CRASH OUT

by VioletNuisance

Summary:

When Travis left Nockfell after a heated argument, Sal thought he would never hear from him again. Years later, he found him where he expected him least - backstage at the concert of his favorite rock band.

Some people move on, some people get revenge, and some people crash out.

Chapter 1

Travis swallowed, not hiding the grimace that marred his face. The bitter taste clung to his tongue, and he was half tempted to spit out of spite. Instead, his grip on the man’s jeans slackened, and he brought a hand to his mouth, wiping whatever was left on the back of it. His eyes flitted up, traced over the black hoodie, landed on the blue curls that ended at his shoulders, and then went up to his face. That was always the worst part. Everytime, there was a small part of him that hoped it would be a different set of eyes that peered down at him, but it never was.

“So fucking hot,” Phillip groaned, and the words made Travis’s stomach churn. At one point, he had dreams and morals. Maybe this was the dream, being the lead vocalist of a touring band, but his morals had certainly been run over by a semi by this point. If you had asked him ten years ago if he would be in a hotel bathroom, sucking his bandmate off from the floor, he would have probably hit you. “Come on, let me return the favor.”

Broken out of his thoughts, he looked back up. “Sure,” he responded, the word falling flat. The only good thing about Phillip growing out his hair was that when Phillip was on his knees, it was easy to imagine him as–

“Get out of there!” The shout was followed by three rough knocks against the door. He heard Phillip sigh, clearly disappointed this was getting cut short. Travis wished he could return the sentiment. He braced a hand against the cold floor, and used it to help push him back to his feet.

“How many times do I tell them that we should have two rooms?” Phillip was seething, his hands jerky as they tucked himself back into his pants. Travis couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. He had heard this argument too many times to count on this tour. It was juvenile, and it made him feel like he was back on a school field trip. “We shouldn’t have to room with the bitch, have her PMSing all over the place.”

Nice. That was the kind of man he was hooking up with. He was sure it wouldn’t be too long until Phillip started exclusively referring to women as females.

“I am going to piss on the door!” Again, three knocks followed the threat. A smile threatened to tug at Travis’s lips, but he smothered it as Phillip zipped up his pants.

“Shut up,” Phillip snapped, shoving the door open. Maple was on the other side, and in her defense, she did look like she was in desperate need. Being pregnant will do that to you.

“Have sex literally anywhere else,” Maple shot back at him, pushing between both of them. She turned with a vicious glare, mostly aimed at Phillip. Then, the door slammed shut.

“Bitch,” Phillip spat, not quite loud enough to be heard by Maple.

“Give her a break.” Travis glanced at Robert. He was laying on the bed farthest away, a laptop balancing on his stomach. Travis started to make his way over to him, Phillip alongside him. “You know this has been rough on her, with everything.”

‘With everything’ was a nice way of saying that Maple had only recently gotten out of her rehab program for this tour. Right after the first show, she had realized she was pregnant with her second. Barely sober, thousands of miles away from her husband and daughter, and pregnant in less than month into a three month tour.

“Still a bitch,” Phillip breathed out, not wanting to give her any credit. Travis watched as he flopped onto the bed beside Robert. Travis chose to sit on the edge of the other bed, facing them.

“Are you-” Travis coughed, an uncomfortable soreness in his throat. He refused to meet eyes with Phillip, but he could tell that the bastard was giving him a knowing smirk. He swallowed, trying to soothe the pain. “Are you going over more of the contest entries?”

“Yeah,” Robert sighed, his defeat clear in the singular word. Even his staple red mohawk seemed to sag out of exhaustion.

At the beginning of their concert tour, one of their venues had decided to host a contest. It had been entitled something along the lines of, “We want to send your friend group to see the Red Eyed Demons!” It was a newer stadium built in Virginia, so Travis supposed it was to help drive traffic. Not that they needed it, just having their group there was enough. Hearing about the contest though, Travis made their producer contact them, saying the band wanted to pick the winners. It was a daunting task that everyone else hated him for, especially Robert since he was the only one that had started skimming through the responses thus far.

“I mean, there’s hundreds of thousands of entries. Everytime I refresh the page, a few thousand more load,” Robert ranted. He hit the refresh button and showed them. He wasn’t lying. “Which doesn’t even make sense- The deadline closed a week ago!”

“Well, we can’t possibly read through all of those. I say we spin a wheel, and pick whoever it lands on,” Phillip added. He definitely would not be helping in the process.

“We can’t do that either,” Maple replied, rejoining the room. She offered Travis a sarcastic smile as she sat beside him. “Because this one here won’t let us. We have to keep reading until one of these sob stories is approved by our overlord.”

“Oh, shut up,” Travis muttered.

“What? It’s true! I don’t even know why you wanted to have a hand in this competition,” she laughed, the sound coming out sarcastic.

“Not to dog on you as well Travis, but we do need to choose someone,” Robert interjected, shooting him a downcast look. “They want to announce the winner tomorrow.”

Travis knew that, but he had been procrastinating. He knew why he wanted to choose the winner, but it was a stretch that it would even be an entry. Or better yet, that he would be able to find it in the sea they had to go through.

“Okay,” Travis started, leaning forward. He outstretched his arms toward Phillip on the other bed. “Pass it over. Let’s just get it over with.”

A series of sarcastic whoops and cheers come from both Phillip and Maple as the laptop was passed over to Travis. He ignored them.

“What do I do?” He stared at the screen, overloaded by the information. If he was looking at this correctly, Robert had currently been on entry 238 out of over 700,000.

“There’s arrows in the bottom, right hand corner. Every entry displays all their contact information up top. You have to scroll down to see their personal statement about why their friend group deserves to win,” Robert explained. Travis only nodded in response.

He arrowed over to the next page. It was from Annie and Sarah, a friend group of two, and apparently Annie was battling Leukemia. They weren’t sure if she would still be around whenever they went on their next tour. That’s not really what he was looking for. He skipped over them, going to the next one.

The next entry is about Jake, Caleb, and Sean. Apparently, the three of them had grown up on the band’s music. Obviously, they hadn’t. The band had only been together a few years, taking off super fast. He arrowed forward, not impressed.

“They let them attach pictures?” Travis asked, incredulous, when he came to the next response. He was staring at the screen like he was trying to solve a math equation.

“Yeah, I would say about half of them have pictures attached, usually of themselves in merch,” Robert answered.

“What photo did they attach that has you looking like that though?” Maple joked. Travis looked up at her from the laptop, back down to the screen, and then up at her again. As if it was a bomb about to go off, he held out the laptop far from his body and turned it around, so everyone could see.

“That’s dedication,” Maple mused, looking at the topless picture of the friend group.

“Winner, winner,” Phillip laughed, launching up to his feet. Faster than what should be humanly possible, he whipped out his phone from his pocket, snapping a picture of the screen. Then, he scrolled up to snap another picture of their contact information. Travis jerked the laptop to himself a little too late.

“Delete that,” Maple groaned. “Leave those poor girls alone.”

“Poor girls? They obviously wanted us to see,” Phillip cooed, settling back down beside Robert. Travis stared at him for a second, watching him zoom in on his phone. He shook his head, and looked back to the laptop.

“Hey Robert, is there a way to search through these?” Travis questioned, trying to find if there was an option on the screen. His words caused Phillip to pause, attention captured by Travis and, remarkably, not by the topless photo.

