•The Note• {Travis x Sal}

6

Travis POV:

Travis entered his house, just to tell his father about the project. "Father?" He spoke hesitantly. "What do you need, boy?" His voice was rough, as always. Obviously hoarse from the amount of whiskey he had been downing earlier. You could smell it. Thick and heavy, and it'd burn your nose if you stayed around to long, but, Travis learned to not talk about it.

"I have to go to a classmates house for a project, it'll just be until 5, so I'll be home in time to cook dinner." He said, prepared to be told no.

"Alright, well, go on. I don't need you to fail any more classes. What have you, I don't care." Kenneth spoke, reclined in his chair flipping through a news paper, a pipe perched between his lips and a half empty bottle of whiskey on a coffee table next to him.

"Yes, sir." Travis held back a scream of excitement as he made his way back out the door, letting a smile cross his face as soon as the door shut. Should he message Sal and let him know he's coming over? He pulled his flip phone out, but a deep pit formed in his stomach. No. Not yet.

He felt his nose burn, the excitement fading. He didn't want to do this. He hated Sal, right? "I can't do this, but I need to. I want to, I think.." he bit his lip until blood drew, he sighed and put the phone back up, beginning to walk down the sidewalk.

He'd walk up the road by sals apartment and if he didn't want to go he'd just keep walking and say his father didn't let him go, or something. Yet again that very same pit formed, bubbling with shame. He'd feel guilty either way. He'd hate himself either way. Maybe, if he just indulged in what he wanted, he could make someone else happy.

He bit his lip again, picking at the dried skin perched upon his chapped lips. He promptly arrived at the apartment complex and opened the large door, seemingly towering over him. It was to late to turn back now, he supposed.

"404, right?" He mumbled to himself as he wondered anxiously, eventually finding the elevator and pressing its button. "No—402. Yeah, 402." He prayed he was correct as the doors open and he looked to his right, seeing the pale green door with its silver plating, reading, "402."

He walked up to the door and knocked, and not even seconds after that he saw the door swing open. "Hey, Travis. Come on in." Sal invited warmly, moving out of the way, Travis nodding and walking inside the home. It was much smaller than his house, obviously. It was unfamiliar, new. He liked it.

Sal began walking to his room, and Travis was quick to follow. He saw in the corner of his eye a man hunched over on the couch, the same electric blue hair as Sals. he had an empty beer bottle grasped in his limp hand, and his eyes looked puffy. Like he had been crying.

He decided to ignore him, and continued walking to Sal's room. It was very different from his room, so much more decor. "Wow." Travis accidentally slipped up and spoke. "Hm?" Sal hummed as he took out his notebook and flipped a few pages. "Your room—it's...violent? There's lots of posters, it's alarming." Travis said, looking around a bit astonished. Sal, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow. His room was quite bland, compared to Larry's, and just in general.

"Do you not have your room decorated? My room is bare minimum." Sal had a puzzled look on his face, even though it wasn't as visible, Travis could still tell. "Jesus Christ, no." He laughed, not realizing how odd that sounded. "To each their own, I guess." Sal shrugged.

"Also—I kinda got bored and finished the entire assignment, so—we can just hang out now, if you want to." Sal said, obviously trying to invite Travis to stay. He liked Travis' presence. It was nice, warm even. Travis radiated anxiety and anger like a mad man, but Sal still liked him being around nonetheless.