Author's Note: Almost to the end, guys. One more chapter and an epilogue. Thanks for sticking with me through this!

Feels Like Tonight

I never felt like this before.

Just when I leave, I'm back for more.

Nothing else here seems to matter.

In these ever-changing days,

You're the one thing that remains.

I could stay like this forever.

In the intervening days, Wes weaved in and out of consciousness, floating to the surface only to be drug back down again after a brief time. The police had located and incarcerated his father. They had also, seemingly, located his mother but she hadn't of yet shown her face. It didn't surprise Wes much. If he'd found a way out, he wouldn't have returned for anyone either. Not even for me.

Travis and his foster mother, Maria, had been the only ones to visit him so far. He could live with that. Two good visitors beat fifteen unwilling ones any day. On his first day of lockdown, as Marks had taken to calling his hospital stay, he'd brought a small bouquet of buttercups and baby's breath for his room. On the second, he'd announced that he'd taken the initiative to print and turn in their joint report. When he'd shown up on the third day, he brought some discouraging news.

"Mama has been keeping in touch with the officer assigned to your case," he began. A sour look crossed his face as he continued. "I think the punk likes her, but she can handle herself. Wait, what was I saying? Right. Your mom, not mine. They've found her and talked to her, but she refuses to budge."

"She's afraid," Wes whispered.

"Yeah, I guess she is. Either way, she refuses to come here to get you."

What? He knew she wouldn't want to show up while his father was still at large, but he was locked up good and tight for the time being. Why wouldn't she come back for him? Take him with her to safety? "Can you blame her?"

His voice was so quiet Travis had to strain to hear him. "Please tell me I just misheard that, blondie, because if I didn't, I'm gonna have to put the hurt on you but good."

Good ol' Travis, always trying to boost him up where he didn't belong. He wondered if Marks realized that all this ego fluffing was the reason he was where he was right now. If he'd only remembered his place and not let Travis fool him into thinking he could be more, they could be more, maybe he wouldn't have destroyed his family like he had. He'd been stupid to even try and have a normal life. His father's voice from that night haunted him again. You were a mistake, you hear me? Unplanned, unwanted, unnecessary. The idea that he'd been unloved went unspoken as it had been made vividly clear.

"It doesn't matter, Travis. My father's in jail and my mother is better off without me. Why worry about either of them when it isn't going to change a thing? No one's ever going to want me."

"It matters because you matter you stupid, stubborn ass!" Travis stood and stalked towards the door, turning back to glare as he neared the exit. "I don't get it, Wes. You're a great guy, handsome, smart… durable… and yet, you think you're worthless. Do you have any freaking idea how hard it is to love someone who is constantly beating themselves down?" Flinging the door open, he stormed out, letting the heavy wood slam shut behind him.

Well, that went well. Wes wanted to hate himself for making Travis so angry, but considering he had no idea what was going to happen to him once he got out of this place, Marks was better off making a clean break. The uncertainty ate at him, making his stomach roil and his head ache. And now that he was well and truly alone, all he could do was wait and see what happened.

He awoke to a nurse moving around his room, taking vitals, checking levels. She smiled when she saw he was awake. Holding up an envelope she said, "You had a visitor while you were sleeping. He left this for you." With a wave of the powder blue stationary, she handed it over to him. "If you need anything, you know how to get me."

Wes watched her leave. The envelope sat in his lap for a few minutes until the curiosity began to nibble at him. Turning it over and over in his hands, he prayed it was from Travis. He knew it couldn't possibly be however, not with the way he'd stormed out earlier. But he could still hope, right? He took a deep breath, let it out, inhaled again. And then he opened the envelope.

Baby,

I'm sorry – I was out of line. But you pissed me off, okay? You are worth it, like it or not. I want you. Hell, I need you. Need you so much it hurts. Why else would I follow you and make your life hell? And don't you dare say it's because I'm just that annoying 'cause that's a lie.

Mama says she might have some good news later, but I can't tell you what yet. But I had to tell you that you matter to at least two people. I don't know if that counts for much, but it's a start.

I'll come see you later, unless you tell me not to.

-T

Wes stared at the letter in his hands, uncomprehending. News? What kind of news? Even though Travis said it was good news, he doubted there was any such thing these days. And did he want Travis to come by later? Yes, yes, and yes. He had to let him know. Grabbing his phone from the bed, he sent off a quick text and hoped.

I'm sorry Travis – please come back. I'm an idiot. Forgive me?

Seconds later, he received the most beautiful text he'd ever seen:

Nothing to forgive, blondie. I'll be back at 4. Xxx

"So what's the good news?" Travis and Maria had only arrived a handful of minutes ago, but Wes was impatient. The not knowing was killing him.

"Actually, Wes, we have two bits of good news for you," she told him. "First, you're being released tonight. The doctor stopped me on my way in to let me know he'd be up in about thirty minutes."

He was going home? But that wasn't good news, not when you no longer had a home to go to. "Oh, I guess that's good but… well, honestly, I have nowhere to go."

"Man, for such a smart kid, you're not always all that bright are you?"

"Travis," Maria warned, "you be nice."

"Yes ma'am," he assured her. "Wes, you're coming home with us tonight. It's not permanent, but…"

He sat up. "I'm what?"

Maria smiled, ruby-painted lips fully engaged. "You're coming home with us for now. I've spoken with your social worker and since you're already established in a school and are doing well, she agreed to let me foster you until they can either find you another home or convince your mother to retrieve you."

"So see, baby? Good news!" Travis' eyes were lit with excitement.

