Chapter Text
The moment finally arrived – after a whole year with his grandparents, Lance was back in his hometown of Cañon City, fingers tickling his anxiously-shaking wrists. This is the right time to do it, Lance, don’t worry. They won’t be disgusted.
Shrugging off his incoming anxiety, Lance stepped onto the patio of his best friend’s family cottage, nervously biting his bottom lip while weakly assuring himself that it’ll be alright. With a dozen of fleeting words, his knuckle collided into the wooden door, impatiently shifting around after nobody was coming.
“Wait, I’m almost there, just wait!” Pidge, who was adopted by Hunk’s family, was yodeling dramatically, feet pitter-pattering so loud, even Lance could distinguish the sound. After a few seconds, the door was flung wide open, Pidge’s glasses reflecting the insanely-bright summer sun. Lance’s awkward, lopsided grin had no effect on Pidge, who squinted their eyes at him for what felt like hours. “Who the fuck… holy shit, wait – Lance? Lance, Lance Ramirez?”
Lance jerked his shoulder up, uncomfortably waving at the disbelieving friend he hasn’t seen in his year away to be cured. “Hey, Pidge… yeah, it’s me.” His index rubbed underneath his nose, eyes scanning anything else nearby besides Pidge. “ ‘S been a whil- “
“ASSHOLE!”
Confused, he switched his gaze back onto Pidge, who physically tackled him to the ground in .25 seconds, nearly breaking his arm by placing Lance into a death-lock. Tapping out vigorously, Pidge’s devious demeanor gradually changed into worry, eyeing Lance from his now-distorted head, all the way to the tip of his shoes.
“You… lost a lot of weight.”
“L-Let’s not talk about that! Is Hunk here? I wanted to visit and reconcile- “
A carton of eggs dropped onto the rickety-patio stairs, yolks almost landing in the same exact space that Pidge was pinning Lance down in. Hunk’s surprised gasp was overdramatic, as he tended to be, and joined in on the wrestling session, Lance heaving once his body plopped down onto Pidge.
The entire time, Hunk’s irreplaceable battle-cry pierced his eardrums, undoing a year’s worth of silence and therapy. “Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, Laaanceeeeeeeeeee!”
Maneuvering his sore hands, Lance clapped both of their backs, signaling for them to get off. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. Let’s discuss this over tea before I die of asphyxiation.”
--
Sipping the last drop of peach tea from Hunk’s black-kitty cup, Lance’s gaze lifted up once more, an interrogative-vibe floating around in the room: Pidge in their permanent-sitting Thinker pose, and Hunk idly whistling in the air, stealing glances every few seconds. With a sigh, Lance sunk in the too-comfortable seat, pursing his lips while contemplating what to say. He’s been absent for their whole junior year, and now he’s miraculously back from the trek he never mentioned to either one of them, only remaining in contact via Snapchat and messages. It’s only natural for the three once-best-friends to be in a tense atmosphere: Lance left without a trace or clue of where he would be. For a reason he wasn’t even sure of until he arrived.
The growingly-agitating tapping of Hunk’s feet made Lance snap, repositioning himself once again and speaking before he could come up with the right words. “Um, well, sorry I left without telling you guys… it was, it really wasn’t my choice.” Pidge’s glasses did that creepy anime-sparkle while leaning back, motioning for Lance to continue on with his ever-so-elegant way of broadly discussing important matters. “Aaaah, I stayed with Abuelo Antunes – not because I wanted to – and it was such a drab town. Floral City is the worst place in the United States, I swear… nobody even wants to live in Florida in this day and age…” Getting off topic once again, Lance coughed into his fist, attempting to recollect his thoughts on the right path. “Shit, I have no idea on where to start-“
Pidge interrupted Lance by snorting, crossing their arms defensively. “Tell us the whole thing, Lance. You’re way too skinny for something to not have happened when you were ‘away.’ It’s been 15 months, and you went from 173 pounds to… this.” Lance cursed himself out – if it was only Hunk and him in this room, the conversation would considerably be less awkward, and easy. “From the first second you knew you would be sent away. Let’s hear it, you gone girl.”
