Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Notes: In a First Words Soulmate Tattoo AU, the two love birds get a matching set of tattoos when they enter puberty. The tattoo is nothing but the first words your soulmate says to you. There are countless theories regarding how placement, font, and tattoo pain play a role in the fated pair’s romance.
Content Tags: Soulmate!AU, SoulTattoo!AU, Romance, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Minor Original Characters, High School Setting
Chapters
Teaser
Chapter 1: Welcome to my Life
Chapter 2: And They Lived Apple-y Ever After
Chapter 3: Something About the Sun-pie, Baby
Chapter 4: Joe Dirt Pudding
Chapter 5: Schoolhouse Rock-bottom
Chapter 6: King Dedede-ez Nuts
Chapter 7: I May Not Know My Flowers
Chapter 8: Nat 1: Critical Failure
Chapter 9: Family Lore Drop
Chapter 10: Oh Froyo Di'int
Chapter 11: The Secret Garden
Chapter 12: Alakazam Used Psychic
Chapter 13: The Misadventures of Blake & Tracey
Chapter 14: It's Called a Hustle, Sweetheart
Chapter 15: Camp L-A-N-C-E
Chapter 16: Something Blake This Way Comes
Chapter 17: That Wasn't There Before
Chapter 18: Sick Day
Chapter 19: The Halloween Episode
Chapter 20: It's Not a Rickroll, It's a Nick Kroll
Chapter 21: The Cline Family Reunion
Chapter 22: It's Pisto Night
Chapter 23: Are We Moving Too Fast?
Chapter 24: New Year, New Me
Chapter 25: Abuela Is Coming
Chapter 26: Jake's Anti-Valentine's Day Party
Chapter 27: Finding Hunk
Chapter 28: Hunk Date HOO-HA-HA
Chapter 29: The Misadventures of Blake & Tracey II: Straight to DVD
Chapter 30: We're Going Down in Flames
Chapter 31: Trench Warfare
Chapter 32: It's Your Turn
Chapter 33: Double the Date, Double the Trouble
Chapter 34: Prom?
Chapter 35: The Wedding
*Please be wary of links not working following an update*
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Notes: In a First Words Soulmate Tattoo AU, the two love birds get a matching set of tattoos when they enter puberty. The tattoo is nothing but the first words your soulmate says to you. There are countless theories regarding how placement, font, and tattoo pain play a role in the fated pair’s romance.
Content Tags: Soulmate!AU, SoulTattoo!AU, Romance, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Minor Original Characters, High School Setting
Author's Note: Hey, sorry for the delay in posting this! I was helping a friend of mine move to their new home. Welcome to the first chapter of SoulHate! which funnily enough, got its name because I was using the working title: The Klance SoulHate!AU. Another note about this work is that dialog that has been italicized is spoken in Spanish, but since I don't know Spanish, this was my happy medium. There are a few instances where a word is stressed and that is the only time that the above does not apply. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Welcome to My Life
Lance turned over onto his right side, desperate to get any and all pressure off of his left hip as quickly as possible. He winced, blinking away the exhaustion from his eyes and probably a few tears as well. Lance threw off his blanket as gently as he could. If he accidentally bumped his hip bone the Lord would have to call him home. And he wished that was just an exaggeration. With a shaky hand Lance pulled up his grey tank top and looked at the cause of the pain he was receiving on this bright and sunny summer morning. His tattoo was acting up for the millionth time since he got it with old-lady puberty. Lance traced the lines of the words he’d been branded with at thirteen years old. They were haphazardly drawn—invoking a sense of discomfort and anger with just the font. He’d stared at these words for the last three years just imagining what kind of person his soulmate would be. From the looks of his tattoo, she had a biting attitude, not to mention her vulgar language.
Lance’s mind was teleported back to the day he got his tattoo—how he’d cried out in pain so bad in the nurse’s office that the school had to call his parents to pick him up. He could still hear his mother’s voice as she tended him in the driveway of their house.
“My goodness, Lance! Look at these words! She’s so rude, talking to you this way.” She moved her hands along his left arm to comfort him in the back seat.
Lance sniffed and wiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks. “What does it say?” Lance asked her after he was calm enough to form words.
His father chimed in at that point, settling behind his mother,Angella, with an unwrapped orange Popsicle. “No one is using that kind of language.”
“Thank you, Cedro,” she said with a stern tone as she took the popsicle from his waiting hand.
“You’re not going to touch it, right?”
“No, no baby.” She offered the popsicle to Lance. “Aunt Amillia Rose says that orange popsicles help with the pain. Eat it,” she smiled and then removed herself from the car.
“Why does it hurt so bad? Tracey’s didn’t hurt this bad did it?”
“No, Lance. Tracey’s tattoo was in a less sensitive place,” his father tried to explain but it only left Lance more confused.
Lance was brought back to reality as another wave of pain crashed over him. It was like someone was spreading hot glue directly onto the skin of his hip. Lance groaned as the stinging subsided for a brief moment. He caught his breath, unaware that he’d been holding it in the first place. Deep down, Lance knew what this renewed pain meant.
His tattoo was reacting to his stress. Again.
Lance learned from his parents that soul tattoos were how fated lovers found each other. How the tattoos bonded the two forever regardless of race, gender, poverty, beauty or age. His parents were probably one in a million success stories, which meant they were also blind to how Lance felt on the subject. It seemed that his mother and father could ignore the pain and uncertainty that came with the permanent “love dowsing-rod”. If Lance were honest—which given his personality type, he usually wasn’t—he thought of the soul tattoos as nothing more than a burden. There was nothing he found miraculous or life changing about being in unbearable, unstoppable pain twice in one lifetime—and in his case, even more. But, the pain would be almost okay if Lance were able to know more than just his soulmate’s first words to him.
If he could get a name, a face—heck, even a minor detail like preferring hot chocolate or coffee or winter over summer–that would be great. Something to gauge whether or not the universe was playing a literal cosmic joke on him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he knew what he was getting into—and the “have faith in fate” vibe his parents gave off didn’t reassure him as much as it set a barrier between the three of them. There was a chance Lance’s soulmate wouldn’t love him. Maybe she would make fun of his ears or his taste in music. What if Lance were picked on for being associated with whoever he got paired with? In the middle of reliving his anxieties, Lance remembered his mother and Auntie Mabel consoling his cousin Cleo after she got home from a pool party in her freshman year of high school.
Lance had been in the mud room when Cleo opened up to their moms about why she was upset at dinner. He was grabbing a new shirt since Cleo dumped her water down his front. He hid, keeping himself flat against the ajar door as he eavesdropped on the three of them. Lance heard Cleo spill that the girls that invited her to the party had pulled off her t-shirt and showed the boys the soul tattoo on her back. Not even her friends came to her aid. Everyone just laughed.
“I don’t want to have this crappy tattoo anymore,” Cleo spat, her voice hoarse from stifling her sobs so they didn’t echo through the house. “I get made fun of whenever people see it.”
“No, no, no! How could you ever want to ignore such a blessing? Those girls just don’t understand that love is sometimes embarrassing,” he heard his mother say to a sniffling Cleo.
“Yeah, Cleo. Your tattoo is unique and beautiful. If you let anyone tell you otherwise, you are teaching them that their backwards way of thinking is acceptable,” Auntie Mabel said. She pulled on Cleo’s arm, hugging her close to her chest and patting her head. Cleo continued soaking Auntie Mabel’s blouse with tears for a good five minutes after that.
There was one thing that Lance took away from that conversation. It definitely wasn’t that he should be proud of his soul tattoo. Instead, it was to never expose himself to scrutiny and criticism. Never would he be the one called odd or irregular for his tattoo. That included his partner, whoever she may be.
Lance looked down at his tattoo and wondered if the pain was really gone. He pressed a clammy hand to the inflamed patch of skin discolored black by ink. He sighed and rose from his bed. With that over, Lance rotated his legs left and his bare feet struck the tops of his fuzzy blue slippers. Lance palmed his phone which was resting on his bedside table, charger connected and flashing a happy battery percentage. He checked the time first. Eight o’ clock on the dot, exactly thirty minutes before he could message Hunk on Skype. Lance put on his slippers and, with phone in hand, he strolled out of his room and towards the bathroom. He had time for a quick shower—enough to wash off the grubby feeling his soul tattoo’s resurgence had caused. Maybe he’d put on a mud mask while he dried off. Anything to eliminate the stress he was feeling.
Lance entered the bathroom which was just a quick walk down the hall. But it was occupied judging by the light underneath the door. Lance knocked quickly, gravity aiding in telling him how much he needed to pee.
“Yes?” Lance heard Nino’s small voice call from inside.
“Nino, I’ve gotta pee,” Lance said. “Are you done?”
Instead of answering, Lance heard the shuffling of a plastic stool and the click of the doorknob opening. Lance looked down to where his little brother was standing, toothbrush in hand and blue foam all over his mouth.
“Come in,” Nino said as he grabbed Lance’s arm and then returned his blue stool to the front of the sink.
Lance closed the door and walked over to the toilet, pulling down the waistband of his pants. He stood there for a little bit, listening to Nino as he obsessively brushed over every tooth he had. Once he was done, Lance flushed and went to the sink. He stood behind Nino and turned on the faucet to rinse off his hands. He rested his chin on Nino’s head and sighed, looking at himself in the mirror that his little brother was still too short to see into. His hair was a mess from all of his rolling around last night—and his eyes looked even worse. They practically gave away the fact that he was dead tired and annoyed at the world.
“You look like poop,” Nino said as he spit out some of the foam in his mouth. A waft of bubblegum came off his breath.
“I’m gonna tell mom you said that,” Lance threatened.
Nino got quiet. “Meany.”
“You’re the meany,” he said and then backed away from the sink after turning off the faucet. “I’m gonna take a shower now, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Nino then began washing off his toothbrush and flushing out his mouth with water. When he was done he jumped off his stool and wiped off his mouth on Lance’s shirt.
“Bye,” Lance said almost angrily.
“Bye.”
When Lance came back from the bathroom it was eight twenty-four and he was already clad in his blue bathrobe, had a towel on his head, and his face was slathered in a mud mask. Lance sat in the swivel chair at his desk and fired up his laptop before spinning it around a few times. He stopped when he heard the tell tale chime of the login screen. He entered his password and that quick he was firing up Skype. Lance looked at the time at the bottom right hand of the screen. He had exactly five minutes until he could call Hunk.
Currently, his best friend was at this fancy robotics camp he went to every year since sixth grade. It was a whole four weeks of sad, hug-less, Hunk-less summer poured right down the drain. But every year before he left, Hunk reassured Lance that he could Skype him every morning and every night at eight thirty. Breakfast ended at eight-thirty which meant the campers, i.e. Hunk, had thirty minutes of down time before that day’s activity started. The same thing happened at night before lights out. When Lance looked back down at the clock, it was prime Hunk calling time.
Lance clicked on his contact list and pulled up Hunk’s name. Another click and his laptop was already trilling. Lance looked towards the door of his room and swiveled over to make sure it was shut before he started his conversation. When he got back Hunk still hadn’t answered. The last time he’d done this, it had taken Hunk eight minutes to find a private enough spot in order to talk to Lance. Everyone crowded the cafeteria and the Wi-Fi wasn’t nearly strong enough to connect him outside. Once, Hunk had to build a blanket fort for some solitude for one of their calls. But, as it stopped ringing, Lance learned that Hunk had found a spot rather quickly.
“Okay, so I know this is an odd place to carry out a conversation, but this place is insane when it comes to privacy,” Hunk said, his voice slightly echoing from the bathroom stall he was in.
“Look man, I’m not the one in a public bathroom, I’m not complaining,” Lance said.
Hunk looked suspicious for a second. “Wait, why aren’t you complaining? And what’s with the mud mask?”
Already Lance had been caught. “My tattoo’s been killing me since last night. I haven’t gotten much sleep,” he admitted. After all, he couldn’t lie to Hunk. He’d deduce it sooner or later and it would be better for Lance if he didn’t jump to conclusions.
“Really? I thought you looked rough.”
“Oh my God, thanks.” Lance put a hand to his chest, making a show of calming his heart from the flattery. “That’s what every guy wants to hear.” He sent a sarcastic eye roll loose in Hunk’s direction. “But yeah, I know what you mean. I guess a boiling hot shower can’t wash away everything.”
“Probably not. You might want to hide from your mom for a while.”
“Yeah,” Lance said before he winced. He grabbed his hip out of habit. “Ouch.”
“I am so not envious, dude.”
“So how was your morning?”
“Definitely less painful than yours,” Hunk said as he chuckled. “We had breakfast pizza today. No one started a food fight, which I have a feeling you were counting on. Oh, there was some juicy gossip that I heard today.”
