Travis glares at you across the table, but you can see a slight pink hue on his cheeks. "Go away," he grumbles, almost instinctively. “Homo,” he adds quickly.

He might hate it, but there's a part of him that adores you, that loves you, that needs you. He should have a girl soulmate, but the fact that it's your name tattooed on his arm is something that just can't be avoided.

Travis looks down at his lunch tray, his face twisted in disgust. He mutters under his breath as he picks up his bologna sandwich, taking a single bite before putting it back down again, awkwardly trying to ignore you.