Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

25

"No." Sal brushed the comment off without so much as a shake of his head or a shrug of his shoulders, continuing forward, towards the old, brick school building.

"Sally," Larry began, holding one hand towards him in a half-hearted attempt to grab him by the forearm. His sleeve hung loosely, casting a dark shadow along the underside of his bicep, "I can't believe you're serious about this shit, man. It's crazy."

Sal's pale fingers were curled loosely around his backpack straps, holding them against his shoulders. His hair swayed in the wind, twisting and twirling into hazy blue helixes, "Nothing has changed, man," he said simply, firmly, "I didn't want to get him involved before and I don't want to get him involved now. That's all it is."

Larry's thick brows furrowed and his hooked nose wrinkled, "Get him involved?" He repeated, scrunching up his face as if he thought that the very idea of it was idiotic, "man, he has been involved."

The blue-haired boy sighed inaudibly and caught the sight of Travis's rusty, old bike in the corner of his eye. His heart rate picked up momentarily, "Well," he huffed, quickly coming to his senses, "he doesn't have to know that."

    Larry cocked his head, walking far slower than he usually did, "Doesn't have to know?" He grumbled, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, as if the very idea of Travis's blind, clerical innocence made him feel sick to his stomach, "How's he gonna feel when he finds out you've been keeping this shit from him, man?" He stared at Sal through his eyelashes.

   Sally Face whipped his head to the side, managing to frown at him with as little as a frustrated, tense-browed glance, "How's he gonna feel when he finds out he's been eating human flesh for the last three years?" He retorted, oddly defensive. His voice came out in a quiet hiss, "I can't do that to him, Larry."

It wasn't often that the two of them fought or even disagreed over small things, but Sal was well aware of the smoky ash cloud of frustration brewing in his brother's chest.

"You think this is better?" He asked, his dark hair following the turn of his head in a thin, fluid wave. "His father," Larry's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper and he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby, "his father is a maniac. Don't you think he has the right to find out about that?"

Sal's prosthetic shifted, likely indicating a deep frown or a heavy, quiet breath, "Trust me," he said vaguely, walking a bit faster, "I'm sure he knows."

   Larry picked up his pace in order to keep up with his brother, beginning to take longer strides, "Not to the extent that he should, man," he said, clicking his tongue, "You know that. He's... he's your boyfriend now, right?"

Something leaped in Sal's chest, a sudden pounding beneath his ribs.

"Don't you think," Larry continued slowly, "that it's sort of insane, just a little bit, to begin dating someone and immediately start keeping things from them?" He was unusually annoyed. Not only was it out of the ordinary for him to be annoyed with Sal at all, but it was strange that Travis Phelps was the one he was going to these lengths to defend.

"I'm not keeping any more from him than I was before," Sal insisted hesitantly, guilt settling into his stomach. He swallowed and pressed his array of broken, chipped, and damaged back teeth together, "Does starting a relationship with someone mean that you're obligated to show them everything?" His voice shifted awkwardly in pitch, fighting against his usually calm demeanor, "Does it mean that I'm obligated to show him my face too?"

Larry's expression softened slightly, his lips parting open, "Dude, no. Of course not," he trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets. The gust of wind that brushed through their clothes was cold and piercing, and, blowing a puff of condensed air out of his mouth, he turned towards his brother again.