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Travis groans, banging on the door of the classroom. How was Sal being so calm right now? The two were locked in a room, together, probably for the rest of the weekend. Why? Because Travis had forgotten his stupid backpack in his math class, so he went back to get it, but when he turned back to the door, attempting to open it, Travis quickly learned that somehow, the door had gotten jammed shut.
So here he fucking was, locked in a classroom, with none other than Sal Fisher. Travis didn't know why Sal was in the room in the first place, he just knows that when he walked in, Sal was kneeling by Mrs. Packerton's desk, rifling through a drawer. Maybe he had gotten something confiscated, like that stupid gearboy thing he brought sometimes.
Sal was calmly standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall next to the windows and picking at the already chipped black nail polish on those faggotty fingernails of him. God, everything about him screamed queer, how could Sal live with himself? Long hair, a shit ton of jewelry, painted nails, a fucking skirt. He hardly looked like a boy at that point.
At the same time... There was something about it that was charming. The chipped nail polish and the silver rings, lined with green skin, probably because the rings are faker than Travis' heterosexuality... Wait, no! Don't think those things, Travis. You're straight. Straight. You like girls.
"Someone fucking let me out of here!" Travis shouts, banging on the door yet again. There was no response from anyone, of course. The fucking janitor worked with headphones on, listening to cheesy music from the 80's, while the other students and faculty filed out of the school as soon as the bell rang. No one was going to save Travis from this.
He just knew he was going to get a nice beating from Kenneth on Monday, when he came home after being gone for four days.
"Dude, calm your tits. Clearly no one is coming here to un-stick the door. We're stuck here for the weekend." Sal states calmly, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He draws his knees up, almost to his chest, spreads his legs apart, and rests his arms on his knees. His skirt falls just perfectly in between his legs, making sure to cover anything that could possibly show when he was sitting in that position.
Travis groans, rolling his eyes at Sal. "What do you know, faggot? All that blue hair dye has probably sunk into your fucking brain at this point. You don't know anything." Travis responds, and yikes, definitely not his best work. But in his defense, he's very shaken up over the prospect of getting stuck in this classroom with Sal, for four days.
Sal just rolls his eyes and scoffs, not even bothering to respond. He wants to keep the peace, if he had to stay here for four days, which was definitely not going to be fun. No showers or any sort of personal hygiene or food, for the next two to three days? Yeah, not Sal's number one choice to pass the time. But maybe it'll be a bit better if he was nice to Travis. Maybe if Sal was nice to Travis, he could get Travis to be nice, too.
"What, no faggy response?!" Travis responds, though his words hold no real anger. Sal shrugged, finally looking away from his hands to look at Travis. "No, no response. Responding is just going to piss you off more. And I don't really want to sit here with you while you're angry for the next three days." Sal states.
Travis sighs angrily, balling his hands up into fists. Sal, though he doesn't say anything, holds clear fear in his eyes,-er, no. Eye.-fear that Travis is going to hit him. Travis releases his fists and shoves them into his back pockets, but that can only work for so long before he gets really angry.
But you know what Travis' anger is best for? Strength. If he's angry, maybe he can muster up enough strength to open the door and get the fuck out of there before the school closed down for the weekend.
"Say something else that'll piss me off. Be an asshole." Travis states, clearly confusing Sal. The blue haired boy stands, just staring at Travis for a moment before sighing. "You want me to piss you off?" Sal asks, clearly a bit scared.
"Yeah. When I'm angry, I get more adrenaline, which makes me stronger, so if I'm pissed off, maybe I can pry the door open before the school gets locked up for the night." Travis nods in response to Sal's question, a bit apprehensive about this plan as well. Though it's scary, what Travis may want to do if he's pissed off, it also needs to be done, to open the door.
Sal hesitantly nods, thinking for a moment.
"I don't care what you fucking have to call me, just be an asshole." Travis continues after a few minutes of Sal just thinking. Sal still seems hesitant, but nods and finally says something. Something evil, something terrible, something... Something like what Kenneth would say.
