Work Text:
Travis wakes up to someone jostling him awake. His eyes snap open, the world a blur as he turns his head ever-so-slightly to see Otto leaning over him. Popcorn ceiling stands above him. As blood starts to flow through his brain a little more, Travis’ head pounds.
“Hey there.” Otto gives him a wry smile, the corner of his mouth tilting up a little. The scene before him must be pretty amusing. Travis lifts his head. He finds the menacing glare of a red-haired Gerard Way staring back at him.
“Shit,” Travis mumbles as realization starts to dawn on him.
Otto fills in the blanks for him. “You passed out in my car.”
Travis groans. His skull throbs in response. Without thinking too hard, he tries to remember the night before. Like the world’s worst thousand-piece puzzle, memories start to connect.
Waterparks played a show at some Houston rec center. Andrew, Travis and Dean opened for them. He remembers walking out, the crowd looking enthusiastically bored. The hurt that had been roiling in his gut before they even stopped in the parking lot. Then, watching Awsten as he crowded his shoulders together and wailed into the mic. How he walked off the small stage, sweaty and smiling without a care in the world.
Andrew brought along some beers, of which only the members of DWHB and Geoff indulged in. Clearly Travis had indulged a little too much, because the rest of the night drops off in his memory after that.
He has no clue how he ended up in Otto’s car. Or where he is now.
“How did I get in there?” he asks.
“You were kinda loaded, but Awsten didn’t want his mom to see you. Geoff and I put you in the backseat,” Otto explains. “It kinda slipped my mind until I got up this morning.”
“Wait. So I was in there all night?” Travis sits up.
“Sorry,” Otto says. “You’re inside now, if that makes it better.”
Travis rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”
Otto chuckles, smile growing on his face. Despite the hangover, Travis can piece together that this is his room. The blue walls around him are practically plastered in band posters…Foxy Shazam, La Dispute, more My Chemical Romance. Laundry litters the carpeted floor, strewn about on a chair crammed in the corner next to the bed.
He looks up at the light on the ceiling. Immediately Travis hisses and hides his face in his hands. “Do you have any Advil?”
“Already ahead of you,” Otto says. He hands Travis a small plastic bottle and a glass of water. The pills rattle around a little, agitating the tiny construction worker jackhammering through his skull.
“When you feel better I’ll drive you home,” Otto says. He sits on the end of his bed. “Again, sorry about the, uh…”
“Car thing,” Travis says, throat full of gravel. “You didn’t put me in the trunk right?”
“Awsten thought it would be funny, but no. You wouldn’t fit.”
Travis gives Otto a look, which only makes him smile wider. “Next time, don’t get so fucking hammered, huh? Problem solved.”
“Yeah, well. Whatever. I’m fine.” Travis doesn’t usually have that much to drink, but last night was kind of…difficult. Being around everyone, it was hard to keep it together. Being around Awsten was almost impossible. Outside of the intoxication, it’s fitting that he’d want to get rid of Travis.
“Before Geoff and I put you in there last night, we thought you had alcohol poisoning. He laid you on your ribs and you puked all over Awsten’s shoes.” He sounds concerned, which makes Travis feel weird. This isn’t something for Otto to worry about.
“Not dead,” Travis says, raising his glass in a mock toast. He fumbles with the child-locked bottle with his other hand. His lips quiver into a momentary smirk as he pictures himself, red-faced and bleary-eyed, hurling onto Awsten’s precious Converse by the post of his bunk bed.
So maybe he’s still a little mad. He has the right to be.
“Thank god for that,” Otto says. He sounds like he’s only half joking. Travis ignores it. “Do you want some help with that?”
Travis looks up at him. Otto nods to the bottle in his hand before he takes it from him anyway, pressing down on the cap and twisting it off. He hands Travis two small blue pills.
“Thanks,” Travis says.
Otto just nods, getting up from the bed. He takes the Advil with him. “I’m gonna get some cereal. Let me know when you wanna go though.”
He leaves Travis alone in his room; a place that Travis quite frankly never anticipated being in in his life. He and Otto aren’t close. Awsten is the glue between his scattered array of friends to begin with, but the two don’t have much in common. The only thing that comes to mind is their affinity to keep to themselves (“Living the hermit life,” as Awsten would put it. But fuck him.)
Travis puts the glass of water down before he spills it or does something stupid. He can feel all those feelings from last night returning to him now, and the last thing he wants is to create a mess. Although it might be a little too late for that. Would it even matter now?
Another piece of the night comes back to Travis as his headache subsides. They’d all gone back to Awsten’s house. Awsten had pulled him away from the living room, asking why he had such a stick up his ass. Truly rich coming from him. Travis can’t remember what he said, but it was petty. Angry. He never gets angry.
Awsten tried his best to keep his face a neutral mask, but Travis saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes at whatever he’d said. Awsten let him go, and he returned to the couch. Andrew handed him another drink.
How did things get so screwed? How’d Travis end up here, hating his best friend in the bed of said best friend’s other best friend? Why did he have to care so much?
Too many questions. His head starts to hurt again.
Travis gets up, wobbling to the door and down the hall. He follows hushed voices all the way to the kitchen. He stops for a second to listen in.
“...you can’t just bring your friends over without asking first. You know that.” A woman’s voice. She sounds older. Comforting but stern.
