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Travis’s breath was shallow as he ran through the woods. Twigs and branches caught his clothes, leaving tears in his sweater and worn Jean shorts. It was dark, he had no idea where he was going.
He had to get away, that’s the only thing on his mind. He had to run, at least for the night. He’s dead if he doesn’t find a place to hide.
Then he came to a stop, now panting from running for so long.
In front of him stood a treehouse. A little rough looking, but fuck it. Good enough for a day or two.
Travis smiled very slightly, wincing from the split in his lip. He ran his thumb over it as he started towards the treehouse.
———
It was a shitty day. Since Larry opened his eyes, he had felt like shit. He slept like shit the night before, and then he had to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to go to school, then he had to deal with fucking Travis, oh, and then, then! He got home and went ghost hunting with Sal, Todd, and Ashley.
So, basically, Larry was tired, people suck, and the apartments are still haunted. Fucking lovely, great. It’s not that he doesn’t have fun with his friends when they look for ghosts in the apartment, but goddamn is it starting to scare the dogshit out of him.
Yes, yes he is cursing a lot. He has a right, it’s his brain and his bitching.
The remnants of snow crunched under his boots as he made his way towards his treehouse. He pulled his red jacket closer to his body against the harsh wind. God he hates winter. No, he loves it, loves the quiet and peaceful air around him, it’s beautiful. He hates the cold. Very different. It’s almost spring, anyway.
Larry was also invited earlier to dinner with Sal and Henry, but he opted out. It was the first time Henry left their apartment in weeks for anything other than groceries with his son, and he didn’t feel like disturbing the experience. Plus he was still all shitty over his day. He hoped it goes well, Sal deserves it to go well. Breathing through his gapped teeth, he pushed his greasy hair back from his face. God, he hopes it goes well for his lil bro.
He came to a stop in front of the treehouse and climbed up the ladder, barely having to look at it. Muscle memory has carried him here too many times to count. He keeps track of the steps as he goes up, 10 old wood pierces. Same as last time, same as it will be next time he inevitably comes back here.
“Fucking fina- oh what the hell!”
This day just keeps getting worse.
Going through the closet filled with Larry’s paintings was the one and only Travis Phelps. He flinched when he heard Larry’s voice, his head immediately turning to the other boy with a terrified expression. Then his face twisted into a scowl.
“The fuck are you doing here, Johnson?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Larry’s fists automatically clenched at the sound of Travis’s voice, along with his jaw.
‘Deep breathes, Larry,’ he thought to himself. ‘Don’t punch him in the throat, Larry. Sal would be mad, Larry.’
Larry took a deep breath, making himself take a step back from Travis.
“Well, numb nuts, this is my damn treehouse,” he glared at Travis. “Why the fuck are you here? And going through my shit?”
Travis momentarily dropped the sour look. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know that.” He gripped his arms a little tighter. “I just needed to get out of my damn house for a night, okay? So I just..ran. And then I found this,” he said, unusually quiet. “It’s none of your business, anyway, greaseball. I’ll leave and you can completely forget about this and do whatever illegal shit you like to do in here.”
If Larry was being honest, Travis looked like shit.
His clothes were torn from his fun little run through the woods, and he was shaking cause he was still wearing those stupid fucking shorts he always wears. Bruises were scattered across what little skin was showing, his lip split and clearly picked at, and he had cuts from branches on his cheeks. Oh, and of course a black eye. Larry couldn’t remember if that one was new or not, he’s never given enough shits to keep track.
Apparently until now.
Sighing, Larry started climbing down the treehouse.
“Come on, dude. You’re gonna freeze your ass off out here,” he shouted up the ladder. Travis didn’t respond, but Larry could hear him shuffling down the ladder after a few seconds of consideration.
They walked in tense silence to the apartments, Larry getting just a little more pissed off every time he heard Travis shiver behind him. Pretty much everything Travis did pissed him off, especially today. He stopped in front of the door leading to his room and turned to the other boy.
“Don’t be a dick to my mom,” he warned. Travis rolled his eyes.
“I don’t have shit against your mom. I’m not that much of an asshole.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Larry muttered, opening the door and walking inside. Travis scowled, but followed him nonetheless.
Travis looked around Larry’s room, eyes crossing over every poster, painting, and pile of clothes. He looked at the taller boy with furrowed eyebrows. “How the hell do you even live like this?” he asked in disgusted disbelief. Larry grinned in amusement, the first time in hours.