It was contagious, too. Wes could feel the eagerness to get the heck out of dodge building within him. "Yeah, yeah, it really is good news. What do I need to do?"

"Just get your things together. Once the doctor has cleared you, you can get dressed and we can go home."

Home. That word hadn't ever sounded so appealing.

"There is one thing though." Maria looked serious.

"Wh-what's that?" Please don't let her change her mind.

"You're gonna have to shack up with me, baby. Our place? It's only two bedrooms."

Maria smiled. "There is always the couch and if you choose that, you and Travis can rotate."

He'd sleep on the floor if it meant he'd be safe. And he told her so. They both assured him that that was not ever going to be an option, that there would always be a warm blanket and a soft pillow for him, for as long as he needed it. Wes was thankful.

"You wash and I'll dry," Wes announced. "If that's okay, I mean."

Travis laughed. "Stop being so weird, Wes. You're family now, you can tell me what to do anytime you like. Just don't expect me to actually do it or anything."

It was Wes' third night in the Escalante Home for Wayward Children and he couldn't be happier. Spending his days at school, no longer having to forage for his own lunch, just being able to learn and study and be a kid. And the nights… the nights were the best. On the nights that Maria worked, he and Travis had simple meals – grilled cheese and chips or spaghetti and salad – but those glorious nights when Maria was off? They ate in style. Chile and cheese enchiladas. Tacos of every kind. And Wes' newfound favorite – chilaquiles.

After dinner, they had dish duty in payment for the meal they'd eaten. He'd never hated washing dishes, but it wasn't ever his favorite chore, either. With Travis by his side, however, it soon became an enjoyable adventure. He'd learned that first night not to let Travis wash, otherwise he wound up soaked. On the other hand, Travis was always more than helpful getting him out of those awfully wet clothes, Wes and into something warm and dry.

That was the very, very best part of living in this bizarre but loving household: the moments he spent just being with Travis. Snuggled against his side in bed reading, sitting in mismatched armchairs playing video games, or even from across the dinner table. He now understood that he'd completely misjudged Marks from the very beginning. In his own annoying way, all he'd been trying to do was get Wes to open up and be himself. What Travis hadn't known back then – what Wes himself hadn't even fully realized – was that Wes hadn't known who he was until he'd met Travis.

A loud snap followed by a prick of pain brought him back to the present. "Ouch, that hurt you jerk!" Wes rubbed the spot on his thigh where Travis had smacked him with the wet dishtowel.

"Quit daydreaming and hand me that damn platter. You've been washing it for like seven minutes already."

Oh. Yeah, he supposed it was as clean as it was going to get. Wes tipped the end towards Travis, offering up the dish for drying. "Sorry."

Travis shoulder bumped him playfully. "Don't apologize for everything. You don't have to be sorry or guilty or anything here unless you want to be." He quickly wiped the damp towel over the top of the platter, flipped it and dried the bottom as well before placing it in the dish drainer. Tossing the towel onto the counter, he took Wes' hands in his, squeezing. "You don't ever have to say you're sorry for anything ever again if you don't want to."

Wes quirked an eyebrow. "And if I want to?"

One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. "They say it, but only say it because you mean it, not because you think you should or because you're afraid you're going to get hit if you don't. Ya feel me?"

Wes' other eyebrow raised in mock shock. "I feel ya."

A throaty chuckle filled the air. "Naw, you ain't feelin' me yet, but give it a few minutes and you sure will be."

He tried to act outraged, but it wasn't any use. The laughter broke through the façade of offense. "Travis Marks, you are such a pig."

Pale fingers rested on a dark-skinned chest. Their tips lightly danced in circles, aimlessly tracing an unseen pattern on the muscle beneath them. "Travis, can we talk?"

Full, luscious lips pressed against Wes' pale temple. "About what, baby?"

Warmth spread through him, from the place where Travis' mouth touched his skin to the tips of his toes. To date, Travis had kept things light, uncomplicated, between them. Languorous kisses coupled with silky caresses was as far as he'd let it go. Travis wanted more, even someone as untested as Wes could figure that much out, but he hadn't pressed the issue either. "About us. More about what an idiot I've been."

Travis pressed more kisses against his face, quieting him. "Shhh, its fine."

"But…"

"But nothing. I'm guilty of being an idiot too, you know."

Wes tilted his head up and grazed his lips along the length of strong jaw hovering above him. "How so?"

"I pushed you even when I knew I should lay off. I didn't know what you were dealing with and I made an ass out of myself."

"I tend to have that effect on people, it seems."

Growling, Travis pushed Wes onto his back, straddling his waist. He pressed his mouth against the battered boy's, delving with his tongue, comforting with his hands. Pulling back, he looked into Wes' blue eyes. "You do not, you hear me? What you do have a habit of, however," and he softened the news with a brush of a kiss, "is putting up a wall that keeps everyone at a distance. That can make you seem like an ass. But you're not. Not my buttercup."

He had to admit to himself that Travis was right on this one. Instead of responding, he simply opened his mouth wider, encouraging Travis' exploration of his tonsils. Freedom hadn't ever tasted as sweet as the kisses of his lover, his best friend. Travis.

Two strong hands gently made their way to the hem of his t-shirt, lifting and pulling it over his head, bearing his bruised and cut skin to the nighttime air. "Aw, baby," Travis whispered, kissing his way along each and every reminder of the life he'd been living such a short time ago. "I wish it could have been different, but it's over. It's all over."

But he was wrong. It – his life – was only just beginning.