In the Fishbowl - 14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thanks to Jim for editing!

Nicky Davis yawned widely as he made his way to the front door. The sun was coming through the blinds but he was sure that it was way too early for someone to be knocking, nonetheless. Though, his annoyance over the matter could have had something to do with how much he wanted to climb back into bed; after spending a late night with Owen and Ryan, he was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn yesterday, unfamiliar phone numbers written halfway up his arm and a hangover that had him going cross-eyed.

Owen’s fault, Nicky assured himself. His best friend had asked him and Ryan to come over to watch a movie, but not ten minutes into it Owen was raiding the mini-bottles of various forms of liquor that Chris kept above the refrigerator. From what Nicky remembered, there’s been a lot of laughing and a lot of walking when they went looking for a bus stop in hopes of making it to the club when they got tired of being by themselves. They’d lasted an hour at The Shadow before Chris caught sight of them and kicked them out before anyone could accuse him of serving drinks to under-aged patrons. But, Nicky was confident that somewhere in there, he’d had a good time.

Opening the door, the sun hit his sensitive eyes and he blinked a few times before he made out Lacy’s figure and waved her in so he could shut the door. She was already laughing at him as she lifted his arm and examined the phone numbers. “What on earth happened to you?” she asked, but before he could answer, she was tapping his arm. “I know this one! You should call her. She’s sweet.”

Nicky pulled his arm back and ran his hands over his face. “Okay. You’re too perky to be here. Go away.”

Lacy rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. “Go back to bed, Mr. Grouchy. I’m not here to see you, anyway.”

Nicky rubbed at his eyes, and then tried to focus on her. “Huh?”

“Where’s Kyle?” she asked. “I need to talk to him. No one was answering at Ryan’s.”

“That’s probably because Ryan wasn’t stupid enough to get out of bed,” Nicky remarked, and then looked at her curiously. “Wait. You went to see Ryan?”

“No,” Lacy said quickly. “I was looking for Travis.”

“Oh. I heard he was out of town. Why are you looking for him?”

Lacy raised an eyebrow. “For someone who wants me to go away, you sure ask a lot of questions.”

Nicky smiled. “Right. I’m going back to bed before I puke. I think Kyle’s still asleep. He was working late. Wake him up if you want.”

“I will,” Lacy replied, as if it had been a challenge, and Nicky stayed with her on the way down the hall for as long as it took to get to his room, and then Lacy found herself outside of the last closed door in the hall. She knocked, waited, and then confident that she would have been answered if someone was actually awake, she entered Kyle’s room.

She took a quick sweep of the space with her eyes until they fell on the bed, and she found Nicky’s dark-haired cousin in the center of the mattress, fully covered in a tangle of thick blankets. Lacy took a moment to consider the best way to wake him, and deciding not to waste any time she suddenly moved towards the bed, jumping up and landing on her knees; and for good measure, gave the mattress a few extra bounces before Kyle shot straight up, alarmed as he looked around, his eyes ultimately falling on her with more confusion than annoyance.

“You don’t look very surprised to see me,” Lacy remarked, leaving him no chance to come to his senses. “Were you dreaming about me?”

Kyle ran his hand through his messed hair a few times. The blankets had fallen down his bare chest, and when Lacy stretched her neck and leaned forward as if to get a better view he quickly pulled them up and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

She grinned, sat back to lift two envelopes from her purse, and then held them out for him.

“What’s this?” he asked, too tired to figure it out for himself.

“I need you to give them to Travis. I’d do it myself, but it might be better coming from you. Besides, I can’t get a hold of him.”

“Why would it be better coming from me? What is it?” he asked again.

“Well, that’s the mail he gets at the video store,” Lacy replied, pointing to the first envelope, and then the next. “And that’s... his final paycheck.”

“What?”

Lacy frowned, shrugging. “I know. They said they were going to keep him on, but then we got this new management...”

“He’s fired?”

“He probably shouldn’t have mail sent there anymore,” Lacy remarked, and then became more serious. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

Kyle frowned as he looked between the two envelopes. “I don’t know... I don’t think this is coming at a good time for him.”