"You're a fucking disappointment, to everyone. Someone who will never amount to anything." Sal said it softly, sadly, clearly not meaning it at all. It still hurt, of course. God, it hurt so bad. But the pain soon morphed into anger, as it almost always does.
Travis, with a sigh, ignored his urge to punch Sal in that smug little face-er, prosthetic-of his, and turns on his heels, reaches out at the door, and pulls it. Still, it hardly budged. Sal takes a few slow steps towards Travis, his steps larger than they usually are, due to the fact he's wearing tall platforms that add a bit to his height.
Sal slowly reached towards the handle of the door. "Lemme help?" His question was soft, hesitant, scared. He was scared of Travis.
It made Travis sick. Sal was scared of him. Travis was just like his fucking father, beating people into submission and scaring them half to death, until they're so scared that they're hesitant to even ask if he wants help with something.
Travis took a sharp, hurt breath, and curtly nodded. Speaking isn't the best choice right now. Sal wedges his hands next to Travis' on the handle, but due to the fact the handle is too short for four hands to be grasping it, their hands were squished together. Travis tried to fight the heat in his cheeks, but alas, it doesn't work. Luckily, Sal doesn't say a word about it. He's hardly even looking at Travis' face, his gaze instead focused on their hands on the door's handle.
Sal and Travis twisted the handle, pulling the door as hard as they fucking could. Miraculously, the door opened, but at that same moment, the lights turned off. The janitor was gone. Sal and Travis were stuck at the school until Monday.
Travis sighed, leaning against the wall next to the door. He closed his eyes, head tilted down to look at the tile flooring, covered in dirt and grime and scuff marks, even after the janitor came through and cleaned up. For some fucking reason, hot, salty tears filled his eyes.
Travis took a shaky sigh and ran off to the boy's bathroom. Sal seemed to want to follow, but also seemed to know that Travis needed a few minutes to collect himself.
Travis ran to one of the stalls, locking the door and collapsing against it immediately. As soon as he was in the safety of the stall, the tears were escaping Travis' dark brown eyes, drifting quickly down his face as choked sobs flooded from his throat. Travis didn't even understand why he was crying. Maybe it was because of what Sal said. Maybe it was because Sal was afraid of him.
Travis didn't know and he really didn't care, in that moment. All he cared about was that he hurt, physically and mentally. Physically, the lashes on his back and the bruises on his ribs and the scabs on his wrist hurt. Mentally, his heart was throbbing with pain as the look in Sal's eyes rested in Travis' brain.
Sal was scared of him. Purely scared.
Travis sobbed, suddenly and loudly. He sobbed a sob that wasn't choked, attempted to be held down, for once.
The bathroom door squeaked open. Sal's platforms thumped across the floor, stopping in front of the stall Travis was in. There was awkward silence for a moment as Sal thought of what to say, before he finally did speak.
"Are you alright?" Sal's voice was soft, anxious, hesitant. Travis sniffled, scoffing at Sal's words. What about this is telling Sal that Travis is, in any way at all, alright? He raised a hand to wipe angrily at his tears. Why does he have to be such a crybaby all the fucking time?
"No, buzz off!" Travis exclaimed, trying his hardest not to shout. Those were definitely not the words he wanted to say, but it was better than calling Sal a faggot, at least. Sal shifts around for a moment, seeming to contemplate actually leaving, but deciding against it.
"You can trust me, even if you don't think you can." Sal responds, sinking down to sit on the grimy bathroom floor, leaning against the stall door. If Travis were to open the door right now, Sal would come lurching to the floor, inside the stall. The image makes Travis break out into sudden laughter, his tears slowly coming to an end as Travis laughs.
"What's so funny?" Sal asks, a smile clear in his voice. Travis allows his laughter to die down before he responds to Sal's question, also smiling.
"I just got this image in my mind where I open the stall door and you fall on the floor." Travis explains, laughing a bit more when the image yet again enters his mind. Sal lets out a quiet, barely there chuckle, but it's a laugh. It's a start.