“Okay, first of all, don’t talk about food. I can’t go downstairs for nourishment just yet. Also, I am mad about the food fight. Didn’t I tell you that you had to initiate one before the end of your stay?”
“Yes, you did say that. But will I?” Hunk put his hands up.
“Wait, what was the juicy gossip?”
“What?” He raised an eyebrow.
“The juicy gossip, Hunk, who do you think I am? Tell me all of it, every detail.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay, well apparently someone got kicked out of camp today for hacking the camp website. Every thirty seconds, there would be a cluster of asteroids raining down the page. It was one of the girls here. Her name was…Sarah? Sam?” He looked perplexed for a moment but then he got back on track. “Anyway, I heard it from Micah.”
“Your nerd friend!” Lance announced with recognition. “I mean that in an endearing kind of way, I hope he knows that,” Lance said as he leaned on his elbows.
“He does, actually. I told him all about you.”
Lance’s face lit up. “Because I’m great?”
“Because you are a pain in my neck.”
“A great pain in your neck?”
Hunk sighed with a wide smile taking up most of his face. “Yes. So are you going to tell your parents that your tattoo is hurting again?”
“And open that can of worms? No, thank you. Tattoo pain has two causes: stress and as a gauge for when you are going to meet your soulmate. I think I’d rather spare them from the false alarm.”
“True. What have you been stressing over lately?”
Lance leaned back in his chair, huffing at the invasive question. “The usual. What I’m going to have for dinner tonight, why the sky is blue, why people aren’t worshipping me as a deity…I could go on.”
Hunk knew that he’d gotten defensive and dropped the topic, as he normally would. “Sounds like fun. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I don’t want the smell of the bathroom lingering on my clothes. I have to keep myself looking nice in case I meet my soulmate.”
Lance laughed and then watched as Hunk signed off. He felt his stomach drop as he looked down at his mouse pad. Again with that soulmate thing. He always got antsy whenever his tattoo started hurting. Lance sat up in his chair and shut down his laptop. He stood, and with a swipe of his hand, Lance closed the lid of his laptop. It was nearly nine, which meant that his mother was probably helping Uncle Raymón at the shop, his dad was at work and Aunt Amillia Rose was watching Amada and Nino. Sweet. No one was around to interrogate his exhausted self—breakfast was feasible. Lance could already picture the Frosted Flakes sitting in a heaping bowl glistening with milk. His mouth watered so bad he had to snap it closed. But before that—Lance prodded at the mud mask to see if it was completely dry. Alright, so breakfast would be delayed by a few minutes. No problem.
Big problem. Very big problem.
Lance was sitting at the end of the table, opposite his parents who were being especially cuddly this afternoon—for whatever reason. He’d only been half paying attention to the conversation that everyone but he and Amada were taking part of. The other half of his attention was preoccupied by an intense pain in his waist. That’s right, ladies and gentleman. His stupid soul tattoo was trying to out him right in front of his family. The betrayal. Lance tried to keep himself from wincing by wiggling his legs underneath the table. He looked around for a moment to distract himself from the searing pain overtaking his nervous system. To his immediate left—Amada—who had to sit on two pillows in order to see her food on the table. Beside her, her mom, Aunt Amillia Rose. To his immediate right, Nino. Next to him was their father. At the head of the table his mother spoke to Nino.
“What’s on your mind, Nino?”
“I was thinking about your soul tattoo, mama, when am I gonna get mine?”
“In a few years. You just have to be patient,” his father explained.
“I don’t want to wait.”
“Nino, do you see Lance making a fuss out of his soul tattoo?”
Nino shook his head. “But Lance has one. How did you get yours?”
Lance’s eyes shot to Nino. Oh, he was asking their parents. Thank God.
“Well, I got mine when I was twelve but your dad got his pretty late.”
Aunt Amillia Rose laughed at this. “Are you going to tell the whole story? I thought I’d heard it enough.”
Angella pulled out her right wrist, where there was a small cursive inscription right over the veins there. “My tattoo hurt when I first got it, so much that I cried to my mom and grandma about it. They told me to stop complaining.”
Amillia Rose sipped on her water. “You were so mad at them that you put dirt in their shoes.”
“I was in pain,” Angella said, fitting an escaped curl back behind her ear. “But when I was eighteen, she and grandma gave me the most beautiful bracelet. And I carried it on me all year—until the day the loop broke and I lost it while walking around the beach.”
“Did you ever find it?” Amada asked; her voice so quiet Lance could barely hear her despite the fact that he was sitting next to her.
“Of course, baby girl! I was nineteen, my wrist had been burning for what seemed like days, and I was trying to enjoy the beautiful weather when someone tapped me on the shoulder.” Angella looked over at Cedro, her eyes getting teary for just a moment. She brought her wrist up again, looking longingly at the words before reading them aloud.
Cedro beat her to the punch, already reciting the words as if he’d repeated them to her every day. “Ma'am, I think you dropped this.”
“He’d watched it fall off my wrist just a minute before. I was so lost in the crashing waves and wind I couldn’t hear him trudging after me.”
“And when I finally got her attention, it was like the ocean was singing to me. After I showed her the bracelet she shouted her gratitude and my heart just burst.”
“My bracelet, thank you!” Angella shouted like she had all those years ago. Of course, now she didn’t have an entire ocean to drown out.
“Your Mom and I have been together ever since, Nino. So when we tell you to be patient, you must listen. Your tattoo will come and you too will meet your soulmate.”
Lance stopped paying attention when another tremor of pain shook him to the core. He looked down at his hip, begging the pain to stop for just another ten minutes. When some of the pain subsided, he glanced up at his family. Their eyes were glued to Amillia Rose, who was telling a story about her and Angella’s early childhood. Lance faced his plate, his untouched meal staring him in the face. He’d have to finish them quickly if he had any hope of escaping his family’s concerned looks—
“Lance, you’ve barely said anything. What’s with the silence?” Amillia Rose asked.
Lance resisted the urge to look up towards the heavens and scream: why me? Instead, he looked at his aunt with a smile on his face. “Nothing, I’ve just been thinking.”
“About?” His father asked.
“Since Hunk is at Robotics Camp I don’t know what to do with myself.”
The table seemed to nod in unison before starting up another conversation. Thank the sweet Lord above. Lance started to shovel rice into his waiting mouth, desperate to get out of the dining room. He patted himself on the back for his quick thinking—the only downside was that now they’d ask for favors since he didn’t have anything better to do. With the current state of his soul tattoo even doing the dishes seemed too daunting of a task.
Ten minutes after Lance finished eating he was at the front door, shoes on, his older brother’s blue hand-me-down hoodie hanging low on his waist. He was staring at the front door, hand already gripping the doorknob. He listened quietly, ears straining to hear which of his family members was walking out of the living room and towards him. When he heard them stop just behind him, he turned around with a smile at the ready.
“An after dinner walk?” Aunt Amillia Rose asked, her smile escaping in her voice.
“Yeah, ten minutes tops.”
“Sounds good.” She sighed, shoulders relaxing for a moment. “I’ll be putting the kids to bed. See you.”
Lance watched her disappear up the stairs, sundress swaying with the motion of her steps. He turned back towards the door, shaky perspiring hand opening it before his tattoo gave another hearty try at derailing his progress at not being found out by his nosy family. He shut the door as quietly as he opened it and breathed in the crisping summer-night air. He looked to his right, where a yellow street light lit up his path down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. Lance put his hands in the pockets of his shorts, trying his best to calm down. He tried to rationalize things for himself. His tattoo was just hurting because he was stressed about his tattoo hurting. There was nothing to be worried about. Aunt Amillia Rose dealt with this all the time—tattoo pain was nothing to be worried about. He’d just eat an orange popsicle and explain that he’s been worried about the new school year. Yeah. Except it was August and he hadn’t even gotten his schedule in the mail.
Lance wondered if instead of all this lying he could just be honest like Cleo was all those years ago in the dining room. Maybe his mom and dad would tell him that it was okay to worry about his soulmate and not pressure him into loving who he was paired with. Maybe Aunt Amillia Rose would give him tips on how to reduce the seemingly limitless pain he was in whenever his stress spiked like this. Lance sighed, realizing that although he hoped for something like that to happen, he knew his parents too well. Although Aunt Amillia Rose would do anything to help him, she was also devoted to her sister and wouldn’t keep any secrets from her. And he didn’t think he could sit through another talk with his dad after the birds and the bees incident in middle school.
With a quick shiver, Lance found that he’d stopped walking—instead he’d just been standing outside a vacant house, bright white For Sale sign gleaming in the moonlight above. He looked up at where Mr. Nichols lived before the remnants of his family put him in a nursing home. There was a tree in the front yard, the branches of which sprawled all over the front lawn. There was a porch connected to the front of the house where Nichols would sit and watch the birds all morning. Now, in the dark, it seemed eerie. Like the house knew that it had been empty for a while and was heartbroken. So lonely that it waited forlornly until morning, when the sun shone on the tree and the birds woke and sang to keep it company.
Lance was about to turn tail and return home when the skin on his hip started to reenact the Great Fire of London. He grabbed his tattoo with his left hand and struggled to hold himself up with the For Sale sign with his right. He took in a deep breath, eyes watering as he refused his body the chance to cry out.
This was supposed to be a calming walk! What was he doing wrong!?
Lance lowered himself, sure that a quick breather would set him straight. He sat there, back against the sign, both hands now covering the burning flesh of his hip. He took deep breath after deep breath and finally things seemed alright. Above him, the leaves stirred in the breeze that waltzed down the street just like he had. Of course the wind was less of a mess than he was at the moment. Lance tried to picture what he must look like right now, resting against a stupid For Sale sign, hands hidden, eyes wet and cheeks streaked with tears he couldn’t stop. How drab. Not his usual picturesque self—that’s for sure. If his family saw him like this he was sure that they wouldn’t recognize him. Probably not even Hunk. Okay, that’s a dirty lie. Hunk would recognize him even if he were in a different body. That’s what friendship since middle school rewarded you with.
Lance sighed again, and it didn’t take an ounce of weight off his chest. He guessed that it was time to go home. This walk hadn’t helped him after all. So Lance got up from where he was sitting on Mr. Nichols’ old lawn and stumbled his way down the street towards his house. When he got there he’d have a nice warm bed to look forward to. And an empty room since his older brother Tracey moved out a few years ago. Not to mention the kids would be getting ready for bed so he could spend as much time as he wanted writhing in agony.
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Author's Note: Pretty short chapter this week, but we're building to something bigger. The climax of this arc is approaching and I am NOT READY.
Chapter 8: Nat 1: Critical Failure
Lance walked into the cafeteria, eyes on his phone. He texted Hunk for the tenth time this morning–giving him hell for ghosting him all weekend. He couldn’t outright blame Hunk for giving him nothing to do on Saturday thus making Lance available for gardening, so he was going to passive-aggressively shame him. He looked about the room, eyes scanning for his soon-to-be victim and deemed the cafeteria to be Hunk-less. He groaned, leaning against a nearby wall and opening Pokemon TCGP to kill some time. Lance had time to open his daily packs and do his tasks before he heard Hunk’s distinct footsteps.
“Dude,” Hunk said, his voice giving off an air of excitement.
“You better have a good explanation for ditching me this weekend. My mom had me help the neighbors–
Hunk grabbed Lance by the shoulders and silenced him. “Lance, it happened.”
Lance raised an eyebrow, shaking off Hunk’s hands. “What happened?”
“I met my soulmate,” Hunk breathed.
Lance’s eyes went wide and his mind raced with the information. “What? This weekend? Where?” He searched Hunk’s expression for any minute changes.
“Dad took me to GameStop–the one by the Waffle House–not inside the mall, and there she was. She was looking at all the old DS games with her friend. Anyway, I was at the counter looking at their rare items–
“Debating whether or not to get Donkey Kong Jungle Beat,” Lance finished for him.
“Precisely,” he said, “Well, I decided against it, again, and when I went to leave, Trev was like, ‘see you same time next month’ and I said, ‘you know it’. But then she turned around and said ‘maybe we should carpool’. At first I had no idea what she said, but then it clicked so I was like, ‘only if you bring coffee’.”
Lance was trying desperately to process everything he said–which was hard because Hunk was talking so fast. “Oh my God,” was all he could muster.
Hunk pulled out his phone, “Once we realized–we just started gesturing to our tattoos. It was like two cavemen discovering fire, I swear to God.” He handed his phone over to Lance. “She gave me her number and we’ve been texting all weekend.”
Lance looked at the messages they were sending back and forth. There were literal paragraphs typed out. It didn’t seem like either of them were afraid of sending more than one message at a time. He gave back Hunk’s phone and he started to tap on it.
