttered, mentally slapping herself across the face. "I mean, it looks like me… not a monster."

He let out a small chuckle, readjusting the shades on his face. "That's good," before holding up the stick of liner, “now… can you tell me where I had drawn your eyes?”

He held the hand with the make up out and gestured for her to take it, telling her to guide it towards her lead drawn eyes.

“Thank you,” he smiled as he felt something press against the pencil in his hands. “Okay, so is this particular stick of eyeliner the colour of your eyes?”

She smiled widely, laughing out loud before nodding, realizing that's what the item was for, “yes!”

He returned the laugh before taking the crayon and drawing small circles lazily in the iris drawn on the paper. Asking her to guide his fingers to the other one and filling it in, he then told her to take the drawing and hold it up to the crowd.

Doing so, everyone that was sitting in anticipation gasped and burst into applause, cutting out the brief silence only moments before, watching him stand up and take a bow, then realizing the show was over.

His ears flickered and twitched as he heard soft quiet whispers and murmurs of shock as the strangers quietly chattered amongst themselves, trying to decipher his ability, despite not being able to see.

Much like some, others snorted and tricked themselves into thinking he was a fake, a fake craving attention while the believers clasped a hand on his back and told them how they thought he was such an inspiration.

He smiled and thanked them all as the crowd thinned out and he turned to the fountain, flickers of water tickling his face as his hands felt around to find his umbrella.

Suddenly, he felt someone push it into his hands, turning to thank them for it as his fingers clasped around the wood.

“That was really amazing,” a low voice said in complete awe as a hand found his shoulder.

He gave whoever it was a toothy grin, “thank you.”

“I’m Frank,” the boy said, his tone still lined with respect, squeezing the bone.

“Gerard,” he replied cheekily, smiling widely. “Blind-man extraordinaire.”