Larry X Spencer Origin Story

Origin Story

   The early days of Sophmore year. That's the first time Larry sees him.

   The hallway is swarmed with unusually lively, tanned faces. Nockfell High is crawling with kids who are still grappling at the last, fading shreds of happiness that they'd managed to conjure up over summer break, their heads held a little higher than they'd end up come winter time.

   Larry is a little taller this year than he had been as a freshman. He's less gangly and he's grown into his feet. His hair's a bit longer too, naturally thin and straight and hanging an inch or so past his shoulders. His ears are still almost comically too big for his head and the gap between his front teeth makes him look like a little kid.

   Lisa had cried all the same, sending him off to school, as if he was in the first grade, gushing over how big and grown-up he'd become. Larry didn't mind all that much.

   "What's for lunch today?" Sally Face squeezes through the crowd, standing at his side, bent over awkwardly due to the weight of his backpack. Blue eyes peek up at Larry through the holes in his prosthetic.

   "Dunno," He shrugs, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His head hangs back a little as he walks, his eyes half-lidded and drowsy, "probably the same old shit. Chicken patty or something."

   Sal makes a noise with no real meaning and stares out in front of him as he continues forward, avoiding eye contact with the new, curious freshmen ogling him.

   Larry had only met and become friends with Sal a year ago, but in that short time frame, they'd grown incredibly close, nearly connected at the hip.

   They'd joke from time to time about how their parents seemed to have the hots for each other, and decided rather casually that it'd be cool if they were to become brothers one day.

   Larry doesn't say it often, but he already thinks of Sal as his brother. He's thought of him as a brother for a relatively long while.

     Sally Face, he thinks, is easy to like.

    Even now, as the blue-haired boy is rambling on to him about some new, cool metal band that he discovered, Larry is smiling.

   And then, like the pull of a magnet, his eyes tear away from Sal's wild gesturing and settle on a boy he's never seen before, walking in the opposite direction, down the hallway.

   His hair is full and feathers out prettily around his neck. The underside is bleached platinum blonde and manages to curve like a wave, framing his jaw.

   He's dressed in cream and gentle browns, an argyle patterned sweater that comes down just below his exposed collarbones, and around his neck is a long, thin, gold necklace.

   He's laughing with two girls who walk at his side, his eyes bright and warm and crinkled and accented with a maroon dusting of eyeshadow beneath them. He's beautiful, so beautiful that he seems to be glowing.

   Larry finds himself gawking, his mouth hanging open stupidly, his gaze following him so intently that it seems almost as if he'd heard a siren's song.

   Then, like the sudden collision of two worlds, the boy glances away from the girl at his left and their eyes meet from across the hallway.

   Larry's heart leaps in his chest and he almost trips over his loose shoelace and falls, but Sal catches his arm.

   "Woah," the blue-haired boy breathes, staring up at him, "you okay, man?" Sal is always so caring, so concerned. There's not a single bone in his body or hair on his head that's not genuine.