“Yeah, top left. Lets you shuffle them by name, age-”

“Mhm, thanks,” Travis cut him off, immediately clicking on it. All he needed was to know that he could search by name. Phillip now sat up, clearly irritated.

“Why? What are you searching for?” Phillip asked, but they both knew the answer.

Travis paid him no mind as he clicked in the text box. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, mentally trying to prepare himself that there might not be an entry. Then, he started typing. He held his breath, hit search, and waited for the laptop to load through all the results.

Phillip stood up, coming to lean over Travis’s shoulder. He was just in time to see the result pop up. “Fucking Fisher,” he growled, immediately turning away. No one called after him, letting him slam their room door behind him.

Travis stared at the entry, recognizing the image of the orange cat that the group had submitted with their entry. The feline was wearing a baby onesie with the band’s name on it, and did not look happy at all about it.

Hi, We’re Sal, Larry, Ash, and Gizmo! Though, Gizmo won’t be needing a ticket to see the concert. He’ll be happier back in the hotel room curled up in a thick comforter with a supply of catnip. No offense, but he’s just not that big into the music scene.

He smiled, imagining them all huddled around a computer typing that out.

We have been fans since your first single, and it’s been our dream to see you guys live. This concert will actually be on my birthday, so I’m hopeful this is how I will get to spend my birthday. See you soon!

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Travis startled as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at him, about to respond.
“Let loverboy have some fun,” Maple answered for him, now leaning over, so she could see the screen as well. “Maybe he won’t be so somber like he always is.”

Travis stared up at her, making a face as she grinned at him. “It’s fine,” he spoke to Phillip. “What can happen from letting them come to the show? I bet it won’t even be good seats.”

Robert sighed, but he didn't argue. He dropped his hand and moved back over to his bed. Meanwhile, Travis attached the entry to an email, letting the company know that this was the group that the band was choosing. He tried not to smile too big as the email was sent.

As Phillip would say, winner winner.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Thank you for the kind words on the first chapter! <3 A new chapter will be out every Sunday.

Sal’s face scrunched up, his bangs falling into his eyes. “No,” he started, the word falling out before he could stop it. The way Ashley’s face fell, the laughter they had just shared dying, he knew he had messed up yet again. His mind scrambled, trying to figure out how he could recover this. “I’m just not in the mood.”

The apology did little to save the situation. “You never are,” Ashley responded. The words weren’t unkind or meant to provoke. They came out in a gentle sigh, sounding completely defeated. Sal reached a hand out to her from where he laid in bed, but Ashley sat up. The comforter she had been snuggled up in fell down her frame.

“You know that’s not true.” Sal joined her, sitting up. It was true though. He could count the number of times they had sex in the past year on one hand.

“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice held a little more venom this time. Sal supposed it was for good reason. Even now, with the blanket pooled around her waist, her chest exposed, Sal felt little more than nervous.

When they had first gotten together, he was able to fake it pretty well. He knew that most healthy relationships had sex, and he knew it was something that Ashley needed to feel happy and fulfilled. He had even been a bit excited to sleep with his high school crush at first, but it always felt like a chore now. He would never utter the words aloud, but it was just another thing to check off his to do list.

-Do the dishes. Check.
-Clean out Gizmo’s litter box. Check.
-Have sex with his amazing, funny, and attractive girlfriend. Check.

However, Ashley was nothing if not observant. She had suspicions for a while, but Sal knew he was busted when he had started doing the math for that month’s bills during their intimacy. ‘Do you think our electrical bill is overcharging us’ he had asked, forgetting that was no such conversation to be had while his girlfriend was below him. She had locked herself in the bathroom, crying.

Then, came the couple’s therapy. It was hurtful to hear Ashley sniffling into a tissue, lamenting about how unattractive she felt. If anything though, that just made the task that much more difficult to complete. The sex dwindled to an almost complete stop. The therapist tried her best. They tried sharing fantasies. They tried scheduling times. They took vacation off work to de-stress. Nothing ever worked.

Eventually, the therapist did say that sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes couples have incompatibilities in an otherwise healthy relationship, like conflicting career goals or differing views on marriage. Their incompatibility was that Sal couldn’t make it to home base.

Even so, they were still together. Sal didn’t understand why Ashley hadn’t left him yet, not that he wanted that. Ashley was amazing, and he didn’t want to lose her. Sometimes he wished they were just really good friends instead of a couple though.

“I’m sorry,” He conceded. “But Larry and Todd are going to be home soon. I’d feel rushed.” The excuse was lame, but he was right. Both of them should be heading back to the house by now. They had all moved out after high school, and rented a house together. It was nice having everyone so close, but sometimes it could be suffocating.

“And tomorrow you’ll complain that no one’s in the house. That you’re creeped out by the silence,” she shot back. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing up. Sal watched, not knowing what to say as she slid her underwear back up her legs, throwing a tank top on as well. “I’m going to take a shower,” she sighed, her disappointment clear. “Then, maybe you’ll help me make dinner after?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sal agreed, eager to make it up to Ashley. He wished he could always be so eager for her. “I love you, Ash.”

She glanced over to him, hand on the doorknob. For a second, he was afraid she wouldn’t return the sentiment. “I love you too, Sal.”

After a quick shower of his own, Sal realized that helping Ashley cook actually just meant standing awkwardly to the side, trying not to be in the way. He was not a bad cook by any means, but he did have to admit he wasn’t the best. It was always a fifty fifty chance about whether he’d have an overboiling pot or something burnt on one side.

“Whisk me, Sal.” Larry held out a hand, not even fully facing Sal. Him and Todd had gotten home about twenty minutes ago. Now, Larry was being a bit more helpful than Sal with the cooking. He had to admit that it felt like he was getting cucked. Despite that, he pulled the whisk out of a drawer and placed it in Larry’s expectant palm.

“Could I be more… helpful?” Sal peered at the counter, trying to wedge himself beside Larry. There was raw chicken and some kind of dry ingredient mixture on the counter. Ashley was warming oil on the stove, but Sal standing at the counter grabbed her attention.

“Babe, please don’t touch anything.” Her tone was clipped, no doubt partially due to their earlier skirmish. Sal let out a soft sigh, feeling awkward as he stared down at the food.

“She just wants to make sure dinner is perfect,” Larry soothed, whisking the flour mixture together. He wasn’t sure why, but Larry being able to help while he was chastised did get under his skin a little. “You know, it’s an important night.”

Sal rolled his good eye as Larry winked at him. It was an ‘important’ night. There was finally going to be a televised announcement on who won free tickets to the Red Eyed Demons. It was a faceless band they all enjoyed. Once they entered the contest, they had all made sure to request off for the evening to have dinner together and throw a small celebration while they watched it. Would they win? Probably not, but everyone was still excited. Not to mention, the concert was on Sal’s birthday, so he would be over the moon if that was how he got to spend it.

“If you want something to do, help me out,” Todd shouted from the connected living room. Sal turned his way to see the man half way under their entertainment center, just his legs sticking out.

“What are you doing?” Curiosity got the best of him, and he made his way over to Todd.

“Gizmo swatted the remote somewhere under here,” Todd groaned, seeming to disappear even further under the television stand. As if proud of his crime, Gizmo was loafing nearby, watching Todd struggle.

“Gizmo,” Sal sighed. The cat blinked slowly, letting out a small meow in response. Sal shook his head before padding over to the piece of furniture. “Would it help if I lifted this up some?”

