Chapter Text
"I hate you. Father, forgive me for using your name in vain, but, God dammit, I hate you, Fisher."
"You don't hate me."
"Yes, I do. I look at your face and I want to fucking retch."
The boy on the other side of the bathroom stall is silent. The only thing that can be heard is the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights above the two.
"Travis-"
"Don't say my name."
"Okay... But, please, at least listen to me." the bluenette's voice is gentle, warm, and inviting. It was such a stark contrast to the cold and bitter tone Travis was used to from his father.
All he wanted in this moment was to be left alone. To not deal with this anymore, but he knew the company was what he needed. It was almost like Sal knew Travis would hide in here mornings after something happened with his father. He didn't know how Sal could tell, he just did.
"If you really hate me so much, why do you watch me in Mrs. Packerton's class? And stare at me from across the cafeteria?" says Sal.
Travis felt his stomach twist, the undeniable feeling of vomit filled him.
"Don't think I don't notice the way you look at me."
"Shut up." Travis speaks softly, swallowing the vomit down as his fingers thread in his bleached hair and pull at it.
"Travis.."
"I said shut up!" the blond haired boy yells, losing any and all control he had over his stomach, and slapping a hand over his mouth as tears sting his eyes. Unable to hold it in any longer, he leans over the toilet and the contents of the little breakfast he had spewed from his mouth.
Sal winces on the other side, fidgeting with his hands in his lap as he waits for the other boy to collect himself. Sobs soon come after the chyme evacuated Travis's stomach, and he flushed it down so he didn't have to stare at it any longer.
"Just go away." he cries.
"No," Sal retorts, "you're struggling, Travis. Let me
help you."
The way his name fell from the blue haired boy's lips was what made Travis tick. Why the hell would someone as kind, considerate, and understanding like Sal want to help a douchebag like him?
It made him sick.
"I don't want your help, Sally Face." he counters, knuckles turning white from his tight grip on the rim of the toilet, his other hand in his hair.
"But you need it." Sal says in return. That he couldn't deny. He didn't have a quip, no retaliation. He just let the fact hang in the air.
"Just... Let me help. Please." Sal breaks the silence, moving closer to the door of the stall, sitting on his knees.
"You can't." says Travis plainly, tears dripping off his cheeks into the bowl of the toilet he sat next to.
"Why not?"
"Because- Because..." he struggled to find the reason, "You just wouldn't understand..."
"..Can I come in?"
Can he what? Into the stall with him? Is he insane?
"W-What..?" Travis stutters; his voice barely audible.
"I won't force you to let me in. I just thought it'd be a little easier, face to face, you know?" Sal states, picking at his already chipped black nail polish, peering upon the dirty, stained, tile floor. It's silent for a moment, or two. Regret bubbles deep in Sal as he worries he's made the other boy uncomfortable. Just before he could apologize, the sound of the stall door unlocking is followed by the squeak of it opening.
Their eyes meet, yet soon broken by Travis looking away and pulling his knees up to his chest. Without saying a word, Sal shifts himself into the stall, across from Travis. His blue eyes searching the other for any sign of displeasure, only finding a somber look in his eye.
"Why do you hide in here so often?" inquires Sal, stretching his short legs out next to Travis; accidentally making him move away, "Sorry."
"It's okay," replies Travis, pressing his cheek against his bruised and scabbed knee, "I guess... I mean, it's just.." he choked on his words, shutting his eyes tight. He wanted to tell Sal so bad. Tell him the things that happened at home, the things his father said to him, did to him. But he didn't know if he could. He would be beaten half to death.
"..It's complicated." was what he said.
"Do you enjoy being alone?" Sal asked of him, still doing his best to make Travis look in his direction. Shockingly, at his words, he does.
"No." Travis responds, his coffee brown eyes meeting Sal's. They were tired and red from crying. His right was also colored a deep purple from a nasty bruise.
What happened to him? The cuts, the bruises, the scars.
"Then why do you push me away?" Sal keeps questioning.