"I've- uh- I've never heard you laugh before." Sal states, stumbling over his words. Travis nods, though Sal can't see him. Travis hardly laughs or smiles, but he really has no reason to. His dad abuses him, physically and verbally, Travis has no friends, and he frequently abuses himself, to add onto his dad's abuse. There's nothing happy in Travis' life.
Travis decides, in the moment, that maybe Sal can change that.
The thought makes Travis sick. It makes him feel like there are bugs crawling all over him, like God is looking down on him and planning on how he's going to torture him even more.
But Travis thinks he'd take burning for eternity if it meant spending just another moment with Sal. Spending another laugh with him.
"No, you haven't. Guess you'll have to mark this off your faggoty bucket list. 'Make a boy laugh.'" Travis attempts a joke, but it doesn't really work. He doesn't really know how to make jokes. Sal gives a half-hearted laugh in return, but the sound just makes Travis' heart sink. He shouldn't have said that.
This is far too reminiscent of that day in the bathroom, only a month ago. Of the day Sal read the love note for him, from Travis. Does Sal know Travis wrote the note? Does he know it's for him?
"You don't have to hide in that stall, y'know. We're the only two here, and I don't care if you're crying." Sal states, standing and taking a few steps away from the door. A silent urge to Travis to open the door.
"I'm not crying!" Travis exclaims, quickly getting far too defensive. Sal doesn't respond. Travis sighs, unlocking the door and opening it. And there Sal is, standing slightly taller than usual, due to his platforms, at a nice 5'6. Travis, on the other hand, towers over him, even in the platforms, at 6'1.
"You hungry? We've got full reign of the cafeteria and it's almost dinnertime." Sal states, changing the subject, probably for both of their comfort. Travis nods. He was starving. Kenneth never really let him eat at home, so the only food Travis got was the lunches at school. They were hardly filling, nor good, but if he didn't eat those, Travis wouldn't have anything to eat at all.
Sal nods, absentmindedly grabbing Travis' hand and leading him to the cafeteria. Though Travis already knows where the cafeteria is, he doesn't say a word. Sal's scarred hand feels nice in Travis' bruised and equally-if not more-scarred one. It fits perfectly with Travis', like puzzle pieces being shaped together.
The gesture is over far too quickly, Sal's hand slipping from Travis' when they arrive in the cafeteria. There, Sal has already set out some food, on trays, just for the two of them.
For some reason, that gesture warms Travis' heart.
"Bon appétit." Sal states, sitting in one of the seats at the table he set the food at. Travis sits across from him, at the other tray on the table. It almost, emphasis on the almost, seems like a date.
Sal unclips the bottom clip of his prosthetic, lifting it to just above his mouth so he can eat. All Travis can see because of that are a bunch of scars, a bit of teeth peeking through where there should be lips, but there's nothing, and a hollow area where some of Sal's jaw should be. Jeez. Travis never thought the damage under that prosthetic could be that bad.
"You can- uhm- you can take your prosthetic off, if you want. I won't judge or anything..." Travis knows Sal is wary of showing his face, most likely because of the bullying Travis put him through over it for the past two years. But Travis wants to try to be better. Nicer.
Sal looks at him skeptically for a moment, seeming to analyze Travis. Probably figure out his true intentions behind asking such a thing from Sal.
Sal shakes his head. "No thanks, man." Travis holds back a disappointed sigh. Sal's response is understandable, though. If Travis was bullied by someone for two years because of what his face could possibly look like, along with him being gay, then he'd be very wary over being open and vulnerable around that person. Of showing his face to them.
Travis nods in understanding. "Got it. I understand. I just thought I'd throw the offer out there." Sal nods, not speaking. He finishes his food, pulling his prosthetic back down and throwing away any remains. And then he takes Travis' tray and does the same with his when it's obvious Travis is done.
And then Sal leaves. He hardly gives Travis a second glance, just leaving the cafeteria and walking off. Travis remains at the table for a moment longer, debating whether he should follow Sal or not. After a moment, Travis stands, deciding to follow. Sitting alone will just make Travis upset and angry, just make him think. And thinking is never good.
