Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

36

      Henry's eyes are not as kind as his sons. They're just as strikingly blue, of course, but not nearly as clever or as gentle. His gaze doesn't have the same warmth to it — not at all. In fact, staring up at Travis Phelps, who stands awkwardly in the living room, Henry seems rather put out.

At Travis's side, Sally Face itches to reach for his hand, but under his father's watchful eye, he holds back. "You're home," he sighs. He means for it to come out more cheerfully, but instead, he sounds weary and apprehensive.

Henry isn't very tall — just barely 5'8", if that at all. It's no wonder that Sal's only 5'2" at eighteen years old. Even so, the height difference doesn't do much to ease the stress in Travis's gut.

"I," The older man's eyes flicker over to the blonde elephant in the room and linger there for a moment, "yeah." Perhaps, he'd been expecting to speak to Sally Face alone.

Travis suddenly feels like he's intruding on something important.

"Do you remember Travis?" Sal comes to his rescue, temporarily keeping him from keeling over on the floor, "You picked me up from his house once."

What a horrible day that had been. Travis had been so, so scared, and for good reason.

Henry's thick, unkept brows pull towards each other, just slightly, "Right," he responds with caution, nodding to the blonde out of common courtesy. He offers something just short of a smile, uneasy and crooked, "I'm Sal's dad," he says.

Travis feels just a bit better, seeing that Henry is not much less awkward than he himself is. He extends his hand politely and nods, doing his best to make sure he's not visibly shaking with nervousness, "Travis," he says, and then, as a hesitant afterthought, "Phelps."

   "Yes," Henry nods and breathes out through his nose, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ease the dull pain lingering beneath his skin, "right, the minister's boy. How is your father doing, son?"

If Travis's back were to get any stiffer, it might have split clean in two, "Uh," he blinks, feeling a squeeze in his chest, "he's, um, he's uh, good- doing, uh, well. Not bad."

    Sal instinctively sticks his arm out and clasps his hand around the blonde's forearm in one quick but gentle motion, pulling it towards himself. It's done in a way that suggests that he may tenderly grab ahold of the boy often.

    Henry doesn't fail to notice, glancing down at the milkiness of his son's fingers against Travis's olive skin. His expression is unplaceable.

     Sally Face swallows. All he'd meant to do by reaching out for Travis was to calm him down, to get him to stop rambling on in such a clearly anxious manner. "Um," he stammers, eyes enlarged slightly, "uh..."

     Travis wordlessly stares at the ghostly profile of his prosthetic. Sal's hand, still dawdling there, feels much like a weight against his arm. Awkward.

     "We're going to my room," Sal blurts out in one breath, glancing down at where his fingers connect to Travis's skin before pulling away very suddenly, as if he hadn't realized that he was still touching him, "uh- yeah!" He forces a smile and gestures, with a jerk of his head, for the blonde to follow him, "C'mon, Trav!"

Travis doesn't need to be told twice. He's not fast or properly balanced on his feet, but having been in the Fisher residence before, he now knows his way around. He offers another nod to Henry and then turns to tail behind Sal, down the dimly lit hallway that led to his room.

Henry stumbles on somewhat of a stammer, hesitating where he stands against the old, thick carpeting of the living room, "K-keep the door open, Sal!" he calls out.