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i.
The first time James thinks about kissing Julian is in the fall of 1949, and coincidentally, it's also the year he decides that whoever decided brown eyes were boring is so, so wrong.
Because it is late afternoon and Julian is curled around James's old guitar with his fingers on the strings, laughing at the worst joke James has ever told because Julian has a godawful sense of humor and the light hits the flecks of gold and green and copper in his eyes just right.
And James suddenly can't stop looking, can't help but notice that even though he'd thought that Julian had plain dark brown hair, it's got a dark auburn tinge to it, the slightest touch of red that's only visible in the right light.
And really, all of the states are pretty, are attractive in their own rights. James has spent his entire life around beautiful people. He shouldn't be so awestruck by Julian.
Yet here they are, Julian strumming the guitar, wrapped in sunlight, and James suddenly wants to press his mouth to that sunshine smile.
The moment passes and James is left wondering where that thought came from.
ii.
Julian's thing about colors isn't a secret. He'd still been a territory when he'd told Cam that his voice was the same purple that's in a sunrise and learned that most people didn't think in colors.
He doesn't tell people often, mostly because he doesn't need to. His family knows, and even the states and territories that came later eventually figured it out when he inevitably called a voice blue or green, etc. Julian likes that other states know better than to harass him about the colors of things. (Technically, he tells his governers the day they officially take office and he sits down across from them and hand them his file, but he's pretty sure half of them don't read it. It takes months sometimes to convince them he's their state.)
It's not bad. He has perfect pitch because he can see the differences in keys and he hears better than most. It's just that sometimes things get overwhelming. Julian hasn't sat in on a congress meeting in years and he's flat out left a state of the union meeting before when the others started arguing.
He doesn't mind the meetings when they aren't arguing. He likes the colors of their voices, likes how they blend together during discussions.
They are arguing today, over the budget, and it's bad enough that they all have to hear it but Julian has to see it too-
Julian stands so fast that his chair almost tips over and he steadies it before he leaves, ignoring Marisol and Eli's looks of concern.
・・・・・・・・・・
James finds Julian in the stairwell, sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands. He sits down beside him, gently bumping his knee against Julian's.
"Are you okay?" He keeps his voice soft, just in case.
Julian lifts his head up. "Yeah. It was- it was just a lot." He leans against James, and James just wraps an arm around his shoulders.
"Sera's voice is cherry blossom pink." Julian says after a few beats. "You know how marble is? The pattern?"
"Marbling?"
"Yeah, well, it's like that. It's pink with all these cracks- marbling- and those are bronze, like statues are. When she gets mad the pink goes a little bronzy too."
James tries to picture it. "That sounds very pretty."
"It is."
James wonders what his own voice is like. He doesn't ask.
iii.
Julian doesn't really fall in love with James, it's just one day he looks over and oh.
It isn't too much of a big deal, except that it sort of is because Julian can't figure out whenever this- whatever this is- started.
It must have been gradual, because when he thinks back, he can't find a distinct starting point. Maybe they've been slipping down the slope between friends and lovers for so long that they've forgotten when they first started sliding down.
iv.
Julian likes James's voice- it's a calm relaxing shade of green, light but not quite a pastel, with flecks of soft gray scattered throughout it and amber bubbles like champagne fizz.
When he gets that first dose of antidepressants- too high of a dose, because the government doctors don't know the correct dosage for a personification- the amber and the gray disappears and the green fades and takes on a grayish tint, like a sweater that's been washed too many times.
Julian hates it, hates that James is sluggish and tired and still sad.
Austin slams a coffee mug down so hard it cracks. "If they won't fix the dosage, I will."
v.
"I like Julian," James tells Helena.
Helena opens her eyes and looks at him in interest. "Really?"
James tugs a bit of the blanket away from Helena. "Yeah."
After a few beats of silence, he starts to turn away so he can sleep on his side. Helena makes a sound not unlike an angry bird and pokes him mercilessly. "Oh, come on! You can't just say that and then roll over and go to sleep! Are you going to do something about it? Ask him out?"
James's stomach drops at the thought. "No."
There were still days when he couldn't force himself out of bed. There was the depression and the anti-depressants and everything that came with that. James was a mess.
And then there were the scars. They aren't something James is proud of.
Helena's the only one who's ever really seen his thighs and hips, the scars that were too straight and neat in their rows to be accidental or from battles. Helena has seen them when they were still pink and angry, has run her fingertips across them and seen them gradually fade to white lines against James's tan skin.
Helena understands why, even if she doesn't like it, even if she had been the driving force behind stopping it. Her and James and Nate were all built with the same sadness engraved into their bones. Out of the three of them, Helena's the only one who even comes close to handling it healthily.
James has seen Helena at her worst, when there's nothing but dead-eyed looks and silence. She's seen him at his worst, too, self-destructive tendencies and bleeding knuckles.