He finds Sal back in Mrs. Packerton's room, leaning against the wall by an open window. He's got a lit cigarette balanced between black painted nails, the smoke drifting out the window and disappearing outside. His prosthetic is pulled up just enough to, yet again, show off some of his mouth.
Sal turns to look at the doorway when he hears Travis enter, though he can't really see, because the eyeholes of his prosthetic are up to his forehead.
Sal is visibly stressed, just from his body language being so tense. But why? Did Travis do something wrong? Say something wrong?
"Heyyyy." Sal's trying to act cool, but he's so visibly not. Travis smiles awkwardly at Sal, nodding to him, just trying to silently greet him. He can't bring himself to open his mouth and speak. The atmosphere is so awkward right now. What's happening? What's about to happen? Because Travis can feel it in the air, something is about to happen.
"...C'mere." Sal seems hesitant to say it, but waves Travis over with his free hand anyways. Travis nods, taking a few swift steps until he's standing across from Sal, only about a foot between them. Sal's cigarette sits in his hand, ashs building up on it. He's been flicking them out the window, though a lot of them get caught in the netting beyond the glass. After a kid jumped out one of the windows during a game of truth or dare, the school put nets in all the windows. They can't be taken out, either.
Travis eyes Sal's cigarette. He sees people smoking them all the time, even people from the church. It's the first thing people do upon exiting the doors of Phelps Ministry, pull a cigarette from their bag and light it up. Travis wonders what the big appeal about them even is. They must be nice, if people smoke them all the time, right?
"Wanna try?" Sal asks, holding the cigarette out to Travis. The blonde eyes it for a moment, almost wanting to say something about getting faggot germs from Sal, but deciding against it. He takes the cigarette from Sal's outstretched hand, staring at it for a second and then sticking it between his lips.
Travis inhales. The smoke burns as it travels down his throat, into his lungs, and gets choked back out in coughs. Sal stares at the scene, a small, amused smile on his face. It's clear he's trying to hold back a laugh, but he's trying to be nice and not actually laugh.
Travis invites him to laugh by doing it himself. Sal follows soon after, and that's when the two share their second laugh of the day.
When their laughter dies down, Sal pulls his prosthetic down so he can see again, just staring at Travis. He doesn't try to take his cigarette back. Travis tries again, putting the cigarette between his lips and inhales again. This time, he's more equipped to handle the burn of the smoke, not coughing nearly as much or as violently.
Sal, being a smartass, claps when Travis doesn't cough as much. Travis rolls his eyes and just keeps smoking, since Sal seems to hold no interest in getting his cigarette back. And, yeah, Travis is starting to understand why people like these so much. They're really calming, even if they're shitty for your health.
Sal's watching him. At first, Travis takes it as Sal waiting for him to have a coughing fit again. But when he's reaching towards the end of the cigarette and Sal still hasn't looked away, Travis looks back at him.
There's this... look in his eye. A look Travis can't pin as anything, not even put into a category of good or bad.
Sal takes the cigarette from Travis, raising his prosthetic and taking two last puffs from it before putting it out on the windowsill and crushing the bud between his fingers. He places the crushed bud on the windowsill.
Sal reaches forward, suddenly and swiftly grabbing Travis' shoulders. He pulls Travis closer, taking a deep breath, and then, suddenly, scarred, only half-there lips are on Travis'. Suddenly, Sal's kissing Travis.
Travis' first urge is to push him away, call him a freaky faggot, and then avoid him for the rest of the weekend. But Travis pushes that urge away. No, he's not gonna do that. He's starting over. He's not gonna be an asshole, for once. He's gonna play into that part of him that enjoys this. That part of him that's making his heart beat fast and butterflies flutter in his stomach and making him kiss back.
They kiss once, twice, three times. They kiss until they absolutely have to pull away, or else they'll suffocate.
And when they pull away, they're smiling.