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Avid shut the door behind him as he rushed through the door. “Dad!”
He skidded to a halt and came forward more slowly, wandering past the kitchen. “Dad?” His dad wasn’t in the main rooms. Probably in his office.
Avid dropped his bag onto one of the kitchen chairs and dashed through the room, up the stairs, and down the hall to the door to his dad’s office. Actually, he had so much momentum built up, and the floor was so polished, he slid past the door, and in an attempt to stop himself, he fell against the wall and knocked his elbow. Ouch.
He took a deep breath and smoothed his hair. It was naturally tufty, so it was a losing game, but he made sure it fell around his shoulders evenly before approaching his dad.
Why was Avid’s heart hammering about this? This was his dad. He lived in the same building. They talked every… week.
Avid took another deep breath, then opened the door and stepped in. “Dad?”
“I’m occupied,” his dad answered waspishly. He was focused on the computer screen in front of him, frowning while he clicked.
Avid ignored this and skipped over, leaning over the desk. “Do you think we look alike?”
(“How do we know you’re not lying about your dad being the Avid Doakie II? You look nothing alike! You could never be father and son.” his classmate said.)
His dad glanced up, like this was an actually interesting question. He took out his earbuds and studied Avid closely. Avid straightened up, hands folded in front of him, prim and proper.
“Not really,” he replied flatly. “Only thing I can think of is your skull shape, maybe your height… perhaps you got that from me.”
Avid knew this was likely the case—his dad’s hair was darker, and somehow less grayish than his, and his dad had blue eyes while his were purple. They were both white, and were of small statures, but other than that… not much.
(Though… their hair texture was also very similar—thick and kind of spiky. It’s just that his dad’s was shorter and his bangs were more elegant… Avid suddenly felt very aware of his long hair.)
And his dad was still taller and more broad-shouldered than the adult proportions prediction chart Avid’s doctor had made him, so even this wasn’t very similar. Still, he’d hoped…
“We still look like father and son, though, right?” Avid pressed, voice pitched up from nervousness.
His dad scoffed. “No. It’s not like it matters, anyway. You wouldn’t be much of a son even if you did look like me. Now scram, I’m working.”
“Oh.” Avid stepped back, the words stinging. “Okay. Yeah.”
“I said, get out,” his dad growled, but he wasn’t looking at Avid anymore. Just back at the screen.
“Yes, sorry. T-thanks.” Avid slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
He slowly went back to the kitchen and picked up his bag again, pulling out his report card.
Mostly A’s, with a couple B’s. He hated even looking at those B’s. Though he knew he deserved them.
(“Avid, listen, you’re wasting your potential… you’re a smart boy, why can’t you just behave?” “I don’t understand you, you could do last week’s equations perfectly, why are you struggling with this week’s?” “What do you mean, you can’t focus? You’re just not trying hard enough. School can’t always be fun, you know!” “Avid, that’s not how you solve the problem. Yes, you got the right solution, but you have to show the proper steps. That’s not the proper steps to get there.” so many teachers over the years, who couldn’t wrap their heads around how Avid’s mind worked. Not that he had any clue either.)
Well. Nothing to do about that now.
He had homework to do, but he couldn’t make himself reach inside the bag, pull out the book, and start it. He actually would’ve rather died than do that homework, thank you. You’d have to put him in chains to make him focus on it right now.
No, not right now. He had other things to do.
Avid ran his fingers through his long hair, forcing tangles apart. He usually really liked his hair long, but right now it seemed to be pressing down on the back of his neck and his shoulders, reminding him how little he looked like his dad.
But of all the things wrong with him, he could fix this.
Avid pushed the bag aside and darted to one of the bathrooms, passing by Bernie and pausing to give him a cuddle before continuing.
He slammed the door shut and stared at his face in the mirror. His large purple eyes, youthful face that was scattered with acne—stupid acne, he needed to put some medicine on that—his scattered, tufty bangs…
Avid took a chunk of his hair and tugged on it thoughtfully. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Just chop off the ends and redo his part, maybe try to cut his bangs so it swept over his face like his did…
Well. He should probably wash his hair first so loose, dry hairs didn’t fly around the bathroom. His dad and the servants barely tolerated Bernie’s hair, and Bernie didn’t even shed much.
Anyway, that was what stylists did, right?
Avid placed a towel around his shoulders so his school uniform didn’t get wet or hair-covered and turned on the sink. He lowered his head and let the water pour over his hair, gasping at the sudden cold.
He did a quick scrub—his hair was so thick most of the shampoo wouldn’t affect it without long, extensive washings, but this was good enough—rinsed, then raised his head again, wiping water and shampoo out of his eyes.
Avid grabbed a now-wet lock of his hair and measured it roughly in the mirror. His dad’s hair was about chin-length in the front, shorter in the back.
He tried to remember the stylists’ comments when they trimmed his hair. Something about cutting the bottom layer first with thick hair? How to do that, he wasn’t sure, but maybe he could figure it out.