“First of all, rude. Secondly…” The Death Stare™ that may have been a reason why Lance’s mom stroked out once, was shooting straight into his heart, gulping from the non-existent impact. “Ugh, fine, whatever, I’ll start from square one… but it’s a long story, and if you cry, or even feel bad for me, I will throw you out of this house. And it’s not even my house – sorry, Hunk. Anyways, since you’re unrelenting, let’s get this over with.”
⁂
“Mama, why is my light turned on? I could have sworn I turned it off- “. Lance stopped dead in his tracks, his mother and father both sitting on the nude mattress, all of his posters and clothes scattered on the stained rug. A suitcase was packed to the brim, his lucky boxers and favorite Santa socks slipping out from the barely-open hole. “What… what’s all of this?”
Mascara-tears were plastered on his mother’s cheeks, a repulsed, vexed expression toying on her face. Multiple questions were flying through Lance’s head, trying to connect the pieces together – but to no avail; he was more clueless than a piece of dried-up gum.
Slapping his legs, Lance’s dad stood up from the broken-in bed, disappointment and disdain written all over his every move. “Lance, your mother and I have been talking for a while about your… behavioral issues.” Heart sinking, Lance immediately figured out what the connotation was behind his choice of words, hands unconsciously balling up into fists. “You don’t clean your room, you don’t take your medication properly, you act like some psychopathic robot with no feelings – sometimes we ask what we’ve done wrong to deserve two kids with problems,” Mama’s bowed-head nodded in agreement, Lance’s mood taking a turn for the worst in a record speed. “We think it’s time for you to be institutionalized- “
“No. No!” In a frenzy, Lance picked up whatever he could from the floor – which happened to be the Best Brother mug his younger sister bought him for Christmas four years back, and hurled it to the freshly-painted apartment walls, ceramic shards dispersing across the wrecked room. “You can’t do that, there is nothing fucking wrong with me! Why have you been acting like this since I came out?!” His words struck a nerve inside of his father, who slapped Lance with extreme force behind it. Mama never even made a single move, nor did she flinch when her bisexual son was hit by his own blood and kin. Falsely laughing, Lance lifted his stinging-face upwards, mouth parting into a cocky expression. “So that’s how it is, huh? You think that it’s a bad thing for me to like both girls and boys? Well, fuck you!”
“Watch your language, Lance!”
Infuriated, Lance knocked down the sanitizers and memorabilia left standing on his dresser, yelling so loudly the neighbors started to pound on the door after a few moments. “Fucking Christ, this is ridiculous! I can’t even be in peace in my own room! You two are the worst damn – “
“This isn’t your room, this is our house,” His dad corrected, poking Lance’s chest so powerfully, he fell back into the dresser once again. “And you don’t live here anymore, so take your bags and leave, you disgusting piece of shit.”
Lance wasn’t sure what emotions he was experiencing at the time: rage, astonishment, grief, betrayal… or a compound of them all together. The sophomore-ID photo was placed on top of the messily-organized suitcase, and his eyes wouldn’t focus on anything else, too afraid to show a sign of weakness to the people who gave birth to him.
Finally, his last resort was to act petty, which came as natural to him as if it was a recited line in a play. Aggravated to no end, Lance squatted down onto his knees, hurriedly throwing everything left in his room into the school bag he was wearing on his back, and the jam-packed suitcase that could almost beat his own weight. He was over this town; he was over trying to live a double-life… he was done with never feeling like himself. No matter where he went, his anxiety and depression followed him like a ghost, and he never had a place to relax beyond Hunk’s cottage.