“She gave me her insta, too,” Hunk announced and showed Lance her latest pic. “It’s her at the froyo stand, like, twenty minutes before we met.”
Lance looked at her high school band t-shirt as she posed with the cup of froyo. Her hair was cropped short, and her chunky hoop earrings dangled just above her shoulder. She looked tall–like, really tall.
“Isn’t she gorgeous!?” Hunk asked, unable to contain himself.
“Yeah, she–” Lance began, but before he could finish, his eyes caught Keith walking into the cafeteria.
Hunk followed his gaze and turned his back to him. He immediately beckoned Keith forward.
“Guess who I met this weekend!?”
Lance’s eyes straggled Hunk’s animated movements as he recounted the story to Keith–who was just as stunned as Lance. Keith’s eyes flicked up and down to follow Hunk as he gestured to his phone. Only when he was distracted did Keith’s eyes glance over at Lance. When their eyes met, Lance looked away.
“That’s great,” Keith smiled for once, “I’m happy for you.” Then, Keith peeked his head around Hunk and noticed that someone was waving him over.
Lance looked over and saw Jake, the resident metal-head of their school was beckoning Keith closer. He raised an eyebrow as Keith ducked his head in farewell to Hunk. Keith went over to Jake and almost seemed relieved to have been summoned. Lance frowned, but when Hunk turned around, the expression disappeared as quickly as it arrived.
“I really can’t believe it, y’know,” Hunk said for the twelfth time today.
“I know,” Lance said, matching his tone. “Did you feel any pain…before?”
Hunk shrugged, “I guess there was a little stinging–but nothing like you were feeling. Why is that?”
Lance recalled the explanation his dad gave him once after hearing his parents’ love story. He asked if it was normal for the tattoo to hurt even after getting it.
His dad took a moment to consider the question. “My mother always told me that the pain was the price we paid for God’s direction,” he finally said, mimicking her raspy tone as they drove home.
As wonderful as it was to hear Nana’s wisdom, he really needed to know why he was plagued by stabbing pain every once in a while. There were a ton of theories–because tattoo pain could never be measured by science. It was something that you experienced or you didn’t. The lucky ones–like Hunk, skated by while some, like Lance–suffered.
To get out of his own head, he attempted to answer Hunk’s question. “I guess you have a higher pain tolerance.”
Hunk laughed at that, “Doubt.”
When Hunk dropped his head to shovel some pasta into his mouth, Lance looked around the cafeteria for Keith. He hadn’t materialized at their lunch table yet, so he was beginning to wonder where he could have gone. When his eyes fell on a table towards the back of the room, he had his answer. He was having lunch with Jake and a few of his friends. The five of them were chatting–and from what Lance could see from his spot–Keith was really enjoying himself. Lance scowled, but it was quickly wiped from his face when Keith began looking over. Lance’s head shot straight down, like he was engrossed in his meal.
“What was it like? To meet her, I mean,” Lance asked, trying to keep Hunk talking so he wouldn’t notice the fear on his face at nearly being discovered staring.
“I thought about that a lot actually,” Hunk said, resting his fork down on his tray. He looked up for a moment. “It was like time just froze.”
Lance watched as Hunk revisited the event in his mind.
“As soon as she said those words, I felt something click. Like I’d waited my whole life for this person–and she was right there.”
Lance swallowed hard, his eyes faltering for a moment–but Hunk was too distracted to notice.
“After we talked it was like I’d known her for years,” Hunk laughed.
Perhaps it was because he was so engrossed in the memory, but Hunk clearly had no idea that Lance was a million miles away from their conversation at the moment. He was stuck on the sidewalk outside Mr. Nichols house–apples strewn around him and a thumping pain in his jaw.
“I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Hunk said, picking up his fork to resume eating. “Keep your weekend open for me, yeah?”
Lance closed his eyes, blinking away the night he met Keith for a few seconds. “And be your third wheel? No thanks,” Lance replied in a very haughty tone. “I’ll meet her after you’re done getting to know each other.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Lance nodded along and picked up his orange juice. He looked down at his tray–at all the food that he no longer had an appetite for.
Lance stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. A few months ago, he would have just woken up from a pain-induced coma. This time, he was pain free and yet, he was still awake. He turned onto his side, looking at the faint shapes of furniture he could make out in the darkness.
The classes he had after lunch were all a blur. He wasn’t paying attention to anything his teachers said and just stared down at any worksheet he was given. If they gave him homework, it would not be completed. After school, he went straight up to his room. When Aunt Amillia Rose called him for dinner, he ignored her. He watched as the sun’s rays cast shadows into his bedroom before it disappeared beyond the horizon. He could hear the faint laughter downstairs as his family started winding down after dinner. Then, he heard Amada and Nino running to brush their teeth. A bit after that, his dad came into their bedroom and read them a bedtime story–Lance knew because he could hear him making up voices on the fly for all the characters.
Now it was nearing midnight and his home was still. His mom and dad went to bed shortly after Nino and Amada. Even Aunt Amillia Rose, the night owl, had gone to bed nearly an hour ago.
What had Hunk said earlier today? When he asked what it was like to meet his soulmate?
Time froze.
Lance knew for a fact that time did not freeze when he met Keith. Everything was moving so fast and his heart was beating a mile a minute. Not because of the instant connection or because something clicked. He’d waited to meet Keith for years and the only thing he wished, from the bottom of his heart, is that he hadn’t.
Lance wondered–and he’d been wondering this all night now–was Hunk’s experience correct? Was that how meeting your soulmate was supposed to feel? Were you supposed to instantly feel completed or…like you’d known each other for years? Lance and Keith had been around each other for months now and he could still feel the deep awkwardness. Not to mention resentment on Lance’s part. Lance turned onto his other side. His mind went back to the thought that kept plaguing him all evening. If Hunk’s connection with his soulmate was correct, didn’t that imply that his own with Keith was wrong? Was there really some mistake?
Lance tried to close his eyes and go to sleep–but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Chapter 7: I May Not Know My Flowers
Lance stood in the kitchen, peeling back the skin of a banana as Aunt Amillia Rose put together a snack for Nino and Amada. It was a few hours before dinner and everyone was feeling peckish. Lance had his back to the counter, leaning against it as he chomped down on the yellow flesh of his snack. His eyes went to Nino and Amada as they took hearty bites of their baby carrots and peanut butter.
Aunt Amillia Rose looked up from the table for a moment. “What is she doing out there?”
Lance looked up at her and followed her gaze outside the window of the kitchen. It gave them a decent view of the driveway where their cars were parked. Just towards the end of the front walk, his mom was craning her neck to get a look down the street.
“It's anybody's guess,” Lance replied with a shrug.
After a few minutes, Angella came in through the front door.
“Lance, get down here,” she called up the stairs.
“He's in here,” Aunt Amillia Rose said, earning a look from Lance.
“Good,” Angella said with a smile. “And you're dressed for the weather, too.” She pointed to the window. “You need to go down the street and help Keith.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm your mother and I decided.”
“What does he need help with?”
“Looks like Helen has him doing yard work, and would you look at that, you're great at yard work.”
Lance frowned.
“Hey, I don't want you frowning around Helen. It is a pleasure to help others. You are happy to help.”
“Yes, mom,” Lance forced a smile and went into the hallway to put on some shoes and a baseball hat.
It didn't take long for Lance to make his way out of the house and down the driveway. He saw what his mom had seen a few minutes ago. Or maybe “heard” was the objective word here. Keith was revving the lawn mower and it finally roared to life. Now that it was working, he wondered if he could pretend he was helping and just duck behind the bushes for an hour.
But, knowing his mother, she'd sniff out his dishonesty quicker than a bloodhound…
Lance stopped in front of Keith's house, waiting for him to come back from his pass. With his hands in his jean pockets, Lance looked around the property. When he helped his dad, they mowed and handled the chemicals around Aunt Amillia Rose’s flower garden. The Kogane's had unkempt shrubs out front as well as the side. There were a few bushes that were obscured by thistles as well.
When Keith turned the mower around to make his way back to the front of the property, he noticed Lance. He pushed the mower towards him, but stopped just shy of turning around. He turned off the blades and then the engine.
“What are you doing here?” Keith asked, and his tone indicated his lack of interest in seeing Lance.
Lance shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I'm here to help.”
Keith narrowed his eyes and rested his elbow on the handle of the mower. “Didn't we just agree–
Lance groaned, “Yeah, I know. But my mom is dead set on making my life difficult.” He looked towards his house, and noticed that his mom was watching them. He thanked his lucky stars that she couldn't hear them. Lance smiled and waved, then made a face at Keith to do the same.
Keith stepped closer to Lance, and hugged him around the shoulders to really sell it. He waved at Lance's mother, and gave her his friendliest smile as instructed.
Angella waved back and went inside after a few seconds.
Lance shook Keith's arm off him as soon as his mom disappeared inside the house. He stood around awkwardly, looking at the state of the gardens and lawn. Keith was doing a decent job cutting the grass. His lines could have been a little straighter, but that was if he was being nit-picky. His goal here was “good enough” so he wasn't going to go all out.
Lance looked back at Keith. “You finish the lawn, I'll pull weeds.”
Keith looked around at the garden which was littered with thistle. Nodding, he reached behind him and pulled out the gardening gloves, which Lance took in kind. “I'll help you when I'm done.”
“I'd rather you grab the sheers or a trimmer and start the bushes,” Lance replied while pulling the gloves over his hands.
Keith shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds fair.”
Lance didn't further the conversation, instead he turned towards the flower bed closest to him. He got down on his knees and started digging for the roots of the thistle closest to him. Behind him, he heard the mower start again.
Truthfully, Lance enjoyed yard work and his mom was right that he was good at it. He'd picked up a few things helping Aunt Amillia Rose after she moved in when Uncle Mickey got deployed. When they started, he was her only choice. Tracey was busy with college prep and Amada and Nino were babies. Not even Cedro could help. His dad was completely useless if a power tool wasn't in his hand. Lance used to tell her funny stories from school and she would remove any bugs that he'd stumble across. It was a nice dynamic–and one that he missed. He'd flaked out on her a lot this summer because of his tattoo pain–and his attendance stopped altogether once he met Keith. She still hasn't said anything–and at this point, Lance was afraid to bring it up.
Lance felt a thistle puncture his hand through the glove and he shook it for a few seconds. He looked around at his work. Boom, one flower bed weeded.
“You work quick,” Keith said, coming up from behind him.
Lance hadn't even noticed the mower turning off. “I've had a lot of practice.”
Keith stood to the right of Lance, taking the pruning shears and lopping off the dead or dying blooms of the rhododendron. He worked quickly, missing quite a few branches that needed a trim. But still, Lance ignored the urge he felt to correct him. Good enough, he repeated to himself.
“Does your mom garden? Helen said something about the flowers.”
“Aunt Amillia Rose takes care of the gardens,” Lance corrected. “I'll let her know she liked them.”
Keith crouched down to get the lower branches–meeting Lance on his level. He clearly didn't have a shape in mind when trimming because Keith was taking off large sections. Lance opened his mouth for a second but closed it. Instead, he changed the topic.
“How'd you get roped into this?”
“Vinney got called into work and I offered.”
Huh, Lance thought. Keith didn't really seem like the type. Judging by his taste in fashion, he figured he'd be quicker to offer the bird than his help. Lance looked at the rhododendron for a moment, at the hatchet job Keith performed. For the briefest second, he felt the need to do something he didn't quite understand. And just like before with the locker, Lance couldn't stop himself.
“Wanna trade?” Lance asked out of the blue.
Keith looked at his handywork and sighed. “Is it that bad?”
Lance sucked his teeth and winced. “It's pretty bad.”
Keith handed over the shears and Lance gave back the gloves. Finally, Lance made quick work of shaping the bush.
“This your first time?” Lance asked, looking at Keith pulling weeds from the corner of his eye.
“Yeah,” Keith admitted. “We had an apartment back in Texas so everything was taken care of.”
Lance wondered why Keith would even offer if he was so inexperienced. But he let his question go unanswered.
“You're not as bad as my dad,” Lance smirked to himself. “Aunt Amillia Rose always said the only use he'd have in her garden was fertilizer.”
Keith made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded a lot like a laugh. Lance would be lying if he said that the noise didn't make his chest fill with pride. He frowned at the feeling.
“She paid me in candy not to tell my mom she said that,” Lance recalled after collecting the branches and tossing them away from the mulch.
