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Travis holds him like the world is ending.
It was the first thing he ever noticed when their relationship began - it was a hard thing to ignore, with Travis' thin arms squeezing the breath out of him. Sometimes he'll wake up in the morning after a night shared with his boyfriend and wonder if he'll have bruises wrapped around his waist. They'd be dark, like a blue indigo snake curled around his body.
Travis has never actually bruised him, though. Once, he accidentally cut the sensitive skin around his mouth when they were kissing, but the horror on Travis' face when he realized Sal was bleeding was probably the worst thing to come from that.
No bruises. Just the heavy weight of Travis' fear on his soul.
Travis holds him like the world is ending; Travis is always so slow to let go.
-
It's a nice day outside. A bit chilly, with a cool breeze and grey skies, but Sal thinks that's what's so nice about it. There's no rain, but there's a promise of it in the silver light falling over Nockfell High.
Travis isn't really one for the outdoors, but he's for the indoors even less, so Sal is looking for him. He wants to share lunch with his boyfriend out in the courtyard since the cloudy skies will chase people into the cafeteria - and he knows how much Travis hates a crowded room. It's been too long since they had some one-on-one time outside of Sal's apartment anyways. A lunch date is much in order.
He's not in the lunch line, though, Sal realizes with a disappointed hum. And he's not already sitting with their friends or with his closeted Christian group. His familiar bleach-blond head is nowhere to be found in the cafeteria, despite the fact that Travis is a head taller than most, even sitting down. Maybe he's at his locker?
Sal goes out into the halls to check, but finds only Phillip and one of Neil's friends. There's something rude written on his locker, which the two were kindly rubbing away. He thanks them wholeheartedly, then asks them if they can do him one more favor and let him know where Travis has gone.
They haven't seen him, so he politely excuses himself to check the library; although it's full of students, Travis is nowhere to be found here either. And upon Sal's visit, the science lab Todd prefers is empty too, even of the ginger genius himself. And the art room. And the computer lab. Even the few empty classrooms are Travis-free.
So where is Travis? He was in class during second period - he and Sal passed notes the entire time. When they got caught, the teacher had tried to read their secret code out loud, and Sal had barely managed to fight off an awful fit of laughter. The memory makes Sal smile. He still has the note in his pocket.
That just leaves the bathrooms, Sal realizes. He never uses the school toilets. He hasn't even been in there since that first talk with Travis last year. Oh, the talk that started it all - and the place.
How romantic, Sal thinks wryly.
If Travis is in there, though, he can't be feeling good. Travis is no bigger fan of school bathrooms than Sal. Restrooms freak him out when he's calm and calm him when he's freaked - if he went into the restroom, it's because he's hiding.
During a sleepover once, when it was just the two of them, Travis had confessed that he hid in the bathroom under the sink as a child to escape his father's anger. He then confessed again that he still finds himself drawn to the place when he's anxious.
He's so used to hiding in bathrooms. The thought makes Sal's heart ache. Travis is so used to hiding in general. He deserves better than that.
Well, he can't hide from Sal. Sal won't let him.
He enters the boys' bathroom moments later, squeaking his shoes on the ground purposefully to alert anyone inside of his presence. It appears empty, however, urinals and sinks abandoned, with every stall door open except the one furthest to the wall. It's the same stall Travis was in last time, Sal realizes.
"Travis?" he calls. He hopes for a response, but it's quiet. Again, he tries, "Travis, are you in here?"
A familiar sniffle follows.
Sal walks over, standing in front of the dirty stall door. Someone has written sallie ficher's a qweer on it, which is hysterical, not least of all because it's true. They could at least get creative with their graffiti, Sal thinks, especially if they're going to spell his name wrong. Sal wonders if this is what was written on his locker as well and if the spelling was different or the same.
He doesn't have time to wonder or laugh, though. He simply stares at the little black letters as he asks, "Trav? Are you okay?"
It's quiet for a moment. Too quiet, considering Travis is only quiet when he's afraid. Sal isn't sure what causes it, but he can guess who.
Finally, Travis whispers, "What do you want?"
"I'm just looking for you. I want to spend time with you." Although he waits, no response follows. Too quiet. "Why are you crying, beautiful?"
"I'm not crying. I don't cry."
But his voice is so thick, so wavering. Sal can still hear him sniffling, accompanied by the tell-tale sounds of sobs muffled in shirt sleeves.