Liana, the younger sister with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, had peeked her head throughout the tiny opening of Lance’s bedroom door, watching the whole scene take place. Lance, however, didn’t notice she was there until he was hastily excusing himself from the two people who exposed their true, ugly colors to him after 16 years. With a sad smile, and a mouthed ‘call me later,’ Lance left his family behind, an indescribable pain pounding into his heart with each step. Forcing himself to take his mind off of Liana and his father fighting in crazed Portuguese, Lance made his way to the airport on his own, following the directions his nearly-dead phone gave him. Attached to the student-ID card, was a neon-pink sticky note that had an address that seemed familiar to him, but he had no clue why.
Instead, he left it to the future-him to figure it out, and prepared himself to be thoroughly checked-out in the airport security.
--
Lance remembered why the town of Floral City sounded recognizable – his grandfather lived there, along with his Catholic girlfriend.
He wanted to board back to Colorado the moment he landed in Orlando, but that was impossible: without any money, skills, or shelter, he would get nowhere by himself. The only choice he was able to choose from, was bunking with his problematic family members.
With a sigh, Lance dug out his nearly-dead phone, and scrolled through to find his grandfather’s contact. He had no choice, but to ask where his extended family was waiting for him, since there was no possible chance of going back home to his mother and father during all this turmoil. As soon as Lance tapped the dreadful contact, there was a world of opportunities exploding before his very eyes, no longer being subjected to what was around his hometown. Maybe he’ll find something interesting enough to be a hobby, or meet new people that would understand him, or even… fall in love.
The airport’s escalators were packed of families leaving, and business men traveling back home, and there was Lance, who stuck out like a sore thumb, navigating his way across the venue by the guidance of his grandfather’s staticy-voice from the phone call. By the time he made it outside of the terminal, his grandfather was honking his horn, a raspy-voice heckling all the cars in his way.
Lance was never as embarrassed as he was right in that moment.
With a dramatically-prolonged sigh, he sped towards the tacky Nissan, a myriad of profanities and complaints flinging around his overactive brain. By the time Lance arrived at the horrendous car, he already planned out fifty-seven, and a half, plans of how this could go wrong.
“Ya’ slow as fuck boy, get in the damn car before I shove m’foot on the gas! Ain’t got time to be waiting!” The country accent hit Lance with a brick of unfamiliarity – when was the last time he spoke to his extended family? Whether he realized or not, life was on the route of change, and it was a non-stop ride ‘til the dead end. Surprisingly, the dreaded girlfriend who was twenty-years-too-young for his grandfather was not in the front seat, and Lance positioned himself in the front seat, the Nissan dungy and loaded with stains, food wrappers, and spilled drinks.
Lovely. “Speakin’ of hurryin,’ I betcha that lil’ Asian fella next door will be gettin’ in trouble again tonight. Swear to God, I never get some peace and goddamn quiet,” his drowsy speech alarmed Lance, and he hoped that the drive to his house would not involve a speeding ticket, or an accident.
--
Not even the second Lance recognized the street name, an even-more familiar song woke him up from his trance. The ambiance of bass from “AGUST D” rumbled throughout the whole entire street, somebody smoking on the fence next to his grandfather’s house.
It’s an understatement to claim that the old man was unpleased. “You lil’ fuck… get your punk ass off my property!” Throwing his now-empty bottle of Coke at the boy, a bit of it splashed down onto Lance’s jeans, and the neighbor gracefully swung his legs off the fence. His grandfather was so grouchy and infuriated, that Lance was positive he got whiplash from pulling into the awkward suburban driveway.
But… who was that next door? Before he could glance over to the house next door, the boy was gone - and the best look Lance had of him, was his pale arms.
Slightly disappointed, Lance slung the extremely-bulky bags onto his shoulders, finding his own way throughout the house. An empty room was calling his name, and it appeared to have the bare necessities on a shelter: a mattress, lamp, and dresser. He was grateful, and blessed, that he managed to buy himself a laptop before getting kicked out, or he would have been suffering.
A sudden flicker of light came from outside his window, and the inevitable curiosity clung to him with such intensity, that he peeked out of the curtains to see what it was. It was-
Something was launched to the back of his head, and with multiple octaves of “ow,” Lance spun around, and was greeted with the presence of The White Witch: his grandpa’s girlfriend, only fifty, and a bible down by his feet.