Keith stood without warning and began collecting the stray branches in his arms. Once he gathered a little more than he could carry, he walked towards the back yard. Lance followed him out of the corner of his eye, but pretended that he wasn't paying attention when Keith returned. He was carrying a large paper bag and began collecting the yard waste with it. As Lance continued pruning, he handed the branches to Keith instead of tossing them. The two of them worked in tandem like this for a while.
Dusk settled upon the neighborhood quickly, bathing Keith's backyard with a hazy purple hue. The crickets began to chirp and Lance saw faint wisps of a lightning bug's path up from the grass. He stood in the backyard finishing up the last of the yardwork. The day got away from Lance–he was not expecting to spend his Sunday like this.
Lance caught Keith looking at him as they dusted themselves off. The weeds were gone, the bushes were trimmed, the clumps of grass were raked. He wondered how he should say goodbye. They were very cordial all evening and to the untrained eye, one might even say they liked each other. But they both knew that couldn't be farther from the truth.
“Keith, dinner!” Helen called from the back porch.
Lance's head shot in her direction as she made her way out onto the back porch. Her attention shot to Lance.
“Oh hey! I didn't know you were here, did you help!?” She was obviously surprised, but happy to see him.
“Hey,” Lance said sheepishly.
“He got roped into helping,” Keith said, his body going stiff and his voice following suit.
Before Lance could excuse himself, Helen already disappeared into the house again. When she returned, she was holding two glasses of what looked like tea. She went right to the banister and handed them off to Keith quickly, who distributed Lance his.
He took a sip and was immediately hit with an intense, delicious sweetness. He took greedy sips, suddenly realizing how parched he was after all this yard work.
“Good right?” Helen asked, fishing for approval.
“Yes,” Lance replied instantaneously.
“So how did you get roped into this?” Helen asked, resting her elbows on the banister.
Lance pointed his thumb towards the direction of his house. He sighed. “My mom is an obstacle I find difficult to overcome.”
Helen laughed at that, and faltered for a moment. “Well, you both did wonderful work. Thanks for taking care of everything.”
Lance shuffled awkwardly at being praised. “No problem.”
“If Aunt Amillia Rose needs any help,” Keith prompted underneath his breath.
“That's sweet of you to offer,” Helen said with a smile.
Keith shrugged, “If I didn't, you would have.” He started to move towards the stairs, then turned towards Lance. “My mom is also an obstacle I find difficult to overcome.”
Lance took a moment to look at the two of them. Keith was nonchalantly sipping at his tea, and Helen was tugging at her hoodie's sleeve trying to busy herself. There was the faintest hint of pride showing on her face.
“Just come over and collect him,” Helen said with a smile. “I'm gonna head in, thank you again, honey.” Before she went inside she rested her hand on Keith's shoulder. “He's welcome to stay for dinner,” she whispered.
Keith looked at Lance and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Okay,” he said quietly.
Lance didn't want to stick around much longer, so he started chugging the sweet tea. That wasn't to say he wouldn't have chugged it regardless, because it was absolutely fantastic. He walked towards the stairs of the back porch and Keith met him halfway. Lance rested his glass on the banister, watching as Keith's hand slowly rested on the side. Their fingers touched, and Lance, for whatever reason, did not pull his hand away immediately. Instead, he let Keith decide, separating them at a leisurely pace. When Lance brought his hand back down, he noted the small tickle he felt in his side–like a feather was being dragged along his tattoo. Maybe he imagined it?
He rocked back onto his heels, unsure of what to say. Despite this time that they had together being quite nice–Lance understood enough about himself to know that he was stubborn. He was going to dig his heels in. He was going to act like tonight never happened. He helped Keith because someone told him to and that was that.
“You don't really have to help,” Lance said, trying to let him off the hook.
Keith nodded, “I know.”
Lance responded by taking a few steps back from the porch. He looked at his house in the distance, where his family left the light on for him. The yellow glow emanating from the windows was welcoming and yet lonely all the same.
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Chapter 6: King Dedede-ez Nuts
There was a slight chill in the air as Lance shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels. His phone was in his hand as he scrolled mindlessly through Instagram, stopping every so often on a new skincare product review. He looked towards the street, trying to see if his dad was back yet. An empty road gave him his answer. He dropped his backpack on the cracked concrete of the driveway and huffed. He was looking forward to going over to Hunk's all week and everything seemed to be getting in the way.
First, the school week dragged on for way longer than he thought necessary. He'd already been assigned homework–which of course he had to complete before he and Hunk could finally one hundred percent Kirby Air Ride. Second, Tracey called their dad over to his apartment to help him fix the 4Runner. And finally, his mom needed to stop by Auntie Mabel’s to drop off something. Given his mom's inability to grasp the term “quick”, his dad was his best bet to get to Hunk's. The last message he sent was thirty minutes ago–meaning he was just around the corner. And yet!
If Lance were honest with himself, he'd admit that he was mostly looking forward to the mind-numbing task of finishing the tasks with Hunk so that he could avoid thinking about a certain someone. Speaking of–Lance made it a point to stuff that thought into the garbage and pulled open his text chat with Hunk.
Just waiting on my dad 😑😑
It took a little bit for Hunk to respond.
No rush!!
Lance sighed. But he wanted to rush. He wanted to get over there as soon as he could and de-stress. And not to be dramatic, but he missed his friend. Going from having nearly every class together to just having one was pretty jarring. The weekends might just be his only time to chill with Hunk this year.
Lance heard an engine before he saw the truck that held it. He recognized the familiar purr, having heard it ever since he was younger. His dad turned onto their street and was slowing down as he approached their home. Lance didn't wait for his dad to make a complete stop before he was racing over to the passenger door. He threw his stuff in the back of the cab and hoisted himself up into the seat.
While he belted himself in, he waved at his dad to start driving.
“How is she?” Lance asked, pulling out his cell to text Hunk that he was on his way.
Cedro sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Better than before, but not by much.”
“What's wrong with her?”
“She's old. Can't fix old.”
Lance recalled when their Mom handed Tracey the keys after she got her minivan. Other kids in his grade were given brand new Subarus or financed Hondas–but he got his moms old 4Runner that still had juice stains on the roof. She bought it outright for five thousand right after Lance was born. It was the first car he'd ever thrown up in. They named her Gretchen.
Lance wondered briefly what Tracey would do if Gretchen really bit the dust. His commute to and from college could be walked, but he'd need something to get him to his job.
“How is he gonna get to work?”
Cedro turned onto a main road, going hand over hand as he twisted the wheel. “Blake said he could take him all this week. It should be all the time we need to fix Gretchen.”
Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Tracey’s roommate Blake never ceased to deliver. And that wasn't because he worked at the only decent pizza joint in town. He routinely saved Tracey’s ass ever since they met. Waking him for class, getting him home after a little too much to drink–which is a secret that died as soon as it left his lips. Mom couldn't know. Tracey brought him for dinner a few times, and despite being Tracey’s kid brother, Blake was really cool with him.
“So who's gonna tell Mom?” Lance asked, his heart dropping.
“Who said anything about telling your mother?” Cedro looked at Lance, his eyes bulging slightly from fear. “We'll keep this to ourselves. At least until we know more.”
Lance nodded. He looked down at his phone. Hunk still hadn't replied. Oh God, what if they were having dinner without him!? He threw himself back against the seat in horror.
When Lance got to Hunk's, he didn't bother sending the “Here” text. They left the porch light on for him, they knew he was coming. He practically skipped towards the house and jumped up the front steps. He tested the knob of the front door and it slid open with that oh-so-familiar creak. Lance waved goodbye to his dad, who sent one back in turn. Then, he was in.
Lance walked through the kitchen and into the hall. Before going upstairs, he made his way to the living room to make himself known. He heard faint conversation as he came up to Hunk's family enjoying their nighttime ritual in front of the TV.
“Hey, sorry I'm late,” Lance said quietly.
“Hey, bud!” Hunk's dad announced. He raised a hand that was planted on the back of the couch.
Hunk's mom sprang up to give him a hug. “You should have visited while Hunk was at camp, we missed you!”
“Who, me?” Lance smiled widely.
Hunk's mom hurried to return to the TV as a commercial break ended. “The boys are upstairs, leftovers are in the fridge if you guys get hungry tonight.”
Lance nodded along and made his way towards the stairs. Boys? Boys? Plural? Suddenly, his blood ran cold. Lance took the steps two at a time, his feet connecting with the wood in the same spot they always did. He heard Hunk laughing and talking with someone.
No.
No, no.
Lance swung open the door to Hunk's room. The first thing he saw was Hunk's well lit room, and on the floor–holding a GameCube controller–Keith.
“Hey! Guess who was free?” Hunk pointed at Keith with both hands. “We are definitely playing Mario Party tonight!”
Lance locked eyes with Keith, who looked like he just swallowed shards of glass. Keith's eyes immediately went to the game they were playing despite the pause screen. When Lance looked up a smile was plastered ont o his face.
“Get ready to have your ass beat,” Lance said to Hunk, puffing out his chest.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming for you this time,” Hunk said, waving him off. “Get over here.”
“I'll be back,” Lance said as he dug out his pajamas from his bag.
“You're stalling,” Hunk sang smugly.
Lance rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right.”
When Lance left to go to the bathroom, he felt his legs weigh him down. What the hell was he doing here!? Was every single one of his classes not enough? Now he had to infect his weekend too? For a moment Lance cursed Hunk's friendly nature. Now he had to, what? Pal around with him? Lance wasn't sure he had it in him. Hunk was already on his case all week about acting weird.
And then there was the real elephant in the room. That…moment…by the lockers. Lance walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. He set his pajama pants on the counter and looked in the mirror. Lance felt the embarrassment rush to his cheeks. He tried to apply some cool water to his face, hoping that it would take some of the heat away–but all it did was make him wet. He pressed the hand towel to his face and sighed into it.
He just needed to relax. That's what tonight was about, right? Lance put the towel down and changed quickly. Before leaving, he gave one last look to the mirror. He could do this. He was looking forward to this all week!
Upon his return to Hunk's room, Lance claimed the open spot beside Keith. “I hope you're good. We plan to take care of all the tasks.”
Keith narrowed his eyes at Lance in response, and Hunk chuckled.
“Uh, dude, what do you think we've been doing this whole time?”
Lance watched as Hunk scrolled through the list of tasks in the game. They had completed all but seven. His jaw dropped. “What, for real?”
Lance looked over at Keith, who was looking nowhere near as smug as Hunk.
“We can bang out the last few and then I can own you all in Mario Party.”
While Hunk got everything set up for their next trial in the game, Lance glanced over at Keith. He felt a tightness in his chest, and his stomach started to twist into knots. In this moment, he'd never felt smaller–more insignificant. He held his eyes to Keith even when their eyes met. He wondered if the softening of Keith's eyes meant he knew how he was feeling in that moment.
“Alright, let's get this over with,” Hunk announced.
Lance turned away from Keith and tried to bury that feeling, the one that left him feeling disgusted by everything.
Lance stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom, hearing the soft sounds of Hunk's breathing. He couldn't sleep. Not because he wasn't tired–but because of everything else that went on tonight. Once they were done with the trials in Kirby Air Ride, Hunk booted up Mario Party on the GameCube. Then the real competition began.
The first mini game, Catchy Tunes, Lance thought he had it in the bag. It was one of his favorite mini games. And yet that bastard Keith used Daisy to trample all over Waluigi's head and snatched away all the music notes. It would have been fine if it stopped there, but every single mini game was a dog fight. Even Hunk admitted that the competition was fierce!
Lance put his hands to his face and tried not to replay each crushing defeat in his mind. He let out a frustrated sigh.
“You're awake?” Keith whispered from a few feet to his right.
Lance's initial reaction was to play dead, but he knew he was caught. “Yeah,” he whispered back.
There was a heavy silence between them, and it hung in the air thick as smoke. Lance wondered what Keith could be thinking. Maybe he wanted to gloat without Hunk hearing. He was rather quiet about winning with a four star lead. Or perhaps he wanted to apologize for completely ruining Lance's chance for a peaceful game night with his best friend. In the silence that followed, Lance was beginning to wonder if Keith even spoke at all and he was going crazy.
“He doesn't know, does he?”
Lance shot up from his sleeping bag. His first instinct was to listen hard for Hunk's snores. Then he looked for Keith in the darkness. “Does he have to?”
Keith went quiet.
Lance wondered why he would even ask such an obvious question. Why would he tell Hunk? He was just coming to terms with it himself, how could he tell someone else? Lance felt his chest tighten with anxiety. “Have you told anyone?”
“Of course not,” Keith said, his voice getting higher for a moment.
Lance felt relieved when he heard that. In fact, it was the best thing he'd felt all night. He could take the loss of his relaxing night, the stinging defeat in one of his favorite games–but someone knowing his secret was too much.
