Luka

I think it's because I'm clumsy

I try not to talk too loud

Maybe it's because I'm crazy

I try not to act too proud

They only hit until you cry

And after that you don't ask why

You just don't argue anymore

He didn't like the look on Travis' face. It was too intense, considering the source. It was obvious Travis knew that something big was going on with Wes, but he was sure that the other boy didn't expect it to be this serious.

"I've – I've never told anyone about my home life before so, just – just cut me some slack, okay? Can you do that for me?" Travis nodded and gave an encouraging smile. Wes continued. "Do you think that… maybe you could get off me first?"

"What? Suddenly you don't like me so close to you?" Travis brushed his chest suggestively across Wes', teasing.

Wes swallowed. Hard. "No, but you're – you're making me nervous, trapping me like this."

Travis considered this for a second before stepping out of Wes' personal space. "I'm sorry."

Confusion flickered across Travis' face and Wes felt guilt flutter in his gut. Travis hadn't given him any reason to be nervous, or to feel threatened, but there were some things he couldn't control his reaction to. Being held without a clear escape route was one of them. A big one. "Don't apologize, just… just let me explain."

He ambled to the bed and sat, legs crossed at the ankles, waiting for Wes to sort through his thoughts enough to begin speaking. The blonde fiddled with his belt buckle, shuffled his feet, and sighed at least three times before finally making partial eye contact. Almost ten minutes had passed and Travis opened his mouth to tell him something comforting, he assumed, when Wes finally spoke.

"My father is a monster," he whispered. "I don't know what I ever did to make him hate me so much, but it's pointless wondering about it now."

Shaking his head, he sat on the bed beside Travis, needing the security of his friend by his side. He realized surprisingly that that's just what Travis was, a friend. When or how it happened was a mystery, but right now, he was grateful. Thankful he had someone he could even call friend.

Without a word, he reached out and took Wes' hand, squeezing gently, letting him know he wasn't alone. Wes assumed he was both afraid of what was about to come pouring out of his mouth and the memories he might have to share in return. Patient, he waited for the admissions that would flood the room.

"I don't honestly remember a time when he was proud of me or when I'd done something right. I do, however, remember when he started blaming my mother for my failures. She'd been 'assisting' me in a book report. I was eleven and she was checking my spelling more than anything."

"What happened?" He continued to hold Wes' hand in his, thumb stroking absently along his knuckles.

"I'm not sure. My dad picked my book and it was beyond my comprehension at eleven, I'd asked for something else, begging that I didn't understand what I was reading, but he was insistent. Swore that the only way to learn was to do. So, I did. And I failed. He assumed my mother allowed me to write an inferior report and hand it in…"

"When in truth, he required you to tackle something beyond your understanding and instead of listening, let you – and your mom – take the fall," he finished.

"Yeah, something like that. I don't even know. All I do know is it was when he began sharing my punishments with her. I can't ever forgive myself for failing so badly that she had to take the blame."

Travis looked at his feet. Wes sensed that he knew the kind of man Mr. Mitchell was, maybe he'd even had a few as foster parents over the years. It seemed to him like he'd been lucky and had good, solid homes, mainly because he was so damn well-adjusted for a foster child. "So, the black eye…"

"Yeah, that," Wes evaded.

"Not a fight then, huh? Your father's handiwork, I'm guessing." It wasn't a question.

"You'd be right. I made the mistake of getting between him and my mother. My mother… I love her and she means well, but she often lacks basic common sense. She doesn't think before she speaks and sets him off quite a lot."

"And you come to her rescue." Wes nodded at Travis' intuitiveness. "Can I say that I feel the urge to hate your mother right now? For letting it come to this, for allowing her son to suffer like you do?" He shook his head, trying to clear the awful visual Wes had supplied. "But if I'm honest with us both, I know I would do the same for any of my foster moms, even the crappy ones. Because who deserves to be beaten like that anyway. Surely not an innocent, hardworking kid like you." He released Wes' hand and instead draped his arm around the dejected boy sitting by his side.

"What choice do I have? I can't let him hurt her like he does me."

Wes' voice broke on that last word. Me. Like he was responsible for all the evil in the world. A lump formed in Travis' throat, closing off communication, leaving only his physical self to express his hatred for Wes' situation, his disgust at the things he's had to endure evident on his face. He took a deep breath, inhaling and slowly exhaling, falling backwards across the bed as the air left his lungs. Tugging at the back of Wes' pressed button-up, he held his arms out and invited the blonde into them. Wes hesitated, debated, and crawled into the safety Travis' arms offered.