Uh-oh. “Valeria explained everything to me, and we ain’t havin’ none of that… homo bullshit in this house, under my rules. Y’don’t like it, there’s always th’streets.” The White Witch lit her cigarette inside of Lance’s new room, blowing a puff of toxins straight into his direction, knowing well how terrible his lungs were after having pneumonia twice.
An instantaneous hatred – the smile she wore, one of crooked teeth and twisted truculence, hid layers of nefarious intent and bigotry.
The second after the lady left the room, Lance catapulted the holy book out of the very window he was creeping out of, having no remorse for getting rid of it, considering the demon girlfriend already tainted it with her homophobia.
Goodbye, freedom.
--
Even though it’s been two days, Lance was forced to attend school, and he found it odd that his ‘punk ass’ neighbor hasn’t showed up once after that spectacle. Contrary to his grandfather’s warning, no police sirens pierced his ears at two in the morning, nor was there cigarettes tossed into their backyard, and especially no dirty laundry was hanging on their side of the fence. Maybe there was a chance, even the slightest possibility, that the mysterious boy would miraculously attend class today, and they’d have one together.
What he wasn’t expecting, though, was to find the said-boy in the back of the courtyard, hacking into a laptop’s system with his left hand, and smoking the hell out of a cancer stick in the right. Clearly a reckless, and quite deadly, combination of activities. And Lance was feeling a wave of boldness course through his veins, and plopped his damn-self down next to the stranger.
“You know, smoking’s bad for you.”
Immediate regret. The boy’s irritated eyes were more sharp than any steak knife could ever be, and the intimidating aura was multiplied by the crimson-red dyed hair, silver nose ring, and a bruise on his neck… was that a bruise? With every movement, the lengthy forest-green cardigan slipped off his left shoulder, scooting himself to be in Lance’s direction.
Twirling the cigarette in his fingers, he blows a puff in the opposite way, the wind carrying it further away from the two. “Does it bother you?” Pulling out the left earbud from his ears, the hum of “Danger” by BTS made the whole atmosphere around the stranger lighten up, Lance gulping from how surprisingly attractive the boy was. Especially the exposed skin from his baggy cardigan – something as innocent as that was killing him, and Lance wasn’t sure if he was more ashamed of his choices, or too interested in the other boy at that point.
“My lungs aren’t in the best condition, and that stuff can kill you. Wouldn’t you want to live on for Jimin?” Lance pointed his index finger at the boy’s earbuds, a perplexing-grin growing on the stranger’s lips, never seeming to open them up beyond speaking. How intriguing. “Plus, I hate to be the one to be a stickler, but smoking on school campus is bad enough for your legal records. And you’re literally hacking on the same school premises.”
A fragment of a smile was on the boy’s lips, actually paying attention to Lance’s probing and making eye contact. “Money’s hard to come by,” The tone was simultaneously teasing and earnest, shivers being sent down the entirety of Lance’s frame. “Plus, you should know better than to hang out with someone like me. You moved in next door, right? Your… grandfather, I presume, would skin you alive if he found out you were around a ‘punk ass’ in school.”
Pursing his lips in, Lance felt as if he was personally responsible for his asshole of a grandfather’s actions, and bowed his lanky-self downwards to the stranger. “Fuck him, he’s a dick for what he did, and I apologize on his behalf,” Slightly raising up from his apologetic stance, his boldness was multiplying each second, securing eye contact with his unknown neighbor. “It’d be nice to know you. The name’s Lance.”
Smoothly extinguishing the fire on the bud of his cigarette, the shorter boy stood up from the dewy grass, brushing off any specs of dirt and ash from his disheveled cardigan, “S’nice to meet you, Lance.” A wide smirk developed on his face, and Lance felt tsunamis and hurricanes coinciding in his stomach. The devilish, and strangely seductive expression was enough to flood him with millions of emotions. “I’m Keith, and I’m going to be late. S’you later?”