“I don't think anyone needs to know,” Lance said. “It's none of their business.”
Lance struggled to find Keith's face in the dark, but he hoped he was nodding along. There was another long pause while Lance debated whether or not he should lay some ground rules. He needed to draw a line in the sand now or else it would get hairy down the road. This little gaming session could not happen again. He wanted the soulmate situation and the rest of his life to be completely separate.
“Look,” Lance began, “I know you're new, and Hunk's been friendly, but I can't have you around. It's too much of a risk.”
It seemed like the entire room turned to ice at that moment. If the silence was quiet before, it was teetering on sensory deprivation now.
“I'll keep my distance,” Keith said. “You keep yours.”
Lance wanted to be offended–say that he wasn't the one who needed to be reminded–but instead he collapsed back onto his pillow. “Done,” Lance said with a sigh. Finally, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Author's Note: I'm gonna be real, Lance is a real piece of work in this chapter but STAY WITH ME. IT GETS BETTER. It's a slow burn. It's enemies to lovers. This is only the first arc! There are Klance crumbs sprinkled throughout, follow me to the gingerbread house, children.
Chapter 5: Schoolhouse Rock-bottom
Lance was standing in the cafeteria waiting for the bell to ring to signal everyone to go to class. Hunk was to his left. They met earlier outside, Hunk throwing his whole body onto Lance after he’d spotted him in the crowd. The two of them caught up quickly seeing as how they talked everyday via text, Skype or Snapchat. Or Insta. Sometimes all four if they were really bored. Also Lance was keeping up with Hunk live-tweeting his family reunion. The clap-backs were legendary this year.
“It sucks that we only have one class together,” Hunk said, looking at his schedule. “But I guess we’ll just have to make the most of it.”
Lance chuckled, “Oh, we are going to ruin that teacher’s year. Don't forget lunch, too.”
The two of them had a budding reputation. Attached at the hip, rowdy when together. They were decent students when apart, sure, but absolute menaces when in the same room. It was a wonder anyone in their class learned anything. Not to mention Lance, who needed to pay attention. When he first got his schedule, he was disappointed, but maybe it would be a good thing.
“Oh hey, who’s that?” Hunk asked, pulling Lance from wherever he was in his mind.
When Lance looked to where Hunk was gesturing, his soul almost left his body. There entering the cafeteria–looking lost as hell–was Keith. Beanie-wearing, mullet-having, MCR-t-shirt-clad Keith. He was staring down at his phone, his earbuds no doubt blasting some alt-rock or pop punk. Lance tried to hide his visceral reaction to Keith, hiding behind a plastered-on smile.
“New kid, I guess,” Lance shrugged and began searching the cafeteria for anything to change the subject.
“Didn’t you say you got new neighbors? Is he–
“Who’s to say?” Lance interrupted him, raising his hands up.
Hunk laughed, “Dude you are all over the place. Maybe let me take the lead?”
Lance watched in horror as Hunk stepped away from him and crossed the cafeteria to greet Keith. Hunk was as friendly as could be, waving a hand in front of Keith to alert him to take his earbuds out–which he did immediately. It looked like Hunk was introducing himself because he put a hand to his chest and then pointed behind him at Lance.
He wanted to bury himself alive.
Keith had just as violent a reaction as he did–but luckily Hunk was looking at Lance so he didn’t catch it. His eyes went to Hunk, who was giving him a thumbs up. Hunk turned back to him and Keith’s expression returned to what Lance could only assume was polite indifference. Keith’s attention went to his phone, where he held up the screen to show Hunk. They exchanged a few words and then…then–dear God–Hunk began leading Keith over to him.
Lance tried to put on his best fake smile–but not too fake or else Hunk would know he was being fake.
“This is Lance,” Hunk introduced him. “Lance, this is Keith Kogane.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lance said, pressing his mouth into a tight line. “Did you just move here?”
Keith gave him a look before answering, returning the smile he was given with a very brief one of his own. “Yeah, we uh, moved in a few weeks ago. Texas.”
“That’s a crazy distance, how did you guys not kill each other?” Hunk asked with a chuckle. His eyes scanned Keith’s schedule. “Huh,” he said after a long pause.
“What is it?” Lance asked, eyes going right to Hunk.
Hunk passed Keith’s phone back to him. “You guys have every single class together. Even free study.”
Before when Lance said he could bury himself alive? Yeah, that was a little premature. Because he could do it now.
Lance looked at Keith, their eyes finding each other in mutual terror. He knew they were thinking the same thing.
Fuck.
“Guess you’ll be following Lance around all day,” Hunk laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s not usually this,” Hunk trailed off, trying to find the right word for Lance’s current situation, but ultimately coming up short. “Well, anyway, you’ll give him the grand tour right?”
Lance gave Hunk a tight nod, trying desperately to hide the fact that his smile was not only forced, it was faltering with every second he spent in front of Keith. While Hunk struck up another mostly one-sided discussion with Keith, Lance disappeared into himself. Not only was Keith his…but he was also his neighbor and his classmate to boot. It was like the world was looking for excuses to get them, well, together.
What was he going to do?
Before Lance could come up with a genuine answer to that all-important question, he heard the bell ring. The alarm that sounded the start of his day and the end of his peace as a Junior.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you guys around,” Hunk said, patting Keith on the shoulder and eyeing Lance one last time, assessing him.
Lance nodded, trying to keep composed. “See you,” Lance said. Then, when it seemed like Hunk needed a little more reassurance, he added, “I’ll get him where he needs to go.”
Hunk nodded slowly, but a wide smile soon spread across his face. “Have a good first day, then!”
Several students began pushing past them as they all made their way to their lockers before their first period class. Lance awkwardly tugged at his backpack, which was suddenly very heavy on his shoulder. He looked over at Keith and chewed on his lip nervously. Why did he pretend that he'd never met Keith? Why did Keith go along with it? He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, contemplating what to do next. He didn't really have to play tour guide did he? Should he just give him the bare minimum? If he just sucked it up for a few days, he would be rid of him right? So maybe–
“You don't have to babysit me, I'm fine on my own,” Keith grumbled before pushing past Lance.
Lance stood in the cafeteria, shock evident on his face. He wondered if Keith sensed he was undecided and took matters into his own hands. Or maybe Keith, just like Lance, was having just as hard a time as he was accepting this whole thing and wanted nothing to do with him? The thought made Lance knit his eyebrows together, but he was unsure if he felt more disappointed by the thought, or relieved.
When Lance heard that he had every class with Keith, he expected to see him more, but so far the opposite was true. Granted, the first days of school were always going over the syllabus and handing out textbooks–maybe assigning seats. There was barely any ice-breaking, despite there being an obvious new student. Even when Keith arrived a few minutes after the bell, their teachers allowed him to choose a seat in the back of the classroom and follow along. They were sticking to their usual welcome-back spiel and not bothering to introduce Keith–instead keeping his arrival quiet. Lance knew everyone in class already and they were all looking at Keith like a specimen, trying to sort out which clique he'd best fit into.
A few of the friendlier students struck up convos with him towards the ends of their classes. It was this reason only that Lance received most of what he knew about Keith. His middle school had really itchy uniforms. He ran track for his last high school, and was pretty good before he had to give it up to move here. He wasn't looking forward to chemistry. His parents got transferred to the area through work, but he couldn't tell you what they did. He'd been to loads of concerts for indie bands in his area, but could never go to the more mainstream ones.
After the barrage of questions, Keith tried to ask some of his own to get to know everyone else, but it was clear that he was out of his element. He frequently let conversations die, and nervously tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie. Despite his efforts, Keith quickly lost his appeal and most everyone moved on after a few minutes. But, when one of the known metal-heads walked up to him, Lance knew it was time to tune out. Maybe he would take Keith under his wing? Thus releasing him of his obligation to him?
When Lance noticed the guy trudging away from the corner of his eye, he felt his body sigh deeply. Maybe there was hope further down the line.
Lance took a seat at the circular lunch table he'd claimed for himself and Hunk for the last two years. While a majority of the other kids they hung out with came and went, they were the only constant, sitting beside each other to share the latest memes and discuss which new games they wanted to get once they went on sale. Lance positioned his lunch tray in front of himself and pulled out his phone to doom scroll until Hunk showed up.
“Don't worry about it,” Lance heard Hunk say from behind him.
A smile tugged at his lips. He'd missed his big chunk-of-Hunk all day!
“There you–”
Lance stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that Hunk was escorting Keith to their table. He tried to hide his visceral reaction by turning around and fiddling with something on his tray. He pretended that he hadn't said anything or noticed them.
“Look who I found!” Hunk announced to Lance, drawing his attention.
Lance looked up, and gave a tight smile in response.
“I found him in the hallway lookin’ a little lost,” Hunk said, making pointed glances towards Lance. He sat down and motioned for Keith to follow suit.
Lance shrugged, “There was a pretty big crowd.”
“Anyway, I figured he could sit with us. I've been saying we need a third.”
Lance's eyes shot over to Hunk, who was already getting his fork ready to dig into the mac ‘n cheese on his plate. Then they swept over to Keith. He had the urge to yell, to tell Keith to back off–but he knew that Hunk was the one forcing this. Still, he let himself give Keith a less-than-pleasant look. Keith raised his eyebrows, getting the picture immediately.
“Oh, actually, I'm–” Keith began but was interrupted.
“Sit already,” Hunk dragged Keith onto the seat next to him. “So what console do you like? Unless you're into PC?”
Lance's eyes widened incredulously. Hunk, he wanted to yell, why are you like this!?
Keith cleared his throat for a second and looked at Lance for permission. Lance rolled his eyes and sat back, fixing his attention to his meal.
“Vin–uh, my,” Keith played with his sleeves again, but powered through. “We've got nearly every Nintendo system.”
“No way, are your parents collectors?”
Lance peeked over at Keith, seeking to get confirmation on a certain hunch he'd had since meeting Keith's family.
“My dad is, yeah,” Keith said quietly. “He's really into all that.”
“So are we talking old school or obscure?”
“Boob tube and Duck Hunt.”
Hunk clapped his hands excitedly. “Say no more, I'm already in love. Tell me you play.”
“Who else is he gonna play with?” Keith asked, lifting his hands up.
Lance took a bite of his roll bitterly, noting the obvious smile in Keith's tone without looking up. He heard bits and pieces of their conversation, but was unwilling to contribute anything. He kept his eyes down for the remainder of their lunch period. Hunk was too preoccupied to notice, which was probably a good thing.
It was exactly like Hunk said this morning. He was all over the place.
Lance felt Hunk tap him on the shoulder.
“Where's Keith?”
Lance didn't need to look around to know that he wasn't in the classroom yet. Keith has been late to every single class today, so of course he'd be late again.
Lance shrugged, keeping his eyes on his phone looking at nothing in particular.
“Didn't you see him after fifth period?” Hunk asked, keeping his voice low.
“No,” Lance answered, trying to hide the bite in his tone.
Hunk moved his head to look at Lance in the face. “Dude, what's up?”
Before Lance could say anything the bell rang.
“Alright everyone! Let's get this out of the way!” Their teacher chimed in.
Lance watched as Hunk turned towards the teacher, but kept his peripheral on the door to look out for Keith. It was a few minutes into class before Keith quietly came into the room and sat in the first available chair he saw. Hunk was noticeably more relaxed when he came in. Ever the mother hen.
“He sure is carrying a lot,” Hunk commented, perhaps more to himself than to Lance.
Still, Lance shrugged, not bothering to look his way.
It was finally the end of the day and Lance could barely contain his excitement to leave. He wanted nothing more to do with today. As Lance waited for Hunk to finish packing everything into his backpack, he typed up a message to his dad.
You on your way?
“Okay, so I'm thinking game night this weekend. My place, usual snacks, we finally beat all the challenges in Kirby Air Ride.”
Lance pocketed his phone, “Sounds good to me. Six work for you?”
“Yeah, I'll let my mom know we'll have an extra for dinner that day.”
Lance smiled for what seemed like the first time since that morning. He hoped that Hunk would be satisfied with his work in assisting Keith today and give it up. Afterall, Keith was likely to warm up to some of the other students soon enough. As soon as they got past his jarring mullet and awkwardness, they would be okay.
“Alright, I've gotta get to the bus, wanna walk with me?”
Lance delved into his pocket to fetch his phone again. The fact that he didn't feel any vibration made him suspect that his dad hadn't seen his message yet. Which meant if he left the school now, he'd have to wait around for a while before his dad swung the car around.
“Nah, I'm gonna swing by my locker since my dad is taking forever. See you tomorrow.”
