A/N: Without any further, adieu, Spottery. As promised. Going a little differently with this one. AU as well. And in California. Why? I really have no clue…but it works
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When Peter was a little boy, all he wanted was to find his special fairy. He would have dreams about a little pink-haired fairy tickling his ribs and kissing his cheeks. Every year, he would blow out the candles and wish for his fairy.
Then he only wished for his mother to get better.
But the wishes failed. Every pink car, every star and candle wish turned sour and his mother died in the hospital bed.
Immediately, his father began to date again. He brought women in hordes over to the house. They would coo over Peter, touching his hair and pinching his cheeks, asking him where he got his eyes.
"They're hers," he wanted to say. "And she's watching you. She wants you to leave."
But they didn't leave and Peter holed himself in his room when he was thirteen and never came out. His father asked him why he never dated. Peter didn't have the heart to tell him that he still wished for a pink-haired fairy with gauzy wings to come for him. His best friend Jack gave him a guitar for his birthday one year and Peter stood in front of the mirror, practicing. The guitar was painted like a Dalmatian, black and white spotted. He knew from the smears of paint on his face that the job had been done by Jack himself. He and his other friend David started calling him Spot. Peter-now-Spot still never left his room and stayed there practicing.
He didn't come out of his room until four years later when he, Jack, and David started Quad Purple.
--
Scott had never been noticed. He knew only that he was seventeen, nearing adulthood, and no one seemed to know that he was alive. His father worshipped his mother like a goddess, like an angel. He called her his angel. He often forgot that he had a child. When he was little, he was always fawned over and doted upon. His father would bring him to work just to show up off.
When he hit puberty, he was nonexistent. He would look at his mother and wonder how she garnered so much attention. But it was obvious. She was gorgeous. He often heard his father dote upon her and rhapsodize about her beauty.
Hair like a pale gold waterfall
Legs like a Barbie doll, long and perfect
Eyes so big and blue that it was hard telling them apart from the ocean
Lips so full and beautiful that they were ripe slices of fruit on her face
Pretty hard to compete with when you were gawky with faded brown hair. So he wanted a change.
Scott went to Mush for his new hair color. Mush was about his age although he seemed much older, more worldly. He wasn't sure if Mush was his real name but he swore blind that it was. He had dropped out of school at fourteen and traveled around the world. He wore pounds of his grandmother's old jewelry and was obviously gorgeous. Unfortunately, Mush was very easily distracted. He tended to go on rants about places he had seen on his travels and people had met while Scott prayed that he didn't cut his hair unevenly.
Today, he just wanted color added to his horrible brown hair. He told him jet. Dark hair to make him more…something. Just something other than boring old Scott Krumholtz.
"Sure thing, Skits," Mush chirped in a happy voice, whistling to himself.
Skits…short for Skittery, the name Mush had given him when he grew skittish every time he jabbed the air for emphasis during a story with the wickedly sharp scissors. Today, he got to work on his hair, singing loudly. Scott closed his eyes and pictured him with his new hair. Would people notice him? He imagined shades of Elvis with his darker locks. Not a bad comparison at all.
But when he opened his eyes, he was appalled. It was not jet-black but a garish shade of pink. Now he would definitely gain attention. Just not the kind he wanted.
"Oops," Mush sputtered. "Sorry sweetie. No charge, of course."
Horrified, Scott wandered to his car. What was he going to do?
He caught his reflection again in his car window and nearly retched. It was awful. But why not make the best of it? Sure, yeah…
Scott got into his car and drove to the Valley.
--
He found a club where a band was playing. It wasn't just some random Valley band but an actually good one. Surfers and scenesters meshed under the throbbing lights. Scott made his way past jiving bodies to the front. The band was only comprised of three boys about his age. A Polish boy was crouched behind the drums, his curls flopping up and down with each hit to the skins. His teeth clenched his lower lip as he banged the beat. The bassist was a tall boy with broad shoulders and a slender body, his long fingers plucking the chords expertly. He tossed his head and his hair flew with him. A red bandana was about his throat.
But then he saw the guitarist. He was singing soulfully into the mic, a guitar-heavy remake of a Simon and Garfunkel song.
"Seasons change with the scenery, weaving time in a tapestry…"
His eyes were the most captivating things Scott had ever seen. Opium eyes, intoxicating. He needed him to see him.
--
Spot found the boy he had seen in the audience after the show. The boy with the pink hair and the tall frame.
He brought him back to where the band hung out.
"You guys were good," he said.
"Good?" Jack scoffed. "We owned. We went out there and kicked ass!"
He pumped his fist in the air for emphasis and put his arm around the pale-faced drummer's slim shoulders.
"Right, Davey?"
Spot rolled his eyes and took the boy in. His hair was pink. He remembered the fairy from his childhood. He extended a hand.
"Come on."
--
Later, when Spot was ripping his clothes off, Scott tried to remember the whys and whenceforths of their meeting or why he was in a bedroom with a boy he barely knew but it just seemed to fade away. Nothing else made sense in the world except that this was supposed to happen.
And he had Mush's flighty ways to thank for it.
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A/N: Whoo, finally. Thanks SakiSaki and stress for this idea.