Disclaimer: I don’t own these delicious boys! Sigh! I wish I did. 

A Study: The Colour Wheel with Gojyo

And a colour wheel slowly begins its revolutions…

Red crowns his head. So it will always- whatever the length. A living and moving length of crimson silk. Sometimes it is loosely bound, sometimes to keep the strands out of his eyes a blue band of joy holds them at bay and sometimes it is a brown band. And to look at the world through rose tinted glasses…but he does not need the glasses for the world to be coloured so. No; the glasses- we will let someone else wear them. He sees the world just fine, with a smile nearly smirk.

To the child he was, the world is awash with colour. Even the dark days of black and grey, and when you’ve been hit so hard and all you see is the white, and the lights behind your eyes so bright you start seeing purple spots…it is all colour to him. It is his acknowledgement that he is part of it all, curse or not, unlucky or otherwise. Funny that traditions state that red is a lucky colour and newlyweds are garbed in red brocade, and on New Year’s Day, hong bao money packets are always red too. But yet here he was, living breathing taboo, half breed- hanyou- and the red marked him so.

And if the world was then sometimes fuzzy and blurred through tears because of the love and acceptance he sought so hard for himself- well that was okay. Anyway he hasn’t cried since he was little as the crying only attracted her attention. And now it wasn’t just colour that marked him- the scars did too. It did not matter that they had hurt like hell; the pain that just meant that he was alive and that was soon over with as well. The giving of the pain meant that she knew he was there. Then one day it just got too much and because being alive meant that she wouldn’t or couldn’t love him. That one day he was all ready to give up the colours- to stop being the grit, or sand in her eyes- in the hope that her tears would finally stop so that her world could be clear and then perhaps she could see him properly then and then perhaps she may love him even if for a few moments- then that was okay too.

And the world rained with a strong vivid orange red almost brown. As he watched in horror too numb for tears as the life slipped out of the only woman he would ever love- she was so beautiful really underneath the puffed eyes red rimmed from tears she had shed with him, over him and because of him; he watched in numbness as another he loved and looked up to slip out of his life. Turned around and ran…to be more accurate. Into the sunset, and he had sat frozen till the sun’s yellow rays came up in the sky again. And of all the sunsets and sunrises that he had witnessed, he remembered it that night into day. When the red had bled from the sky turned into the blue black of night and as the warmth started to creep back and rose bright and shining yellow gold.

After that day, the colour seemed to drain away, and it was the drab, non colour that filled his life, punctuated only by the red he would make himself, just like the pain she used to dish out. Maybe it was a kind of gesture in mourning, still seeking acceptance through it somehow. Who knew? Eventually he stopped that kind of thing. Learning street smarts and earning to keep going. Life became a cyclical routine of gambling halls, bars and bedrooms. And some things he enjoyed…and some things he’d rather black out and never look at again.

And when he left it all behind and had managed to find himself a place in a backwater town where people didn’t know what the colour of his hair and eyes marked him to be…he considered himself a lucky man. So he set up himself there a semblance of a home. Somewhere basically to crash in what remained of the night and wake late halfway into the day so the cycle could begin again. Card sharking and deck stacking, and then finding a warm bed to lose himself in. The momentary pleasures of having a body move beneath him, soft and warm. He could pretend then that the world was filled with colour, black, brunette or blonde; hazel, green or blue; pale, olive or tanned. And it didn’t matter that in the faint cold light of dawn just waking to pink and orange sky that today would be just another day. Unchanging…could it seriously be called living?

But in spite of it all there was something about him that made others want to colour their world with him. Why? Perhaps it was the tanned skin, vivid hair and limpid liquid eyes; or the language- colourful, loud and brash enough indeed. Or maybe it was his tall, slim and angular form and long legs. Perhaps most of all it was his transparent sincerity. All those who lay claim to his friendship, and all those women who lay…to claim him even for a short while...strange but they were happy with that, that knowledge he wasn’t theirs to own but share. And that was fine by him.

Always trusting; in spite of what life had thrown at him. He perceived and wanted so to believe in the purity- the good side of those about him. He knew this was oft his downfall; it made his judgement of character slightly skewed to say the least. But this never deterred him. Even if the reward was a broken rib, bruised chin and blackened eye, but never a broken heart. He never bothered to look for love, he didn’t want it, got on fine without it and he probably wouldn’t know it if it came knocking on his door.