“Mom, it’s a tricky situation. I couldn’t take him home. I don’t even know where he lives,” Otto says.
“Is this guy even your friend?” his mother asks.
Before Otto can respond, Travis makes his appearance. Otto sees him first.
“Hey,” Travis says. He reaches a hand up to play with the short curls at the nape of his neck. “You must be Mrs. Wood. Nice to meet you.”
She gives him a tight-lipped smile. “You too…”
“Travis,” Otto supplies for her.
“Travis,” she repeats. Otto’s mom sizes him up, giving him the up-and-down with her eyes before they land at the middle of his chest. He looks at where she’s looking. There’s a small orange stain on his shirt. He knows it’s vomit, and she probably does too. “It was nice to meet you.”
She walks away, leaving the two of them in the kitchen.
“I think she likes me,” Travis says, deadpan.
“She’s just never met you,” Otto says. “I think this is a better introduction than me carrying you inside at dawn unconscious.”
“Probably,” Travis shrugs. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
“Alright, just gimme a sec.” Otto puts an empty bowl in the sink, letting water from the tap run over it before he turns it off. Travis follows him to the front of the house, stepping into muddy work boots easily. He belatedly notices the spot on Travis’ chest and frowns. “Do you want something else to wear?”
“Honestly yeah,” Travis says.
“Okay, hold on,” Otto says. He slips out of the boots, surely too dirty to wear further into the house. He comes back with a clean t-shirt. The Houston Astros logo is emblazoned across the front, faded slightly from the wash. Travis takes it from him.
“Thanks.”
It’s quite strange to be taking off his puke-stained shirt in the front hall of a house he’s never been in, beside a guy he’s known forever but doesn’t really know. Otto’s shirt smells like lavender laundry detergent and something else Travis can’t quite place. Sort of like drugstore aftershave and pine needles.
Travis brute forces his feet into his sneakers, following Otto onto the wrap around porch of his house and down the gravel driveway. The Sedan that he was apparently stuffed in sits all on its own. Travis waits at the passenger side for Otto to unlock the doors before he pulls his open, dropping like a rock into his seat.
As they drive away from Otto’s house, Travis stares out his window. There must be nothing but field for miles. He vaguely remembers Awsten saying something about the long haul from Otto’s place to the city. Fourty five minutes or so.
Otto leaves his window down for a while as silence overtakes the vehicle. The wind whipping his hair into his eyes eventually gets annoying enough for him to roll it back up. It dawns on Travis that Otto was there last night too. He’s not sure about Awsten’s sorry state, but he knows himself enough to be aware that he isn’t so subtle when he’s gotten a few drinks down. The rest of the night refuses to come back to him. It’s impossible to know what he or anyone else saw.
Otto turns on the radio, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. Travis turns from the window to look at him. He notices, looking over to catch Travis’ eyes for a brief moment. “What?”
“Nothing.” The radio isn’t enough to kill the skin crawling sensation all over Travis’ body. He can’t tell whether his own doom and gloom is making this weird, or if Otto’s contributing something to the awkwardness himself. “What do you remember from last night?” he asks.
Otto stares out at the road. “What do you mean?”
“Like, me. The drinks. Awsten,” Travis specifies.
“Well, I was sober, so everything. Or—well. Enough.” Then, “I don’t wanna pry.” His fingers grip the wheel a little tighter.
“Was he upset?”
“I don’t know,” Otto says. “I think so.”
“Good,” Travis says, unsure if he means it or not. “I kissed him.”
“Oh,” Otto says. His tone of voice doesn’t give away what he thinks about that.
“Not last night but…before. It was a bad decision. But then he kissed me back, so.”
Otto asks, “Does he love you?”
Travis’ eyes start to water. He’s desperately trying to blink tears away as he says, “No.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry,” Travis mumbles. Warmth rolls down his face, gathering at the corners of his eyes. Shame curdles in his throat as he wipes at his cheeks with the heel of his hand. Otto doesn’t say anything else. Once Travis has calmed down, he doesn’t either. He rests his head against the window. It’s cool against his skin.
The drive is quiet spare the radio for the next half hour, until Travis finally has to speak to direct Otto to his house. His instructions are quiet, embarrassed as Otto turns corners and stops at stop signs. It feels like forever before they reach the curb in front of his duplex.
“Thanks for the ride,” Travis says. The air is cold when he steps out onto the sidewalk, choking up his lungs.
“Travis, hold on,” Otto says behind him. He turns at the call of his name. Otto stands close, closer than he’s ever been. With Travis standing on the curb and Otto’s boots at the shoulder of the road, they stand at about the same height. “I just—”
Travis grabs a fistful of Otto’s sweater. It’s rushed and clumsy. Honestly kind of a bad kiss. Travis pulls away to stare at him. Otto looks slightly shocked, like he’s melting and doesn’t know what to do about it. Then he leans in for a slower, softer approach. Travis loosens his grip a bit. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, if this is going to make anything better. Probably not. It quells his heart for the moment and that’s all he’s focusing on.
Travis steps away when it ends. He touches his lips. Otto waits for him to say something. When he doesn’t, he gets back in his car. Travis watches Otto buckle his seatbelt and drive away.
Travis stares at his hands. He realizes he left his shirt in the car.
No one’s around to hear him curse.