Before Lance could collect the pieces of his sanity and pair them back together, the boy – Keith – was out of his vision, the double doors of the school’s front entrance swaying a couple of times before they finally sealed shut. Not only was he utterly fucked after that wickedly attractive grin, he was late on his first day.
And Keith forgot his pack of cigarettes on the wet grass he was lounging on only minutes before.
--
Teachers can be categorized into two types of people – completely despicable assholes, or the most angelic creatures to bless the system.
Lance’s luck was outright trash, and he ended up detesting majority of his eight teachers, not having any of the electives he asked for, and no lunch period every-other day. Thanks Math. Thanks Diophantus. Thanks Hipparchus. Algebra 2 and Trigonometry can kiss his Cuban ass for all he cared.
Throughout the horrendous day he had of lectures and annoying pricks, there were a select few students that Lance didn’t totally abhor: Shay, a pair of siblings (Nyma and Rolo), and a senior who was in his Financial Management class (Allura). Most of the kids were too country, or too closeminded for him, and Lance knew better than to hide his true nature when initiating friendships. When it came to his teachers, two truly stood out to Lance, and had his utmost respect: Mr. Shirogane, and Mr. Coran… who only goes by his middle name. Nobody knows what his first, or last, name is.
“Lance~” Shay hugged him from behind, easily picking up the somewhat-chubby, taller boy. “Drama club’s first performance of the year is gonna be tonight! Are you gonna come and watch us?”
Pouty lips and squinted eyes; Shay mysteriously knew how to get under Lance’s skin and make him comply with any favor. “Uh… I, I’ll see, Shay.”
“Yeeeessss! OMG there’s so many good people at our school, the other districts kinda’ suck. Except Lecanto, but that’s expected. Miles Teller attended their school – I’m getting off topic. You’ll have such a fun time, and it’s always great to be supported on the sidelines!”
Lance had to steer his eyes away, the olive-skinned girl’s beam was so dazzling, that he believed someone could lose their sight just by staring at it. And thankfully, for once, he was glad that he averted his gaze to the other side of the hall. A specific person, who’s forest-green shawl was two-sizes too-big for their body, was conversing with the dreamy teacher Lance figured everyone had a crush on – Shiro. About thirty feet away, and he could still make out the bashful smile on Keith’s gorgeous lips. What was he smiling about? As if on cue, Shay bumped her hip into Lance’s, eyebrows dancing across their supraorbital ridge. “In love already on your first day? Mmmm, ufufu, who’s the lucky person? Ehhhh, ehhhhh?”
Nervously blushing, Lance held out his hand to stop her mischievous babbling, eyes fluttering between the perplexing scene and Shay’s taunting guffaws. “He- he is not the object of my affections – “
“Who says object of affections in this day and age?”
“ – Plus, I just got here only a few days ago, it would be whack as hell to already be crushing. Keith’s just cute.” Whoops. Lance intended not to even mumble his name to someone else, especially the Sweet-and-Prying-Shay, but it slipped out without warning.
Instead of a cheesy and ridiculing countenance, Shay’s composure crumbled down, a worried expression spread across her face. “Oh, Lance… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Tapping the tips of her shoes onto the linoleum floor, Lance stared at her for an explanation, goosebumps visibly appearing on her arms. “Um, it’s not really my business, but I think you’re walking into parlous territory, bud. Keith, uh, Keith Kogane is famous in these streets, and not for a good reason. It’s more…” The seven-second pause made Lance worry ever so slightly, wondering what could possibly make Shay shudder at the thought of him, “infamy.”
What sort of notoriety could give him such a bad reputation? Peering over his shoulder, Lance observed Keith from afar, taking notes of his behavior and actions whether he was conscious of it, or not. The way Keith would duck his head down when giggling, or how his neck was exposed, loaded with multiple shades of purples and blues. The odd despair in his slumped-over stance.
Who was Keith Kogane really?