“Dunno, dude. This is kinda how my brain looks, I guess,” he responded with a shrug. Travis snorted, taking a seat on the beanbag.
“Well, your brain’s a shitshow.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Jesus boy,” Larry said, pulling Travis back up by his sleeve. “I gotta clean you up, dude. You look like ass.”
The shorter of the two yanked his arm back, grimacing at the pain. “Don’t touch me, fag!” he snarled Larry glared at him with his hands in fists.This motherfucker is unbelievable.
“Okay, look, you homophobic shitstain, do you want my help? Or do you wanna go shiver your dick off in the snow?” he asked. Travis hesitated then scowled down at his shoes.
“...Sorry.”
“That’s more fucking like it!”
Larry huffed and guided Travis to the bathroom, instructing him to sit on the counter, which he begrudgingly did (“We look like homos, Johnson.” “Yep.”). Larry kneeled down in front of Travis and grabbed the first aid kit out from under the sink. “And by the way,” he started, glancing up at the boy above him as he opened up the white box. “I’m not even gay, dude.” For some goddamn reason, this made Travis start hysterically laughing. Larry’s mouth fell open.
“Bullshit!” Travis howled. “Absolute bullshit!”
“Shut the hell up, dude! You’re one to talk!” He socked Travis in the ribs, just hard enough to hurt. Travis winced, sucking air in through his teeth. He glared again, but didn’t do anything in retaliation. Larry then smiled sardonically.
“Okay, cool. Now take your sweater off.”
Travis slowly peeled the purple sweater off, and his shirt, wincing as it grazed every wound on his upper body. He swallowed, staring down at his lap as he reached up to grip his cross necklace.. Larry was left silent at the sight of him.
“Holy fuck-knuckles,” he said quietly. Travis wrapped his arms around his own stomach self-consciously.
He was covered in bruises, some the size of a baseball, some shockingly similar to a fist. Welts and cuts were all across his arms and chest. The mirror behind Travis gave Larry a view of his back, and holy shit was he beginning to feel nauseous. Welts took the form of huge stripes of raised, angry skin on Travis’s back. The perfect outline of a belt, hell, there was even the outline of a buckle. The nearly purple welts contrasted against Travis’s almond-colored skin in a way that made Larry wanna punch something. Or someone.
Larry slowly shook his head, looking in Travis’s face. “Yeah, no, bro. You’re not going back home. Fuck that,” he said simply, like it was a fact. He started pulling things out of the box. Travis’s eyes widened, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
“It’s- it’s not what it looks like,” he said quietly. “Really. Just a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah?” Larry grumbled, opening a tube of disinfectant. “‘Cause it kinda looks like your dad’s beating the dogshit out of you at home, dude.” Travis didn’t respond, only hunkered his head down and mumbled something. He then jolted backward when Larry rubbed the disinfectant on one of the wounds on Travis’s arm.
“Fuck!” Travis hissed. Larry rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. Sit still, Phelps.”
After the time-consuming task of disinfecting all the cuts on Travis’s body and covering them with bandaids, Larry’s shoulder had little grooves where Travis’s nails dug in in his attempts to stay still. Larry had never been in this close of proximity to the other boy for this long, and honestly?
He wasn’t bad looking, like at all. His features are very soft, clashing against the bruises and cuts. Larry’s eyes traced Travis’s sharp jaw up to where it meets his neck, down to his collarbones, then further down until he loses his nerve.
He’s been doing this more recently, and he hates to admit it, but mostly with Travis. Stealing quick glances during classes or in the hallway, when his expression is neutral and he doesn’t look like a complete dickwad. He looked up the word ‘bisexual’ one night on Henry’s computer with Sal after the blue-haired boy said he liked boys and girls, along with anyone in between.
Larry swallowed, looking away from Travis as he pondered something about himself. Travis didn’t look at him one time during the whole process, only cursed up at the ceiling, or stared at the wall with an embarrassed look on his face. Fucking besides the point, whatever. Larry grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water, lathering it with soap.
“This might sting like a bitch, but then it’s gonna help,” he warned right before pressing the cloth against one of the welts on Travis’s arm. Travis gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. A few minutes later, all the welts on Travis’s front had been gently washed, then Larry instructed him to stand up and turn around.
Travis did so, making eye contact with himself. Scowling, he fought off the urge to punch the mirror. He still looked like shit. Split lip, blackeye, and there were twigs and leaves in his now tangled neck-length hair. God, he hated having thick hair. His black roots were around two inches long at this point.
