So, heard you like angst.

For all my ultraviolence readers, this may feel very familiar and could even be a partner fic to ultra. If you read the latest update you would have seen that I wrote the theme of this oneshot in the chapter. If not, it's all good!

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parallax

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All she has ever known is grey—

And it's ironic, because who better to fall in love with than the man who depicts the word perfectly? He may be full of bright lights and carefree grins but to her, he is so much more.

His smile could keep the night sky alight for centuries, and yet, whenever he thinks she isn't watching, he lets a sadsad frown twist his lips—

(one that speaks of solitude and despair that she understands oh so well, because prior to him she had been nothing but storm clouds and shattered mirrors).

His deep voice holds nothing but passion and understanding; but whenever it's just the two of them, he is growling like a caged beast and he reminds her of a wolf crying to the lonely moon—

(in these moments, she wishes he would just open his eyes and see that the lights he's been looking for can be found in her smile).

His eyes are swirling storms of blue that light up whenever he is surrounded by the guild and, just like clockwork, whenever they leave his gaze is lost beyond repair—

(and Juvia can only sit and stare because this Gray doesn't want her; this Gray doesn't let her near his soul at all).

She isn't sure which is worse: the fact that she can only see the world in shades of grey-blue, or that she likes it. The world before him had only ever been dull and filled with rainstorms and hurricanes.

And yet now, she can see everything—the tones of his skin, the dark blue of his eyes in winter, the red flush adorning his cheeks and the sunshine-sprarkle of her own eyes—which is a phenomenon she never dreamed she would see, let alone feel every day of her life.

But all he ever sees is grey. Two shades from black, three shades from white—

(and she hates it).

He chased away the rain and she only ever brings fog and dark skies, which is stupidly and completely ironic. How can he not see all that he has done? How is it possible for a man such as he to be blind to everything his hands have touched and repaired?

She will never understand, nor can she ever hope to. He is everything and anything to her—

(but she is nothing).

She is the girl that cared too much and the woman that never quite knew how to give up. To him, she is a nuisance—insignificant, worthless, bearer of the rain.

His voice scorns her, his eyes belittle her, the twist of his lips freeze her in place until she is left with nothing but a sick and morbid adoration for all that he is.

Until, one day, they don't.

God, has she prayed for the day his world would spiral and parallax into the clarity he deserves—but it is never at her expense. She is the rain woman and he, the hero sculpted perfectly in ice and moonlight. She is never worth his time of day, barely even worthy of a single glance from him.

He laughs purely and watches his family with eyes alight in happiness, and she is always forced to watch from the sidelines. After all, she is the rain woman that brings storms and he is the sun in winter. He is absolutely and irrevocably perfect.

She is not.

She will never be.

(Later, when it is just the two of them alone, he will whisper her name and gaze upon her with unreadable eyes—

And Juvia is frozen. Her lungs collapse, her heart stops and the vibrant world will fade away to a dull reflection of his eyes).

She can only sit and stare, and compare her colourless world to his aching hands.

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