#TheDress

“Hah, I knew it!”

Hutch did not look up from his crossword puzzle. Starsky’s smug tone and the triumphant cackle of laughter that followed his pronouncement did not bode well, and Hutch saw no reason to hasten the bombshell revelation, whatever it was.

“I knew it!” Starsky crowed again, this time right in Hutch’s ear. Hutch sighed and set down his pen.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Knew what?”

“It’s black and blue. I told you so.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Dress.” Starsky said it with a capital ‘D.’ “You swore it was white and gold.” He thrust his phone under Hutch’s nose and pointed. “Remember now? Read it and weep.”

It took a second for the pieces to fall into place: the photo was of a party dress Starsky had shown him about a week prior. Hutch scanned the accompanying article. “Black and blue,” he read aloud. “Huh.”

Starsky leaned back, a self-satisfied smirk curving his lips. Hutch rolled his eyes.

“What a ridiculous waste of time,” he huffed. “I can’t believe so many people got caught up in this completely useless debate. Who cares what color that dress is, anyway?”

“Well, as I recall, you were pretty heated about it,” Starsky said, crossing his arms. “Told me that I was the one seeing things and that I needed to get my eyes checked.”

“I think you still need to get them checked. You spend way too much time squinting at that piece of crap phone.”

Starsky gasped in mock indignation. He snatched the phone back and cradled it protectively.

“Shut up, you heathen. It is not a piece of crap. It’s top of the line. A technological marvel, a wonder of our modern age.” He held it up as though displaying a fucking Fabergé egg. “My most prized possession.”

“I don’t know why I got you the damned thing in the first place,” Hutch muttered.

“You got it because I was a very good boy,” Starsky replied, sliding onto Hutch’s lap, “and you are a very, very good husband.”

Hutch tried not to smile, remembering how delighted Starsky had been with his anniversary gift. Starsky’s love for gadgets was eternal, and even Hutch had to admit the new smartphones were no longer the glorified toys he once considered them to be. He even owned one himself, a more modest model—mostly at Starsky’s insistence, but he hadn’t protested much. He couldn’t deny the convenience it offered, especially since payphones were practically non-existent these days. Still, he had a Luddite reputation to protect.

“Yeah? Well, it sure wasn’t so you could torment me with every viral whatchamacallit that comes down the pike.”

“Meme.” Starsky grinned, the twinkle in his eyes an iron-clad guarantee that he wasn’t about to change his ways anytime soon.

And that was just fine by Hutch.

“Whatever. You know, it still looks white and gold to me,” he said, pulling Starsky in closer and studying the image again. “That’s one hell of an optical illusion.”

“How about blue and gold?” Starsky said.

Hutch glanced up quizzically, right into Starsky’s loving gaze.

“Blue,” Starsky repeated, brushing his thumb lightly along the corner of Hutch’s eye, “and gold,” as his fingers slipped back and down through Hutch’s close-cropped hair.

Damn, but the man could turn on a dime, and Hutch couldn’t help but be right along with him for the ride. Touched, Hutch took Starsky’s hand in his, pressed a quick kiss on to it.

“Another optical illusion,” he said gruffly. “Hasn’t been gold for—”

“Always will be to me, Blondie.”

And that? Well, that was just fine, too.