Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

7

The next day was not Bologna day. It was a Tuesday, and the student body was able to return to the building thanks to the roads being plowed overnight.

Sal was dressed in a particularly effeminate manner today. He had wanted to wear a skirt, mostly because he liked how they felt and also the message that wearing one as a biological male sent. However, he was aware of the fact that it was quite literally freezing outside, so he wore fleece leggings underneath a black, pleated skirt and felt satisfied. It was a compromise between him and the weather, more or less.

He also had a t-shirt on and a Sanity's Fall hoodie (courtesy of Larry) overtop of it.

Sure, he got strange looks and loud whispers, but he didn't particularly care. After years of relentlessly being bullied because of his prosthetic, a little snide comment about his fashion choices didn't phase him much.

Larry didn't dress nearly as boldly. He'd wear band tees, ripped jeans, and the occasional beaded bracelet with something stupid spelled out on it, but he wasn't terribly into wearing skirts and dresses. He wasn't opposed to them either. He just didn't own anything like that. He never had a problem with Sal wearing them. Neither did any of their friends.

That was enough for Sal to feel comfortable.

   When he arrived in Algebra class that morning, Travis Phelps was already in the room, sitting quietly by himself amidst the chatter of the other, more social students.

   His brows were tense and creased (not an uncommon sight) and his dark eyes were focused on something folded neatly on his lap. Travis looked unnaturally apprehensive in comparison to those around him and his uneasy expression made him stick out like a sore thumb. 

   Sal approached him casually and took the seat beside him, sliding his legs under the desk and tucking the skirt beneath him. He tilted his head and raised a waving hand to greet Travis, "Hey," his eyes crinkled.

   Travis blinked, jolting in his seat. He must've been too distracted to notice Sal walk in. "Uh," his voice wavered, sharp jaw tensing.

   Sal watched as Travis's eyes fell to his black skirt. His gaze lingered for a moment before he looked back up at him.

   Sal blinked expectantly.

   "Hi," Travis choked out after another eternity of silence. His eyes brimmed with something anxious and unsure.

   As if someone had flipped a switch on, Travis instantaneously pulled the folded clothing item off of his lap and placed it on Sal's desk. "Uh, this is yours." He pulled his hands away quickly, "Thanks, I guess."

   "Oh!" Sal offered a hidden smile. He stared down at his navy blue windbreaker and reached out to run his pale fingers over it, "Thanks man," he chuckled, "I'll keep it on hand." He glanced up at him with teasing blue eyes, "Just in case you get caught in the snow again."

   Travis nodded curtly and turned forward as the bell rang.

   Sal peeked down at his bony, tan hands and found that they were clenched into fists, his knuckles white and strained.

   He turned to his jacket again and leaned down to tuck it into his school bag. With his face (or mask, rather) so close to the fabric, he could pick up a wafting scent of laundry detergent.

   He slid his jacket into his bag and fought a growing smile.

   Travis had really gone through the trouble of washing it for him.

The thought alone made him want to giggle and kick his legs like some sort of deranged 13-year-old girl in a parasocial relationship.

He couldn't help but imagine Travis tiptoeing around his house, thinking of him, and then deciding to stick his jacket in the wash even though he'd only worn it for like two hours tops.