"It's okay that you're crying," he says through the stall door, as gently as he knows how. "You're allowed to cry, Travis."
A pause. "I don't want to be punished."
"I will never punish you."
The next sob is let free, no longer muffled. "I know. I don't know why I'm scared."
"Did something happen? It sounds like you might've had a panic attack or something." It wouldn't be the first time - or, Sal thinks sadly, the last.
Sniffling. Shuffling. Travis' shoes hitting the ground. "Ugh. Maybe. I couldn't breathe very well. I needed to hide."
"I understand. If you ever feel that way, no matter what, you can always come find me." That causes Travis to laugh for some reason, making Sal's eyebrows knit together. "I mean it. I care about you."
"Yeah, I know you do." He can hear something wry in Travis' voice, but something smiling too. "I care about you too. I just get so fuckin' bugged out."
"I know. I get that way sometimes too."
"...Like with the dog?"
Sal hates dogs. Sal gets too quiet around dogs. "Yeah. Like with the dog."
Another pause. A sigh. "I think maybe it was from getting in trouble in class. I just started thinking too much. And then I keep seeing this stupid graffiti and getting nervous about there being stuff about me and I just-" A harsh exhale. "I don't know why the teacher freaked me out, though."
The note in Sal's pocket grows suddenly heavier. The words in front of him are a little less silly. "Were you scared of Ms. Brody?"
"Not really. I mean, the teachers here are fucking snitches no matter what, right? I can't sneeze without them tattling to my father about it. Ugh." Travis stands, stepping closer to the still-closed door. "I- I think I was worried you'd be angry."
Sal's eyes go wide. "Me? Travis, you've literally decked me and I wasn't mad."
"What?! How were you not mad about that? I punched you! And shouted slurs at you!"
"Baby, I don't really get mad. You know me."
"...Yeah, I guess so. Your heart's too big for your own good, Fisher." Then, quietly, as if he thinks Sal won't hear, "For my own good…"
Sal swallows. "If it helps, I actually really liked the moment we shared in class. I thought it was funny watching Ms. Brody struggle to read our code."
A laugh follows, hesitant but bright. It makes Sal's chest feel suddenly lighter and he can't quite fight a smile. "That was really funny. I love that we have a secret code."
"Me too." He smiles at the ground, his face warming. He feels so close to Travis. He loves giving Travis these intimate things - a secret language, a secret sign, hands held in the dark where no one can see them. He loves it. "Will you come out now? I'd like to hug you, if that would be okay…"
The door opens, revealing a puffy-eyed, smiling Travis. "Lemme just wash my hands. I accidentally touched the toilet."
Sal laughs. Gross. "Okay. Want me to pull up your sleeves for you?"
"Yes, please."
Though he walks a little slowly, Travis makes it to the sink. Sal stands behind him, wraps his arms around his waist, and pulls up his forest green sleeves for him. It's a cute hoodie, with some bible verse on the back and a white-lined sketch of Jesus on the front. Sal's thought about stealing it more than once, but Travis doesn't have many winter clothes, so he controls himself.
The smile on Travis' face is tiny and shy. "Thanks," he mumbles. He doesn't meet Sal's eyes, but they're bright, even red-rimmed and droopy as they are.
Sal wants to lean up and kiss the back of his neck. Instead, he rubs a hand up and down Travis' side, over his jacket. Then under his jacket. "Of course, baby."
Travis bites his lip while he washes his hands. "Shit. Water's cold."
"Cold weather, cold pipes." He leans against Travis' back, hoping very hard that no one comes in for a pee. He doesn't want to let go. "Maybe not cold to you though, seeing as you're wearing shorts."
"What!" Travis looks down at his cargo shorts as if they've offended him. "Shorts weather is all the time, Fisher. And you can't even talk: you wear that sweater in ninety degrees."
That makes Sal snort. "Okay, you got me. You don't need pants anyways. I'm here to keep you warm." He holds out his arms as Travis dries his hands. "Ready?"
Travis smiles. It's a damn beautiful smile. "Yeah, I'm ready," he says quietly. And then he wraps his arms around Sal, squeezing so tightly that Sal can hardly breathe.
Travis holds him like the world is ending. Secretly, though, Sal holds him just as tightly. He holds Travis like the world is ending and he doesn't let go. He won't.
"I love you," Travis whispers against his hair. "Thank you for finding me."
"Always." He means it.
Travis doesn't pull away. Neither does he.