So, yeah, Helena understands this too. "Jamie, we all have scars."
"Not like mine."
"Austin does."
James thinks of the scars that ran from Austin's wrists to mid-forearm, faded white with age. "Those were different circumstances."
Helena scoffs, but doesn't say anything else.
vi.
Julian likes to think about painting James's voice.
Nicky had given him a box of Pantone color guides for secret Santa one year and he'd spent hours looking for the exact shade of James's voice only to come up empty-handed.
I'd use silver glitter for the gray flecks, Julian decides. Of course, it would have to be a very small, careful amount.
He doesn't paint people's voices very often, because it isn't like painting a portrait where they can just sit there or you can take a photo. It means they have to talk continuously, the entire time because otherwise, he'll get it wrong.
In fact, the only people whose voices he's ever painted are Marisol and Emily, and to this day he wasn't quite satisfied with how Emily's had come out.
He still wants to paint James's voice.
vii.
"Why does he have to be so- so pretty?"
Perhaps it's bad etiquette to talk to the girl you sleep with about the boy you like, but Helena had talked about Kit for weeks, and James considers this a fair trade.
Helena rolls her eyes. "You're ridiculous, and I'm going to sleep."
"Helena."
She sighs. "Fine, continue telling me about how absurdly pretty Jules is."
viii.
James isn't sure what makes today a bad day, exactly, but it is.
By all rights, it shouldn't be. It's summer and a week after the Fourth and it's a nice day, but he just feels tired.
His bones feel both hollow and heavy.
He's tired and cold and that strange and familiar hollow-heavy and he just wants to sleep.
・・・・・・・・・・
James is a lump under the blankets, and Jules flops down beside him and doesn't mention it when James presses a little closer. Sometimes James gets cold on his bad days.
He waits patiently, quietly, until James comes out from beneath the blankets.
James doesn't say anything, just leans his head on Julian's shoulder. Julian doesn't ask if James is okay, because either James will lie or he will say he isn't, and Julian isn't going to ask him to do either of those.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No." James's voice is a pale, washed out watercolor. The usual amber bubbles and soft gray flecks have faded almost completely, and even the green has lightened into a meeker shade.
It reminds Julian a little too much of the early days, when the government doctors hadn't figured out the correct dosage of antidepressants for a personification yet and ended up turning James into a zombie-like version of himself for two days before Austin got pissed off and figured out the dosage himself.
"I want to kiss you," James says very suddenly, head still on Julian's shoulder. His voice is still a pale, sickly shade, but now it's less agitated and more drowsy.
Julian's heart kicks it up a few notches. "Oh?"
James hums. "But not today."
Julian exhales, the weight of that unspoken promise settling over his shoulders. "Alright."
ix.
James is back to being his normal self two days later. At first, Julian thinks that means he forgot about how he said he wanted to kiss him.
Except for the very next day, James sits down next to him while he's painting.
"Can I kiss you?" He asks, nervousness making his voice lean towards a more neon shade of green. It's endearing.
Julian doesn't bother responding, just drops the brush and leans to kiss James.
x.
"Have you told him?" Helena asks, sitting beside him.
James thinks about asking Julian what color Helena's voice is. "No."
"Are you going to?" Helena pushes.
James sighes. "I guess I'll have to, eventually."
xi.
"I have to tell you something."
Julian looks at him. His eyes flicker over James the way they do when he's trying to figure out what his voice means.
James resists the urge to pull his knees to his chest and curl inwards. He picks at the hem of his shirt instead.
"I have scars." He voice is wobbly.
Julian frowns. "We all have scars."
James shakes his head. "Do you remember a few decades back, when I first went on medication?"
"Yes?"
"It was because Helena was worried and she went to Alfred about it."
"About what?"
James's throat felt tight, and after a moment's deliberation over whether it would be better to just get his thighs over with or not, he yanked his shirt over his head.
Julian's eyes scan over his torso. "I don't understand what you're talking about-" He stops abruptly, half a sob in the shape of his name clawing its way out of his throat. "James."
The cuts were confined mostly to his thighs, but there were enough on his hips that it was immediately recognizable what they were.
James looks down, his face burning with shame and regret. "I understand if you don't want to do this with me anymore-"
When Julian hugs him, it's bone-crushing.
"I hate that you've felt the need to do this, but I don't hate you. This changes nothing about how I feel about you. Understand?" Julian kisses his temple.
James buries his face in his chest and cries.
xii.
They've been dating for three months when Julian tells James that he loves him. James didn't say it back, but he knows he will someday.
"What color is my voice?" James asks that night, lying beside Julian, hand tangled in his.
"Green. Beautiful." Julian pauses. "I could paint it for you. Tomorrow, if you like?"
James smiles. "I'd like that."