The washcloth was pressed to the mess of flesh on his back, making Travis grip the counter to stop himself from tearing up. Fuck, fuck, fuck, distraction, go.
“Larry?” His voice was weak and quiet. Larry made a noise of affirmation, not halting in his task other then to push his long hair back. Travis took a moment to appreciate Larry’s reflection. Sharp nose, olive skin, doe-eyes the color of chocolate with thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. God, and that fucking adorable mole under his left eye, and ass-length hair. Even his eye bags were handsome, in a weird sort of way. Oh god, and the snakebites- nope. He shook the fagness™ away from his mind and continued.
“Why’d you even fucking help me? I thought you and your fa- uh, I mean, you and your friends hated me,” he asked. Larry momentarily paused, then glanced up into the mirror to shoot Travis a gap-toothed smile that made his breath catch in surprise.
“Nah, dude. They don’t hate you, except for maybe Ashley. Todd doesn’t care enough to and Sal is convinced there’s a reason you walk around like there’s a stick up your ass,” he snickered at Travis’s shocked expression and turned his attention back to Travis’s back.
“And as for me? I rarely hate people. Sure, you piss me off and deserve to get your shit rocked, but not like this. This is just bullshit, man. I wasn’t about to leave you like that, I’m not some piece of shit.” Larry went quiet for a second before piping up. “How often does he do this to you?” he asked quietly.
Travis sighed deeply, then cracked a smile that seemed more sad than anything else. “Whenever I’m acting a little faggy. Or I try to stop him from beating on my mom,” he closed his eyes, just absorbing the feeling of the cloth against his agitated back. “Normally he stops before it gets this far, but last night was, uh, pretty rough, I guess,” he said under his breath. Larry gritted his teeth, pulling back the washcloth.
“What was it last night?”
“Too faggy. The bleached hair is really starting to piss him off.”
Larry hung his head back and laughed. “I fucking bet! Why do you even do it? Can’t say you seem like the ‘bleached hair’ type, dude,” he asked as he grabbed a dry towel and began drying Travis’s back and arms. Travis snorted, opening his eyes and reaching a hand up to pick at one of the band aids on his face.
“Because it pisses him off. That’s the whole fucking reason.”
“That’s awesome!”
Right at that moment, Lisa Johnson poked her head into the open bathroom door. She was still in her work clothes, a mop clutched in her hand. “Larbear, do you have a friend o-” the question died on her tongue as she watched her son’s hands go still on the fucking half-naked boy’s back. In their bathroom. When Larry was supposed to be alone. At nightime.
The towel in Larry’s hands dropped to the ground, both boys staring at Lisa with shocked faces.
“...Well. Alrighty, then. Come talk to me when you get the chance, Larry. I’ll be in my room!” Lisa turned on her heel and walked to her room, hacking a bit. She’s been feeling under the weather recently, but not bad enough to call off work yet, no matter how much her son begs.
Travis was the first to speak again. “...Larbear?” he snorted. Larry rolled his eyes and tossed the towel at his face.
“Shut up,” he muttered, walking out of the bathroom to his moms room.
He shut the door behind him and immediately started talking.
“Mama, shit, look-”
“Language, Larry but-”
“It’s not what it looked like! For real!” Why was his hands shaking? Fuck, now he thought he was going to cry. “I’m not- he’s- mama, you have to believe me-”
All he could think about was what Travis's dad did for- what? Bleaching his fucking hair? Looking a little too happy next to a boy? Him and his mom had never even discussed that type of stuff, and his worst fear is probably losing his mom, or Sal.
But all Lisa did was smile. She walked closer to her borderline crying son and cupped his face, wiping back incoming tears with her thumbs. “Baby, it’s okay,” she said softly. Then she paused. “Do you like boys?”
Larry went silent. Did he? He really thought about it, then slowly nodded. “I think so,” he whispered. “Not him, though. He just got all fu- I mean, messed up, so I was helping him out,” he explained, putting his hands on top of his mother’s. Lisa smiled and kissed the top of Larry’s head.
“I don’t know why you were so scared. I’ll always love and support you, Larbear,” she said soothingly. Larry smiled.
“I love you too, mama,” he chewed at the inside of his mouth before speaking again. “Can he spend the night? It’ll be in the treehouse. He just doesn’t need to be out alone right now.”
