#thread: travis.

he hasn't used that word himself, afraid of the weight of it, like as soon as he says it, it'll all fade away, but when she says it — the person he trusts most in the world — he realizes that's what this feeling is. happy. he's told perry that he's at peace with him, that he's comfortable, that he feels like he belongs— all things that are rear for him, and he's starting to understand what that feeling is, one he hasn't felt in so long, and one, just as she's said, he's never felt like he's allowed to feel.

he reaches out for perry before he can stop himself from doing it, his fingers clutching the material of perry's shirt to ground himself as he tries to focus on perry's voice— because perry doesn't need to tell him to relax for the tone of his voice to do the trick on its own. it's something that travis has come to understand lately, that being around perry gives him a sense of tranquility he can't remember feeling before.

travis takes a deep breath, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment before he opens them with hopes to not have made a fool of himself, or to have revealed too much about himself that might just scare perry away. when he opens his eyes to look back at him, he gives him a small nod, trying to brace himself.

he's never done anything like this here before — a sudden panic in the middle of his chores startling his horse and forcing travis to run off out of shame, embarrassment, and that familiar feeling of being trapped, even though he's never felt like that here. this has been a safe place, he has been a safe place, and more than anything, he's desperate to tell perry that, to not let him think that any of this is him or his family. it's just travis, shaky, uncertain, lost.

he doesn't look up at her, only keeping his eyes on the frayed edges of his shorts, the rest recently ripped away as they prepare for summer. there's been a shift in energy lately, not just a feeling of optimism but in a new level of adaption that only makes travis feel more and more out of place with each passing day. his fingers pick apart at the edges as he gives a small nod of acknowledgment, which feels more comfortable than telling her that she's right, he is. he wishes he could hide away in his hut, the same way he would've back home in his bedroom in an attempt to block out the rest of the world, but it doesn't feel the same here —  not when his hut just reminds him of how alone he is and how much he's lost.

he used to feel like sharing a bedroom with his brother was a prison, desperate for the day he was finally free to be on his own, able to lock him out whenever he wanted. he feels so ashamed of the joy he felt when that day came, now wishing he could share his hut with his baby brother for even one day.

there’s something about van that has often allowed travis the comfortability of simply sitting in silence with them,    at least in a way that hasn’t alway felt like they’d be impatient or burdened by his lack of response —   because more often than not,  he’s found that it’s better when he doesn’t say anything. 

but there’s also something about van that makes him feel safe enough to speak,  too,  so when they talk,  and it hits a little too close to home — literally — he lets out a breath,  fingers swiping at the bangs that had fallen over his brow as he braces himself to actually process that for himself,  too.  

though he’s barely allowed himself to swing in the air the entire time he’s sat here,  he slows,  kicking at the gravel under his feet as he turns to van,  grip tightening around the chain of the swing.   ❝  yeah,  ❞   he says,  tone heavy with familiarity,  and he feels an urge to agree outright—  but he has to work himself up to it,  and he knows that van already understands what he’s lost,  how that could all weigh on his home life now.  

it’s easier to focus on them rather than himself.