Fire Breather || Salarry

6 • Beginner Guitarists & See-Through Picks

Sometimes Larry has good days, and that's all thanks to his blue-haired friend. He'd be lying if he said that without Sal, he didn't know where he'd be. He doesn't think it's reached the level of codependency yet, but there is... something. A flutter in his chest when Sal looks at him, and awareness of the other boy's body, the way he moves, the way his chest rises and falls when he breathes, the way his hair looks under the black lights in his room. Larry's heart pangs with a longing to see what it would feel like between his fingers.

And he's been plagued with these thoughts and feeling for a week now and he's not quite sure what to do about it. These are totally not bro feelings. But the mental gymnastics of trying to figure out that situation seems too stressful and complicated for a currently stoned Larry to death with. Instead of worrying about that, he'd much rather just continue to sit here and watch Sal pluck at the strings of Larry's guitar.

Sal's definitely not the worst Larry has heard, but he's definitely not what he would consider good either. Sal's fingers are hesitant and soft when he plays. Like he's unsure of the tone he wants. The notes come out sounding meek. But Larry know that that's just a beginner quirk. Once Sal find his confidence in the music, he'll be playing as well as the rest of them.

At first, Larry doesn't realize that he's staring at Sal's fingers moving across the strings until they stop, the music halting jarringly and leaving them in complete silence. Larry's gaze travels upwards until he meets Sal's mismatched eyes staring back at him.

"Why'd you stop?" Larry asks, rejecting the urge to become embarrassed that he'd been caught.

"Why are you staring?" Sal fires back, quick as a whip even though he smoked just as much as Larry.

"I guess I just got lost in thought," Larry replies honestly with a grin. "Something wrong with that, Sal?"

Larry can see the other boy's eyes crinkle behind the mad. He's smiling. Genuinely and widely and Larry can almost picture it. He wishes he could actually see it. "You don't think enough to get lost in thought, Larry." Sal teases him, and then he picks up where he left off, fingers strumming the guitar. And maybe Larry was imagining things, but the notes sounded just a little louder than they did before.

• • •

"What if one of us gets cloned and we get confused on which one is the real one, ya know?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"We should have a secret phrase. A phrase that only the other person would know.

"Like a password?"

"I was thinking more like a statement then a response. Or like a question and an answer."

"Like, 'if one thinks they are a duck, then they must be... a duck.'"

"Uh... yeah, but like something we'd actually say to each other. The whole point is to remain inconspicuous."

"Yah, I still don't get why we're doing this."

"So I'll know which one is the clone and I won't accidentally shoot you instead."

"Oh, alright. I get it, now. Always good to be prepared, I guess."

"Oh! What about, 'Where are the see-through guitar picks?'"

"And then I'll say, 'Never where you'd expect them to be.'"

• • •

Sal was pacing around Larry's room, probably thinking about the political decisions that were affected by Jeffrey Epstein's "suicide" again. He'd tried to explain the hidden conspiracies and the timeline of bribery to Larry, but he could never keep up. The whole thing seemed very complex and convoluted, and Larry just assumed that if he wanted to spare himself the headache, then he better keep out of it.

"You're creating a draft," Larry says, his eyes glued to the boy who continues to walk back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. "Serious, dude, chill. You're making me nervous."

Sal sighs in what Larry can only identify as defeat as he flops down on the foot of the bed by Larry's feet. He's silent and Larry can see the gears in his head still turning and working overtime. Larry needs to think of something to draw him out of his head and back into real life.

Larry give Sal's thigh a little kick, making the other boy turn to look at him. The emotionless, smooth surface of the mask stares back at him, never giving anything away: the good or the bad. It was unsettling as it was familiar.

"Do you want something?" Sal asks, seemingly annoyed, but Larry can hear the smile hidden underneath his words.

"I'm bored," Larry replies, whiny, hoping to hear Sal laugh. Even if it's just a small one. "Pay attention to me."

Sal chuckles before moving his body so he's further up on the bed, back resting against the footboard, legs stretched out beside Larry's.

"You're very high maintenance," Sal teases.

"Luckily, I found someone willing to put in the effort."

"And I always will."