“I tried to talk them out of it,” Lacy insisted. “But, there’s only so much you can do when...”

“When it’s Travis,” Kyle finished for her. He let out a breath, put the paycheck aside, and then looked over the piece of mail, flipping it over as he tried to determine where it was from. “What’s this?”

“Don’t know. Travis just gets them every once in a while.”

“Why does he get mail at the store?”

“I don’t know,” Lacy repeated, laughing.

Kyle narrowed his eyes at the envelope, and then suddenly began to rip it open. Lacy was quick to cover his hands with her own, stopping them.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Opening it.”

“Kyle!”

“What?”

Lacy rolled her eyes, and pulled her hands back. “If you’re going to be nosy, I don’t want any part of it.”

Kyle only shrugged, paying no attention to the way that Lacy didn’t go anywhere despite her remark as he opened the mail up, pulled out a few folded papers, and steadily frowned, his expression growing more somber each moment that he read what was in front of him.

“Well, what is it?” Lacy asked impatiently.

“I thought you didn’t want to be nosy,” he remarked.

“It doesn’t count if you’re doing it for me.”

“It’s a bill,” Kyle explained. “A big one.”

“Oh? From where?”

“A hospital.”

Lacy suddenly snatched it from his hands to take a look. “The Francis Center? Didn’t they just open that last year... it doesn’t say what it’s for.”

“I know that,” Kyle snapped as he took it back.

“Well, why do you think he’s getting bills from a hospital?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he sick?”

Kyle shook his head, his mouth turning down as he took a closer look at what was in front of him. “No,” he said slowly. “The bill’s for Travis... but I don’t think he’s the patient.”

“Why not?” Lacy asked curiously, but Kyle was already holding a mess of sheets around his waist as he climbed out of bed.

“Look, if you see Travis, don’t mention that I have this, alright?”

“What?”

“I’ll let him know,” Kyle insisted as he grabbed some clothes from the closet and headed towards the bathroom. “Just don’t mention it.”

***

In the twenty-six hours since Travis had been back in town, he’d come to feel invisible. For all the fuss that everyone had made before he left, they certainly were ignoring him now. He was grateful and resentful for it all at the same time. More grateful, definitely, but something about hardly seeing anyone at all for over a day didn’t sit quite right with him. He’d hardly stepped off the bus before he was working a double shift for Mr. Gordon, including the extra errand of washing cars in the cold and walking two miles to the post office so his boss could get some letters out on time. Normally, Travis wouldn’t have minded, but since whether or not he’d actually be paid for any of it was in question, the day had seemed to drag on forever. His first night back hadn’t been much better, either.

Now that he had two roommates he’d figured that at least one of them would have been around for him to annoy, but there’d been no sign of either Ryan or Aiden by the time he was too bored to sit alone with the new furniture any longer, and too restless to go to sleep. A trip down to Tenth Street had been cut short when he ran into a woman and her four kids stuck on the side of the road after she’d run out of gas; and while Travis would have felt too guilty to ask for it in that situation, he’d been happy enough when she’d slipped him twenty bucks after he helped push her car to the nearest gas station. It hadn’t been an entirely long trip, and he couldn’t remember going up any hills, but he was still sore after the beating Joe had given him, and the exercise only warned him that it would be in his best interest to bypass any plans he might have had for the night.

Returning to a still empty apartment, Travis had made the effort to take a quick shower, and then forced himself into bed. He slept surprisingly soundly; to his knowledge, he didn’t wake once over the next six hours. But, when Travis did wake up, he was aggravated to find himself... depressed.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t always a little bit depressed over something. Hell, Travis thought, everybody was. But today, he felt a little more depressed than he imagined most people would be. It wasn’t the type of emotion that he could hide behind a smile, or the type that evoked unreasonable passion as rising anger or even sadness might. It was just there: hindering, exhausting, and quite frankly, dull. He was uninspired, bored, and annoyed with himself for feeling as if a dark hood had been pulled over his eyes to block out the sunniest day he’d seen in months. That would be his eyelids, he realized. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d bothered to look up all day. At work Mr. Gordon’s voice had been merely an echo in his head--a loud echo, but not enough for Travis to understand words when they became sentences. In fact, the only thing Travis had understood was when Mr. Gordon told him to go home until he managed to dislodge his head from his ass. Travis had been a little surprised, but he’d also been in no condition to argue. Maybe he wouldn’t go as far as to say that his head was up his ass, but then, it certainly wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