Lisa slowly nodded, pursing her lips. “Of course, but, if anything does happen-” “Oh, god.” “Do you need condo-”
Larry has never walked out of a room faster, his mom’s laughter following him out. Travis had just finished pulling the twigs and leaves out of his hair and was now combing through it with his fingers, cursing under his breath. He was wearing his shirt now, a white collared long sleeve. The motherfucker looked like he was ready for church, complete with the wooden cross he wore around his neck. Larry snorted and stood behind him.
“Why do you always dress so formal?” he asked, smiling. Travis rolled his eyes, not halting in his task.
“I don’t fucking know, why do you dress like a stoner everyday?”
“Probably ‘cuz I am.”
“Oh, of fucking course you are.”
Larry shot Travis finger guns then turned around to turn the shower on. It's always taken forever for the water to get warm. “I’m gonna shower, you can help yourself to any of my stoner clothes. Just, uh, don’t touch the top right drawer. We can spend the night in the treehouse after. I got a shitton of blankets.”
Travis’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why the damn treehouse?” he asked, stepping out of the look. Larry smirked and looked him in the eyes.
“Would you rather sleep in the same bed?” he asked, only half-teasing. Travis was momentarily lost for words.
Please, please, please, ple- “Fuck no, that’s gay,” he said quickly. Larry snickered.
“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought, asshole.” And then he shut the bathroom door, leaving Travis alone in his room, with his thoughts.
—--------
Around thirty minutes later, they sat up in the treehouse across from each other in their respective pallets. Larry’s hair was just damp enough to stick to the back of his neck in a way that pissed him off, so he was constantly messing with it. Travis tried to discreetly sneak glances, tried being the keyword. He was also wearing Larry’s clothes, which was also all he could think about. Black sweatpants with paint stains on them, some edgy band shirt that he didn’t recognize, and a green sweater that just so happened to be Larry’s second favorite, other than his red jacket. Weirdly? Larry didn’t seem to give a shit.
After a few minutes, Larry pulled a joint out of his pocket, holding it in his mouth while he looked for a lighter. Travis’s nose scrunched. He scooted a few inches further away.
“Don’t tell me you’re about to smoke that shit in here.”
“Dude. We’re technically outside. Also, this is my damn treehouse, I’ll do what I please,” Larry responded, snickering. He lit the joint and took a hit.
“Yknow,” he paused to breathe out the smoke. “You should smoke some weed. It’d help you get that stick out of your ass. And it’d take your mind off all the bullshit.” He held the joint out to Travis.
Travis just stared at it. Never in his life had he ever done any drugs, not even prescribed. His parents were heavy believers that God could cure any illness, which is probably why he was sick so often, and so bad. Hell, he’d never even seen the shit before. Never had the opportunity to decide if he wanted to do them.
And now he did, in the form of a shittily rolled joint pressed between Larry’s long fingers. He took a minute to notice the black nail polish, chipped with little splotches of paint on some nails. And then he looked at Larry’s face. He swallowed.
What’s the worst that could happen?
He hesitantly took the joint. Larry beamed at the other boy and whooped, holding his hands up in victory.
“WHOOO! TRAVIS DOES HAVE A LIFE!”
“Shut up, Johnson.”
———
“No, wait! Get this shit- So I’m fucking bent over the bathtub rinsing bleach out, right?” Travis broke into a fit of laughter, interrupting himself. Larry was laughing too, slightly in awe.
They were two joints in now, and Travis was absolutely stoned for the first time in his life.
And he can’t lie, it might be one of his favorite things now. That and the fucking hilarious face his dad makes whenever he rebleaches his hair.
He calmed down and continued. “And my dad gets back from this meeting shit he had for the church early and he walks in the bathroom to look for me. He can’t even fucking see my face, just my fucking bright yellow hair cause I didn’t know the hell to bleach my hair-”
Larry interrupted him this time with a snort, choking on the weed smoke in his lungs. “You still don’t know how to fucking bleach your hair, dude!” he yelled. Travis merely flipped him off before he started talking again.
“I finally lift my head up, and he’s completely calm. For a second, I thought my plan had failed and this would be the one thing he wouldn’t give a shit about,” he grinned wide, like he was proud of himself.
His eyes were a darker shade of pink after taking a hit in between words. “Then! He kneels now next to me and grabs me by my shirt and gets up in my face, and he was like,” Travis sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes, curling his lips into a scowl.
