magnetisedcatharsis
It breaks her heart when she finds him sat on the kitchen floor squishing handfuls of peanut butter into his hair. He wants it to be brown, he tells her, in that little Pietro squeak - and oh, how she wants to scoop him up there and then and tell him what a silly thing he is. She understands entirely, what it is to be different and to want to be someone else. She’s tried to dye her own hair over the years, tried to scrub her skin clean and wear clothes that don’t make her feel like herself - but it’s not a mentality she wants to instil in her child, it’s not a healthy way for someone so perfect to grow up. There’s no reprimand when she’s lifting him from his sticky playground, her lips sure to kiss his forehead where the nutty perfection now resides. It doesn’t take long to take him to the bathroom, to set the water running and to peel his dirty clothes from him. He never likes baths, and she can feel the protest already, the little squirms and kicks, the whines of offence that are the mark of little boys everywhere who fear the touch of soap. “It’d go a lot faster if you held still, wriggle bum” Her chiding is soft as she dunks him in the tub, fingertips working into a swift lather to try and get rid of some of his improvised shampoo. It’s a long and arduous process, a good hour at least of combing and rinsing before he’s back to his platinum best and it’s only then, when she’s lifting him from the water and bundling him up in a towel that she takes the time to address his feelings. Towelling his hair dry with a quick tousle, at his level she smiles that typical reassuring maternal smile and pecks at his nose soothingly. “You know why you have silver hair don’t you, kochanie? It’s because you’re my treasure.”
Pietro wasn’t sure that this was a good idea now. Peanut butter felt a lot stickier now that it was in his hair, and he wasn’t so sure that he was a fan. He still didn’t really like that his hair was silver when everyone else’s was brown. No one else had silver hair other than old people, and he wanted it to change. His mama had dark hair, and he wanted it to be like hers at least.
When his mother came in, she didn’t say anything, but Pietro knew from the fact she didn’t say anything that she was a little disappointed in him, or at least in his actions. He just wanted to look like his mother or someone else. He didn’t want to be picked on any more, and he didn’t want to be stared at for his light hair like he was sick or something.
He hated baths so much, mostly because he felt like they took too much time. He wanted to run away from his mother, never mind the fact that the peanut butter was getting itchier by the second. He wriggled as his mother held him up and only calmed down somewhat when his mother spoke.
“I don’t want to,” he whined, closing his eyes as his mother started to wash his hair. An hour felt like days to him and he didn’t like having to sit still in the bath for too long. He washed his hands as he sat in the bath, half way up his forearms was covered in the substance as well. He didn’t realise how much peanut butter he had managed to put in his hair until it just didn’t come out and he looked like a prune by the time he was wrapped in the towel.
He looked at his mother and wrapped his arms around her neck. “Alright mama,” he said quietly. It didn’t really do much to sway the feeling that he wanted the same hair as his mother and to look a little bit similar to everyone else.