He’d left the dealership only to realize that he had nowhere else to be; more specifically, nowhere he wanted to be. This was probably the reason why at some point, he’d ended up in the park, finding that even on a nice enough day for at-home parents and babysitters to bring out their charges, there was still a sense of serenity present, silent enough for him to ponder thoughts that were... well, they seemed pretty damned pointless, and Travis would have been the first to say so.

He felt inadequate, insignificant, and he would have liked for someone to just explain to him what the point was. Why did he bother--with anything? Why did anyone bother? Why hadn’t the world ever woken up on a bright morning such as this one and decided to just stop? At the moment, it seemed like a reasonable request. He figured he knew one person who might agree with him, anyway, and that was exactly who Travis called when he lifted his phone from his pocket.

It seemed more than inconvenient to Travis when Dennis didn’t answer his cell phone; it was downright unacceptable. Given that it was the first time in over a day that he’d made a conscious effort to seek out any form of human contact, he felt that he was entitled to a response.

Travis also felt that he was being avoided.

This, of course, didn’t really surprise him. When the attention hadn’t been aimed in his own direction during his last encounter with Dennis, he’d been aware enough of Dennis’s discomfort. Travis was also aware that he was the one responsible for it. But still, he didn’t like to feel that he was being ignored by anyone, so Travis dialed Dennis’s number again to confirm it.

He was being avoided. At least, that’s what the sound of Dennis’s voice-mail message told him before it even suggested the possibility that Dennis was busy, or otherwise preoccupied. So, since Travis was convinced that he was being blown off, he became even more determined to reach Dennis Gordon--if only to tell the guy it was impossible to avoid Travis Beltnick. And maybe because Travis was convinced that Dennis was the only person on the planet who wouldn’t try to cheer him up or otherwise attempt to figure out what was wrong with him. Travis figured that Dennis had given that particular cause up seconds after meeting him. Very convenient.

Remembering Dennis’s complaint that his family had started calling the Chesleys, Travis figured that that number couldn’t be very hard to come by, and a quick call to information verified that he was correct.

Mr. Chesley was the one who answered the phone, and used caution where Dennis’s whereabouts were concerned before Travis said who he was and the older man relaxed. But unfortunately, Dennis wasn’t home and Mr. Chesley had no idea where he was. Travis got the idea that Mr. Chesley rarely knew where Dennis was and he didn’t seem to care for it. That struck Travis as funny; maybe Dennis didn’t consider himself a part of that family, but he couldn’t say that he didn’t have parents.

The search for Dennis didn’t end with that phone call. In fact, being unable to predict where he could run into the guy, or finding a voice-mail answering service at the end of the phone line caused enough curiosity to lift Travis out of his haze long enough to send his search in an unexpected direction.

***

The Dovans’ nightclub did have an office. A real one, used specifically for... office purposes. Not that anyone would know it since Chris had taken to doing most of his work upstairs. Owen was convinced that his older brother did this purposely to better the chances of being interrupted when he was up to something completely boring. But, this was okay because Owen did like to use the office. Besides, being in the small, but suitable room was currently convenient as he listened to the printer use up every bit of ink it had to offer.

He assumed that was what the machine was doing, at least. He’d been listening to it for the last fifteen minutes, and the sound was enough to convince him that he was doing something productive while really he’d been wasting most of his time hunched over a notebook writing a very long--and when he read it, he’d decide ridiculous--letter to his ex-boyfriend.

There was really nothing specific enough to be mentioned in the words he jotted down: a bunch of random feelings put into words, past events and conversations rolled into wishes for the future compared to what he believed he had now... which would be nothing. Aiden had left him with nothing. At least, that was the last thing he’d written.

Holding the paper back and looking at it, Owen shook his head, deciding that the last thing was entirely untrue. He scratched it out.

