Chapter Text
It's somewhat universally accepted by everyone that you do not follow the red string.
Fate comes to you. That's what they tell you in preschool, that's what they tell you in elementary, that's what they tell you in junior high… If you are meant to meet the person at the end of the red line, then you will.
Fate comes to you.
But they never talk about the other things Travis experiences.
Dreams of endless white light, bright and blinding. Sudden blackouts where he's there, trapped in that unending white room, his red string a taut line that pulls at his finger painfully, while his body is frozen or seizing in the waking world. And a voice that isn't a voice. A finger tracing the back of his mind, like feeling the presence of someone you know is in the room just out of sight...
Travis has always struggled to feel the red line of fate when he's awake, but he's always known that other presence.
They don't talk about any of it in health class or in fate studies or in- in anywhere! No one else in his classes ever seems concerned, so he keeps it to himself. His doctor tells him his seizures have no source, no logical reason behind them. He takes pills that don't help and wakes up on the floor feeling as though he's stared into the sun.
He's Googled it, of course. He's searched the internet far and wide for an explanation but his findings are usually so miniscule or off-the-wall that he might as well fashion a tin-foil hat and sit on his roof every night. There's only one thing that he's ever found that seems to be helpful, and it was a forum put together by someone with similar experiences. In the original post, the guy talks about feeling someone in his mind like a low-level telepathic connection. He talks about his seizures and how his doctors can't find the cause. He talks about strange dreams, full of imagery he couldn't explain - something Travis thought was just because of his trauma and not fate related at all. He talks about feeling isolated and strange.
He also talks about aliens, but that's alright. Travis replied anyways - and though that was a few years ago now, he's still the only one to date.
They talked back and forth on the forum for a while, but as the topic grew more personal, it became easier to just text. They exchanged numbers, texting back and forth until his friend decided "the government can read that; that's bad" and put together an encrypted app. It functions as a group chat, made that way in the hopes of including anyone else who came forward with similar experiences.
The group chat is just the two of them; Travis Phelps and the tin-foil hat guy, also known as Todd Morrison.
Todd's a good guy.
Not to mention your only friend. He reaches for his phone with that thought in mind, trying not to shiver as cold invades his pajamas now that he's no longer curled up under his blanket.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Travis opens up the app and starts typing.
It may be a while until Todd replies, since the guy is usually so busy with his freaky science experiments or, like, trying to find UFOs, but that's alright. Travis needs to get his shit together anyways. As much as he cares about the guy, it's too fucking early for Todd's bullshit about men from the moon.
He showers, puts eye drops in his fucked up eye, brushes his teeth and dentures and hair, all that good stuff. He's considering skipping breakfast when he finally gets a reply.
Travis waits for more, but that's all Todd has for him apparently. Not even little 'x is typing…' dots. Travis isn't sure what timezone the guy's in, so maybe he's getting ready for his morning too? It's weird to think about Todd, like, being in bed and shit. If it weren't for them comparing dreams, he'd assume Todd never slept.
Sighing, he shoves his phone back into his sleep shorts and stumbles to his kitchen. Eating too early makes his stomach sick, but it can't hurt to eat some bread at least. Right?
Yeah, bread's good. Better than passing out during his first day at work anyways.
While he forces himself to fry up some honey-drizzled toast, he ponders what the dream could have meant.
Back when he lived with his father, they had a kennel full of dogs. They bred them - it's how they made money while his father worked at the church. His mother - the only her he can imagine a dog referring too - hasn't been buried anywhere. The woman is alive and well a few states away, having escaped her abusive husband years before Travis ever did. If it doesn't make sense literally then, what does it mean?
Ugh. This is why he leaves all the thinking to Todd. This sucks.
As he flips the bread over, his eyes drift to his pinky, where a pale thread mocks him. It's no vibrant red like it is in the picture books, but Travis has long since realized that that's his issue. Even Todd says his is a shocking shade of red.
Some people have greyish-white threads, but that's when their fated dies. And it only turns white later in life - it isn't possible for someone to die before their fate is met. Or, that's what they said in fate studies.
So it's just Travis who has a pink line of fate. What a joke.
He plates his toast, then chomps bitterly into it as it burns his hand. It's pretty good, though, so it's hard to stay too grumpy. If there's any consolation in this world, it's that there's someone else in this world that has a pink line of fate too. If they were dead, it would be colorless.
Travis has a fate. He just has to find them.
When he finishes his toast, he leans back in his chair and checks his phone again. His eyes widen and he almost falls backwards.
What the hell?!
Fairy tales? Travis blinks in surprise. How the hell are fairy stories research? Still, if Todd calls it a science, it's probably a science.
"Shit, okay." He probably won't be able to make sense of it, but he goes to the laptop on his desk, logs into his email, and starts downloading. "That's a big file, Todd."
He giggles to himself. Gross…
He checks the time and sighs in relief. At this rate, he'll be wonderfully early. He's not usually the kiss-ass type, but he wants to let his new boss know he's serious about this. The guy's taking a major risk with him; Travis is going to be one of the first employees ever in Terrance Addison's dream teashop.
Travis doesn't know shit about tea, but goddamn him if he isn't going to show up and learn!
He checks his appearance one more time, wondering again if he should wear his eyepatch. Today's just going to be training and helping set up since the shop isn't open open yet, but an injury like this tends to make people uncomfortable.
His milky white eye stares unseeingly into the mirror.
When he covers it, it doesn't go away.
He turns his back to the mirror very pointedly. "Alright, Todd. What do you have for me."
When he turns his head slightly to look through his left eye, he feels it more than he would otherwise.
Oh. Well, that's a little more important than Travis' vanity.
"Nice."
Travis grabs his keys, his wallet, and shoves his phone into his pocket before patting each one three times, just to be sure he has it. Then he runs back and grabs his eyepatch - just in case.