Silvia

Title: Silvia

Summary: Sam and Jet muse over the importance (or lack thereof) of hair and likability.

Disclaimer: Tron/Tron 2.0/Tron Legacy and all things related are property of Steven Lisberger, Donnie MacBird and Walt Disney Studios (and some other guys I'm probably forgetting, but don't care to remember).

Updated: 8/17/2018

It wasn't Sam's place, really. Any hint of emotional compromise that Jet appeared to have suffered was, on most days, something he could easily sort out on his own. That's how he did things, on his own and apart from the rest of anyone he knew. That said, it was rather hard to ignore the sour expression on his face. He was sitting right next to him after all.

"Something the matter?" He inquired. Jet shrugged his shoulder. He spun his fork around the plate, gathering the spaghetti around the utensil. "Nah, not exactly," Jet replied, stuffing his mouth with more food than necessary. Sam sipped on his soda, one eyebrow quirked and his suspicions high. "You look like someone walked on your dog and called it ugly," Sam said.

When Jet swallowed the spaghetti, he said, "I mean, it's nothing Earth-shatteringly important. Silvia just told me she could be seen with me in public because of my hair," Jet's tone gained the right kind of intensity and edge to make Sam pause. The soda in Sam's mouth went down the wrong side of his throat and nearly regurgitated itself through his nose. He put the soda can down and coughed the rest of his drink up in order to save himself from an untimely drowning. He let out a short-lived fit of laughter that was cut short by an elbow to the ribs.

"That's not funny, man. My girlfriend dumped me and because my mother thought it would be a good idea to give me a trim up," Jet grumbled. "I mean, I know it's not the greatest, but what's wrong with the close cut?" To be honest, there wasn't anything wholly offensive about his hair. If anything it reminded Sam of a porcupine if a porcupine had no quills.

"It usually looks better on middle aged celebrities with bad dye jobs, which is something you aren't," Sam retorted. "Besides, I think she was only attracted to your six pack anyway."

"Seriously?"

"Dude, you did not see the looks she was giving you whenever she came around the pool?" Sam shuddered and gave Jet a pointed look, one that resulted in a wholly disappointed moan from his friend.

Jet chewed on the tips of his fork, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes downcast. "Why don't I have any luck with girls?"

"Why don't you ask Alan- ouch!" Sam dropped his soda can and reached back to clutch his head. Jet shook his head and continued to eat his Spaghetti.

FIN.