Aiden hadn’t left him with nothing; he’d left him bitter. Owen just hadn’t realized it until now. He was still hurt over their last meeting, and didn’t consider himself cooled down in the least. But why should he be? He felt like he’d been dumped, as if their breakup hadn’t come from a mutual decision. He felt like he would have been dumped quite a while ago if Aiden hadn’t felt sorry for him. This was an assumption, of course, but it was the one most likely to make Owen angry, and right now, it was easier for him to feel anger than anything else.

When Owen was angry, the only time he thought about calling Aiden was when he wanted to yell at him. This was more often than not, but he saw it as improvement over wanting to call just to hear Aiden’s voice. When he was angry, he didn’t feel sad all the time; it was empowering. It was also exhausting, which is why he’d turned to letter writing when that anger had reached borderline madness.

And the writing helped. It was a good vent for his feelings, perfect for sorting things out. He was surprised by what came to him, numerous things that he’d never thought to say to his ex, things he might not have remembered if the pen hadn’t brought them out of him. All things he never would have said so openly to Aiden before... and maybe things he never would say, given that he’d decided his letter had a date with the paper shredder as soon as he completed it. It was a shame, too, since Owen had pictured the look on Aiden’s face a hundred different ways every time he fantasized about him reading it.

Aiden would be shocked, of course. Just as Owen had been shocked when he’d been informed that he was out of someone’s league. And while Aiden was busy being shocked over how much Owen had to say, Owen would walk away, and...

“Owen?”

Owen looked up from his paper, blinking as he jumped at the sound. Yes, he thought, Aiden might call after him when he walked away. But, he doubted that Aiden’s voice would have been preceded by a loud, high-pitched whine before it echoed though the cracked office door and quite possibly, the entire club.

“Oweeennn....” the same voice came again, this time exaggerated, and definitely louder than a normal voice should be. It sounded as if it were coming through radio speakers, the volume turned all the way up.

Curious, Owen left his brother’s desk to venture out into the club. It wasn’t difficult to find where the source speaking his name was coming from, as it had just started to do it for a third time.

“Ow...Oh.” Travis Beltnick lowered a microphone from where he stood on a stage occasionally used for live music, and passed it to the amused man up there with him who’d been cleaning the stage. “Thanks,” he said, and then grinned as he turned to go meet Owen. “Hey. Remember me?”

Owen’s smile was slow, but it did reach his eyes. “If you were actually going to sing to me,” he remarked, “I never would have forgotten.”

Travis laughed. “I bet you would have liked something like that.”

“Only if you can sing.”

Travis shrugged. “I’m not good at it. Not terrible, either. And I’m not gonna sing.”

“You just like to play with loud things, then,” Owen commented.

“Nah, I just wanted to talk to the cute singer,” Travis remarked, nodding towards the man back to putting things away on the stage.

Owen looked, giving the subject the few moments of appreciation he deserved. “That’s one of our waiters.”

“Yeah? Bet you I could make him sing, anyway,” Travis replied, and then looked thoughtful. “I guess I do like to play with loud things.”

Owen rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling, suddenly enjoying his surprise visitor. “What are you doing here?”

“Seeing what you’re doing, I guess. You said to come by.”

Owen went blank for a second, and then shook it off. “Oh! Yeah... sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t say come by today. Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Owen said quickly. “Sorry. I’ve just been sitting in an office all day. My people skills are kinda shot.”

Travis smiled at that. “We’ll work on that. So are you working?”

“Yeah... kind of,” Owen replied as he headed back to the office, this time with Travis alongside him. “So what’re you up to? Just visiting?”

“That... and I wanted to find out if you knew where Dennis was.”

“Dennis?”

“You’re his only friend,” Travis explained. “Or, the only one he’s ever mentioned hanging around... he quit his job... he’s not home. I figure that kind of limits his options.”

Owen was silent for a moment, more surprised than amused by Travis’s comment. “Wow,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Oh... just, Dennis. You said I’m his only friend. Sounds weird.”

Travis frowned. “You’re not friends?”