The blonde head nestled against the other boy's inviting chest, fitting perfectly in against Travis' shoulder. Wes slung a careless arm across Marks' waist, hoping, praying he wouldn't be asked to move it. In response, Travis pulled him closer. "You might not have a choice, buttercup," Travis began, idly tracing circles on Wes' back. "But he does. And if you need help, if you want… out… all you have to do is say the word."

Wes stilled, paralyzed by Travis' words. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean," he breathed, the words whispering against the top of his head, "that my mom's not just a nurse. She's also a foster mom, a foster mom with connections to more than a few social workers. She can help you. You and your mom."

Help? I could get… help? The thought had never occurred to him, he was convinced that he'd have to suffer in silence until he was old enough to go to college. "I – I can't. My mom said… when I asked, she said…"

Travis maneuvered his free arm until it was helping to hold Wes' trembling body to his own. "Your mom is scared, scared of what your dad would do if she tried to get the both of you out. Who knows, maybe she's tried before and suffered for it?" He cuddled Wes to his side, holding him close enough to feel the rapid pounding of his heart. "Just think about it and remember that I'm here. And she's here, too. We'll help you through this."

Wes nodded against Travis' side, unable to speak, too many thoughts crowding his mind. He'd think about it.

"Travis?" Wes' face was buried in the side of Travis' chest, muffling his voice.

"Yeah baby?" Travis toyed with an errant piece of blonde hair at the back of Wes' neck.

Wes shivered. "Stop that," he pleaded.

"Awww," Travis teased, watching the blush creep up from the collar of blondie's shirt and spread across his exposed neck. "Whatsa matter, ticklish?"

Not quite the problem, you jerk. "A little," he lied, squirming to get away from Travis' questing fingers. "Please, stop, I have a serious question for you."

He let his fingers fall away from that enticing little whorl of hair. "Okay, shoot. What's on your mind?"

"You. Or rather…" he backpedaled quickly, trying to cover his illicit thoughts. "Well, god, how do I even say this?" He scooted out of the reach of Travis' tempting fingers, craving and hating his need for that touch.

"Just say it, buttercup. You're not going to offend me, I can promise you that."

"Even if it comes out horribly, horribly wrong?"

"Even if. So spill."

"I… I thoughtyouonlylikedgirls." It came out in a rush, jumbled and run together, incomprehensible. Or so he hoped. But here you are with me, holding me, kissing me, teasing me, tormenting me…

Travis laughed. "I used to be like that. But now, I'm an opportunist. I don't care much, just that the other person is warm and cuddly and adorable. Kinda like you." He pinched Wes' cheek for emphasis. "But seriously, all I really need is a connection with that person for the sparks to fly. What about you? You never talk about girls, but then, you never talk about other guys either. So, what's your deal?"

Marks had told him over and over that he was safe here, no judgment was going to be levied upon him, no matter how crazy his response to any question. He could trust Travis, he could rely on Travis, he could confide in Travis. But was he able? Hell, he had to start somewhere, right? "I'm not allowed to date so…"

Travis interrupted. "What? You're not allowed to date? How old are you anyway? Sixteen?" Wes nodded. "That's stupid."

He sighed. "I know, but sometimes, some things just aren't worth the beating that follows the question, you know? Besides," he looked away from Travis' concerned face and stared at the wall. A movie poster from last year hung crookedly over a cluttered desk. "It's not like anyone could ever be interested in me, as broken as I am. And even if they did, we never stay anywhere long enough for me to find out. So, what's the point?"

"The point is, you should be able to live your life, be a kid, and not have to worry." Travis fiddled with a stretch of fabric that had rucked up between buttons and exposed a sliver of Wes' stomach. "And you're not answering me. Spill."

Wes should have known he wouldn't be able to derail Marks' train of thought that easily. He'd trusted Travis with so much already, what could it hurt to tell him everything? It could hurt a lot, Wesley. He would know and that puts you at risk. A strangled bundle of something built somewhere deep inside him.

"You know what?" Travis rolled onto his side, looked at Wes avoiding him, took note of the emotions warring on the other boy's face. "You don't have to answer that question. I have an idea anyway." He reached to touch Wes' face, thought to comfort him and hesitated. "And I'm going to stop touching you now. You seem so… conflicted… and I think my flirting is making it worse."

Travis rose and left the room, leaving Wes staring at the wall.

"Damnit," he swore. He'd promised himself he wouldn't push, so what did he do? He pushed. And blondie clammed up. Travis procured another soda from the refrigerator and slammed the door closed. "One of these days I'll learn to keep my damn mouth shut," he promised.

Popping the top on the cola can, he leaned against the counter and took a long draw. The thing that sucked the most was that Travis knew where he'd gone wrong and hadn't been able to stop himself. It'd been obvious to him that Wes was troubled and yet he refused to let up. He wanted to help him so much it hurt… and he still managed to shoot himself in the foot. Again.