The school bell rung again, resonating throughout the decrepit brick walls and cheap lockers, signaling that all the busses were no longer in the parking lot. Lance cursed himself for staying behind this long, and bid his goodbye to Shay, speed-walking down the now-empty hallway. Inquiries linked together in his brain: anything related to his neighbor formed into the most peculiar of questions, and built connections together with unbreakable chains.
Tapping his address into the GPS app, Lance had chills electrifying every inch of his body with each thought of Keith, mindlessly navigating his way back to his current home. Nothing seemed suspicious about the boy, but why was he unsettled this much about what Shay said? Was he truly unsettled, or was it his unwavering curiosity confusing him? Baffled, and exhausted, Lance unlocked the front door after fifteen minutes of baseless inquisition, skidding his bag across the floor to the couch.
Nobody was home, and he was grateful that something worked out today.
Throwing aside his education and responsibilities, Lance trudged into his bedroom, spraying Lysol to conceal the witch’s smoke that resided in the walls and vents, and plopped down on the bare mattress. The bare room was now loaded with his old photography class’ pictures, and the posters he packed up from Colorado. Besides that, he was waiting for his shipments of blankets and bedframes to finally come. Yawning, Lance let himself fall asleep, purposely forgetting any work he had to do and promising he’d do it the next morning. The tranquil blankness that came with closing his eyes comforted Lance, and before he realized, slumber took over his consciousness.
--
“I wish I was in love but I don't wanna cause any pain,
and if I'm feeling like I'm evil, we've got nothing to gain…”
Blearily, Lance shook off the towel – his replacement for a comforter – to find the source of the loud song, rubbing his eyes for better vision. Snores were coming from his grandpa’s bedroom, and Lance figured it would have to be from one of the neighboring houses.
However, Lance was still torpid from his seven-hour nap, the time being nine o’clock sharp. Sliding the curtains to the other side, he peered out from the foggy window, and still couldn’t exactly make out where the source of the disturbance was coming from – and cluelessly, he propped up the bottom half of the window, searching outside from the comfort of his own room.
The crisp autumn breeze did no justice to Lance’s now-burning skin, a slate-colored lighting showcasing the silhouette of a body in Keith’s window. They were beginning to undress, and the second that the person threw the loose cardigan to the left side of the room, Lance realized that it was, in fact, Keith Kogane. Guilt coursed throughout his entire frame, but Lance couldn’t look away – no, he was too hypnotized and appalled by the sensual scene to even pay attention to anything else.
Ambiance from the song was enough to send shivers down his spine, ogling at the blurry backside of his neighbor.
Keith curled his index finger, beckoning whoever was in the room to come to him. “A Little Death” started blasting from the other house, a figure with bleached-white hair wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck. Lance couldn’t believe his own eyes – the enigma of a boy, his neighbor, was getting laid right before him. The unknown figure placed a lecherous kiss on Keith, slamming his left hand against the window. His perception was increasingly becoming less blurry, and Lance made out an abundance of recently-formed lovebites, hickeys, and scratches on Keith’s back.
Nails scratched against the window, leaving skid marks – and out of the blue, Keith was flung down onto the edge of the bed, the only part visible to Lance’s eyes. It was as if a predator, full of lust, was dining on their own prey… yet with each passing second, he felt his own appetite doubling. The moment the white-haired man straddled Keith, Lance knew he couldn’t deal with watching anymore, and swung himself the other way, panting heavily.
Was that real? Is this just some steamy, hormonal fever dream?
Either way, Lance one-hundred percent registered that he was attracted to Keith, whether this spectacle was real, or an illusion. After catching his breath, he hurriedly shut his blinds, and dug out his computer, clicking on a copious amount of internet sites related to his search of ‘I am gay for my neighbor and I want to die of embarrassment.’ Nothing helped, or comforted, the fact that Lance was a goner.
--
Waking up was not Lance’s forte. And that is completely an understatement.
It was six-twenty in the morning, and his grandfather was pouring freezing-cold water and ice on Lance’s body.
“H-h-holy sh-“
“Get y’damn ass outta the bed, you gon’ be late! Ain’t having another call about ya’ missing first period!”