A muffled ‘yes’ came from somewhere beneath the stand. Sal’s fingers hooked under the lip of it, and he heaved it up just a little. If even possible, Todd was sucked further under it, and he could hear him struggling beneath. It sounded like the remote was winning.

“Got it!” Todd must have finally made purchase with it.

“Hurry up dude– I’m not that strong,” Sal grunted, arms beginning to shake a little. The only thing that kept him from dropping it was the fear of squashing his friend.

Larry and Ashley laughed from the kitchen, the sound loud and obnoxious. Sal tried to crane his head to see what was so funny, but he couldn't quite see out of the fear of dropping the piece of furniture.

“Todd-”

“And I’m out!” Todd cheered, victorious as he swung out from underneath it. Sal let out a huff, letting it drop back down on the carpeted floor. Without the threat of committing manslaughter, he turned to see what the commotion was, but the laughter had already stopped. Whatever had been so funny, the moment had passed. “Maybe keep Gizmo away from the tv until the winner is announced?”

Sal glanced back down to Todd. His hair was a mess, and his glasses rested crooked on the bridge of his nose. Gizmo had stalked up beside him, and curled against his leg. The cat looked innocent, but Sal knew better. He was probably trying to gain Todd’s trust, so he could smack the remote back under their entertainment center.

“Okay,” Sal relented, figuring Todd was probably right. The cat gave a loud yowl as he scooped him up. “Oh hush”, he murmured, cradling the beast in his arms. Leaving Todd to turn the television on, he went back to the kitchen, bouncing Gizmo all the while.

“Sal, please don’t get too close to the food with the cat,” Ash stated, seeing their approach. Larry glanced up at him as well.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want the fatty eating all the fried chicken,” he joked. Sal faked offense, hugging Gizmo tighter to his body.

“Stop body shaming my son,” he stated, trying to sound firm. The look Larry gave him made a smile crack his lips though.

Ashley breezed by him, a platter of the fried chicken in her hands. “I’m more concerned about the cat hair.” Her words were flat, and it wasn’t the first time that Sal worried he may find himself single the next day.

“Ash-” Whatever he was about to say died in his throat. Ashley threw him a look as she set the plate down on the coffee table. Then, seeming to understand, she looked down at herself.

“I was a bit clumsy,” she assured. It was the first time that day he had seen any form of a smile on her face. “There was a flour accident.”

Sal stared at her, feeling stuck to the floor. He wasn’t sure how much of a flour ‘accident’ it had been. There were white handprints all over her black apron. The two most pronounced being over her chest. As if sensing Sal’s train of thought, Ashley walked back over to him.

“When I was breading the chicken, I had it all over my hands.” She held up her hands to two of the prints, these ones near her hips. She lightly brushed her hands over the spots. “See? I just wiped them off on the apron.”

Sal glanced behind them, back to the kitchen. He looked to Larry, but the other was scrubbing a stain off the counter like it was the most important task in the world. After a moment, he turned back to Ashley. “Sure.”

“Sure?”

“I believe you.” Ashley smiled at him before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Why don’t you join Todd on the couch? I’ll bring the drinks over,” she suggested. Sal relented, letting Gizmo go free and plopping beside Todd. Though, he couldn’t help himself from looking back as Ashley stopped beside Larry. She whispered something to him, and Larry nodded. Sal worried at his bottom lip as he turned back to the television.

Was it possible? He hoped not. The flour hand prints had been bigger than Ashley’s hands though. It could have just been that the flour smeared, making them seem larger. That had to have been the reason. The only other explanation was that Ashley was cheating on him with his best friend, and that train of thought made his stomach churn.

He couldn’t quite tune into the announcements as Larry and Ashley joined them. He was too focused on the fact that Larry sat on the floor beside the coffee table. When had he ever done that before? He racked his brain, but came up short. The couch was a tight fit, but they would normally all be sitting on it together. It was the same order every time. Todd on the far left, then Sal, then Ashley, and then Larry beside her. If Neil was over, then Todd and him would normally change things up and sit on the floor together.

Sal was sure of it. Larry had never sat on the floor before.

He opened his mouth, about to ask why the sudden change in positioning, but the other three cut him off. They were ecstatic, cheering about something. Sal’s eyes flitted back to the television.

They had won.

Whatever deduction he had just made, it was easy to forget. He was going to see the Red Eyed Demons.

Notes:

As always, thank you for reading. And, an extra special thank you if you leave a comment! ;)

If you wanna chat, my discord is ViolentNuisance! 18+ peeps only though, please and thank you. I'm also on Insta and Tiktok under the same name.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Honestly, I had such a hard time writing this chapter, but I hope ya'll still enjoy. And as always, thank you for the kind words on last chapter!

Travis’s fingers tugged at the edge of his ski mask, trying to get some air circulation going. It was less than a week until their next concert, and someone on their management team had the bright idea to accept an interview. Apparently, it was some big channel on WhoTube that was known for interviewing celebrities. Travis had never heard of them, but he supposed it wasn’t his niche.

Whenever they did public appearances like this, out came the ski masks. Travis loathed them, and so did the rest of the band. Unfortunately, it was part of the trade off of being a faceless band. Still, he didn’t understand why they couldn’t just wear the same masks they did when performing on stage. He was always told it was for practicality, but he’d rather be less practical than feeling the scratchy fabric plastered to his face from his own sweat.

“Do you think they made it so hot in here to try and get the masks off us?” Phillip leaned over, whispering to Travis. Travis eyed him, almost amazed that the motion didn’t make Phillip topple over. They had them seated in these uncomfortable, flimsy chairs. They were like something you would see a movie director sitting in.

Now that Phillip had mentioned it though, he wondered if there was some truth in his words. There was a small army of ring lights, light boxes, and overhead lighting baking them into the white backdrop that stood behind them. That wouldn’t have been so terrible if the AC was on, but Travis swore he hadn’t felt it since they stepped into the building. He reached up to tug at his mask again. “Maybe.”

Phillip slouched back into his chair, the material creaking beneath him. “I would have put an ice pack in my pants if I had known it was going to be hotter than Satan’s ass crack,” he complained.

Before Travis could dwell on how unattractive Phillip was when he spoke, Robert shot both of them a glare. Robert had always been the ‘Dad’ of the group. His motto was that if there was a camera, it was probably recording. Travis stared ahead at the array of black lenses pointed at them, and he heard Phillip sigh from beside him. It was going to be a long, hot interview.

It was about twenty minutes later until the interview actually started. Travis felt like he was sweating even more when the questions started rolling. Singing on a stage was something he enjoyed, and that he could control. He wrote the lyrics, he knew how they were supposed to sound, and most importantly, he did not have to have a conversation with anyone. Interviews were always the exact opposite. They almost never got the questions beforehand, and Travis was probably the least charismatic person on the planet. Phillip, Robert, and Maple usually took over most of the talking which he was thankful for.

“Are you guys excited for your upcoming concert this Saturday?” It was a small woman interviewing them, blond hair slicked back into a tight bun. Her hands held onto a clipboard, eyes not glancing up as she rattled off each question. It felt impersonal, but the interviewer herself was off camera, so Travis guessed she didn’t have to pretend to care.

“Of course we are,” Maple beamed. She sat straighter up in her chair. “It’s always nice to tour in Virginia. The people there are always the kindest.” Her eyes glanced at the others, waiting for someone to back her up. It was the same generic garbage they used for every area they performed in.

Phillip took the bait. “You know what they say, Virginia is for lovers,” he chimed in, giving a wink.

