Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

19

   Well, once a loner, always a loner.

Travis wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting. He had shown up at Sal's apartment with a deep-rooted, innate understanding of the fact that the blue-haired boy had many friends, and he was confident that only a handful of his closest ones were here with him today, which made him feel good.

But Sal was Travis's only friend.

Of course, it was wildly unrealistic to expect Sally Face to hang out with him exclusively and give him all of his attention, but clearly, Travis had forgotten that Sal had to divide his attention between multiple people.

So, here he stood in the emptiness of Sal's small, clustered living room, looking at the various knick-knacks set up along the dark shelves on the wall.

Henry Fisher didn't seem to be home, which made Travis awfully nervous because he was secluded in another kid's house without the kid's father knowing, but it made him comfortable all the same because he didn't have to worry about impressing Sal's dad.

Sal's place was cute, painted in gross colors like all of the other hallways were, but cute nonetheless, and as Travis's eyes surveyed the cluttered shelves, he couldn't believe that he had made it here.

Small, ceramic animals, fake plants, glass crystals, and various other little items were set up in messy lines along the wall.

Travis's heart hummed behind his ribs. Sal's apartment was unmistakably Sal's.

He tore his eyes away from the shelf and took a few steps to the left to kneel in front of the TV stand, where more little toys and items were lined up, and to the far right, surrounded by little clay cats, and frogs, and birds, was a glass picture frame with an old photo, bent and worn out, pressed under the glass.

A long-haired, blonde woman was cradling a little boy protectively to her chest. The boy had shaggy, cerulean hair and a wide smile, and his little hands were curled into the fabric of his mom's pale, yellow sundress. They were both grinning and holding each other.

Travis stared at the photo for a while, his stomach twisting up into knots. He wished, for a moment, that he had a picture with his mother like this one.

"Hey," A familiar voice behind him sounded.

Travis jolted, leaning back onto his heels to steal a glance over his shoulder. His hand pressed down into the old, green carpet.

Sally Face stood above him, his head angled to the side slightly. His hands were buried in the deep pockets of his black cargo pants.

"Sorry," Travis said immediately, realizing that he'd been caught snooping around through Sal's family's knick-knacks and staring at old photos, "I'm sorry." He scrambled and failed to stand up, his forehead damp with sweat. His knees wobbled and he nearly tripped.

"Hey, don't apologize," The boy hummed, dropping to squat at Travis's side. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed them casually over his knees, balancing his weight on his ankles. "This stuff is meant to be looked at," he said simply, genuinely, "that's why it's not all crammed in a box somewhere."

Travis felt like he was crammed into a box.

They hovered there in silence, staring at the photograph together. Sal's presence gave Travis something to latch onto, something to keep him grounded.

He scratched at his arm gently and glanced at the cute, little boy in the picture again, swallowing, "Is that you?" He asked hesitantly.

Sal's eyes changed course to stare at the child too, letting out a muffled sigh into his prosthetic, "Yeah," he admitted after a few moments, shifting his foot against the carpet beneath him, "with my mom."