How does one begin to describe color? Is it something a person sees, or do they feel it in their soul? Some say colors are perceived differently from person to person, making it impossible to strictly define what a color exactly looks like. Whatever the case, what can be known is that colors create life in a way that only colors can.

There was a reason Jack Kelly rarely painted in blacks and whites. Rarely did he see the world in a grayscale. Every sense lit up the world in a brilliant array of hues and lights, dancing across his vision in a rainbow melody. Whether it was something as simple as the thought of a number, or the notes played from a piano, colors followed him. Even when he closed his eyes the world never became dark, instead it remained a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and purples and greens and oranges. Sometimes the gravity of this gift made him feel as if he were going mad, while sometimes it was the only thing that kept him sane.

After all, what would a world be without color?

Everyone has a color, Jack knew this well. He fancied himself to be a deep red, bold and strong, but often alone. Yes, a color that may stand out, but because of this very nature red is often placed by itself. Jack was sure there was a good metaphor in there somewhere for his life, but he tried not to dwell on that thought for too long.

No, red wasn't a swell color to be, not in Jack's mind. Now, a color like yellow? That was a good color. It was warm and bright and full of life. It lit up the world, turning greys to gold. And there was only one person he knew who fit that color.

It happened suddenly, the first time he heard this person laugh. Color sprang forth from his being, illuminating the darkened rooftop. The person hadn't been a color until that moment, remaining a dull grey until the first hints of laughter began to erupt from his mouth. Then it was like the entire world had stood still to watch as the sun came out in the middle of the night.

The color never left him from that moment on, yellow following his every step, leaving a luminous trail wherever he went. Jack could follow that trail forever if the world would permit it. Maybe he would.

"What'cha staring at, Jack?" Crutchie asked, sitting on the rooftop one warm summer night, the sounds of the city heard far below in a soothing film of white noise.

"You," Jack answered without a second thought, sketchbook in hand and pencil held only inches from the page, almost forgotten in his hand.

Crutchie looked away. "Any reason you'se gotta be staring?" he asked, his voice almost bashful. Jack couldn't help but grin at his tone.

"Does I need a reason?" Jack questioned, lips upturned in a mischievous grin.

"Well depending on your reason, it could either be endearing or creepy, so which is it?" Crutchie asked, glancing back at him, his cheeks turning ever-so-slightly pink.

"You'se leaking, that's why," Jack answered plainly, looking back at his sketchbook and jotting down a few lines.

"I'm what?" Crutchie asked, immediately looking over himself to try and find what Jack was talking about.

Jack laughed. "No, no, you'se ain't really leaking. I just mean that thing my brain does with color."

"The thing where you see colors in the air?" Crutchie asked, intrigue in his voice.

"Yeah, that," Jack nodded. "It ain't like I'se really seeing color leaking out of you, but I just kinda sense it, you know? And because I can sense it, it's like I'se seeing it. You'se got color coming out of every part of you, Crutchie."

Crutchie looked down at himself again. "Well, ain't that kind of disgusting. You mean I got colors leaking out of my nose and stuff?"

Jack laughed again. "No, it ain't like that. It's more like a glow, like it's emanating from you or something."

Crutchie thought about that. "Like a candle?" he asked.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, but more like the sun. You'se got the same yellow, especially when you talk, or laugh. It practically spills out of you when you laugh."

Crutchie smiled at that. "You'se crazy, you know that?"

"Hey, don't knock what you don't know," Jack retorted with a snort. "If anything, it helps with my art a ton. Painting backdrops for Medda would be a hell of a lot harder if I didn't see colors in her music, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I getcha," Crutchie said, nodding in agreement. "Still, that don't make it any less strange."

"Do you think it's that weird?" Jack asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Crutchie paused to think about it for a moment. "Yes," he finally said. "It's weird as hell, but you know, that might not be such a bad thing. Maybe weird ain't all that wrong? And like you said, it helps you, so it can't be a bad thing. It just makes you different."

Jack smiled at that. "I can't tell if I should be endeared or insulted."

"Definitely endeared," Crutchie said. "At least that's how I meant it."

"Good, cause if you meant it to be insulting you'se would be sleeping inside tonight," Jack told him, waving the pencil in Crutchie's face.

"And then you'd miss out on my beautiful color, apparently," Crutchie shot back. "Let's be real here, you ain't getting rid of me no time soon."

Jack smirked. "Alright, you got me there," he agreed, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You ain't going nowhere."

And with that, Jack lunged at him, throwing down his sketchbook and pencil and attacking Crutchie with outstretched fingers, tickling his sides and causing the other boy to erupt in laughter.

The world sprang into color, yellow sprouting from every corner of Jack's vision. As the boy now laying beneath him continued to laugh and squirm, the world spun in a golden sphere. Reds mixed with yellows as Crutchie fought back, turning Jack over and pinning him to the rooftop, causing the older boy to double over in laughter.

The world outside was grey and dull, but on that rooftop, in their own little world, everything had turned a beautiful orange.