Hey oh - Ian -

[FINN LOGAN RYKER]

<sup>Finn stood up from where he was leaning against a tree in the park. Hed been there for a couple hours now having been doodling on his paper, the same paper he was supposed to write for class. hed gotten maybe three words before he ffound himself drawing little stick figures. He would randomly glance up checking out the people that would come into view and that were around him. He was a people watcher, he had no idea how he got into it, but he just found himself doing it all the time.

As he had been drawing he stopped and looked down at his paper. For some reason Ian came to mind. Probably because he should be laughing at his attempt at 'art'. Ian was the artist, at least that he knew. Honestly the paper wasnt getting anywhere and he was really bored. He felt like some social interaction. yes even for someone that usually was a loner, needed social interaction from time to time. Since ian was fresh on his mind he thought maybe hed go visit him. He had been meaning to go check out his progress on his door. The first time hed gone hed only just started. It looked interesting already and he could only imagine what it much look like now.

Shutting his notebook and putting the pen in the binder of he pushed away form the tree walking around an on coming kid as he chased his dog down and made his way onto the walk that led through the park. Maybe hed grab some Cookies on his way. He had no idea if he like dthem or what kind. Most people liked chocolate chip though... or maybe sugar cookies. Could you go wrong with sugar cookies? What if he was allergic to chocolate. Wait.. he should know this right? Finn shook his head. Hed only hung out with him a couple times, no maybe he was thinking of someone else. His mind was kind of muggled right now.

After having stopped and getting an assortment of cookies he headed back to the school and to the boys dorms. He wasnt even sure ian was in. He could be out or he might have company or... he shrugged. Oh well. Not like he couldnt come back later if that were the case.

Finding ians door he stopped near it and then raised his fist and knocked a few times. He didnt hear anyone at the door so either he was gone or he was taking a break from painting the door, or something. Finn dropped his head to look down at his red converse shoes. It was probably the only color on him. His shirt was black with a white smiley face on it with what looked like duct tape over its mouth. The letters under it were white and read 'silence is golden, duct tape is silver'. His pants were a pair of black, skinny jeans as well. Sometimes skinny jeans were uncomfortable but when you were tall and thin it looked far better then regular jeans. His belt was a black studded one as well. He had some black bands around his wrists two one of them a sweat wrist band with a white skull on it. He moved his toes in the red shoes as he waited, hoping he was in.</sup>

[IAN SETH ACKART]

Ian sat on his bed, legs folded underneath him. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes closed. Ian's hands rested on his knees. He was in a pensive state, trying to get in touch with exactly what color he was for the day. Some thought it was strange how Ian considered himself a color for the day. He had such trouble sometimes trying to figure out exactly what color it was that he would be. Ian sighed, opening his eyes. He smiled as his eyes landed on his furry best friend. Roscoe, Ian's ferret, had been with him for a while. Ian wasn't ready to give up his best pal. Lowering a hand from his knee, Ian allowed Roscoe to crawl up his arm and hang on at his shoulder. Ian moved off the bed so that he could sit on the floor. You know, Roscoe, I've been thinking about this whole color thing. I told you before that I wanted this room to be me, right? I want it to kind of be my masterpiece. How am I going to do that?

Of course, Roscoe offered nothing as far as English language, but the rodent did make a slight purring sound before crawling down Ian's shirt and finally resurfacing in Ian's lap. I know, I know. You're bloody right. Ian said, as if Roscoe had actually spoken to him. He stood, forcing the ferret to be free on the floor. Ian tugged at the hem of his plain white painting t-shirt. His old one had gotten a few holes in it. Ian knew that by the end of the day the shirt would have not one spec of white left on it. He looked down at his paint supplies. Ian sighed softly. The color for the day... Ian said to himself as he closed his eyes. Ian focused on the feeling that washed over him. He hated this at times because these were the moments when he would be forced to remember feelings that were horrible to him... feelings that had a lot to do with the reason he had left England to begin with.

Ian thought about his parents, the feeling he had when he had heard the news report of their plane going down. He pressed his lips together. Roscoe had returned to Ian's side as Ian clenched his hands into fists. Ian finally opened his eyes. Looks like we're mostly black today, Roscoe. Ian said as he grabbed his brush and turned toward the door. He pulled his color pallet next to him, the colors already blended in from the night before. There were several colors on it, not just primary colors, but even mixtures. He wet his brush and began with even strokes. His strokes were thin. Ian felt only one coat of black, like a veil, was necessary. He painted the thin coats over the array of yellow colors that he had been yesterday. In no way did the black over power the yellow. It was meant to be more of a translucent cover for them.

Yellow was a color meant for happiness. It was a color that showed brightly and had the ability to creep into the soul. Black was more of a depressing color, sure, but Ian saw this as a prolonged sadness covering a very temporary yellow. He didn't know how else to think of it or if there even was another way to think of it. Ian sighed softly as he painted. Roscoe decided to curl up next to Ian and watch as he painted. Finally, after a couple of hours Ian felt like he was wearing more paint than he had put on the door. He had managed to throw in little bits of purple, which he thought represented his nostalgic feelings and a little bit of white, which he thought would represent his feelings of wanting to be safe. Ian sat his brush down and leaned back. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a black streak to go with the purple blotch already on his right cheek.

Ian looked up, surprised to hear a knock at his door. He wasn't used to visitors. People hadn't really gotten to know him yet. There was Finn, but Ian wasn't even quite sure of what Finn thought of him. He reached out, pulling the door open. Speak of the devil. Ian grinned, FINN! Good to see you, mate, come in come in! Ian said excitedly. He motioned for Finn to come in as he moved aside. I've been working this morning, which probably explains why I probably look like a bloody wreck. Ian wasn't as aware of his accent as much as most American's were. To him it was just a part of life, but he tended to get looks when he went anywhere.