And in spite of all of that he had been through or perhaps because of it, Sha Gojyo was always filled with a zest for life and merriment in his eyes. Tinged as they were with sadness but no less beautiful. He was living colour. He never forgot, but just adroitly wrapped it up and put it away somewhere so it wouldn’t intrude too much with the everyday things.

And one day he found a pair of smiling eyes, midori cool and wet from the rain.

“Are you dead?”

“Are you death?” Green eyes smiled.

And it was as if suddenly Gojyo saw the world anew. Uncertainty came and went in a heartbeat. Gojyo didn’t want to share him with the Grim Reaper, so he brought him home, hushed and cared for him and hoped to see those eyes open again from the dream fevered slumber into which they had fallen. These eyes were set in a face delicate and pale, framed by hair the colour of dark chocolate. And three silver cuffs adorned his left ear. Daemon.

It calmed Gojyo somewhat that if he sat by the sleeping stranger and talked he seemed to sleep a little easier. It calmed Gojyo somewhat if he laid a hand over the sleeper’s hand his pulse would slow and attain normalcy. It was soothing him, having this stranger in his house. And he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why. Hell! He even gave up his smokes and women, and not daring to leave the sleeping beauty on his own for too long he only gambled when it was necessary.

And they did awake, those sleeping eyes. They spoke softly to one another. Gojyo didn’t ask, perhaps if he did the spell, or whatever would be broken…he knew that soon enough he would have to say goodbye, so he didn’t want to rush it you know. He knew this when he took the stranger home, but he had done so anyway with some kind of urgency; it was as if some time was better than none and anyway he could not have left him out in the cold damned rain now could he? Perhaps Gojyo did it for himself, his own selfish reasons.

Inasmuch as the stranger never said aught of himself, Gojyo never offered up anything of himself either. A Jack of all trades and master of none. They were the same- or were they. It must have been then that 60watt smile, which clashed with the horrible yellow pullover, Gojyo had dug up from somewhere to give the guy to wear. Gojyo was reeled in a second time and he was still unawares.

And the stranger stayed for a while, and for those moments Gojyo could believe that the sky was a light blue and cloudless, and the days were cool for the green that tinted them cerulean. And for a while they both could forget the world outside, play cards and talk.

And love never did come knocking; instead it was a blonde with his habit wrapped up too tight. Oh it was getting good this. This time it was the cool; no- cold hardness of amethyst. They fairly glittered as he bristled with the invasion of his personal space. Another beauteous creature almost feral in the ferocity of his sense of purpose. Alas he was looking for green eyes and not him. But Gojyo didn’t want to share even as he thought he saw something else in the violent violet flashing with fire and fury. And HE dared call Gojyo hotheaded! Really he was a priest?

So the red clashed with the violet. They could mix you know. But the result would be a fight for dominance, and it wouldn’t be pretty. Both were brassy and unyielding as each other in their own ways. Besides what did he want with the stranger, he already had his own company it soon became apparent. The priest’s very own complement, golden yellow eyes. Feisty and lightning quick. And the kid had tried to pull his hair out as well…some nonsense about it being as cold as the rest of him, even if it did look like it burned. Hn! The kid should try the priest for cold!

And in the dark they went. The monk, monkey and himself, walking a path that wound its way through wood and forest; following a murderer. And in an instance of foreboding, as if someone had brushed his shoulder, he turned but there was nothing but air and disregarded it.

“You’re in danger of sounding attached.”

Gojyo thought of what Gonou had said that about his eyes and hair reminding him of the blood that stained his hands. Gojyo had saved his life- after all it may have been himself that wanted to be saved. Selfishness on his part, just as Jien may have been selfish and had wanted Gojyo to live, even though he had to kill his own mother. He had thought to himself; I tried to save someone who thought I was important.

He leaned in close again to the monk, looked him in the eyes; ignored the dangerous glint in the purple that screamed get-out-of-my-space coupled with disdain, and asked him if he knew the significance of the colour of his eyes and hair, and the implications it had for Gonou. It was the realization of the essence; the meaning behind the colour of his hair and eyes. Epiphany. Gonou had said.

“Do you seriously think blood is the only thing that’s red in this world?”

