Paintbrush saw yellow everywhere they looked.

  It was in the golden rays of the rising sun. It was in their bristles they combed to a sheen every morning. It was in the zesty lemons that grew near the hotel. It was in the fine sand of Baxter's crabitat.

  Yellow was the taste of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies. Yellow was the feeling of relaxing on a slow afternoon. Yellow was the sound of her laughter. Yellow was the smoky smell of static and electricity.

  Every chance they got, Paintbrush would paint yellow. Glowing city lights under a moon made of cheese, newborn chicks rustling in stacks of hay, sunflowers in wheat fields baked under the summer sun.

  They'd paint their room yellow if they could. OJ said no, so they took a big canvas, stuck it to the wall, and painted it to their heart's delight. A pretty bright idea, if they did say so themself.

  And of course it all came back to Lightbulb. Of course it did. The bright light of their own life.

  It was an inexplicable feeling, and yet Paintbrush understood it very well. It was the way Lightbulb attracted moths in the middle of the night. It was the way she let them fly around her face, counting and naming them before letting them go. As Test Tube said, the light wasn't good for nocturnal insects.

  At first, they tried to put a name to it. Respect, friendship, partners, love. All of them were true, but none were complete. So they stopped trying. Not everything had to have a rhyme or reason, and this was one of those things. Lightbulb was one of those things.

  Paintbrush just let it be. It was always difficult for them to let go, but they found it felt more natural that way. As natural as the flow of the brush as it swirled and danced on their canvas. They often painted with purpose; every stroke planned and thought out perfectly. But on their wall canvas, the spirit of spontaneity often overtook them.

  Stars in the middle of day. Ships floating in the sky. Nonsensical swirls and shapes wherever they felt like it. They drew their friends in random places. They weren't sure how they'd feel about it later, but in the moment, it was refreshing. They just let themselves go.

  Yellow was the color of freedom and life. And soon, their entire canvas shone with it.

  They let out a deep sigh of satisfaction and wiped their brow. 

  ...Just one more thing.

  Paintbrush took up their palette again and painted a little Lightbulb next to their bed. They cleaned their brushes and lay down for a well-deserved nap, looking at their newest creation for a moment longer. There was a certain wholeness within the chaos; a perfect blend of order and nonsense. It just made sense.

  Though she wasn't quite real, painted Lightbulb's radiant smile still put Paintbrush at ease before they closed their eyes and dreamed yellow dreams.