Owen shrugged. “I like to think we are. But I guess it’s hard to tell whathe thinks sometimes. Anyway, I don’t know where he is. He actually could be working. I think he’s talked a few places into letting him work part-time until he finds something permanent.”

“Oh.” Travis decided that that made sense, and found the explanation a little more reasonable than the theory about Dennis going out of his way to avoid him.

They reached the office, and Travis seemed to look around for a moment, not really sure what to do with himself. Now that he had the information he wanted, Owen assumed that Travis would be excusing himself at any moment, but instead he watched his dark-haired guest wander towards the desk.

“What kind of work are you doing?” Travis asked.

Owen felt that Travis was getting a little too close to the notebook he’d been writing in, and made a point to rush around the desk and lift it himself.

“Um...nothing much,” Owen replied, placing his notebook safely on top of the filing cabinet before lifting one of the flyers away from the copy machine, which was still running. “We start serving lunch in two weeks. Just a trial run to see if it brings in business. I figure a few fliers and some coupons wouldn’t hurt... do you think it’s stupid?” Owen asked when Travis took the flier and regarded it blankly.

“No,” Travis insisted. “Coupons are cool.”

Owen shrugged. “I’m kinda nervous about it. The club’s been Chris’s thing. This is the first idea I’ve ever put out there. Sometimes I think he agreed to it because he would have felt bad about saying no to me.”

“Yeah,” Travis said sarcastically. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with him having faith in you.”

Owen smiled awkwardly faced with what sounded like a compliment and a searching look from Travis, who he realized could probably unnerve just about anyone with those dimples. “So... have you seen the menu, yet?” Owen asked when he realized he was staring, and stepped around Travis to lift a copy he’d just had laminated. “I mean, you should probably take a look anyway, if you’re gonna be serving it, right?”

Travis took the copy, and displayed a polite interest in what Owen was showing him, until he took a more genuine interest in what Owen had just said. “Serving?” Travis asked.

Owen shrugged. “Kyle said you’d be starting work here,” Owen explained, as if this was common knowledge. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you made a good choice. This can be a fun place to work, and you’re not missing anything at that video store.”

Travis blinked, but somehow managed to hide his confusion. “I’m not?”

Owen gave him a funny look. “Are you sorry they fired you over there?”

Understanding came to Travis quickly, and all things considered, it was impressive how quickly he was able to mask his surprise... and his imminent anger. “No. Not really. No need to be, right? But, um... look, you just reminded me that I need to catch up with Kyle, so...”

“Hey, wait a second,” Owen insisted when Travis headed to the door, and reached out to touch his shoulder when it didn’t look like he was going to stop.

Turning--mostly because it would be downright rude to keep walking at this point--Travis forced a polite smile in the blond’s direction. “What’s up?”

Owen pulled his hand back only to cross his arms, suddenly unable to meet Travis’s eyes. “You know... never mind.”

Travis shrugged. “Okay.”

Owen let out a breath, and before Travis had the chance to start moving again, blurted, “I wanted to ask you about Aiden.”

That drew Travis’s attention momentarily away from his own problems, but with a definite wariness. He was getting that distressed, vulnerable look from Owen once again, and this time he was in favor of not caring for it. “Look, I know you guys are broken up, and I’m sure whatever it is, is none of my business.”

“Are you sleeping with him?” Owen asked, and Travis’s brow flew up.

“Or maybe it’s none of your business.”

Owen sighed. “Look, I know he’s living with you now, and the last time I talked to him he sounded like... I got the feeling he was telling me to stay away from you.”

“Really?” Travis asked, probably interested entirely too much by that. “How come?”

Owen frowned. “I thought maybe it was because he liked you.”

Maybe he does, Travis thought proudly, but then, he could think of another reason he’d given Aiden to provoke him enough to warn Owen away. “Listen...”

“Can you just answer the question?” Owen asked. “Normally I’d never ask, but...”

“No.”

“No... you’re not sleeping with him, or no you won’t answer the question?”