Hunk threw up a peace sign and shut his locker. They exchanged one final look and Hunk disappeared around a corner to head out the doors of the school with every other student. Lance walked slowly back to his locker, settled around his first period class. He took note that everyone was headed in the opposite direction of himself, clearly excited by the prospect of finally exiting the building. When Lance turned the corner to get to his locker he was met with an empty hallway–except for one other person.
Keith.
Lance ducked behind the wall to hide himself, not wanting to engage. He heard the unmistakable sounds of screeching metal and angry muttering. Lance peeked around the corner and saw Keith struggling to open his locker. Keith was holding all four of his textbooks in hand as he struggled to both dial the combination and lift up the latch. Even his back pack hung off his shoulder in a precarious way.
“Come on,” Keith grumbled, and yanked up roughly.
Lance watched as Keith grew increasingly frustrated over the next few minutes. He could feel Keith's anger welling up from where he stood nearly ten feet away.
Lance wondered why he stuck around for so long. He didn't really need anything in his locker. He could just as well disappear out the front doors and wait for his dad on the curb. But something compelled him to stay and watch. Something deep and foreign…and perhaps better ignored. Lance turned to go back to the exit.
“Dammit!”
Lance's head whipped around after hearing Keith's angry call, followed by the sounds of his books falling to the floor. When Lance's eyes caught sight of Keith again, he saw his fist collide with metal, as did his foot. Then, after the indignation, Keith seemed to crumple onto the floor alongside his books. He sat with his back to the lockers, not bothering to pick up his things. His elbows went to his knees and he hid his face.
Lance felt his weight shift in his feet. As he watched Keith more or less meet his breaking point, he realized something. Keith had been carrying around his back pack all day, gathering his textbooks and bringing them to every class. Then, he realized that Keith was late, likely because he tried to get into his locker after every class. This whole time…
Without warning, he felt a dull ache in his hip–right where his tattoo was. But, before he could stop to wonder why, Lance was moving towards Keith. Somehow he'd made it down the hallway without Keith noticing until he was right up on him.
Lance started spinning the dial, “What's the combination?” He asked plainly.
“You don't have to–”
Lance looked down at him, but he couldn't say for sure what expression he was wearing.
Keith resigned himself quickly. “Six, ten, sixteen.”
Lance wasted no time spinning the dial left, then right, then left again. After turning the dial to zero, he pulled up on the latch and the door swung open. When Lance looked down again, their eyes met for the first time since lunch.
Keith’s shocked expression registered on his face, no doubt wondering how on earth Lance succeeded where he had failed.
“Were you turning back to zero?”
Keith shook his head.
“Do that next time and you'll get it,” he said quietly. Lance awkwardly stood as the two made sustained eye contact. His weight shifted and his mouth was pressed into a tight line. For a moment, Lance forgot himself as he looked at Keith. He didn't know why, but he wanted to stay there in the hallway with him–but he knew that was a ridiculous notion. Even more ridiculous was the urge he felt to stretch out his hand. And yet, he still found it reaching down to Keith, who in kind began reaching up to him.
Lance's body jolted when he felt an oddly warm sensation in his hip. The shock of it pulled Lance’s hand away before they had a chance to meet. Before he could even understand what was happening, Lance’s phone began to vibrate–his dad was calling. He wasted no time backing away from Keith and began running towards the front doors of the school. He didn't bother looking back as he answered his phone.
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Chapter 3: Something About the Sun-pie, Baby
Lance heard the faint noises of Nino’s bed creaking from his room. He was sitting against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed on his knees. He’d been up for hours now—unable to go to sleep since…the incident. It had been exactly ten hours and fifteen minutes since he last felt his tattoo ache. Just yesterday it was giving him shooting pains every five minutes. But now? Radio silence. And that could only mean one thing. Lance shook his head. No. No way. Coincidence. He just happened to run into some guy, who happened to smack his head off Lance’s chin, who happened to say the very words etched into Lance’s skin. As soon as his tattoo started hurting again, he’d laugh so hard about this. Lance cleared his throat, as if trying to tell his tattoo that it was its time to shine. When that didn’t work he tried poking at it again. Finally—he jabbed it as hard as he could with his index finger.
Nothing except a reddening scratch.
Okay, his tattoo just needed some time then. Fine. He could wait another ten hours. Another fifteen. As long as it started up again, he didn’t mind the wait. It probably just needed a break after being a pain in his ass for the last few days. Lance looked off into his room, eyes finding his laptop almost immediately. This was a Hunk problem. He should tell him about it. Hunk was smart. He’d tell him there was nothing to worry about and that his tattoo pain was due to stress like Lance predicted in the first place. It simply ran its course and would find him again come the first day of school or exam days. Hunk would tell him to take a bubble bath and enjoy the fact that it was over.
Except he would never say that. Hunk would stare him in the face and tell him what he didn’t want to hear. What he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Lance moved his eyes away from his laptop. This was a Hunk problem, but not one Lance was willing to share with him. He looked at his bedroom wall, where the posters his brother hung were still displayed. The Beatles, Slipknot, Guns and Roses… He couldn’t believe this was happening. That he couldn’t tell anyone—even Hunk—about it. Why did he have to go out there for his phone? It’s not like he needed it! It’s not like he was going to place a call to Dominos for some sad nine p.m. pizza. Seriously, what possessed him to be out there? Why did he even bother with the apples!? It was their fault he was even close to that guy’s house! Lance closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was seriously blaming apples for his problems right now. Apples: the key ingredient for his favorite pie.
Lance paused his internal meltdown to listen in to whoever was in the hallway. Nino?
“Lance, are you up?” Aunt Amillia Rose knocked quietly.
“Yeah,” he said, in a tired voice. He got up from his bed and walked over to open the door. “What’s up?”
“Your mom wants to talk to you, go downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Something about a pie.”
Was this it? Had his mother really read his mind? Had she instinctively known, through her maternal powers, that her son, her flesh and blood, was having a crisis and she sought to remedy it in the best way possible? Through his favorite pie? Lance couldn’t control the small smile that appeared on his face. Maybe after some of his mom’s pie he’d be able to sleep off yesterday’s horrible experience.
Lance nodded and stepped around Aunt Amillia Rose and set out towards the stairs. As soon as he began to descend, he smelled the delicious cinnamon apple scent. He walked past the front door, the evil end table, and finally found himself in the kitchen. His mother was standing at the sink, washing out measuring cups and bowls. He looked past her, towards the kitchen table his dad was sitting at. There it was—the beautiful lattice-crusted apple pie that he’d lusted after so often. It was fresh out of the oven, too. For a moment, the only thing on Lance’s mind was whether or not they had whipped cream. But that came to a screeching halt when his dad opened his mouth.
“Don’t get too attached. It’s not for us,” he said without looking up.
“What do you mean?”
His mother chose that time to dry off her hands on an old dish towel. “The new neighbors must have moved in last night, I wanted the two of us to go over and say hello together.”
Lance’s heart started to beat like it was running a marathon that he hadn’t been invited to. He could feel the cold sweat forming on his forehead and settling on the back of his neck. He swallowed hard, thinking of what to say to get him out of this. He had a thing with a friend? As if, she’d see through that in a heartbeat. Hunk was basically his only friend and she knew it. He could say that he wasn’t feeling good this morning, but then she’d say without missing a beat, “If you were sick, why were you drooling over my pie?” His last resort would be distracting her with his plans to clean something she’d been begging him to clean. Attic? Basement? Either one needed done but they were both full of cobwebs and either hot or damp. Plus, cleaning was not his strong suit. He could barely keep his room in order—in fact the only reason it looked that good was because his mother gave it a once over every week or so. Otherwise she’d be missing a whole set of dishes.
“You’re coming Lance, don’t try to distract me by taking the kids to the park or something.”
Crap, that would have been an even greater excuse.
His mother threw the dish towel over to the sink with a sigh. That was her, “it’s time to get ready” sigh. She patted her husband on the shoulder and kissed his cheek.
“Alright, let’s get moving. Did you wear that yesterday? Go change,” she said in one breath as she left the kitchen and swayed up the stairs. “Oh,” she shouted. “Thanks for bringing in the apples. I could have done without picking them off the floor this morning, but thanks.”
Lance looked at his dad, giving him a face. It was returned by a shrug and a small smile. It was decided. He had to get dressed, walk over to that guy’s house, pie in hand, and come to terms with the very real possibility that they were... Lance shook his head from the thought. He wondered briefly what he should wear. As he mounted the stairs he settled on a loose fitting white T-shirt and some pale blue jeans. He kicked on some Nike sneakers and called it an outfit. His mother came walking down the stairs in a vibrant purple floral skirt and the black tank top that came with it.
“Alright, I’ll grab the pie, and we can go.”
And just like that, the two of them were out the door and walking down the driveway. When they turned onto the sidewalk, Lance realized just how little time he had to prepare for all of this. He was going to be face to face with that guy again. The one with the black hair and foul mouth. The one that he was…meant to…be with? Maybe he wouldn’t be home, Lance found himself thinking—hoping—praying. His parents had long since taught him that religion, should he choose to embrace it, was a wonderful, comforting thing. Dear God, please for the love of all that is holy, do not let that guy be here today. He’d give literally anything if one of the guy’s parents answered the door. His mom would work through her incessant curiosity and he could once again be back home in his bed, poking at his soul tattoo until it hurt again. Because it was going to start hurting again—any moment now.
By the time Lance realized where they were, his mother was already knocking on the front door. He panicked, and sent out one last prayer. Let this be a painless meet and greet. Please.
The door opened almost immediately and a head of black hair peeked out of the small crack between the door and frame. Once Lance’s eyes made contact with his, he knew instantly that his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. God was hell-bent on making him suffer today for who knows what reason. Lance watched the guy’s eyes narrow slightly as he gave him a once over. Lance looked away quickly, hand awkwardly finding his face to rub at the light bruise that was hidden by the shadow of his chin. His mother then spoke up.
“Hey there, are your parents around? We live just up the road and were wondering who our new neighbors were,” Lance couldn’t see her but she was no doubt flashing that award winning, gorgeous smile she put on for Parent/Teacher Meetings and family photos.
“Keith? Are there any bungee cords on the table in there?” A tall woman asked, walking up to them from behind. She must have come out from the backyard. She was in light, dirty jeans—like she’d been busy all day even though it was early. Her hair was a pale red, curly and a little unruly. Several strands escaped her pony-tail, which was probably very tight by the beginning of her task. She stopped in front of everyone, wiping a bit of sweat off her forehead with a green rag she’d had tucked in her back pocket. Her glasses were a bit fogged upon closer inspection.
“I’ll look.” Keith answered almost immediately. His voice sounded neither hostile nor happy. And Lance didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He disappeared as soon as he answered, which was almost a blessing. Lance turned to his mom, he guessed.
“Oh, hey! I’m Helen,” she rushed to put her rag back into her pocket so she could shake Angella’s hand. “You’ve met Keith.”
“Angella, and this is my son Lance. How old is he?”
“Sixteen and starting junior year. He’s excited; he’s just hiding it under all that edgy teen angst.” Helen said with a humorous tone. Angella nodded like she understood, which she probably did.
“Oh good, Lance is starting junior year too, he’ll help out if he needs anything—you have my word.” Lance looked over at her, exasperated. Good thing Helen’s attention was focused elsewhere or she would have seen some Grade A McClain Stink-face.
“You seem busy, I don’t want to keep you too long if someone’s waiting on you…”
“Ah, the husband is waiting by the backdoor for some bungee cords. Vinney will probably come looking for me eventually, so don’t worry.”
Keith emerged from the house with three bungee cords in hand. “I’ll take these down to him,” he said quickly, and disappeared yet again.
“Bring him back up with you, we’ve got guests.” Helen called.
A few minutes later and everyone was huddled together in what was to be the living room. So far the only thing they had moved in was the TV and a few chairs. There was one for Helen, Angella and Lance. As for “Vinney” and Keith, they had yet to return from whatever was happening by the back door.
“Do any of you like pie? I made some apple pie this morning.”
“Oh man, we love it. Me and Vinney actually bonded over our favorite snacks. Down in Texas there was this one bakery we constantly went to—since I’m the worst baker this world has ever seen. Whenever we needed a cake for a birthday or what not, we always went to it. Cindy’s Cakes and Catering. Fantastic woman, really.”
“So you’re from Texas? What brings you all the way up here? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Mostly a change of scenery. Vinney and I actually took a vacation around these parts just because we had the same week off work and all. We picked a spot on the map and were like, ‘okay, let’s go’. We stayed at the motel a few miles from here. The, uh, oh geez—you know it was only a few years ago, I don’t know why I’m blanking on the name.”