Travis could feel Robert tense up beside him. Their hometown was in Virginia, and he couldn’t count how many times they had been instructed to not say anything too oddly specific about the state. Phillip was going to have to start learning every state’s slogan that they performed in now. The minor slip didn’t get called out though. The interviewer laughed, while somehow not smiling, and continued to the next question.

“I know for this upcoming concert, there was a contest run for free tickets. How did you guys sort through the hundreds of thousands of responses to pick a winner?” Travis wanted to melt into his seat. He could feel his band mates attention shift to him. He was the one that picked after all.

“Well, it was a hard choice for sure,” he started, swallowing thickly. All of the lights really were blinding. He stared into what he hoped was the correct camera, trying not to look constipated. “But we were really looking for someone who embodied the Red Eyed Demons the best, and I think we found that group of people.”

Travis wasn’t sure what that even meant. It was such a non answer. “It also helps if your hair is blue,” Phillip joked. He jabbed a thumb in Travis’s general direction. “This one has a thing for dyed hair.”

It was Travis’s turn to grow tense. He shot Phillip a scathing look, cameras be damned. On Sal’s entry, there had been a picture attached, but it hadn't been of Sal. He had used a picture of Gizmo. Travis could see the gears starting to turn in Phillip’s head, realizing that they shouldn’t know Sal’s hair was blue. However, what was said had been said. It wasn’t like the interviewer or anyone watching the video would know, only Sal would if he watched.

The interviewer finally glanced up at them, but her expression was devoid of any interest. “Well whatever the reason, I’m sure the winners are super excited to meet you this weekend. It’s not every concert that backstage passes are given away for free.”

Say what now?

“Backstage passes?” Robert leaned forward, voice choked. None of them had been informed that these tickets were backstage passes. They rarely did meet and greets these days.

Maple squeezed Robert’s arm. “We are so, super excited to meet the winners,” she forced out. “We wish we could meet all of our fans.”

The interviewer prattled on, but they were all preoccupied for the rest of the questions. Travis had fucked them. Robert had said it was an unwise idea to choose Sal, but he hadn’t listened. Between Sal, Ashley, Larry, and Todd, one of them would recognize them if they did the meet and greet. They would be wearing their masks, but it would still be their normal voices. They went to school and grew up with these people. It would honestly be an insult if they didn’t recognize them.

–

“Sal fucking Fisher,” Phillip groaned. They were back at the hotel now, minus Robert and Maple. Maple always tried to catch a Narcotics Anonymous meeting every other week, and Robert always went with her for emotional support. “Why did you even choose him?”

Travis was sitting in bed, eyes on Phillip’s back. The other was doing something on the table across the room. “You know why,” he mumbled.

Phillip paused, but then he shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he replied, voice laced with contempt. “What? Because you had some stupid crush on him ten years ago?”

It had been more than that, and Phillip knew that. Travis could feel himself growing a little irritated. “You’re just jealous,” he shot back. It was a low blow.

“Jealous?” Phillip laughed, the sound cold. He threw a glance to Travis over his shoulder. “At least I’m not the one that fell for a straight guy, and then expected him to never get a girlfriend.”

“That’s not what happened.” Travis stood up, feeling his temper rise. His hands unconsciously clenched into fists at his sides.

“Then what happened, Trav?” Phillip was still paying more attention to the table than him. Travis only shook his head, slowly stalking up behind him. When he didn’t say anything, Phillip continued on. “Did you date him? Did you kiss him? Did you even hold his hand?”

“No-”

“Of course you didn’t because he didn’t care about you!” Phillip finally turned to face Travis, and Travis’s eyes fell to the table. His jaw clenched, seeing the razor and the empty baggie. “He didn’t love you.”

Travis dragged his eyes back up to Phillip. His tongue felt dry, as if he hadn't had a drop of water all day. “You don’t know that,” he muttered.

Phillip placed a hand on his upper arm, stepping closer to him. “You do though,” he assured. His touch felt sickeningly sweet, as he trailed his fingers down to his wrist. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have run off.”

Travis didn’t respond. His anger was cracking, crumbling back down to his usual state of despair. “You deserve an actual man.” His fingers closed around Travis’s wrist, bringing him closer to the table. “Someone that knows how to make you feel good.”

He finally let go of Travis, grabbing the razor. Travis felt stupified, stuck to the spot, as he watched Phillip line up the white powder. His fingers worked with such ease, as if he had done this a hundred times. He probably had.

“Do you want a fifty or a hundred?” Phillip laughed, as if it was the funniest joke he had ever told. Travis stared. He never understood how Phillip was so nonchalant about this, especially with Maple’s history. While Phillip still used in front of other’s, Travis had ‘sobered up.’ That meant Phillip was the only one who still knew he wasn’t actually sober. “Come on, let’s get fucked up and fuck.”

Phillip grinned as he passed over the rolled up hundred dollar bill. Travis accepted it, wishing he had the will to be better than this. It would be nice if he could wake up one morning, and not be disgusted with himself. He waited for Phillip to step to the side before leaning over the table. He could hear Phillip saying something as he snorted the line, but it was hard to focus on that. He stood up, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Hot,” Phillip remarked. Travis couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He held out the bill for Phillip, and turned away as he took it from him.

He couldn’t make it two steps before Phillip was already finished and behind him. He looked down as two hands wrapped around him from behind. His mind began to swim as he watched those fingers begin to pop the buttons of his shirt. He didn’t object, just let his shirt be pushed off his shoulders, down his arms, and onto the floor. Goosebumps pricked at his skin as fingernails lightly scratched down the tattoo that twisted down his abdomen. It was a blackwork piece he had gotten about a year ago, and Phillip always loved following it, especially where the ink dipped below his waistband.

Travis shivered as Phillip pressed closer, his hands now fumbling with his belt. “Trav?”

Travis grunted in response, too enraptured with watching what Phillip’s hands were doing as the belt finally came undone. “Do you want to fuck me from behind?” Travis’s stomach twisted at the words, heat pouring into his stomach with an intensity that left him dizzy. His head fell back as Phillip’s lips ghosted over his neck, waiting for him to whisper more dirty promises to him. “So you can pretend you’re fucking him?”

Travis was not proud of the noise that left his mouth, or the way his body reacted without even being touched yet. He could feel Phillip laugh into the crook of his neck, the vibration making his skin feel warm. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he grinned into his skin.

Fingers pushed under his waistband, and Travis became a needy, desperate mess. Morning come, the shame would hit him, but he was more than content to take his frustrations out on Phillip for now.

Notes:

If you read this far, thank you! If you read this far AND enjoyed the fic, why not leave a comment? ;)

I will see you guys again next Sunday!

Chapter 4

Notes:

Happy Sunday everyone! Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

“Happy birthday, Rockstar,” Ashley grinned.

For once, Sal’s mask was off, laying on the table in front of them. That was one of the things he hated about birthdays. Once someone brought the cake out, it was all eyes on him. As a kid, he hated the expectation of leaving his face bare in order to blow out the candles. After he ventured into his teenage years, his dad stopped trying to keep up the sense of normalcy with the parties. While his father had not been the best person, that singular action of neglect was okay by Sal.

Now though, he didn’t mind it so much. Ash, Larry, and Todd had all regularly seen his face by now. It was actually kind of nice to let his skin breathe. Ashley’s eyes were still on him as her lighter sparked to life, igniting the two candle wicks. Wax began to dribble down the side of the candles, a couple drops falling against the otherwise smooth frosting.