"You like this boy," Maria, his foster mom, had said last night. She'd goaded him into spilling his guts, just like she always did. This time, he'd been eager to get it off his chest. She'd been full of good advice as well. "If you want him to see you for who you are, baby, then you need to be who you are and not this wisenheimer you want the world to see you as."

Travis slammed back the rest of the off-brand soda, let loose a window-rattling belch and returned to his room. He knew what he needed to do now, and he aimed on doing it.

He found Wes curled on his side, one hand under his cheek, the other curled around his midsection. Those striking blue eyes were closed and the blonde slept. A smile quirked up the corners of Travis' mouth. The boy sure was cute when he wasn't freaking out about everything. Peaceful even.

Reckoning Wes probably didn't sleep very well most nights, Travis decided to let him rest while he could. Curling up beside him, he positioned himself so that he was close enough to be known, but not close enough to touch. His constant touching and teasing had caused enough trouble for one day. In silence, he watched Wes sleep, the steady rise and fall of the younger boy's chest lulling Travis into a contented slumber of his own.

Gasping, he bolted upright. Wes' breath came heavily, the dregs of a dream still clinging to the edges of his mind. In it, he'd been twisted around the body of Travis Marks, engaging in… well, things he couldn't ever engage in. Not with any man and most assuredly not with Travis. His heart was beginning to slow, his breathing returning to normal. Slowly. Breathe, he reminded himself.

"Hey man," Travis said, touching a hand to Wes' back.

"GAH!" Wes scrambled off the edge of the bed, startled to find Marks lying where he'd been a second ago. "My god, Travis, don't do that."

Laughter filled the small room. "I'm sorry, buttercup, I didn't mean to spook you."

A nervous chuckle escaped him. "It's okay, I just didn't realize you were here. I must've dozed off."

"More than doze, honey. You've been out like a light."

Wes blinked. "What? For how long? What time is it?" He turned towards the window, swore under his breath when he saw the darkness outside.

"Relax." Travis stood and put a hand on each of Wes' shoulders, steadying him. "It's only a little past seven. You said your dad wasn't coming home until late, so I thought I'd let you sleep."

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In, out, in, out. Relax, Wesley. "Okay, right. I – I should still be okay. Can you take me home?"

A touch of the light left Travis' eyes. "Yeah man, of course. Put your shoes on and I'll stuff your crap back into your bag. We can go when you're ready."

"Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it." Wes lifted a hand and tentatively squeezed Travis' wrist. "I guess you were wrong."

Travis released him so he could locate his shoes. "What do you mean?"

Wes motioned to the room. "You thought we could get more done here, but I don't think we accomplished much at all, do you?"

"Maybe not, but it was fun, right?"

Much to his surprise, Wes agreed. "It was."

"Want to do this again, tomorrow?"

"I guess that will depend on whether my father catches me out of the house or not." Wes hated the words as they left his mouth, but what else could he say? If he got caught, there wouldn't be enough of him left to visit.

A frown touched Travis' face. "Yeah, so we'd better make sure he doesn't find out, right? Get those shoes on, boy!"

Despite himself, Wes laughed. Travis seemed to have that effect on him lately.

Once again, the ride from Travis' place to his own home was entirely too short. It felt like Wes had only just settled in against that broad, welcoming back when they pulled into the Mitchell's drive. With a look over his shoulder, Travis killed the engine.

"You have my number, right?" When Wes nodded his assent, he continued. "Good. Call me no matter what the outcome. Just let me know you're okay?"

"And if I'm not?" Why am I so weak?

"And if you're not," he growled, "you call me so I can come rescue your scrawny ass, you got that?"

The vehemence in Travis' usually jovial tone stunned Wes. Seeing Marks take such opposition to the very idea that he might not be okay melted a bit of the fear in his heart. No matter what happened from here on out, someone had his back. Someone would notice if he didn't show up for school. Someone cared.

For once in his life, someone gave a damn about Wesley Mitchell.

"I've got it, Travis."

"Good, now get yo' ass inside before someone sees us, okay?"

A nod and then, "Okay. See you tomorrow."

Travis gave a mock salute before kick-starting the bike into life. He pulled into the street, hovering just long enough to make sure Wes made it inside safely. Once the door closed, he drove off, saying a silent prayer that his little friend would be okay without him.

I'm good, the house was empty. Wes looked at his text for a moment and then added a few words. Words that he'd come to associate with Travis after this afternoon. Thank you, my angel boy. send

Travis' ears perked up at the familiar sound that announced a new text. Swiping a finger across the screen, he exhaled in relief as he read. Anytime, he responded, his grin growing more effusive as he went on, anything for my sunshine.