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“Carter, please wait.”
He doesn’t wait.
Hell, he practically fucking runs he leaves so fast.
Being in the house again is… weird. Carter was right, everyone is getting better. Everything isn’t fixed, not even close, but it’s definitely better.
Travis spends most of the day strategizing with Maison and Jake about Mica, getting updates from Ace about Elliot, dodging Dr. Singh, avoiding any survivors, and being incredibly disappointed that Carter never comes out of his room.
As dinner is brought to the large table so everyone can eat family style, everyone starts to take their seats. It seems like there’s an order to things now. People go straight to chairs like they have places reserved. He can’t help but notice that there’s a spot next to Casey that no one goes near. Travis fidgets in the doorway, eyeing that empty spot.
When the table is full and everyone is seated besides him, Maison asks, “You joining us, man?”
He notices there’s another spot open, the one across from Maison at the head of the table. It’s where he sat before he left. Have they been keeping that spot empty for him while he was gone? Did Carter feel this way every time he looked at that empty chair? Lost and worried and a little bit nauseous?
“Travis?” Maison prompts.
“Yeah. Of course.” Travis steps forward, reaching a hand out for the chair. All eyes are on him, ranging from curious to wary. He’s just about to sit down when the eyes in the room shift toward the doorway again. He pauses, turning to look where they are.
Carter is standing there. His shoulders curl in when he notices he has everyone’s attention, his head ducked down as he hurries to the chair beside Casey.
Travis sits down so fast he earns himself a strange look from Bryce - the bravest of the survivors. He gives Bryce a smile that’s more of a grimace and hides his shaking hands in his lap. Why are they shaking? This is ridiculous. He feels like a fucking teenager whose crush just came in the room. He wasn’t like this before he left.
This is all Keats’s fault. He made Travis talk about his feelings every night and now his head is all fucked up over this boy. He’s back to being weak for him.
Dishes get passed around. Beers are opened. Wine is poured. Soda cans crack. Water is sipped. Travis ends up with a plate of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. A beer is in his hand, ice cold and 8% alcohol. He takes a long pull from it before raising his eyes and letting himself look at the boy three seats down on his right.
Their eyes lock.
Travis’s cock twitches as he remembers sitting just like this, day after day, those eyes looking up at him from the floor while Carter kept his cock warm in his soft mouth. Is he fucked up for missing it? Does Carter miss it too?
Travis hurries to look away and takes another drink of his beer, disgusted with himself.
“Food looks great, as usual,” Maison says, nodding his head in the direction of Nolan.
Nolan’s cheeks flush pink, his chin tucked as he looks down at his plate. “Thanks, si - Maison.”
“Thank you,” Bryce says with a nudge of his elbow to Nolan’s arm. “For cooking again, saving us from Ace’s awful food.”
“Hey!” Ace calls, his lip curving into a pout. “My food is…”
“Inedible?” Jake offers.
“Mushy?” Maison adds.
“Never cooked inside?” Carter suggests.
Everyone at the table bursts out laughing. Well, everyone but Ace and Matt. Ace is still trying to pout, though he’s clearly struggling, and Matt is smiling softly with his head ducked low.
They’re all still giving Ace shit. Ace throws a bread roll at Carter, which gets Carter to laugh louder than Travis has ever heard him laugh before. Travis finds himself caught up in it, forgetting that anything but the boy exists.
By the time the dinner has wound down and people are leaving the table, Travis realizes that he hasn’t touched the so-called delicious food and his beer has gone warm. Carter has laughed 3 more times after that first one. He’s smiled. Giggled. Blushed. He ate half of the food on his plate and drank some wine that made his smile a little looser and his laugh a little louder and his pretty blue eyes a little brighter.
Someone kicks Travis’s foot under the table once Carter excuses himself. An all-too-familiar voice says, “Hey, idiot. Show’s over.”
Travis settles a glare on Jake. “Asshole.”
“I’d rather be an asshole than a creep,” Maison says, a little too much bite to his words.