“Travis Kenneth Phelps, you are on thin goddamn ice. One more slip, and not even the Lord can save you,” he said in a fake low voice. This made Larry start chuckling, covering his mouth with his hands.
Travis started laughing again and fell to his back. “It was absolute gold! Loved every second of it!” he shouted, turning so he was on his side and looking at Larry.
Larry shook his head, putting out the roach. “I didn’t know you had it in you, church boy. Not gonna lie, thought he had you whipped.” He honestly couldn’t believe any of this. If you told him he’d be getting high with Travis Phelps in his treehouse at 12 in the morning, he’d call you a liar. And Travis high was really something else. Beautiful, if you asked Larry.
Slightly debauched was a good term. His rough demeanor was completely gone as he squirmed on the ground in giggles, clutching his cross. It’s a habit he’d built up since he was kid, a way to keep himself in check and control, so he doesn’t do anything stupid. He would occasionally thumb at the split in his lip, running his thumb under the plump skin of his bottom lip. Larry swallowed, getting ahold of himself.
“So how long have you had this treehouse?” Travis asked, rolling to his stomach. Larry paused, then smiled fondly. He’s always had a nice smile, even though he was always conscious of the gap in his front two teeth. Travis thought it was adorable. His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping his cross.
“Since I was a little kid. Me and my dad made it. It’s been really loved since then. I used to be here every day with him, till he uh, disappeared,” he fell silent. Travis frowned slightly, sitting up on his elbows.
“Damn. I’m sorry, Larry,” he attempted a smile. “It’s, uh, a cool treehouse though. I bet he’d be happy if he knew you still used it.”
Larry grinned, pulling his knees up and draping his arms over them. “Thanks. It’s kinda weird, but I think he’s still out there somewhere. If he is, then I’m gonna fucking find him,” he said, looking down at the quilt he was sitting on. It had his parents' anniversary stitched into one of the corners.
Travis’s expression became serious. “You’ll find him if he’s out there, Larry.”
Larry didn’t respond. Just looked down. “I hope so, man.”
A few minutes later Travis declared he was going to bed, curling into a ball on his side. Larry pulled his flip phone out of his pocket and filled Sal in on what was happening.
SAL: oh my god
SAL: Travis has reasoning for being a cock
SAL: it’s almost like
SAL: someone called this
SAL: someone incredibly intelligent
LARRY: Yeah, yeah wtv
LARRY: Also mom knows I like boys
SAL: larry johnson
SAL: do you have the hots for travis
LARRY: .
LARRY: What the fuck even brought that up
Larry sighed quietly, glancing over at Travis’s sleeping body. He was so fucked. He looked back at his phone.
SAL: oh I don’t know
SAL: you spend a few hours with him for the first time outside of school and you suddenly come out to your mother out of the blue
LARRY: SHE ASKED ME
SAL: oh my mistake
SAL: you spend a few hours with him and your mom sees the way you act and wonders if you’re gay for him
SAL: and you and I both know Lisa’s always right
LARRY: Well fuck I guess it doesn’t matter anyway dude
LARRY: He’s homophobic
SAL: hey you also didn’t think he would ever smoke weed with you and here we are
LARRY: I guess that’s fair. See you tomorrow bro, love ya
SAL: love you too Larry
SAL: no fornecation
He didn’t respond to that, only shut his phone and laid it beside him.
That night all he could dream of was Travis, in the worst way possible.
———————
It had been a few weeks since then, and ever since that night Travis had been hanging around the group more. He even mumbled an apology to Todd, utterly flooring Larry. The group seemed to accept him pretty well. Ashley was by far the most standoffish, but she came around after a week. They even brought him ghost-hunting, thoroughly breaking his whole perception of life.
Sal sighed, poking at his bologna sandwich. He turned and looked at Larry. “Dude, there’s something wrong with these sandwiches. They taste really…off,” he said. Larry cringed, looking down at his own school lunch.
“I bet you ten dollars it’s fucking goat meat.”
Todd hummed, picking out his bologna. He held it in front of his face, pushing his glasses up with his free hand. “There’s definitely something strange with it. I suppose I could test it in the lab, I don’t see myself eating this anyway,” he pondered. Ashley grinned leaning forward on the lunch table.
“Awesome! Then me, Sal, and Larry can go look for clues around the school. I’m gonna be sick if I have to keep smelling this every week,” she said. Sal quickly nodded.