“Make a wish.” She leaned down beside where he was seated, her words brushing against the shell of his ear. He could feel the skin of his neck prick.

Sal thought about it for a few seconds before bringing his thumb and index finger up to his mouth. Almost with practiced ease, he wet them against his tongue before extinguishing the flames between his two fingers. It was easier than trying to actually blow them out, given his facial deformity. His lips didn’t meet everywhere that they should, and no one wanted his spit all over the cake.

Ash stood back up, plucking the two candles out and setting them on a napkin. Despite their most recent skirmishes, she seemed to be in a pleasant mood today. “What did you wish for?”

Sal rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “It won’t come true if I tell you,” he teased. The words were light and playful, but Sal couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous at the question. The wish was the same every year. Once, he had made the mistake of telling it to Ashley and the rest of their friends, and that didn’t go over well.

During their junior year of high school, Sal had made it his mission to outbully his bully. Somehow, he had befriended him instead. He supposed it was the pity he had felt for Travis, but something about that pathetic asshole tugged at his heart strings. Maybe it was the obvious abuse he was facing outside of school, or maybe Sal was just a masochist. He didn’t know, but by senior year, he had started convincing Travis to sit with his friend group at lunch. Sal was the only one comfortable with him hanging around at first, but eventually everyone else had at least turned lukewarm towards him.

At least, everyone liked him enough to agree to let him be part of their leasing agreement after graduation. They didn’t know he would break it a couple years later, sticking them with a higher rent. Not that Sal was concerned about the rent, he was concerned about Travis. He had just… disappeared. His room was cleaned out, like no one had ever lived there. There were no goodbyes. The only thing Sal had to prove that he hadn’t imagined their friendship were some polaroids.

Sal just wanted a text back from Travis. All he wanted was confirmation that the other was alive, and not laying dead in a ditch somewhere for the past five years.

“I bet he wished for you to cut the damn cake already,” Larry chimed in. He was now crowding around the small table as well. After the few hours drive to the hotel, he had been sleeping the whole time. Sal hadn’t heard him get up.

Ashley narrowed her eyes, shooting Larry a dirty look. “Are we really going to aggravate the woman holding the knife?” Where she had been holding her lighter, her fingers now gripped a plastic, disposable knife. It was pointed at Larry, and he couldn’t stop the grin that erupted on his face.

“Oh, really?” Larry raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to Ash. “What exactly are you going to do to me with that?”

Sal couldn't help but to notice how close they were. Before he could say anything, Larry's hand wrapped around Ash’s wrist. “You gonna stab me?” His fingers loosened, sliding up her arm.

“Let me cut it,” Sal interjected. He raised out of his seat, trying to interject himself between them to grab the knife from Ashley. He didn’t say anything more, but he could feel his skin warm. He was sure his neck was visibly red. At least, Larry had the sense to step back.

“Come on, Sal. I’ll cut it,” she tried soothing over. Her hand was held back out for the knife, but Sal ignored it. His attention was on the table, grabbing a paper plate off the stack.

“It’s fine. I got it,” he deadpanned. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw her flinch at his tone. “Larry, how big of a piece do you want?”

Larry smiled like nothing had happened. For the first time, Sal found himself wondering if they had ever actually been as close as he thought they were. Larry was the first to see his real face, the first to get him into heavy metal and rock, and apparently the first to try and steal his girlfriend. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to get overwhelmed. The concert was tonight, and he didn’t want any of this to overshadow that.

“As big of a piece as you’re willing to part with,” Larry joked. Sal plopped down about a quarter of the cake onto a plate for him. “Damn, you’re feeling generous.”

He watched Larry retreat to the edge of a bed before turning his attention back to Ash. “And for you?”

“Nothing like that,” she laughed, still with some tension in her tone. “On the smaller side. Gotta leave room for drinks tonight.”

Sal hummed in response, handing her a small slice. His gaze landed on Todd next, but the other shook his head. “I just need a light,” Todd responded, holding his bong up.

He hadn’t even seen him pull that out or pack the bowl. He had half hoped that there would be no drinking or weed on his birthday, but he supposed he should have known better. He was the odd one out in the group when it came to that. But after seeing what happened with his father, he couldn’t stomach the thought of being anything less than sober.

“Mmm, I got ya.” Ash sat down on the same bed as Todd, placing her plate down. Her hand fished her lighter back out of her pocket before passing it over to Todd.

“Doesn’t the hotel have a no smoking policy?” Sal joined them with his own slice of cake, sitting with Larry. He stabbed his fork into it a few times, not feeling all that hungry. “I just don’t want to get hit with a huge fee when we check out.”

Todd flicked the lighter a few times, only getting a few sparks to fly out. “I’ll cover it if they tack it on to the bill.”

Of course he would. Sal watched as he finally got the lighter to ignite. Todd only smoked a few times a day. He didn’t understand how the other always had such issues with lighters.

After Larry had finished his goliath piece of cake, he and Todd did relocate to their car. Ashley had pointed out the smoke alarm on the ceiling, and having to evacuate the building while the fire department came was apparently where Todd drew the line.

“They can be such idiots,” Ashley said, standing back up, empty plate in hand. She looked down at Sal's plate, seeing the pile of mush. He had poked at it so much that the icing and cake became a congealed mound. “So… are you going to eat that, or do you want to keep stabbing at it?”

“You can take it,” he sighed, holding it up to her. She placed it on top of her own before throwing them both into the small trash bin.

“You okay?” She sat down beside him, pressing close. Sal let out another soft sigh, trying to lessen the tension in his body.

“Yeah,” he started to lie, “I’m just anxious about tonight is all.” In reality, he felt as though one more minor inconvenience would make him snap. He was wound up, both nervous and excited for the concert, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how comfortable Larry was with touching Ashley. Maybe he was overthinking it. The two of them had been friends longer than anyone else in the group. It could be just how they showed platonic affection. Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was more than that.

“Hey, look at me,” Ash murmured. He felt her hands on his face, turning him towards her. Despite feeling unwell, he returned her small smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he echoed. His mind was elsewhere, but she still looked pleased with his words.

Ashley’s hands trailed down, one landing at the back of his neck and the other against his chest. He caught how her eyes flitted down to his lips, and he gave her what she wanted. Sal leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss. She made a sound of approval, fingers curling into his shirt. Then, she caught him off guard by throwing her weight back, toppling him over her in bed.

Sal knew this was venturing into dangerous territory, but he would play along for now. His teeth caught her bottom lip, making her let out a sharp gasp. Meanwhile, one of his hands found the hem of her tank top, fingers pushing under. He could feel her all but practically melt against him. He wasn’t necessarily in the mood, as he never was, but he was trying. All he could picture was Larry taking his place, and it made him feel the need to do this for her.

One of her hands trailed down, encouraging him. Sal parted from the kiss, watching her push his hand further up. “No bra today?” His thumb rolled against one of her nipples, tracing the piercing that ran through it.

She shook her head, hair splayed out against the pillow. “We were on the road all day… so uncomfortable,” she got out, shivering against his touch. She released Sal’s wrist, settling her hand against the side of his face. He averted his gaze, feeling her thumb roll over each uneven groove of skin. “I want to touch you,” she whined.

He didn’t respond at first. Instead, leaning out of her grasp to take her nipple into his mouth. That distracted her for a second, feeling his tongue trace against the metal bar. However, Ashley was nothing if not persistent.

“Sal,” she whined again. Her fingers laced through his hair, forcing him to part with her breast.