Travis opened his mouth, closed it again, and then licked his lips as he tried to figure out what to say. Finally, he looked over Owen carefully, and said, “It would bother you if I was, wouldn’t it?” he asked. He wasn’t mocking. In fact, he almost seemed sympathetic. But, he didn’t give Owen a chance to answer. “I haven’t. I’m only telling you because I’m not used to people making me feel guilty for things I haven’t done--let alone, what I have done. And, if it makes you feel any better, I wanted to, and I probably would have if he didn’t get off on playing hard-to-get.”

Owen’s brow knitted. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Travis sighed, growing tired of this conversation already. He blamed it on his mood. “Look... what do you want? You’re obviously interested in what he’s up to. You wanna get his attention or something like that?”

Owen shrugged. He was obviously moving on from determined to embarrassed over the entire matter. Maybe he hadn’t expected Travis to be so direct. Either way, he seemed set on seeing it through. “For starters.”

“Okay. What do you usually do to get his attention?”

“Well... I try... to get his attention.”

Travis rolled his eyes. “Right. Next time, you should try to surprise him.”

“Huh?”

“He likes to be surprised.”

Owen shook his head, almost laughing at that. “Aiden hates surprises.”

“Because he said so?” Travis remarked. “That’s something he’d say to someone predictable. If you want him to notice you, try doing something he won’t expect from you. Trust me, people need things to get switched up every once in a while, and I don’t think whatever the two of you are doing is actually working.”

“What do you mean?”

Travis shook his head. “I don’t know. Forget I said anything if you want. I’ve gotta get going.”

“But...”

“Owen,” Travis cut him off impatiently. “If it’s bothering you, do something about it. You seem like a good guy, and you’ve got some things going for you,” Travis added, regarding Owen with an appraising look that could only suggest he was appreciating the blond’s physical appearance. “I refuse to believe you’re being as stupid as you’re acting.”

“What?” Owen demanded, obviously unable to figure out if he was being complimented or insulted.

“Like I said,” Travis replied lightly; “what you two are doing isn’t working. If it was, someone around here would be getting laid. But obviously, none of us are that lucky. It’s a waste.”

While Owen was busy being completely baffled, Travis suddenly stepped around him and grabbed the entire pile of fliers from the copier. Owen didn’t catch up to him until he reached the door.

“Wait... what are you doing?” Owen asked.

“Looks like working,” Travis replied, waving the fliers. “These won’t do any good sitting at the front door. Oh, and if you see Kyle, tell him he’s a prick. He’ll know why.”

***

Dennis rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, blinked a few times, and then returned his focus to the fictional characters living in the pages of the book he’d picked up at a yard sale for less than a buck only that morning. But, it was only for a moment as he realized that his vision was still blurring and his headache was only getting worse.

He hoped that he didn’t need glasses. He assured himself that he didn’t. It was more likely a side effect of not picking up a book for recreational purposes in over a year. Or, it could have been because the lighting in his room was bad and he’d been staring at the small print for over three hours now, ever since he’d made it home from another morning of washing dogs. Apart from peeling off a damp shirt, he hadn’t done much else. He’d sat on his bed, opened his book... and that was about it. He hadn’t felt very productive then and he didn’t feel much different now. Only now, he couldn’t distract himself by reading because his eyes were demanding a break.

He yawned as he slid the book back behind his pillow, wishing that it was later in the evening so he’d have an excuse to go to bed. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do... not that Dennis was going out of his way in search of something. He hardly even twitched when someone tapped softly on his door; he had no plan to open it. Only Reilly ever knocked that softly, and it was close enough to the time when he’d be sent down to invite Dennis up to dinner. Since Dennis wasn’t hungry, and didn’t see the point in making up an excuse for why he didn’t want to go upstairs, he ignored it. Reilly would give it a minute and walk away. He always did. It was predictable, and Dennis would never expect anything more, so it was something new when the knocking suddenly continued... and didn’t stop.

It began as a soft tap, and then another... another, a bit louder, again, again, and then again. Sitting up, Dennis stared at his door, frowning as it got Valentine’s attention from where she’d been curled up on the floor--enough to move her across the floor, barking.

“Come in,” Dennis finally called, but by then, he wasn’t sure he could even be heard over the knocking. “Come in!”

