Scott could draw Jean from memory. With his eyes closed. With one hand tied behind his back. He'd never met another human being who complimented his red vision so perfectly (and not just because she was a red head, the term meant nothing to his sight). He only dreamt in color occasionally. His memory was not so great or reliable after the plane crash. Rogue always mused his brain probably conjured up new colors nobody had ever seen, but he wouldn't know.

While he liked to draw and paint to reduce stress in the team's off time, in college he found himself struggling with dynamic and composition. He could draw rather well, but his instructor was always looking for a little more to be desired in how he set up his pictures/color schemes (go figure). He is not surprised by the adversity. He's used to it, born from it.

But, in not so many words, he was banned from using his girlfriend as a subject for the rest of the semester. She was the perfect model, but her Irish roots didn't help his problems with contrast. So, he was challenged to really understand what the word composition meant. It was all a bit pretentious to him, but the team's struggles had affected his GPA. He needed every mark he could get.

So, he did what he always did when he needed help academically: he asked Rogue. Though she complained the whole way, Rogue excelled in school. It kind of drove Principal Kelly wild. She never acted out, was in attendance (or with accurate doctors notes AND stayed caught up with work), and was shockingly close to being valedictorian. Her grades were almost as good as Jean's, and that made for a tense week in the mansion.

Name a subject, she was probably better at it than him. But, he needed a different kind of help. Scott had sketched the professor and Ororo a lot the semester as well. Kitty's hair looked similar to Jean's, just less intense. Kurt was a dark navy/deep red all over. But, Rogue was pale with freckles and had two toned hair. That sounded dynamic to him.

Jean's skin was too even, each hair in place. Her outfit monochromatic, on trend. Commercial. His professor was practically begging for some content with edge. Who better than his teammate?

She strolled casually onto the school's lawn in a short, white v-neck with a boxy chino shirt on over (which clearly belonged to another southern mutant). Her skin's got more color than the college student has ever seen her with, and it's mostly just a flushed red instead of alabaster white. She had on shorts, with black high waisted shorts and tights.

She took a seat across from the boy sitting on a fountain, sketchbook in hand, signature sweater. She slouched in a masculine, but not unattractive way. She's been a little more comfortable in her skin ever since she absorbed Logan. A little wilder, too. He sees it in the undercurrent of her stare, a quiet challenge. She used to be rigid, immovable with anyone but the feral mutant. These days, no was not so much a part of her vocabulary.

Her hair's a little shorter, but she doesn't straighten it anymore. Scott noted how the waves and curls were defiant, not following any rule. So unlike Jean's curated look. He wishes he'd brought his camera when she looks down and fiddles with her glove. For such a tough girl, she was sure sweet when nobody was looking. Never tell her, though. The untouchable saw no virtue in being "beautiful".

"Gonna keep starin' or ya actually gonna draw?" Scott imagines his cheeks go a little red, but he grins and tries to think about composition.

"Alright, alright. I was thinking. You should try it sometime." His words betrayed the serious, pensive look on his face as he thought. That was his problem, Jean says. He thinks too much.

"How about this?" Rogue leaned back, one arm draped lazily on the back of the chair. If Scott felt like getting his head bitten off, he'd suggest she try modeling. Jean was the obvious choice with her height and her looks. Kitty too, she would look young forever. But, just the look on Rogue's face could evoke a real feeling. Definitely in a photograph, but Scott doesn't think his sight or his skill level are high enough to catch it in a drawing.

"Don't think I'd do it justice..." He said finally, his finger tapping his chin. He watched as Rogue sat with her back straight, her legs crossed, and her hands crossed in her lap.

"Okay honey," She told him, faking a calm and serene voice. "Let's try this way." She laughed as his brow furrowed into knots.

"Rogue," He groaned. He wracked his head to think of his instructor's words.

"When it comes to live models, they need to think of things that make them feel whatever you want to draw. That is the only way."

"Pick a memory, dealer's choice." He slaps his hand over his forehead when he realizes the insensitivity of his words. She doesn't seem to mind, but he feels like an asshole. "I meant..."

"Ah know what you meant," She assured, holding her hands up. "Pick a moment, an emotion? An' stick with it?" He nodded.

"Right. I'll take it from there. Your hair isn't all one color and you wear more makeup than Jean, she has to be satisfied." Rogue rolled her eyes but spied something in the distance. A khaki blur, someone who appeared to be in a long coat. She surprised the mutant in front of her by smiling. He was expecting a somber expression, moody, maybe even angry. But not a dazzling, genuine grin.

He felt so few people saw her smile like that, he had to capture it. "It's perfect," He breathed, holding his hands out.

"You sure, this feels cheesy." She commented through clenched teeth.

"No. I mean it. Don't move." She did her best to obey, noticing the flittering object in her peripheral. She managed to hold the feeling for the short session. Even Scott could see the difference in his work. His care to illustrate the freckles (her skin's reaction to sun), makeup, and the streaks in her hair. It was unlike anything else he'd taken the care to draw.

The sun hit her perfectly and she hit her pose and he finally understood what composition meant. He stopped everything and began drawing.

When he was finished she massaged her cheeks, sore from smiling more than she had the whole year. Scott just stared at his page, his face blank. Rogue cringed as she stood. She loved art, but she hated taking pictures of herself and did so considerably less than her female housemates. They all mobbed Piotr when he joined, know for his portrait skills (to Kitty's chagrin). But not her, he quietly sketched her in secret as not to upset her (He preferred still life, not poses).

She stood over the drawing and saw more contrast, shading, and light work than she'd ever seen him draw with. He'd been right, the sun was perfect in that position. Rogue was sure she was blushing, but she wasn't sure why. She saw someone wave in the distance, a red head beside them. "Scott..." She began, but he interrupted her.

"You make me remember I saw colors... For eight years, before-" He looked up at her, certain their eyes were meeting despite his glasses. She never had problems meeting his stare. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and it silenced him for a second. "Thank you, Rogue."

"You're welcome," She answered, pulling him to a stand with her. "Now, c'mon." It wasn't like Scott hadn't liked Taryn and Jean at the same time. His like for Jean (like all things) just eclipsed the brunette. But, it was totally possible and common to like two people at once. Look at Jean and Duncan, but she spoke as if she'd always loved Scott.

But, Taryn wasn't his teammate. His precious friend. Someone he trusted not only with his life, but Jean's. Who'd saved Jean's life more times than he had. He could have a crush on Taryn, but never Rogue. Even if he did. He smiled and turned where Jean and Remy were waiting for them.