“Hmm?” He played dumb, but the look she gave him made him start speaking again. “I want to focus on you,” he rebutted, trying to keep the tone light.

“Get off of me,” she stated, words abrupt and cold. It gave him whiplash.

“What?” Sal hesitated, not moving from above her. After all the times she had complained about their lack of sex, it was hard for him to figure out where he went wrong this time.
“Off of me, Sal.” She went to sit up, her voice now sour. Broken out of his thoughts, he shifted off her, sitting close to the edge of the bed. He tried looking at her, but she wouldn’t face him.

“Ashley-”

“Are you gay?” Her brows furrowed as she turned her head towards him. The question was out of the blue for Sal, but it looked like something she had been pondering for a long time.

“No- I mean, not fully. I like women,” he stammered. His hands gestured towards her. “I like you.”

She scratched at the back of her head, a nervous tick that Sal had caught onto a while ago. “I saw that you brought his jacket,” she said, framing it more like a question. “I thought you had gotten rid of that a couple years back?”

Well, that was what he had told her. It was an old leather jacket that he had sewn patches onto for Travis near the end of their senior year. Eventually, he had shown him how to sew them on as well. It was the only item that Travis had left behind when he moved out. It was something that his therapist had advised him to get rid off. She had said something along the lines of how he tended to hoard memories that only brought him pain. The jacket wasn’t like that though. He just thought it was a shame to throw something out that he had poured so much time into.

“I just wanted to wear it for the concert,” he reasoned, not answering her question.

She sat with that for a minute, turning his answer over in her head. She finally looked at him with something akin to pity. “Sal, he’s not coming back.”

“I know that,” he scoffed. It had been years after all.

She leaned over to him. Her hand grabbing his wrist and giving it a tight squeeze. “Sal, he’s not coming back.”

He knew that, but he still hoped his birthday wishes would eventually come true.

Notes:

As always, thank you for reading my silly lil salvis fic in the big year 2025. And as always, this is where I unsubtly ask you to leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter!

I appreciate you guys <3

Chapter 5

Notes:

The ao3 curse is real and out to get me.

For real, so sorry for two weeks of silence, but I was having the worst flare up I've had in forever. Hashimotos can suck it.

Anywho, this is a bit shorter of a chapter, but I just wanted to get us back on schedule. Weekly updates should continue every Sunday!

Travis’s fingers plucked at the strings, awkward and too long. He winced as another wrong note shrilled out. He chanced a look up to see Sal flinch as well. His eyes dropped back down to the guitar in his hands, and he can feel the back of his neck heat in embarrassment. When Sal had been so eager to teach him how to play guitar, he had imagined himself immediately good at it. It was obvious that was far from the truth.

“This is stupid,” he huffed out, a bit too much venom lacing his tongue. “You just like seeing me flounder.”

Sal stared at him for a second, his eyes barely visible beneath the prosthetic, before Travis felt the bed shift beneath them. The bed springs creaked in complaint as Sal sidled next to him on the edge, close enough their thighs brushed together. If Travis wasn’t already anxious about this whole ordeal, he was now. “What are you doing?” He huffed again. “Why are you-”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk way too much?” Sal’s voice quieted Travis. He could still feel the hot pin pricks of shame against his skin from their closeness, from how he wanted to be closer, but he kept his mouth shut for now. “Once in a while, you think something good would come out of that mouth of yours, but it never does.”

It was hard for Travis to dwell on Sal’s words, especially when Sal’s hands were on his own. His eyes kept giving nervous flicks up to the expressionless prosthetic, as his hands were forced into the correct spots, his fingers stretched to hit the right chords. He thought Sal would pull away, but his touch lingered. Travis’s eyes dropped to see chipped black nail polish tracing against his knuckles. “That has to hurt,” Sal observed.

It did. Even the gentle motion against his skin was tender against his bruised and cracked skin. He couldn’t find the words to complain though. He took a sharp inhale, feeling the dull pain blossom underneath the curious touch, afraid to speak and ruin the moment.

“What’d you punch this time?” At last, Sal's head shifted up, eyes meeting Travis’s. It was always hard for him to tell what Sal was thinking, but he swore he could see his eyes squint in amusement. “Or who?”

“The wall.” His words were flat and ugly. He could feel his lips twitch downward, betraying how difficult he found this. Socializing. Not that he didn’t have friends, but none of them were close enough to invite him over to practice guitar.

“Looks like the wall won,” Sal mused, the amusement now more clear in his inflection. The back of Travis’s neck felt like it was on fire again. This time, not out of shame. “Let’s hope you’re better at playing than fighting.”

Sal’s hands left his, and Travis bit the inside of his cheek. It was a bad habit, but it helped him restrain his words at times. If he opened his mouth wide enough, you could see the silver scars that laced through the middle of both cheeks. It was a testament to how many words he left unsaid.

His fingers trembled, mostly from the strain of the awkward position they’re in, but he hit the right note. Sal clapped, seemingly thrilled that Travis hit the singular note that he had been trying to for the past thirty minutes. He could feel the heat spread from his neck, up to his cheeks. It wouldn’t be long before the fire hit his ears too. “See? You’re a natural.”

The scoff left Travis’s lips before he could stop it, but it earned him a snicker from Sal. That was something at least. He dared to smile, just wide enough for a crescent of teeth to be visible. “Well…” Oh god, he was speaking. What was about to come out of his mouth? “It’s just because I have the best teacher.”

Travis felt kinship with the California wildfires as Sal leaned into him, thighs squished together and shoulders brushing. “Aw, you think I’m the best?” Sal cooed.

Just like that, the smile disappeared off Travis’s face. He straightened up, creating a small sliver of distance between them. “No, I uh,” he muttered, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “No, you’re pretty shit.”

Sal straightened as well, mirroring Travis’s discomfort back to him. “So how this works,” Sal spoke calm, each word steady like he was soothing a reactive dog. “Being friends - Is that you can’t insult me every time you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not-”

Sal cut him off for the second time that evening. “I like you, Travis. I don’t know why, but I do.” Travis could feel his heart squeeze in his chest. It felt like every nerve in his body was searing, skin sizzling. His fingers gripped the neck of the guitar tight, skin splitting over his knuckles. He didn’t notice the drop of blood sliding down the side of his hand. “But this won’t work if you don't try.”

He wanted to lash out, to snap, to do anything to distract himself from how on edge his body was. Instead, he slid his tongue against his scarred inner cheeks. His heart began to hammer less, no longer trying to leave the safety of his rib cage. “I’m supposed to invite someone to our youth service this Wednesday night,” he trailed off. Sal was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to make that into an actual invitation. “If you wanted to come?”

“God no,” Sal snorted, making Travis’s face fall. Before he could hurl what would undoubtedly be an insult again, Sal started to speak. “Sorry, but that sounds terrible. We both know your family wouldn’t be welcoming of me as your new recruit.”

Travis made a face, though he knew Sal had a point. “But…” Sal leaned against him, laying his head against his shoulder. “If you wanted to sneak out of your house after service, I could meet you somewhere.”

- - -

Travis’s teeth gnashed into the soft skin of his cheek, slicking the side of his tongue with blood. There, in the crowd, he could just make him out. It was hard to see under the intense lights and fog, but he didn’t miss the blue curls, or the prosthetic face that looked up at him. His eyes focused on Sal, afraid to look away for even a second. He was sure the crowd would swallow him, making him disappear for the rest of the concert.

