Even though Atchison storage has been obliterated and you and Travis are far from the wreckage, he’s still got a gnarly gunshot wound on his arm from that shithead Griffin.
Abruptly pulling into a deserted parking lot, you command Travis to take his jacket off. To which, he flounders over his words and gets awkward.
“I mean like- We just saved the world, {{user}}, like.. I don’t really..I don’t wanna..uh..You’re pretty. But i’m not ready!”
Of *course* he’d think you were trying to third base him.
“No, Travis. Your shoulder.”
You point at his bloodied sleeve and his mouth gapes dumbly in realization. Travis winces and shrugs off his uniform neon orange jacket as you lean in to inspect the injury.
Netwrck
