blue hair and bruises.

8 - Talk To Me

"Heya, bud," Henry called out from his office upon hearing the door creak open and shut again, "I got your text. What's up?"

Apparently Sal had managed to text his father on the walk to the apartments, without Travis noticing. Travis sheepishly followed Sal to his dad's office doorway, and stood awkwardly by his side. Henry spun around in his desk chair and looked at Travis. "And you must be...?"

"Uh, Travis."

"Nice to meet you, Travis. I'm Sal's dad. Just call me Henry. Now, would either of you boys like to explain why you're all bloodied up?" Sal looked to Travis, then back at his dad. He shook his head. Henry furrowed his brow. "Sal..."

Sal crossed his arms.

"Fine," said Henry, "then later, you'll tell me. Go on then."

With that, Sal took hold of Travis's clean sleeve and tugged him away. Travis was starting to notice a pattern in the boy's methods of communication. It was mostly eyes, but he was less hesitant to touch now. Travis thought of the earlier interactions they had, and how Sal's hand shook when he reached out to him. He remembered how quick he was to pull away. Now the shakes were gone, though he still reached for the sleeve rather than the arm itself.

Travis was never one to enjoy physical interaction, but it seemed to be an easier option for this kid, seeing as talking wasn't an option. Strangely enough, he was totally okay with this. It was... fine. Comfortable, even. He followed Sal to his room. Sal dropped his sleeve at the doorway. Travis stayed there.

Sal gravitated towards a red hoodie that sat crumpled on his bed. Travis watched, confused, as he picked it up and began to dig through his draws. "What are you doing...?" he asked. Sal didn't respond to this. Instead, he pulled out a folded pair of pants and returned to Travis's side. He held the clothes out to him.

Travis was confused. Sal saw this and pointed to his dirtied clothes.

"Oh... you want me to change?"

Sal seemed slightly vexed. He pushed the clean clothes into Travis's arms and pulled out his phone. He tapped at it, and showed his message he'd written into his notes.

That, or shower. Just give your arm another wash and don't cover it up. I'll need it.

"I'll pass on the shower," Travis replied. "Hey, uh, don't you usually text your friends when you've got something to say to them? Would that be easier for you?"

Sal let a quiet, breathy laugh escape his throat, muffled by the mask. It made Travis nervous.

It is, but that would put us on a 'friend' basis... unless that's what you want?

"Uh..."

Maybe.

...No. No way.

Just go change.

This was such an awkward way to communicate.

~

Travis threw the oddly familiar red hoodie over his white undershirt, which had thankfully not been tainted by the blood. He felt a little strange at the thought of wearing the pants Sal had given him for the time being. It shouldn't be unusual to borrow clothes, but it was one thing to wear someone's hoodie and something completely different to wear their pants. Regardless, he put them on and concluded mentally that both garments were slightly too big on him. They couldn't be Sal's.

When he returned to the bedroom, he waited in the doorway again. The first time at another person's house is always awkward. Sal was sitting on his bed fiddling with his phone, a first aid kit at his side. He noticed Travis and gestured for him to sit. Travis hesitantly complied. Sal had another message in his notes.

Okay listen. Obviously, I don't use my words. I can't bring myself to, and I'm not about to break years of silence just because you're slow with communication (don't worry - it's weird and hard to get used to, I know). Quite frankly, this is a tiresome way to talk, so I'm going to put my phone aside and let you do all the talking. I'll just listen. I'll also fix you up, so that if your dad asks, you can say that you fell or something. Yeah, it might be a little bit weird, but you didn't want to go to the professionals so here we are. So just talk to me. Talk about you. I'll listen.

After he was sure Travis had read it all, he locked his phone and placed it down. Then, he picked up a tube of antibiotic gel from the kit. Travis gazed at the boy's gentle hands.

"I'm... guessing you know exactly how this works, huh," he stated. Sal nodded and spread the gel tenderly over his wound with a cotton bud. He winced. It stung.

"So, talk about me? Let's see..." Travis thought for a moment about what he could say. "Well uh... I live with my dad. He owns the church not far from here. Mom lives out of town. She moved out last year."

Sal had a look in his eyes. Travis noticed this, cleared his throat and continued.

"She moved out because Dad would start to drink. When he did, which was almost every night, he would drink too much and start barking commands at her, like some slave. Sometimes he hit her. I wasn't really in the middle of it all, more like off to the side. Mom really did try for me, but I was basically neglected for a while. She needed to get out. Last year, she left to live with her sister. I didn't go with her, because I didn't want to add any more stress after everything she'd gone through. My mom was never really strong. But I guess it was a bad idea. Sometimes I wish I'd gone, because I'm not so neglected anymore but Dad gives me twice of what he gave Mom..."

The words were flowing. Travis couldn't stop himself. He didn't realise how much he'd said until he saw the way Sal gazed down at his now bandaged arm, holding it gently. He coughed and pulled away. "I said too much, huh..."

((A/N: Okay I'm sorry. 1, for this chapter being kinda sucky and 2, for the wait. There's so many distractions and I can't ever bring myself to do things because of things like... wasting hours on youtube or rewatching Popee The Performer like the trash I am. Oh, and I kinda need to eat and sleep too. Pesky responsibilities...))