They caught up to the runaway. What they found was someone who seemed suddenly not quite ready to go just yet. For the first time (and it wouldn’t be the last) they walked together, all four of them. But their destination, no HIS destination, was a barren wasteland. Where once stood a monstrous structure of foreboding, now there was nothing.

“When I read a sutra…it’s not for the dead.”

So in the light of the awakening day, it seemed that everything had been washed gold, and under that golden light and in the silence, Sanzo’s voice rang as clear as temple bells chiming in a quiet breeze. It was all around; it suffused them and brought them together. It was as if a skein of gold silk now weaved and bound their fates. And to Gojyo the sight was breathtaking. This was another sunrise he would remember; an orange sphere climbing the sky, so blue.

And in the end Sanzo took Gonou away. And it was as if there was a void in his life. It was an empty space that he couldn’t seem to fill, even if he could go back to old habits and haunts, he could even sleep in his own bed! And then Sanzo had come round to tell him the news.

“Cho Gonou is dead.”

With that kind confirmation; all the ‘whoosh!’ seemed to go out of him as Gojyo sank into a chair. So what eh? He’ll just go back to how things were…before…that’s all. What could be so hard? He’d gotten on fine before…before…Well now he wouldn’t need to wait for the dawn anymore. He’d get used to it…he damn well would. Come hell or high water.

In another gesture, of mourning perhaps…or perhaps Gojyo just did not want to be reminded of what IT reminded HIM off; he cut his hair. For a moment when he looked at his mirror image- the scars looking more bold unhidden by a mass of hair- and he looked into his own eyes…for a moment he thought he saw his eyes were not red but dark blue almost black, and his hair not red but also a dark hue. He blinked but the image was gone. Aah! This thing was driving him round the bend. How could he miss a shade of a person who was not all there to begin with?

 And just when he thought things were going to be fine, that he- Gojyo was going to be fine- he was caught out…again by red. Apples so deep in colour you could smell the crispness and taste the sweetness; Sanzo’s words came back to him- about blood not being the only thing that was red in this world. He growled and gave the finger to the monk mentally, even as he smiled sweetly at the pretty vendor picking one of those delectable fruit. As a hand closed over the fruit in Gojyo’s hand that was not his. And crimson met verdant and it was that light-bulb-turned-on again smile. Gojyo is reeled in a third time, he notices it now. When had they begun this dance of the fisherman and his catch? To a tune only they could hear. This was no shade, and Gojyo’s knees threatened to give way…and he asked for four, amending his original request for one. Perhaps he could do some growling and fingering to the face.

My name is Hakkai now. I would like to live with you again if I may. Live. Life. The temple…it is not for me. I need colour. Not just as a reminder but for balance and to render me strength of spirit. I don’t want to die anymore. I would like to try and not let anyone down.

Gojyo barely heard the words even as he took it all in and ruminated on them. ‘The name suits him better’ he thought. ‘Live with me? Yeah sure’. They were all shy (shy?) smiles and sidelong glances, and soft conversation. There was a different smile now; it did not seem to touch the eyes that he’d noticed. Gojyo was beginning to feel a slight detachment, an outer body experience almost. But still managing to find their way (who was leading whom here?) to Sanzo and Goku. ‘Yeah’ Gojyo thought ‘we think the same now’, and he smirked at the gods ‘any kind of struggle is a big waste of time’. They will adapt. And they will bend with the wind, like willow.

And something in Gojyo’s mind clicked, it was akin to the realization that you’ve come home from a very long walk, and it was nice to sink into the cool comfort of it that was the healing hue of green.

And later when they stepped out into the noon day sunshine, it was as if a wheel was being spun out fast with all the colours flying, melding and coalescing; red, yellow, green and violet- so fast it was just a bright white light…it dazzled your eyes just to look. The silk skein of the fates was weaving their own tapestry of colour, cast and spun out of Heaven. The loom was just continuing its work.

Owari

~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~

Notes that may be of interest:

According to the Daler-Rowney colour wheel, it is divided into 6 parts starting with Red, going clockwise Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet.
Primary colours being Red, Yellow and Blue.
Secondary colours being Orange, Green and Violet
Complementary colours are opposite each other

I hope I got some of it right at least, and that this pleases someone at least.