The pace of the knocking suddenly became rapid, provoking him to match it with his steps as he pushed himself away from his bed and strode across the room before he took hold of the door handle, swung it open, and made a point not to show his frustration as he looked over Travis Beltnick outside of his door, smiling like the obnoxious idiot he was obviously attempting to be.

“Travis?”

“Dennis?” Travis responded, mimicking the same impatient tone Dennis had used. “Surprised to see me?”

No, actually, Dennis wasn’t surprised at all. In fact, he’d been expecting to see Travis ever since the guy’s number had shown up on his phone that morning. That still didn’t keep him from feeling like he’d been taken off guard now, though. Just because he’d expected this visit didn’t mean he’d been looking forward to it.

“What are you doing here?”

Travis didn’t respond to Dennis’s question, or give any indication that he intended to. Instead, his narrow eyes took a sweep downwards, telling Dennis that it was time to put on a shirt, and wishing that he already had one on as he crossed his right arm uncomfortably over his chest to reach for his left shoulder, waiting for Travis to ask the question that he could already see coming.

“What happened to you?”

“I was jogging. Went off the trail.” A long run though a patch of thorn bushes seemed to be a reasonable explanation for the already-fading scrapes and minor cuts that had been stinging his arms, knees and the side of his face all day. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“You were in a fight,” Travis decided, meeting Dennis’s eyes again. “With who?”

Dennis frowned. “Why? Jealous?”

“Of course,” Travis sarcastically remarked. “Must be someone special since you won’t even hit me again.” He pushed his way past Dennis into the room, greeting Valentine on his way. But, if he was at all interested in what Dennis had been up to he obviously wasn’t interested in discussing it until Dennis was. “My day was complete shit. Make that the week. The week was shit.”

“So why are you here?” Dennis asked again as he finally closed his door and followed Travis into the room.

Travis turned suddenly, a small frown creasing his mouth. “Because you’re here,” he pointed out. “And because you haven’t been answering your phone. But hey, I’ll leave if you want me to. As long as you come with me.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Sit, then,” he remarked, seeming resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting back to his reading even if his eyes were ready for it, and he headed towards his closet in search of a shirt. But, Travis didn’t sit, choosing to follow Dennis instead.

“Have you been thinking about me?”

“What?” Dennis demanded, turning at his closet door. The question seemed to alarm him, and Travis apparently thought that was amusing.

“Just curious,” he said easily. “I was thinking about you. I would’ve called yesterday when I got back, but your dad actually made me work when I showed up at work. I totally get why he annoys you.” Travis suddenly stepped closer, and as if he needed to prove that he had the shortest attention span the world had to offer he changed the subject, abruptly reaching out to place his fingertips on Dennis’s arm, just above a scrape on his elbow. “Are you going to tell me who’s been pushing you around, or am I supposed to guess whose balls to crack?”

Dennis jerked his arm away, baffled. “I don’t need you to defend me!” he snapped, bothered and unsettled by the very idea. The way Travis had touched him so casually didn’t make him any more comfortable, either, and afraid to take his eyes away from his guest for even a second, Dennis reached blindly back until he felt a shirt and broke a hanger pulling it down.

“Of course you don’t,” Travis agreed, seeming unaffected by Dennis’s antics as Dennis clumsily removed pieces of the broken hanger from the inside of the most uncomfortable turtleneck that he owned. “I’m just saying, if you wanted help with something like that...”

“I don’t.”

“Well do you need help getting dressed?” Travis asked, finally releasing the laugh he’d been working hard to suppress.

Dennis paused, narrowing his eyes. “Get out of my closet.”

Travis leaned back on the doorframe. “Nice choice of words,” he remarked, and when Dennis’s shoulder’s tensed and he opened his mouth--likely to make a loud and disagreeable suggestion--Travis quickly continued. “Why are you so mad at me? You weren’t like this when I was leaving.”

“That’s because you were leaving.”

Travis raised an eyebrow. “Is this because I kissed you? I told you we’d deal with it when I got back.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dennis said quickly.

Travis shrugged. “It was just a kiss.”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I don’t think you were ready for it,” Travis continued, obviously choosing to believe that Dennis was hanging on his every word. “But it’s not like it was bad. You seemed a little... rusty, but...”

