•The Note• {Travis x Sal}

14

Travis POV:

Somehow Travis evaded his father knowing of him skipping Thursday, and returned home and completed the blessed routine without being harmed. Days like that were good. Days where Travis didn't ache so much, and his pillow didn't hurt so bad to lay on.

Travis got on the bus like usual, taking notice of how his favorite neon green shoes were starting to tear and squeak when he walked. He frowned slightly, sitting down on the bus and laying his leg across his knee to check the shoe.

It wasn't bad, per se. but, it was noticeable to Travis. Each step irritated him, and seeing the tear in the rubber on the bottom made him angry. Of course it did, everything made Travis angry.

He didn't take notice of Sal sitting next to him, his eyes completely zoned in on the shoe, staring daggers at the gash.

"Trav?" Sal spoke, plopping down next to Travis. "Hm-? Oh, hey." Travis said shortly, his chin bobbing upward to acknowledge Sal.

"What're you so focused on?"

"My shoe. It's broken."

"Oh, well..it doesn't look that bad. I'm sure it's fine." Sal said softly, Travis' eye twitching in response. It was that bad. It was terrible. Horrific, even. This was terrible for Travis, absolutely horrible. He huffed, leaning back in the seat.

"I assume I said something wrong?"

Travis scoffed in response, sighing. "Yes. These shoes feel terrible. Each time I walk I feel like I wanna rip my hair out..more than I already do."

Sal nodded, humming. "Can you not just wear a different pair?"

"No!" Travis shouted angrily, his brows knitting together. "These are my shoes. My good shoes. My shoes. I wear them every day..I can't just change that!" Sal nodded again.

"..okay, can you not fix them?"

Travis shook his head, frowning. "It's a gash in the rubber, dumbass. I can't fix rubber."

Sal didn't reply this time, instead he looked at the shoe and inspected the damage. It really was not that bad, Sal had shoes in much worse condition. But, maybe it was a bigger deal to Travis than it was in actuality. Sal viewed the neon green rubber, and in all honesty that type of shoe looked like what some snotty kindergartener would wear

Yet, maybe Travis never got the chance to be that kindergartener. Be a kid. He always acted like he'd had to grow up too quick, now he was struggling with far fetched regression into what little childlike attitude Travis could get his hands on.

Sal reached a hand out, poking the rubber—earning a grumble and Travis swatting his hand away. "don't touch them, you'll get them dirty."

"I'm not dirty, Travis."

"I don't care what you are, don't get them dirty."

Sal rolled his eyes, looking away from Travis for a moment. Travis saddened, huffing. "I don't mean that."

"I know you didn't."

"No, I don't mean it. Not I 'didn't'. I don't. You're not dirty."

Sal smiled softly, nodding. "Well, I really could be. You didn't even ask if I washed my hands today." Travis cocked a brow, leaning back—Sal snickering in return. Travis blinked, waiting.

"Well?" Travis spoke.

Sal snorted, tilting his head back to laugh. "Oh my god, I'm kidding. Yes, I washed my hands this morning." Travis sighed, relaxing in the seat a little.