Averting his eyes once more, Travis replies gently, "Because you shouldn't help me. Of all people, really, Fisher. Why do you reach your hand out to me?"
"Because you're in pain, Travis. It hurts me to see another person struggling."
"We're not even friends."
"But we can be."
Oh, mother of fucking Christ. If his stomach wasn't completely empty right now, Travis would throw it up all over again.
"We..." his voice shakes, his hands tremble and clam up, "we c-can't..."
"Why not?"
"We- We just can't-"
"For God's sake, Travis, I'm trying to help you out here-" Sal raises his voice slightly, sitting up straight.
"Do not fucking use the Lord's name in that way." Travis shouts unwillingly, pointing an angry finger at the blue haired boy and crossing his legs to face him fully.
"I'm sorry-" Sal raises his hands on either side of his head, surrendering in a way, "It's just silly to me that you're so infatuated with your religion that you won't let yourself ever feel anything."
"Silly? You think my faith is silly?" Travis's brow furrows as anger reaches down to his toes.
"That's not what I mean and you know it." Sal counters in the same tone. His ice blue eyes narrow.
"Is that why you want to be friends with me? To infiltrate my mind and force me into whatever cult you're part of?"
"Travis, stop."
"Don't fucking say my name!"
"Why don't you want me to say your name? It's a goddamn name!"
"Because the way you say it drives me fucking insane!"
Nothing is said. Sal stares at Travis, his mouth agape beneath his prosthetic. He knew what Travis meant by that. He'd known ever since he found that note in the trash in Junior year.
Fuck. Why did Travis say that? If Sal didn't catch on by now, he must be half fucking brain dead.
"Do you remember the first day I found you in here?" Sal breaks the silence, tilting his head. Travis watches as the bluenette's bangs fall in his eyes. His stomach churned and twisted at the sight. He loathed this feeling with every ounce of his mortal being.
"I remember." he replies blandly, cracking his knuckles and avoiding any and all eye contact with the other.
"Before I talked to you, I found something on the floor.."
Travis's heart dropped at Sal's words. He knew where this was going and he wanted to run far away. The color fades from his face and his fingers dig into his calves. Sal knew he wrote that note, and neither of them could deny it.
"It was a note, a love letter, per se," Sal continues his story, "and there was no one by in the moment.. I mean, anyone could have written it, but..." his eyes meet the boy's, one of his own just slightly more lifeless than the other. Travis hadn't noticed that before.
"You were the only one around."
Travis wanted to run back home and endure his father's hand instead, yet he wanted to tell Sal everything. The way his body trembles and becomes hot to the touch when he thinks of Sal, the way he can't focus in math because Sal sits beside him, the way he cries himself to sleep because Sal was the only one to even fathom helping someone like him.
"What are you implying, Fisher?" his stoic attitude reappears as his eyes avoid the other.
"Travis." Sal says plainly, yet with a hint of knowing in his voice.
It's silent again for a moment before Sal requests, "Look at me, please."
It took everything in him to turn his gaze to the boy across from him, but he still did. Their eyes lock once again, yet this time, there was a mutual understanding.
"Did you write that note?" Sal finally asks.
God. What could Travis say to him? Make up a lie? Tell him it wasn't meant for him? Or should he tell him the truth? Tell him the way he can't form coherent thoughts at the sight of him?
Instead of openly admitting it, he just sits in silence. Deafening silence that answered Sal's question without even a single word said.
"...Okay." is what Sal replies with, watching the other boy intently, "One last hard question..."
Travis braces himself as the boy asks, "Was the note written for me?"
More silence, but this time, Travis nods so slightly, you'd have to be staring directly at him to catch it. And, thankfully, Sal did.
"...Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"..Okay, then. I won't pry," Sal stands from the dirty floor, straightening out his baggy ripped jeans, "but please, Trav," butterflies filled the blond's stomach, "come talk to me about it at some point. I don't want us to leave off like this." he says calmly before grabbing his bag off the floor and heading out of the boy's bathroom.
Us. Huh. That had a nice sound to it.