“Travis.”

“My point is, you can’t stay freaked out, because I don’t want you to. Besides,” Travis added, when all Dennis had to offer him was an incredulous look, “I haven’t been thinking about talking to you all day. So please, don’t put that shirt on, and I’ll promise to give you plenty of opportunity to tell me to back off before I kiss you again.”

They fell into an abrupt silence. Dennis didn’t know where to begin to respond, and it seemed that Travis was obnoxiously immune to the awkwardness that came and lingered there while Dennis stared stoically down at the shirt in his hands with a clenched jaw and Travis stared at Dennis, possibly more impatiently than he let on as they both wondered if Travis’s lack of subtlety was about to provide him with a broken nose.

Just when it seemed like neither of them would be moving for a while, Dennis released a breath, and with steps that seemed almost careful, he turned away from Travis as much as he could, meaning to get out of the closet. He was feeling claustrophobic, and it wasn’t the first time the nervous energy he felt around Travis was making him feel shaky. He felt driven to escape it; even three meager feet of distance might allow him to think clearly again. But getting that far felt next to impossible when Travis stepped out in front of him. It didn’t seem so much to block Dennis’s path as it was to meet him, and there, Travis seemed close. Frighteningly patient as his dark eyes along with the rest of a serious expression that Dennis didn’t quite recognize seemed to wait for an answer of some sort; and Travis kept his promise. He left plenty of time--long, drawn-out moments filled with tense silence to see if he would be told to just stop. Even after that broad mouth of his pressed softly against Dennis’s he pulled back, waited again. By the time Travis leaned in a second time there were still no outstanding objections to greet him, but Dennis was beginning to feel short of breath, panicked and unable to reciprocate any of the affection he was being given. Something in him hated it as much as he took comfort in what he considered a defense mechanism.

Dennis closed his eyes the third time, and was unable to see the way it caused Travis to pause as his breath fanned his face, and when he did kiss him again it seemed as slow as it did bold, his lips strong and urging as they moved Dennis’s mouth beneath his own.

Dennis’s breath hitched, his toes stretched when he felt Travis’s tongue slip against his own, leaving as little warning as Travis’s hand did when it suddenly closed over Dennis’s, pulling him closer before Dennis suddenly dropped his shirt, allowed his fingers to slip into Travis’s, and kissed him back.

***

Kyle Davis bit at his thumbnail: a habit he’d long ago broken himself of. Of course, that didn’t seem to be the case now as he sat in an uncomfortable chair with his ankle crossed over his knee, feeling nervous, impatient, and willing to chew through his entire thumb if he believed even for a moment that it would do him any good.

He was on his feet in an instant when the only nurse he’d managed to get to speak to him at The Francis Center appeared in the lobby and moved in his direction. She’d seemed nice enough, and extraordinarily patient considering that Kyle had walked in acting like he needed to be admitted for a serious caffeine overdose. But, if the look on her face was any indication, he doubted that she was going to be as much help as he hoped she would when she passed back a bill that was addressed to Travis Beltnick.

“You’re not Travis Beltnick.”

“Yeah, we’ve already been through that,” Kyle pointed out.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis. We have to respect our patients’ confidentiality.”

“You can’t even tell me what patient we’re talking about?” Kyle pressed.

“You’re not Travis Beltnick,” she said again, and then nodded to the bill. “I shouldn’t even be giving that back to you. Listen, if he’s really a friend of yours, I’d talk to him about it.”

“His what? Mom? Dad?” Kyle asked quickly. “I mean, this is a nursing home, not area fifty-one, just tell me...

“The patient. I’m sorry I can’t help you... Mr. Davis, we encourage friends and family to visit as often as they can. All I can tell you about this patient is that two people are actually authorized to do that. I suggest that if you come back in, bring Travis with you.”

Kyle frowned, looking down at the paper in his hands as she started to walk away from him. “Wait,” he called. “What if I want to pay this?”

“Mr. Davis...”

“It has nothing to do with the patient,” Kyle said sharply. “So is there anything stopping me from doing that?”