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Robert’s voice rang out across the stadium, and the cheering was deafening. Travis could feel his sweat gathering against the hard surface of the canine mask he had on. Still, he focused on Sal, refusing to let go of his sight for a second. ”Now, I think our next song is a bit of a fan favorite.”

Again, more cheering. Travis tuned it out, watching Sal push between two people, getting closer to the barrier. He half wondered where Ash, Larry, and Todd were, but he couldn’t bring himself to completely care.

“I know it’s my favorite,” Phillip piped up. Travis never understood how they could all be so charismatic. He never enjoyed crowd work. This was where he was supposed to say something witty and endearing about how Phillip was his favorite. They let the fans believe Baby Blue was about Phillip, but Travis couldn’t keep up the act. Not tonight.

He could all but feel his band mates staring at him in irritation for his silence, but Sal had just made it to the barrier. That’s when Travis saw it, the jacket that hung loose on his frame, clearly two sizes too big. His teeth dug into the mangled meat of his cheek, and the sickening squelch that followed notified him that he wouldn’t be eating pain free for at least a week.

That had to mean something, right? After all of these years, Sal still had his jacket. No, he didn’t just have it, he was wearing it. He wondered if Sal still wore the same cheap body spray, if the collar of his jacket would smell undeniably like it. He wondered how much he wore it, where he stored it when he didn’t. Was it hidden in the back of his closet or out in the open, slung across a chair? His brain was short circuiting, considering every possibility.

Most of all, he wondered if Sal thought about him when he wore it, or was his memory long forgotten? He hoped it wasn’t the latter. He much preferred the imagery of Sal thinking of him every time he stuck his slender arms through the sleeves. He wondered if Sal ever wore it, thinking of him fondly, as his fingers explored what was under his waistband.

“This song is dedicated to someone very special to me.” The rehearsed words come to him finally, after his spiral. He wasn't looking at Phillip this time though.

His eyes were locked onto Sal as he knelt at the front of the stage. The haziness made it impossible to tell for certain, but he was almost sure Sal was returning his gaze. “This is for you, Baby Blue.”

Notes:

Thank youuu as always! If you wanna support this silly lil fic, drop your comments below. I run off spite and readingg your thoughts!

And if you wanna reach out off this platform: ViolentNuisance on discord and insta. Adults only puhlease.

See ya on Sunday ;)

Chapter 6

Notes:

achievement unlocked: crash out 1/3

Birthdays weren’t Sal’s forte. That had become obvious throughout the years. However, this one was threatening to be a good one. He was at his favorite band’s concert, had backstage passes, and he was enjoying the time with his friends.

Well, he was sort of enjoying it with his friends. The only one that was at the barrier with him was Todd. He kept thinking Larry and Ashley would pop up, but they never did. With every song that passed, worry gnawed at him more. He tried to not be the jealous type, but knowing they were alone together wasn’t a good feeling, not with how they had been interacting recently.

“Todd, where’s Ash and Larry?” Sal grabbed onto Todd’s arm, not sure if he’d been heard. The music drowned out most everything except for the screams from the crowd. He tugged on the flannel, fingers curling into the fabric. Todd finally looked at him, his glasses falling down too low on his nose.

“What!” It was less of a question and more of a shouted statement. Sal leaned closer, trying to raise his voice loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass.

“Ash and Larry! Where are they!” The concert was almost over at this point, and Sal hadn’t seen a glimpse of either. A bad feeling was settling into the pit of his stomach, and Todd’s reluctance to answer him wasn’t helping. “Todd!”

“Dude- I don’t know!” Todd wrestled his arm from Sal’s death grip, and Sal couldn't help the frustration that was bubbling inside him. He stared at Todd, watching him raise his cup to his mouth, taking a swig of what he was sure was beer. “Why do you even care?”

The question wasn’t shouted, and Sal had to strain to hear it. “What,” he started, getting cut off as someone shoved into him, causing him to stumble. This probably wasn’t the best place to get into an argument. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I care?”

Again, Todd took another drink. Sal watched, brows furrowed, as the last of the alcohol disappeared. “You don’t like her,” he stated. Sal stared, dumbfounded, as Todd crumpled the plastic cup and discarded it onto the ground. It was swallowed into the swarm of strangers.

He remembered how Ashley had looked at him earlier. It was as if seeing Travis’s jacket had changed her mind on something. She had come to a conclusion that Sal wasn’t privy to. When they had all been getting ready for the show, she was cold and distant. He wasn’t unused to getting a cold shoulder from her in their bad moments, but this had felt different. It had felt… final.

Even during their arguments, there was always some form of comfort. She might limit how much she spoke to him, but she would still remind him to take his medications. If she was more withdrawn physically, she would still wipe a stray wrinkle out of his shirt. It was the small things that always promised they would get over their skirmishes. This time, there had been nothing. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, would only speak when spoken to, and had practically bolted once they reached the venue.

He looked at Todd, then out into the sea of people, before pushing away from the barrier and into the crowd. He could feel Todd turn to him, fingers not quite reaching him enough to grab him, but he didn’t care. He pushed his way through, only hoping he could get to the exit before Todd. Every step was a struggle though. There was always a person in the way. His pulse quickened, heart beat out of his chest, and he pushed and shoved and trampled his way through. Until, finally, he could see the edge of the pit.

He casted a glance behind him, barely able to make out a flash of red hair. Todd wasn’t that far behind. He pushed through the last ring of people, his feet finally touching ground that wasn’t swarming with strangers. Then, he ran.

He could tell that passerbys were looking at him like he was crazy as he raced down the pathway, converse beating against the pavement. At least this was a smaller, outdoor venue. Todd might have been able to catch up with him if it had been indoors, laced with escalators or elevators.

“Sal- wait!” Sal didn’t slow down or look behind him. He didn’t want to be caught by Todd, to be talked down from the metaphorical ledge, to be convinced that his girlfriend cheating on him was a good thing. Todd wasn’t that far behind, but Sal had the advantage. He didn’t have popcorn lungs from smoking five bowls a day.

Ignoring the burn that ran down his thighs and into his calves, he didn’t lessen his pace until the sight of the restrooms came into view. Finally, the loud thudding of his steps slowed down,before coming to a halt. He allowed himself one minute to suck air into his lungs, hands resting on top of his head. Just enough, so that he wouldn’t be panting too hard to speak, but not long enough that Todd could stop him.

His shoes pounded against the few, worn steps to the set of bathrooms. He tried the first door, and it swung open. He made his way to the next door, and it was the same thing. But then on the third door, it didn’t budge. His hand jiggled the knob with more ernest, and he got what he needed.

“Occupied!” Larry’s voice shouted through the door. Sal couldn’t help the dry smile that marred his lips, or the humorless laugh that slipped out. His hand pounded against the door now, as if he could pour all of his frustrations into the wood. The poor door rattled in its frame, creaking from the abuse. A string of curses could be heard before it finally swung open. “What do you want-”

The way that Larry’s face fell when he realized who it was would forever be burned into Sal’s mind. He tried to push through, but Larry shifted his weight, blocking him from the bathroom. It only infuriated him more, but that was okay. He could see the bunched up fishnets on the tiled floor as well as Ashley’s phone sitting on the edge of the sink.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he supposed Todd finally caught up. “Sorry,” Todd panted, his exhaustion clear. “I tried, I really did.”