“Are ya talkin’ about the Treading Path Inn?” A short man with a buzz cut said as he walked into the front door. Keith was in tow, which Lance noticed immediately without wanting to.
“Oh, I’ve never stayed there. Were you really that impressed?”
“We’re suckers for complimentary breakfasts. Is that pie I’m smellin’?”
“They made some apple pie for us,” Helen said, gesturing to the pie Lance’s mother was keeping on her lap.
“Hello ma’am, I’m Vincent and I’d like to liberate that pie from you if you’d be so kind.”
Angella had to smile at his choice of words. She handed him the pie plate and chuckled as he immediately left.
“Would you like to stay and eat it with us? Keith already unpacked the kitchen. He’s very efficient,” Helen looked back at Keith, who was looking directly at Lance.
“Oh,” Angella said, “well, I don’t see why not. I hope it’s as good as that bakery. If not I’m gonna have to turn in my apron.”
“I might have to take the Lord’s name in vain,” Vincent called from the kitchen.
“Did you seriously cut into it already? It’s barely been a minute.” Helen yelled back at him.
Silence.
That got everyone laughing, even Keith, who was caught off guard by the whole situation.
When Vincent returned he was carrying two plates which he then gave to Lance and Angella. He returned with two more slices for Keith and Helen. His last trip was him carrying in his own slice, which was almost completely eaten.
“You know, I think we have some lemonade in the fridge, would anyone be interested?” Helen asked.
“Oh yes please,” Angella said, happily.
“It’s from a gas station, I hope that doesn’t bother you. All the grocery stores were closed when we got here last night.”
“I’m never picky when it comes to lemonade, don’t worry.”
Keith walked to the kitchen before Helen or Vincent could get up. A little bit later, Angella nudged Lance with her elbow. When he looked at her, he knew what she was demanding with her eyes.
Lance begrudgingly stood up and joined Keith in the kitchen. Lance had been calm in the living room, but just barely. He’d been lost in thought as his mother did most of the talking. He had been trying this whole time to not make eye contact with Keith, who was very much trying to make eye contact with him. Of course his mother would make him help out. He was a guest. He didn’t have to do anything. And yet here he was. Leave it to his mother to make him do the one thing he was dreading this whole time: being alone in a room with Keith. He’d ask God for nothing to go awry, but seeing as how that turned out last time, he kept his prayers to himself.
When he walked past the arches of the kitchen doorway, he realized that Keith had already gotten out the glasses and was pouring lemonade into them.
“Hey,” Lance said in a small voice as to not startle Keith or alert anyone in the living room that they were talking.
Keith said nothing, instead he looked over his shoulder. Lance couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, but there was no telling if he was bothered by Lance or the situation. Or maybe it was both?
Lance awkwardly grabbed the full glass and replaced it with an empty one so Keith didn’t have to do it all himself. He struggled with the silence—and that was what bothered him. Suddenly all he wanted to do was clear the air? Maybe joke around? He thought of what he’d break the ice with. “How’s your head? My chin’s had better days.” Too on the nose. “So, Texas?” Why would he ask that? “Your parents seem nice.” Nope. “What gas station did you get the lemonade at?” Like he’d remember that call back. He’d end up looking dumb. All of these thoughts and conversation starters were rushing through his head and yet none of them made it to his lips. He was frozen in place in that kitchen. Say something, he told himself, just say something!
Lance opened his mouth, but was silenced by the sound of the fridge closing. Keith had put away the lemonade. He grabbed three of the five glasses and looked at Lance with a blank stare. Lance jolted to action, finally remembering one, why they were there and two, that he was a person with appendages that were capable of motion. He grabbed the two glasses and followed Keith as they made their way back to the living room. Lance sat back down on the couch next to his mom and handed her the lemonade. He sipped his drink immediately, hoping that no one would ask any questions. This was so painfully awkward. But no one realized it. No one except him and…he looked up at Keith; who had traded places with Lance and was looking anywhere else, really trying to get a good look at him.
He was wearing a shabby black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. It looked like he just threw on whatever so he could help his parents get squared away. He was holding his lemonade in his left hand, eyes obscured behind his black hair. He was leaning up against the side of his mom’s chair, not paying attention to the conversation. Lance suddenly got very self-conscious. His eyes darted to the floor. He hoped no one had caught on to his staring.
“Do you need any help moving in?” Angella asked, putting her plate on her lap.
Lance looked at her; face screaming in what he hoped was muted disapproval.
Vinney waved at her with his hand. “Don’t worry! The movers will help us with everything else at noon.”
Helen smiled. “Thank you for the offer though.” She put a hand on Keith’s arm for a moment. “Keith has been a huge help, we probably won’t even need the movers!”
Angella laughed, “What I wouldn’t give for that.”
Lance sighed. Thank God he didn’t have to help. He glanced back over at Keith who still wasn’t paying attention. What he’d give to be in his shoes.
“Would you like a tour?” Helen asked out of the blue.
That got both Keith and Lance’s attention.
“Oh, would you? I haven’t been in here since the previous owner remodeled. We were looking at this place when we first moved here, but we chose the one down the street a few months later.”
“It wouldn’t be any trouble. Vinney has been looking to brag about his plans every since we bought it.”
“I’d argue with her, but it’s true. I already know what I’m gonna do with the basement.”
“Well, if you need any help getting an estimate my husband Cedro can help you, he’s a contractor but he mostly consults nowadays—he hurt his back on a job a little while ago.”
Angella rose from the couch, unsure what to do with her plate. Lance grabbed hers and put it on top of his. Keith was already collecting everyone else’s. The three of them moved around the living room first, Helen explaining that she loved the chandelier above their heads. Lance checked out as he and Keith looked at each other. Keith made his way to the kitchen again, Lance in tow. Keith placed the plates he had in the sink and reached behind him for the ones Lance had. For a split second, their fingers brushed each other and Lance’s heart skipped a beat. He was nervous again. Keith turned his back on him and washed the plates quickly.
Lance thought of what to say…but none of his other conversation starters made sense anymore. What could they talk about? Before Lance could even think about it, Keith said something.
“You cracked my screen.”
“What?” Lance asked, completely caught off guard.
“You cracked my screen,” Keith repeated, showing Lance the huge crack on his phone while his back was turned.
Lance felt hot embarrassment rush over his body. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t even see you until…” he trailed off. “Does it still work?”
Keith nodded, ending the conversation.
Lance scratched the back of his head. This was so awkward. He didn’t know what to do or say or ask. And it was too late to find a different subject because Keith was already done washing the plates. He turned around, giving Lance a once over. Lance was suddenly very aware of himself. What was he looking at? He put his hand over his left hip, self-consciously, like he was convinced Keith could see it through his clothes.
It was then that Lance noticed that Keith was hiding his right forearm behind himself. It was like that before too with the lemonade. Keith never let him see the inside of his arm. They both seemed to acknowledge each other in that moment; neither wanting to really talk about it, but the topic still hung in the air like a bad smell.
Are you my..?
“Did yours stop--” Lance began but was interrupted.
“Lance?” Angella asked from upstairs.
Lance gave Keith a bothered look, and then left the kitchen. “Yeah?”
“Ready to go? I just remembered I have laundry to get to,” she said.
“Oh…yeah,” Lance began hesitantly, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. He stepped aside so his mother could step off the last stair. “How was the tour?”
Angella smiled at Vinney and Helen. “Oh it was perfect; I love the idea for the master bathroom. I’ve been begging Cedro to put in a bigger tub for us for years!”
Helen laughed. “I’ll help you convince him!”
Vinney and Helen walked the two of them down the front walk and waved as they left. Lance looked into the windows of the kitchen. He caught Keith looking at his own forearm, his eyes then fluttering upwards to glance at Lance one final time. When their eyes met, Lance turned around, shock propelling his body farther up the sidewalk.
Lance caught himself looking outside the kitchen window, down the street, at Keith’s house. He didn’t know why he couldn’t keep himself focused. No matter what he did, his mind kept going blank and his eyes kept wandering.
“Lance, do you know where Ama put her doll?” Nino asked from the arch of the kitchen.
Lance shook out of his trance. “Uh, have you tried the bathroom?”
“No, let’s go Ama,” Nino grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the stairs.
Lance looked back out the window. It had only been a few hours since he officially met Keith. He sighed, eyes falling to the counter. There were so many things weighing on his mind, and maybe that’s why he was having such a tough time focusing. First and foremost: he’d finally met his…soulmate. Second, he’d finally have to confront the vague attraction he always felt to Prince Zuko from Avatar: the Last Airbender. But the one thing he didn’t want to do…was tell his family.
Summary: It’s the summer before Junior Year. Lance McClain is sixteen, and when he isn’t Skype-ing Hunk at Robotics Camp, he’s writhing in agony over a soul tattoo he’s never really been fond of. He longs for the day that it will stop…until it does. Lance struggles to accept who fate has chosen for him, grappling with his own expectations and hopes for love.
Author's Note: I think I should clarify somewhere that I immediately stopped watching Voltron after dreaming up the plot of this fic. If any parts of this seem out of character or go against canon development, OH WELL! Dirty Laundry was getting so much hate and I needed some positivity in my life again. Also, you'll probably see a distinct change between where I stopped writing in 2016 (Chapter 3), and started up again in 2024 (Chapter 4). You'll have that odd juxtaposition to look forward to with the coming updates.
Chapter 2: And They Lived Apple-y Ever After
Lance thought it odd that he woke up without a start, drenched in sweat and hand reaching for his hip like he had all week. Instead, he rolled over onto his side, eyes finding his phone first–which was singing out the alarm he set the night before. He needed to be up and functioning by nine today so he could help his mother at the grocery store. She told him last night that she hadn’t had one-on-one time with him since the start of summer and she wanted a chance to talk. In the back of Lance’s mind, he thought that her mom-sense kicked in and she was looking for an excuse to probe and poke at him. He’d convinced himself that she noticed Lance covering up his true feelings with a calm and collected smile like she’d seen so many times before. Tracey was a repeat offender of masking his feelings—and Lance learned from him how to do it. Although, Lance had the benefit of learning from Tracey’s mistakes so their mother rarely ever asked him what was on his mind. Paranoia had no place here so Lance rationalized that his mother only needed him to stuff the groceries into the car after they were done shopping. There was definitely no ulterior motive to it—besides getting him to help out.
He kicked off his blanket, feet hitting the wood of his floor instead of his slippers. Looking down, he saw that one of them was kicked beneath the bed and the other was a few feet away. Someone was in his room. Lance groaned, thinking that maybe someone tried to wake him up. His mom? She probably wasn’t even up yet, actually. It was only six in the morning. Well, Lance checked the time on his phone after taking it off the charger, six twenty? How long had he been ignoring his alarm? Did he hit snooze in his sleep again? He really needed to keep his phone out of reach. Lance situated his slippers with his right foot and stepped into them. First step; bathroom. Second; breakfast. Third; get dressed. Fourth; wait for Hunk to finish breakfast at gross robotics camp. Fifth; complain, probably.
Lance was busy clearing the table for his father when he noticed the familiar ache in his left side. Looks like his tattoo pain had finally woken up for the day. He’d really thought he’d kicked it—he honestly had. All wishful thinking aside, at least his tattoo waited to rear its ugly head until he could calmly bow out of the dining area and run up to his room. Of course, that single victory would be incomparable to the amount of pain he’d be in while grocery shopping. Hunk was definitely going to hear about this. Maybe he should give him a warning text before he chewed his ear off…or he could not. He and Hunk were friends long enough for him to understand that every conversation they had would inevitably end with Lance’s signature bitch-fest. Because no one knew how to complain like Lance and alternatively, no one had the patience to sit and listen like Hunk. Seriously…he deserved a medal. Maybe Lance could make him some welcome-home brownies or something.
“Alright, I’m gonna get changed. See you,” Lance announced to his dad as he headed for the stairs.
When Lance finally reached his bedroom, he fell onto his bed instead of going to his dresser. He sighed…and as if it were waiting for him to get comfortable, Lance’s tattoo gave another dull ache. Followed by an angry wave that left him squinting. Okay, enough of that. Lance got up and went to his laptop. Within a minute he was calling Hunk.
“What’s up dude?”
“Has someone ever had to go the hospital because of their tattoo pain?”
Hunk narrowed his eyes. “Probably, but I don’t know if there are statistics. Why?”
“I’m going shopping with my mom in a half hour. I really don’t want her to confront me about why I’m babying my side so much.”
“Look man, I know that you hate telling your parents things about your general life, but maybe the cause of your stress is that you can’t talk to them.”
Lance made a face instead of responding with his words. There Hunk went: spewing the truest of facts at him like it was nothing. “Alright Dr. Phil, thanks for your input. I’ll think about it.”
