you must be the preachers boy? (travisxlarry)

ne timeas me, amica mea

Travis' POV

Talking to Larry about everything lifted a weight off my chest I didn't even know was there. I swore to myself I'd never tell anyone about what was happening at home, because they wouldn't understand. But Larry and his damn kindness and damn understanding eyes, and damn comfortable hoodies, made me feel, for the first time ever, like I was wanted? Loved? Desired?

The sleepover brought a lot of things to light, like how I am definitely not straight, and how my father will definitely murder me.

I fear going home. Yet I also fear overstaying at Larry's. Because I know it's time for me to go home.

After Larry practically begged me not to go back home, I assured him it was okay. He grabbed my arm before I left the building.

  "Just... text me or call me or ANYTHING, if anything happens? Okay Travis?" The look of sincerity in his eyes almost brought tears to mine.

  "O...okay..." I said in the shakiest voice ever, trying to grip onto some stability, I grab his arm back. He takes a piece of paper and slides it into his, well, my, hoodie pocket, that I was still wearing. It was below 50 degrees outside, and in built like a piece of paper.

  "My number. Travis, be careful, and I.." He was faltering and obviously at a loss for words. He cared. A lot. And I don't know if I could bring myself to wrap my head around that. But there we were. Holding on to each other. But I had to go home.

  "Thank you... for everything." I grab him into a hug, as he slides his arms around my waist to reciprocate it, I shudder, hoping he didn't notice.

His strong hands rested on the small of my back, and I tucked my face into the crook of his neck. For comfort I guess, his scent makes me feel safe. That's weird isn't it?

Weird for friends.

   Friends. That word felt vile to me, it felt like a taunt. I want Larry Johnson, of course I do. It's wrong though. It hurts. So much.

But I had to let go.

I looked one more time into his deep brown eyes that I seemed to get lost in for days, I flickered down to his lips, hoping he didn't notice. I could kiss him. I totally could.

But I couldn't.

I turn away, to start heading home.

He must pity me huh, god, I'm a wreck. I'm having an insane internal monologue speeding down a race track at a million miles an hour.

But his hand slides down to mine and suddenly I'm pulled back. His hand rests on my face as his thumb swipes under my eye, framing my bruise as I'm mere centimeters away, his hand on my waist like I've always wanted him to hold me , and he does what I'm always too chicken to do.

Larry fucking Johnson kisses me.

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Happy? JKJKJKJ I wanted to pump this out because I was gone from camp, About 500 words so not TOOO bad but still short, working on it tho!!!

~bonemarrow