“Oh, dear Geometer,” Leighton groaned, “What have you done? Open this door or I’ll eat this biscuit myself.” He couldn’t handle it, the thought of what Russell might actually be doing in his room with the door locked and the smell of paint wafting out into the hall. First, the failing grade on his writing, and then meeting Timthe and then Russell’s paint. Great, good Geometer, what could possibly make the day any worse? “Please tell me you didn’t paint the armchair.”

“No… Not the armchair.”

Finally, it seemed Russell had made up his mind to answer the door. The whole process sounded very reluctant, and Leighton discovered why as Russell pulled the door wide open. At first, all he could see was the dim glow of candles placed at random about the otherwise-dark room, but then he looked down at the floor.

Russell had painted a large and well-done rendition of a butterfly next to the window. It was such a bright yellow that it was drowned out by the candlelight. Smears of equally-yellow paint decorated Russell’s pale face and arms. As Leighton stared blankly into the room, Russell pushed a lock of his white hair away from his fuchsia eyes with a sheepish grin.

“I decided that a lovely chrysanthemum-yellow would best set off the color of the curtains in the-”

“Oh, dear, sweet Geometer,” Leighton breathed in despair. Russell looked nervous, but held his smile in place.

“I know you don’t like chrysanthemum-yellow, but if you could perhaps leave it there for a while, a few years… Perhaps…?” Russell paused, noticing how Leighton’s glare was fixed on him. Being several inches shorter than Leighton and two years his minor, Russell could quite easily feel small and stupid under the force of that glare. The smile on his face disappeared as he realized the true extent of Leighton’s sudden anger. “… Shall I find the turpentine?”

“Mother!” Leighton called sharply.

“Oh, please don’t!” Russell whined. Leighton brushed past the albino boy’s protesting and proceeded to stalk down the hall to his mother’s sitting room. “Please, I meant for it to be a pleasant surprise, Leighton!”

Leighton rounded the corner into the sitting room and stood at the head of his mother’s settee, simmering in fury. His mother, small, fair and lovely Emera, looked up from the book she was reading with an amused raise of her eyebrow. Emera hadn’t seen her son so upset in a long time, so the change from his usual stoic nature was surprising.

“Have you two lost Isadore again?” she said lightly.

“Why would I be upset about that?” Leighton said strenuously, “Mother, Russell has painted my floor.”

“Is it a lovely painting?” Emera asked both boys.

“It’s yellow,” Russell said dismally. “I ran out of canvas, and my floor is filled. I… thought he’d like it.”

“For Geometer’s sake, Russell, you’re not half a decade!” Leighton said with sudden sharpness, which caused the albino boy to wilt. “Listen to yourself! You ran out of material, and so you ruined my floor. How dare you.” A wad of paper was suddenly flung at Leighton’s chest, which bounced off harmlessly but turned his attention back to his mother. Emera was leveling a firm gaze upon her son.

“That’s no way to speak to someone you are fond of, Leighton Allain,” she said.

“He’s ruining me!” Leighton shouted, pointing at Russell and nearly jabbing him in the chest. “He’s been distracting me from my work and I’ve gotten bad marks on my exams-”

“But you said you didn’t mind!” Russell interjected plaintively.

“-and now he’s desecrating my room like the damned common vagrant that he is!” Leighton finished, and his anger was almost immediately quelled by the silence he left in the room. His mother was looking at him as if he’d suddenly started condemning the blind to Hell.

“Don’t,” the albino boy said softly, eyes dampening as Leighton took a step towards him. “I’ll go.” Even those few words made his voice break, the sound of it prodding Leighton in the heart as he watched Russell dart out of the room. He heard a muffled sob just before a door down the hall slammed shut.