He likes to categorize people by color. It's an artist thing - or maybe just a Spencer thing. Whatever.

Carly's a baby pink to him - she's still his little sister. He can still remember holding her for the first time as she looked up at him with big brown eyes. He was a usually loud and absent-minded child - go figure - but he was silent as the grave while cradling the fragile girl in his arms. She's pretty much his world.

Freddie's the navy blue - serious, something you overlook at first. But once you know him, he seems brighter and more fun, easier mixed with the other colors. At first, the navy looks like it would look amazing with the pink, but once actually put side by side - or, God forbid, mixed - the colors don't work well.

Mrs Benson's an orange, he thinks - a warning, filled with alarm. She's busy and neurotic, but she loves with a passion. That's her undoing, he thinks solemnly, and considers how, if you put the orange and the navy together, the orange tends to take the spotlight, practically suffocating the other color.

Sam, he's always had trouble with - red for anger, brown for the gravy she loves so much, purple for her lazy nature. Eventually, he settles on yellow - she's determined and fun, she brightens up any room she happens to be in. The other colors pale in comparison, and yellow stands out, above them all.

The yellow and the pink work perfectly well together, the colors looking sweet and innocent. The navy and the yellow might fight for the eye of the observer, but as a whole, they mold together awesomely. The orange and the yellow? Not even maybe. They fight for the attention, kicking and screaming until the observer just walks away, ignoring them both.

And Spencer? He grins, considering. Well, he's all of them. Multicolored. The artist. The observer.

He's the reason they all work.