“Sounds great!” The tips of his ears were red now, a dead give away. For a dude who has to wear a mask everywhere, he sucks at hiding his emotions. Larry snickered, elbowing his best friend in the shoulder.
Travis suddenly sat down at his usual spot at their table between Larry and Chug. His black eye had finally healed, but now he had another one on the other eye. “So, what’d I miss, fuckwads?” he asked, grabbing his sandwich.
“We’re gonna go find out what the school meat’s made out of, cause there’s no way it’s bologna,” Sal explained, drumming his fingers against the table. Travis blinked and took a bite of his sandwich.
“Well that’s stupid,” he said through a mouth full of food. Larry snorted and crossed his arm, bumping shoulders with Travis.
“Who knows man, maybe you’re eating goat meat right now,” he teased. The shorter boy rolled his eyes fondly.
“I’ve eaten goat before, Johnson. This isn’t it.”
Ashley gasped dramatically, hiding a smile. “Guys, guys, guys, what if it’s…human flesh?” she joked. Larry gasped just as over the top, putting his hands on his face.
“IMPOSSIBLE.”
Todd clicked his tongue, looking at the ‘bologna’ closer. “Y’know, that’s actually a possibility,” he muttered. The whole table’s mood shifted slightly, leaving Larry feeling a little sick. Travis rolled his eyes, continuing to eat his sandwich.
“Bullshit,” he said. Sal pointed at him and Chug.
“Officer, these are them right there, the cannibals of Nockfell High,” he said, feigning a terrified voice. Larry snickered and looked at Travis.
“You coming with us, dude?” he asked, trying to sound less hopeful then he wanted to be. God, he was so screwed. Travis shook his head, looking back at the other boy.
“No, not this time. Number one, definitely all bullshit. Number two, I’m fucking starving. If you guys wanna get anywhere, though, someone should try to talk to Kim. She should know where all the meat comes from.”
Sal nodded. “Thanks, Travis. I’ll see if I can get any information while Todd tests the meat.”
The gang split up after that, minus Travis, Chug, and Maple who actually wanted to eat. Or wanted to stare at their boyfriend, depending on who you are. Not long after they left Travis silently stood up and dumped the remainder of his food, running to the bathroom.
A few minutes into searching for signs of anything weird, Larry had to piss. He was greeted by the sound of someone crying when he walked into the bathroom. Tensing, he looked around the trashy bathroom. A wadded up ball of paper caught his attention. He grabbed it and uncrinkled it.
“I know we don't really know each other that well and you probably have your opinions of me. I thought maybe if I told you how I feel, things could be different.
The truth is, I can't stop thinking about you. I'm crazy about you. I think you're amazing! But I know these feelings are wrong. It's not the way a boy should feel. Shame swallows me whole. My father would kill me but I can't live in his shadow forever.
The closest to heaven I’ve ever felt was that night in your treehouse. I could worship you like a religion.”
Larry was absolutely shocked. He read the last two lines over and over again. Then one more time, because holy shit.
This was about him. And this was from Travis, no doubt about it. He’s been having to decipher his messy handwriting in group projects since middle school. His heart was going apeshit, his face warming up considerably. He swallowed, unable to keep a giddy expression off his face. He made his way to the last stall, and sure enough, he could see Travis’s god awful shoes.
Larry leaned against the wall beside Travis’s stall and knocked on the stall door. Travis choked on a sob before responding. “Buzz off, faggot!” he snapped, voice raw and shaky. Larry clicked his tongue, still holding the letter in his hands. His eyes ran over every word again.
“Wooow. Just when I’m starting to think we’re friends,” he said, no real annoyance in his tone. Travis fell quiet for a second.
“...Larry? What the hell are you doing here? I-I thought you were looking for evidence with your friends,” he asked, wiping tears from his face.
“They’re actually our friends, but yeah, we are. I just had to take a piss, and then I heard you, uh, crying,” Larry gripped the paper in his hands tighter. “What’s wrong, dude?” he asked. Travis sighed deeply.
“...I’m going to hell, and I don’t even mind that much,” he said, voice muffled from his pressing his face between his knees. Larry’s mouth twitched down into a slight frown.
“What makes you say that?”
“I’m a fucking homo.”
Travis’s bluntness caught Larry off guard, to say the least. He sputtered slightly and tried not to laugh. “Y’know, Travis, that’s kind of dumb. I may not be Christian, but isn’t it kinda weird that you’d go to hell for, what? Loving someone? Fucking stupid, dude. It’s not like you’re hurting anyone,” he said. Travis laughed, a noise dangerously close to becoming a sob.