“Judging by your tone, I don’t think you mean that. Either way, tell me how it goes.”
“I will,” Lance focused on Hunk, which caused Hunk to narrow his eyes again.
“What? Is there something on my face?” Hunk asked before looking at his face in the corner of his screen.
“No, you’re good. I was just thinking that I need to get dressed. And so do you. Look hot; you don’t know if you’ll meet your soulmate today.”
“Who knows? Have fun shopping. Don’t expose your pure agony.”
With that, Hunk signed off and Lance was now one stunning summer outfit away from spending the rest of the morning with his mom.
“Lance, baby did you grab the reusable bags?”
“Yeah, I already put them in the back,” Lance called from the front seat. He had been waiting for her to get into the car for the last ten minutes. First she had to find her purse, then she had to kiss his dad goodbye, then she had to find Nino and ask him if he wanted anything specific to snack on. Now, she was standing outside the front door, inspecting the flowers Aunt Amillia Rose had been raising since she’d moved in with them.
“Do you want some water for the drive?”
“No,” Lance said immediately.
“I’m going to grab some just in case,” she said and walked back inside.
Lance threw himself back against the seat. He groaned loud enough to fill the entire car with his exasperation. They hadn’t even left the driveway and he already wanted to go back to his room. Lance sat up again once he saw his mother walk out of the house with two thermoses. His hope apparently wafted off him because Angella stopped. She looked right, down the street. She looked towards Lance and then said something. When Lance looked at her weird she pointed towards the line of houses on their street. She started making her way to van, opening the car door excitedly.
“Someone bought Mr. Nichols’ house,” she announced.
“Yeah?” Lance asked, as if he was supposed to be surprised.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Why would I be excited?”
Angella blinked slowly, “Maybe whoever moves in can inspire you to be more social.”
Lance made a face and Angella smiled.
“Alright, alright, let’s go. First stop: farmer’s market.”
Lance watched hopefully as his mother climbed into the car. He would have said “finally” out loud, but if he knew his mother, which he did, that would certainly only get him ten more minutes waiting in the driveway as she recalled her ever-expanding grocery list. To save himself the pain he sealed his lips—and good thing too. If he hadn’t he might have let out a yelp from the sharp pain his soul tattoo had decided to have at that exact moment. He was getting really tired of this routine.
Somehow, someway, by some miracle of God, Lance was home. His mom pulled into their slightly cracked driveway nearly four hours later. And the first thing Lance wanted to do when he got out of the van was vomit. He’d been hanging by a thread ever since they’d left the fourth store, which happened to be a craft store, by the way. While walking down aisle after aisle, Lance was sure that he’d one, expose the pain he was in or two, gouge out his eyes with a pair of knitting needles. It was neck and neck until they hit check-out. Then it was the half-hour drive home which was littered with some small-talk, some regurgitated stories he’d been raised with, and a fast food stop for a bite; a reward for Lance’s pristine behavior. But if you asked him, it was so she could use a coupon before it expired. Lance got an orange crème shake and hoped that his mom wouldn’t notice him taking draws like his life depended on it. But he was home now—he could disappear into his room for as long as he wanted and no one would care.
He opened the door to the car, half-drunk shake in hand, and half-stumbled towards the house. Partly because of the pain in his waist, and partly because his legs were exhausted from overuse.
“Lance, honey, where are you going? You have to help carry in groceries.”
Almost, Lance thought as he stopped dead. Lance turned around and made sure to grab a few bags in his left hand before returning on his journey to the house. By that time, thankfully, Aunt Amillia Rose and Nino had come out of the house to help. Thank you, God. Lance hobbled to the kitchen where he set down the bags and immediately found the stairs. His bed was calling his name, his blankets were anxious to be covering him. His eyes were aching—burning with the urge to cry and Lance wouldn’t let them until he was safely hidden away. He counted the stairs as he overcame them. One, two, three…Lance looked up to the top, where he felt someone standing.
“Is Auntie N‘gella back yet?” Amada asked, her hands were fisted in her ruffled clothing, a result of her late morning nap.
“Yeah, they need help with the bags, want to go down and help?”
Amada nodded and ran past him, her chubby hand gripping the hand rail so she didn’t fall.
Lance continued and within ten steps was at his bedroom door. Within eight steps he was already getting red in the face, tears welling. By the time he slammed his door behind him he felt a stream tear itself a path down his cheek. First he let out a choked sob which had been brewing the whole way up the stairs. When he did, his throat burned and his face felt hot. He fell to his knees, another tremor of pain rocking through him like an electric current. Lance undid the button of his pants and looked at his etched tattoo. On the surface there was nothing wrong. No reddening, no bruise—but his nerves were on fire. Lance took a deep breath to try to collect himself, but that only seemed to make things worse because he let out another sob.
“Please,” Lance pleaded with his tattoo, he tasted the salt of his tears on his lips. “Please…just stop.”
When another wave of pain shot through his system, Lance knew it was futile to beg.
Lance woke with another start, sitting up immediately out of shock. It was dark in his room, the sun still illuminating the sky with a grayish glow. He looked towards the window which was letting in the gleaming yellow of the streetlights lining his neighborhood. He heard a set of knocks, or maybe it was the second or third set. Perhaps that’s what woke him.
“Lance, are you alright in there? You missed dinner.”
Oh, Aunt Amillia Rose. Lance calmed himself a little. He got up from his bed and opened the door. He didn’t bother turning on the light. He probably looked like a mess. And despite being blind in one eye, Aunt Amillia Rose was plenty perceptive. He looked at her with tired eyes and she looked back at him with the same exhaustion. Maybe her tattoo was acting up too?
“Yeah, I’m okay. Mom put me through the ringer today.”
“I bet,” she smiled. “I packed up the leftovers myself, so grab some food okay?”
“Wait, what time is it?” Lance looked around for his phone—where did he put it? Was it still in the car?
“Around eight, Nino and Amada are already down for the night.”
There went any hope Lance had of staying on a day-shift schedule. “Are you headed to bed too?”
She nodded. “I’ve been chasing kids all day. I’m happy for the down-time.”
Lance nodded in response. “Okay, I’ll eat in a little bit.”
When she walked away, that’s when he closed the door. Lance sat on the side of his bed and pushed his hair back. He’d passed out again because of his tattoo pain. Which, now that he was awake…
Lance covered his hip as the stabbing pain returned to his side. He sighed. His mom picked up some orange popsicles while they were out—maybe one of those would calm his nerves. Any food at all would calm his nerves, actually. His stomach let out a groan as he stood–further making his point. Lance peeked out of his door to make sure there was no one around. He looked to the right, where Nino’s door was cracked and the glow of his dinosaur night light shone into the hallway. At the end of the hall, he watched as Aunt Amillia Rose’s light shut off from beneath the door. He made his way to the staircase and went down slowly. First: food.
Lance found his way to the kitchen in the dark, having long since memorized the layout of his home. And it came as a surprise when his toes slammed against the end table beside the front door. Lance let out an inaudible scream and inhaled deeply. He leaned against the wall outside the kitchen and brought his bare foot up. He felt around for blood—sure that he’d ripped off a toenail or broken something. He counted five toes, felt no blood but knew he’d lost a piece of himself to that end table. Lance put his foot down on the cold tile of the foyer and hobbled his way to the fridge. Please, for the love of all that is holy, let him have nourishment. When he opened the door, he was blinded by the bright white light, but regardless, he pulled out the Tupperware container storing…spaghetti. Good enough.
Lance pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and piled it high. After that, it was to the microwave. Lance moved to the living room then, sticking the bowl of pasta on his lap as he fiddled with the remote. As usual, there was nothing on so he flipped it to a rerun of Gilmore Girls. His mom was hopelessly devoted to this show—that and Will & Grace. And you couldn’t keep Aunt Amillia Rose from watching the Home Improvement channel. So, maybe his taste in TV had been warped a little, but it was just entertaining enough to make eating microwaved spaghetti alone, in the dark, a little better. Besides, this peaceful moment would only be ruined by his tattoo pain anyway so he might as well enjoy it, right?
Lance was sitting on the couch for a full fifteen minutes before his nerves picked up that ever so familiar jab from his hip. Of course. It was like that scene from Frozen. “Lance is awake, so I’m awake, and that means I have to cause him an immense amount of pain.” He briefly wondered how much money he’d have to pay someone for them to chop him in half. With his luck though, the doctor/butcher would probably miss and keep his tattoo attached to him. Lance moved to the kitchen again to put his dish in the sink—there he rested for a moment thinking of whether or not he should wash the bowl now or let his mom do it. He sighed and turned the knob on the sink.
While the water was heating up, Lance looked outside where his eyes caught a large truck moving slowly down the street. He saw brake lights—but by the time it left his vision, there was steam in his face. Lance rinsed off the sauce and lathered it up with a bead of dish soap. Once he was finished he did the same with the fork he used and put them both in the drying rack. Two minutes of his life—wasted. Now that he was fed—it was time to find his phone. The last time he remembered having it was on his way home from shopping earlier today. He was Googling the name of a new song for his mom. After that? Nothing. So it was probably somewhere stupid like in the side door or stuck underneath the seat. Lance walked out of the kitchen and gave the front door a wide berth. That end table wasn’t going to get him a second time. He looked around for the key dish—a weird upside down seashell decoration that his mom kept from the beach she and dad were married on. There was a spare key to the house, his dad’s key ring and of course, right at the bottom of all the junk in there, were his mother’s car keys. Before opening the door—Lance looked at the state of himself.
Wrinkled jeans, a navy blue T-shirt, gray socks. He basically took off his shoes and took a pain-induced nap…coma…something to that effect. Either way, Lance opened the front door and walked out onto the cement driveway. Upon noticing the chill, he made his way quickly to the passenger side door. When he opened it he saw a charging cord, the thermoses his mother packed for their day trip and…a whole lot of not-his-phone. He checked underneath the seat next and started patting around his back pocket for his phone to open up the flashlight feature. When he realized what he was doing he groaned, putting his palm to his forehead. Next he opened the back door and climbed in. Maybe it could have slid when they parked?
Lance looked down under the seats and found one, his phone and two, a forgotten bag of fruit. It must have rolled. Lance pocketed his phone and pulled the plastic bag of apples up onto the seat. He looked outside the car window for a moment. That truck from earlier was parked in front of that house with the SOLD sign displayed. There was a green Subaru hitched to a navy blue Ford truck parked a little down the street. Likely to allow some room for the ramp. Lance narrowed his eyes as someone got out of the Ford. Who in their right mind moved in this late? Lance shrugged it off and pocketed his phone. He gripped the bag of apples tightly. Now to get these bad boys inside. Lance picked up the bag and threw it over his shoulder. And only when he did that did he notice the tear in the bag. Lance dropped the bag and looked around—one, two…he counted four apples rolling their way to freedom. Lance ran after them as they traveled down the slope of his neighborhood. Of course this would happen to him. In his good socks. On a chilly night. When people were around to see.
Lance caught up to two apples, which were caught in someone’s uneven lawn. He picked them up and looked around quickly. The third one disappeared—probably rolled off the curb and into a storm drain. But the fourth one was the fastest. It had already made its way to the moving truck by the time he got halfway down the street. He booked it, all the time wondering if one measly apple was really worth all this strife. He could feel the thunder of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing, could see something in his peripheral—
WHAM!
Lance hit the concrete so hard the wind got knocked out of him. Not only that, but he could feel the telltale burning sensation of a scrape on his elbow and right ankle. Like he’d skidded a little on the way down. Not to mention the almost heartbeat like thump in his chin—like he’d been punched.
Lance opened his eyes, and they immediately locked onto…a head of black hair. Lance looked around them where cardboard boxes, a cell phone, and a pair of wired earbuds were spread around their crash site. He hadn’t even seen the guy–where did he come from?
Lance could have sworn he heard something come from below.
“What?” Lance said, breathlessly.
“I said, ‘Ouch, my fucking head.’”
Lance’s eyes went wide and his heart sank. He crawled backwards and tripped over himself to get back onto his feet. He needed to get out of there. Now. But his legs couldn’t carry him fast enough—it was like he was running in a dream. He felt his heartbeat in his chest, the cold sweat forming on his neck, and every panicked breath from his mouth. When he got to his mother’s car, he grabbed the half-empty bag of apples and slammed the front door behind him. If he woke someone up, oh well. Lance booked it to his bedroom after dropping the apples on the floor. When he closed the door behind him he was able to breathe.
Until he looked down at his soul tattoo…
Nothing.
Lance patted his jeans, prodding the tattoo on his hip hoping that it would start up again. Hoping that the unbearable pain would return.