Sal whipped around, finally tipping over the edge. “Fuck you!” He snarled at Todd, jabbing a finger at him. Todd took a step backward, thrown off by Sal’s temper. He had always been the collected one he supposed. “How long have you known!”

“Sal, don’t make a scene.” The voice came from Larry, causing Sal to divert his attention back to him.

Don’t make a scene?

His clenched fist connected with Larry’s face before he knew what was happening. He breathed heavily, watching him stumble back, clearly caught off guard. “Fuck,” Larry groaned. His hand dabbed at his nose, feeling the blood run down from it. Sal was acutely aware of the same blood smeared against his knuckles. “I think you broke my nose, man.”

The way Larry sounded so nonchalant about it only pissed him off more, like this was all a minor inconvenience. “You’re my best friend!” He cried out. Larry’s bloody nose couldn’t help but remind him of the time Larry had first seen him without his prosthetic. How were those two versions of his friend the same person? “How could you do this to me?”

Tears ran down his face, making it almost suffocating under his prosthetic. A sarcastic smile split Larry’s lips, and it made Sal want to punch him again. “You’re blaming me? Instead of the fact that you haven’t slept with your supposed girlfriend in a year?”

The words made him feel worse, and he glanced at Ashley who had finally appeared in the doorway with most of her clothing in place. His tone grew quieter. “You told him that?”

She looked away, not answering. Larry spoke for her. “Sal, like you said, you’re my best friend.” Sal scoffed. “But you can’t blame any of us for this when it was you who caused this.”

“Fuck you-”

Sal took a step forward, but Todd grabbed his wrist, not letting him get closer to Larry. “Okay, I think this is all enough,” Todd tried to soothe. “We can talk about this tomorrow when we’re back at the hotel.”

“No,” Larry disagreed, stepping closer to Sal. “This is your fault. You are so uncomfortable with yourself that you let it get in the way of your relationship.”

Sal bristled further, and Todd’s grip on him tightened in response. “Oh, please tell me more about how you fucking my girlfriend is my fault because I’m ‘uncomfortable,’” he snipped, sarcasm dripping like venom off his words.

Larry leaned down, bringing them eye to eye. The gesture itself was almost as insulting as his words. “Maybe you don’t like sex because you know that no matter how hard you try, it’ll never be enough. No matter how many shots you take, you’ll never be… enough.”

“Larry, don’t be cruel,” Ashley interjected, and Sal almost wished Larry would listen to her. He didn’t.

“That’s why Travis wouldn’t touch you, right?” He asked, twisting the knife.

There was no coming back from that. No matter how much history they might have, no matter how many times Larry had stayed up with him when the nightmares were bad, no matter how many times Larry had protected him back in high school, there was no saving their friendship. He deflated, wrenching his arm away from Todd. Larry’s words created a schism between them, and he knew Larry could sense it too from the way he straightened back up, looking almost apologetic. There was no amount of thread that could be woven by needle to mend what was just said.

First, his attention turned to Todd. “Larry and Ash steal weed from you. They still do it now, but they also did it back in high school. Remember those times your parents yelled at you thinking you got into their supply? That was them.”

Then, he glanced at Ashley. “Remember when your nudes got spread around at high school, and you couldn’t figure out by who?” He could feel Larry move towards him, but he kept going. “Yeah, that was your new boyfriend. He accidentally sent the picture to a group chat. Though, I’m not sure how that accidentally happens.”

Finally, he turned to Larry. “This isn’t the first time she’s cheated, and it won’t be the last. But that’s your problem now, not mine. I would just make sure you get a paternity test when the time comes.”

He turned on his heel, just in time for the accusations to start flying. Despite everything, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged his lips up. There were perks to being the wallflower, to being the quiet one. Everyone was always so trusting. He didn’t know how many times he had heard the phrase, “I don't know why, but I feel like I could tell you everything.” That was okay. If he was being excluded from the group, he’d make sure there wasn’t a group left.

“Sal Fisher?” He was broken out of his thoughts as a man approached him. He looked to each side, as if another Sal Fisher would materialize beside him.

“Yes?” Sal asked, self consciously wiping the blood off of the back of his hand and onto his shirt. He didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes flickered, watching the action. There was something about him that looked oddly familiar.

“Hi, I’m Phillip, nice to meet you,” he greeted, extending a hand. It clicked in Sal’s brain, and he took his hand, shaking it.

“No- we’ve met before, right? You used to go to Nockfell High?” He retracted his hand, watching Phillip’s lips tighten into a forced smile. Sal felt as though he chose the wrong dialogue option. “I mean, I think you were a year above me.”

“You caught me,” Phillip laughed, the sound loud and humorless. “We didn’t talk much, so I didn’t think you would remember me. Anyways, I work for the venue here. I’m just collecting you for your meet and greet.”

Sal fell in stride beside him, allowing himself to be led. “Really? That’s cool,” he responded in awe. He was just glad someone from their small town was doing something productive with their life. Phillip didn’t respond to the compliment.

“Now, will your friends be joining you? I couldn’t help but to overhear your… discussion earlier,” Phillip explained, amusement replacing his strained tone. It was Sal’s turn to force on a smile.

“Just me,” he stated, hoping it wouldn’t be pressed. Phillip refrained from tearing into the open wound further.

“Very well,” he responded, taking them into a small building behind the stage. Sal kept glancing around, afraid to forget the route back once this was over. “Now, most of the band members ended up having a scheduling conflict, so you’ll just be seeing the lead singer.”

“Oh,” Sal breathed out. He wasn’t disappointed, but a new nervous excitement filled him. The meeting being one on one felt oddly more intimate. His fingers played with the hem of his jacket.

Phillip didn’t say anything after, so Sal felt like he needed to break the awkward silence. He looked back to him as they rounded another hallway. “I like your hair by the way. The blue looks nice,” he complimented again.

“Huh? It’s been blue since high school,” Phillip deadpanned, unable to completely cover his disdain. It made Sal shrink.

“It wasn’t that shade though, right? It was darker back then.” Sal’s finger twirled one of his own locks, looking at Phillip’s hair. Their colors seemed to be identical now. He also didn’t miss how much longer Phillip’s hair was now, much like his own. Honestly, looking at Phillip looked like he was looking into a fun house mirror. His reflection was staring back at him, only with a gorgeous, unmaimed face. It made him feel insecure “Frosted Raspberry, right? That’s what I use.”

“We’re here.” Phillip stopped so abruptly that Sal almost ran into him. His voice was cold, devoid of any hint of professionalism. Sal wasn’t sure what he had done wrong, or if it was something else entirely. “You’ll need to sign an NDA after, so don’t run off too fast.”

Phillip’s fist wracked against the door before pushing it open. Then, in a much quieter voice. “Oh, and Sal? Don’t be stupid. He’s being paid to be nice to you. Don’t overthink anything he says.”

“Oh, okay-”

“Seriously, don’t. If he invites you back to the hotel, he’s only trying to fuck you.” Phillip laughed, sickeningly sweet. Sal could only nod along. “And from the sounds of it earlier, he wouldn’t like what he found.”

Sal could feel heat flood his face, indignant from being eavesdropped on. Before he could react, Phillip was ushering him in. There was no time to fully process the words, but the message was clear.

Don’t be stupid.

Notes:

Happy Sundayyy! Thank you for reading as always. I'm glad people like my silly little fic. As always, comments are encouraged. ;)

Also a heads up, I will be at a convention this weekend. The next chapter probably won't be out until the following Tuesday. But then, back to the regular schedule.

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