“Uh huh, tell that to my fucking dad,” he spat. Larry’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Fuck your dad. He can’t control your whole goddamn life, you need to do what makes you happy. Who gives a shit what he thinks, just keep it on the downlow till you can get out of there,” he said this like it was obvious, his blood boiling at the fucking thought of Kenneth Phelps. Travis actually laughed slightly.
“...Thanks, Johnson. I actually appreciate that,” he replied, wiping off whatever tears remained.
Larry slowly inhaled, then looked at the unfinished letter again. Better now then never.
“Hey, Travis?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the closest to heaven you’ve ever felt?” he meant to sound cool, maybe even smug, but instead it came out in a rush, like he was panicking. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t.
Travis paused, wondering why that sounded so familiar. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell Larry was talking about, then it hit him. He missed the motherfucking trash can.
The only sound in the bathroom was Travis shifting to his feet, then the clicking of the stall door as he pushed it open. He stared at Larry with red rimmed eyes from crying. A look of shock was clear on his face, his mouth hung open. He swallowed the lump in his throat, like a wad of gunk stuck in his esophagus. All words had seemed to fail him. Larry stared right back with a calm expression, way calmer than he felt. The letter was still gripped firmly in his grasp.
“Lo-look-” Travis managed to rasp out, but he was interrupted as Larry surged forward. The paper fluttered to the ground, forgotten as his hands were too occupied cupping Travis’s face. His own olive skin clashed against Travis’s soft brown face. His breath ghosted over the other boy’s lips. Surprisingly, Travis was the one to close the gap. Teeth clacked awkwardly as Travis kissed him roughly, hands finding their way around Larry’s waist, pulling him closer.
Larry sighed in relief, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. His tongue darted across Travis’s bottom lip. He tasted like blood and peppermints, and Larry fucking loved it. Travis groaned slightly, gripping Larry’s hips tighter. Their position was a little uncomfortable, as Larry had a few solid inches on Travis, but neither really seemed to mind that much.
They eventually pulled apart, both breathless. Travis wiped spit off his mouth with the back of his hand, pupils blown wide. “Holy shit,” he muttered, hand moving to thread through Larry’s hair, the other staying firm on the mentioned’s hip still. Larry snorted, tracing Travis’s cheekbones with his thumbs down to his jaw, a thing he’s thought about way too many times.
“Agreed,” he said quietly, moving his hands to Travis’s shoulders so he could latch himself to his collarbones, going right below where his collar ended. Travis groaned, gently pushing Larry against the wall. This was all completely new to him, senses running into overdrive. He was almost fucking shaking from nerves.
“Larry,” he breathed out, “I really fucking like you.” This was the most confident he sounded since he walked in the bathroom. Larry smiled against Travis’s skin and pulled back so he could get a good look at Travis. He looked so embarrassed that it made Larry want to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead he looped his arms around Travis’s shoulders.
“I like you too, a shitton.”
Travis grinned wide, like the night he did in the treehouse. “So. Are we…something?” he asked, growing a tad uncomfortable. Larry snickered and nodded.
“Fuck yeah, we are,” he said coolly, kissing Travis on the nose. Travis grinned, glancing down at his watch.
“There’s 15 minutes till lunch is over, Johnson,” he said simply, glancing from Larry’s face to the stall behind them. Larry started laughing, dragging him to the stall.
“Fucking horndog.”
“Like you’re any fucking better. I looked in your top right drawer.”
“...Shit.”
—-------------------
They were later absolutely flamed by Sal, Todd, and Ashley, as Larry’s exposed neck was covered in bite marks, and Travis’s collar buttoned all the way to the top. Larry seemed less embarrassed, playing along with all the teasing while Travis looked anywhere but his friends and his…whatever. Larry wrapped his arm around his shoulder and leaned closer to his ear.
“Hey. Wanna come break into Mrs. Packerton’s apartment with me, Sal, and Ashley to find out what’s up with the bologna?” he asked quietly, trying not to interrupt their friends’ conversation. This made Travis smile, raising an eyebrow.
“Is that some sort of fucked up first date? Breaking into an old bitches house to see if she’s putting people in the school lunch?”
“Yep.”
“I’d fucking love to.”
Their hands brushed as they made their way to class, hanging behind their friends.
Travis, for once, felt like a person.
He could get used to this sort of worship.