𝘐'𝘮 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘖𝘶𝘵 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘠𝘰𝘶 - 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

Recap...

"-You don't get to nearly kiss Travis fucking Phelps in the middle of your room and not tell me why." The brunette said, clearly angry. "FUCK! Fine! Fine, Larry! You wanna know? Do you really want to, or are you just saying that because you're angry at me?" Sal snapped, also clearly frustrated at the situation at hand. "Well, Sal, I'd appreciate it if you told me why I saw you with one hand in the preacher's hair!" 

  "I care about him, Larry. I don't know why, but I do! There's more to him, I can feel it in my bones! Whatever's left of them, at least." Sal whined quietly, clear empathy in his tone. Larry's eyes softened as Sal explained more. "While I think he's nothing more than a homophobic asshole, I trust your judgement, dude. If you wanna smash faces with the preacher, I don't care, and I'm sorry for ruining it."

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Sal and Travis hadn't spoken in a week. The blonde was back on the routine of shoving Sal in the hallways, calling him slurs, and muttering self-directed insults under his breath. Whilst the two had experienced more encounters in the bathroom after their "incident" at Sal's apartment, the bathroom conversations never lead to anything more than another argument. Whilst Travis's desperate attempts to push the bluette away had been working, (mostly,) the two wouldn't exactly fall short of thoughts regarding each-other. The two teens, still thinking about each others lips, constantly made longing eye-contact in the short time that they weren't arguing. But everything would change again, with the click of a button.

7:45 PM

+1 (262) 743-****

Sal, I'm sorry.

  Sal's phone buzzed with another text from the unknown number. His eyes flashed a bit when he remembered who he had suspected the number to be, but those thoughts quickly faded once the bluette re-read the contents of the message.

7:45 PM

+1 (262) 743-****

Sal, I'm sorry.

Sal Fisher

no, srsly. who is this?

  Sal scrolled up in their messages, desperately trying to load them to see if the two numbers had any history; anything to identify this mystery-messenger. His twinkling eyes seemingly lost their light as he discovered that, if the two had any message history, he had deleted it. Sal then proceeded to search for any scrap papers containing a phone number exchange taken place elsewhere, which he failed to find. Although, he would search no longer at the sight of their most recent message, no more than two minutes after Sal's panicked reply.

7:45 PM

+1 (262) 743-****

Sal, I'm sorry.

Sal Fisher

no, srsly. who is this?

+1 (262) 743-****

It's Travis.

  Sal's eyes immediately widened. "I fucking knew it," He whispered under his breath, barely believing his eyes. A realization, though, hit his mind like a semi-truck after he had his brief moment of triumph. Travis, on multiple occasions, had been asking for help, or apologizing, which had meant that...

 Travis wasn't who he made himself out to be at all.

  The bluette's mind was racing. Who was Travis really? What kind of a person was he? Why did he need help? Why was he asking Sal, of all people, for help? They hadn't bonded much within past projects, and they had only been friends for two days before their "incident," so why Sal? Why did he have such trust in the bluette? Was it is empathy? His trusting demeanor? Or maybe it was the light conversation they carried, even before earlier in the week? Whatever it was, Sal didn't know, and he wouldn't find out until Travis came knocking on his door to tell him.

  Which was exactly what ended up happening.

   

  "Sal? It- fuck. It's Travis, can you please open the door?" The blonde shivered quietly. It was December 22nd, and in Nockfell County, it was snowing. Travis was barely wearing clothes considering the -15º C weather, wearing only a hoodie, thin jeans, and a pair of old, used sneakers he had gotten from the donation pile at his father's church. The boy was covered in snow, blood, and other bodily fluids when Sal opened the door for him.

"Holy shit."