Ah, fuck it.
He whipped out the scissors and cut off a chunk of his hair.
It fell onto the counter with a gross, wet plopping sound. It looked like a wet caterpillar.
He cut off another lock.
Then another.
More, more, more. The cool bathroom hair hit the back of his neck and made it colder than it already was (what with the water and everything).
His head felt lighter than before, and it made him feel offcenter. Avid stopped and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t even look terrible like this. The ends of his hair were curling up now.
Avid grabbed the comb and shakily fixed his part, then examined his bangs. If he let the left side of his part swoop just a little over his eye, it would look a lot more like his dad’s. He pushed the comb through his hair, gritting his teeth when it got snagged and yanked on his scalp.
He heard Bernie whimper at the door. He probably needed to be fed. Avid probably needed food, too. He hadn’t had lunch.
(“Avid, honey, aren’t you gonna have lunch?” the lunchtime monitor, one of his teachers, asked. She was the PE teacher, she was nice to everyone.)
(“No, I’m not hungry right now,” Avid replied, not looking up from his phone screen while he sat at the edge of the fountain in the courtyard they ate lunch in.)
(“This is the fifth time you’ve gone without lunch, honey.” she retorted sternly. She softened her tone. “Is everything okay?”)
Avid shook out his hair, feeling the strange, light sensation, then did a quick blowdry before taking off the towel. He would sweep up the hair chunks later. Bernie needed to be fed.
Back to the kitchen he went. It took a moment to find Bernie’s food; the dogsitters put it in the wrong cupboard again. Avid filled up the bowl and watched his dog eat with a wagging tail for a moment, everything else put on hold for the admiration of simple happiness.
Then he sighed and went to look in the fridge for what he could eat.
Everything in there, fancy, expensive foods, fresh from the bioengineering labs, foods he tended to enjoy, looked absolutely disgusting. This tended to happen—sometimes Avid felt starving but wouldn’t eat because he didn’t know what he wanted to eat and everything else was unsatisfactory, he had to have this one specific thing, but he didn’t even know what that thing was.
He caught sight of a dark glass bottle with a swirly label at the top. He hadn’t seen anything like that in the fridge before. Avid pulled it down out of curiosity.
The label said many different things in many different flowery words in that loopy font, but from what Avid could interpret, the bottle was liquor.
He wondered why they had liquor, just sitting in the fridge where anyone could find it.
…Including the underaged teen heir to DoakTech. Who couldn’t drink legally yet.
Was his dad’s? Or did a servant bring it?
No matter. He stuck it back on the top shelf of the fridge, hesitated, then pulled out the prototype for a new nutrient-dense carrot species, which they were calling golden carrots because of the lighter color and the old legends about carrots covered in gold giving great saturation or something. He liked those okay. At least, it wouldn’t feel unexplainably wrong to eat.
He leaned against the counter and watched Bernie finish his meal, then trot over and settle himself at Avid’s feet with a contented sigh. Avid bent down and scratched his ears.
He ran a hand over his hair. It was drying now, and felt even more tufty than before. That was fine. He was used to it.
(“I think this lunch-skipping is affecting your weight, hun,” his PE teacher informed him quietly. “You’re starting to get lighter, according to the nurse’s last weight check.”)
(Avid hummed noncommittally, scrolling aimlessly through the news on Tumblr. “I was already pretty small. I’m not gonna be as big as other boys my age.”)
(“I know, honey, but you weigh less than usual. I just want to make sure you take care of yourself, okay?” she ruffled his hair and wandered off.)
(Avid paused at an official photo of him and his dad, standing together, his dad having a hand on Avid’s shoulder, Avid beaming while Mr. Doakie had a small, professional smile. They really did look nothing alike.)
Avid finished his food and sat at the counter. Then he stood up again and ran his hands down his waist, analyzing if it felt thinner than it should be. Maybe a little, though he really did just have a naturally small waist, and it stayed that way no matter how much he ate. He never got insecure about his weight before because of that.
Should he be? Was this another problem? Or did people just think it was a problem because it made him look more “girly”?—as his nastier classmates told him. Personally, he rather liked the look. He felt prettier like that. And in any case, it was kind of stupid to try to insult him for it.
But was it actually a sign of unhealthiness? That wouldn’t go well with the public. They’d assume the food wasn’t healthy, or he had an eating disorder, or was being abused by his father—
Definitely something to avoid.
Avid went back to the fridge, but didn’t end up grabbing another carrot. He’d already had one, now he was in the mood for something else. But what? What was he hungry for?
Nothing in the fridge, clearly.
He went to one of the cupboards and searched through boxes of cereal and crackers. Oh, hmm. Wheat thins, lightly salted. That sounded good, actually. He grabbed the box and some guacamole from the fridge, and went to his room to watch TV while eating. He needed to relax. He needed to relax. He was fine.
Everyone said he must be happy to be wealthy, to be a part of this family, so it must be true.
He was fine.