Recoiling into his soaked towel, Lance’s teeth chattered from the sensation of cold water, brutally waking him up from the horrible sleep(s) he had. Getting a few flicks to the forehead, he finally sat up on the mattress, dark circles clouding his usually-clear skin. With a cocky chortle, his grandpa stomped out of the bedroom, occasionally snorting.
Thankfully, Lance’s phone was under his pillow (a decorative couch one), and remained intact despite the pot of water being dumped on his body. His entire feed of notifications was from Shay, and a few from Pidge and Hunk – although, he was not in the mood to deal with anyone. Coffee was luring him into the kitchen, and nothing would stop him from guzzling down the entire damn pot. Dangling his legs from the squishy-mattress, he slipped into his Harry Potter slippers, languidly plodding down to the kitchen.
Another token of luck was used: the witch was not awake, and his grandfather was taking his sweet time in the bathroom.
A sleepy grin replaced his frown, as he poured the still-steaming coffee into the superglued Best Brother mug he patched up before coming to Floral City, a fond nostalgia flowing through his mind. With each gulp, Lance was becoming more aware of the current stage of his life, contrition curbing out any remnants of panic he experienced last night. Would his parents ever come to terms with his sexuality? The most terrifying moment of his life, was when he stared into the eyes of his own parents – the people who gave him life – and witnessed aversion and homophobia clouding their judgement.
Taking the last somber sip of his scorching coffee, he let out a sigh, trying to come back to the present rather than suffering in the memories of the past. It was now six thirty, and Lance was in a rush to finish in time for the bus in twenty minutes, dressing into whatever came first in his pile of clean clothes.
“Boy, do I need to pull ya’ damn ass out to the bus stop by force?!”
The sound of a belt being whipped against the air was enough to startle Lance, and he bolted out the door, almost forgetting to put on his backpack. If his grandfather was some kind of a clairvoyant monster, he was surely right that now was the best time to go to the stop – considering that the bus driver was honking her horn for the students to hurry up.
Nearly tripping on the muddy-bus steps, Lance was on a quest to find an empty seat, strolling down the small walkway with caution. The bus driver was not having any of his shit, clearly, and drove off without him even sitting down, Lance flying into the seat on the left of him. Whoever sat next to him, was playing familiar song – no, it was even on his own iTunes – so loud that it pierced his ears. Once the chorus came in, Lance finally had enough courage to see who he accidentally sat on… whose thighs radiated warmth on his own.
“Uh… would you mind scooting over?”
All of his fortune dissipated in the span of twenty seconds, and the hair on Lance’s back shot straight forward. Not only did his clumsiness bring him to sit on a person’s thighs, the person was none other than Keith Kogane. The knot in Lance’s stomach expanded to the size of Jupiter, carelessly taking in the captivating appearance of the man his butt was nearly touching. His plaid flannel was rolled up to his elbows, showcasing a tattoo of the yin yang symbol on both of his wrists: the one on the right having the black on top, and the left having white first. He was absolute perfection in Lance’s eyes, and everything he shoved to the back of his mind was brought back to his attention.
“A-ah, um, sorry… I didn’t have time to find-“
The most lovely, gorgeous, and boisterous laughter he ever had the chance to witness was erupting out of Keith’s throat, and Lance couldn’t help but examine every inch of his features. Instead of bowing his head, it was fully blown back, chest vibrating with each breathy chuckle. Genuine emotion seeped out from Keith, the atmosphere between them oozing positivity. “You are so clumsy, that’s cute. And it’s fine, really. The number of times this bossy lady made me fall? It’s ridiculous. And embarrassing.” All Lance could focus on, was Keith’s morning voice, and the way he cooed on the word cute. “But you’re sure you’re alright? You have dark circles, and that was a hefty blunder.”
Vehemently nodding his head, Lance averted his eyes to Keith’s phone to find out what song was now on pause, Sir Sly artwork fading out to a notification. Before Keith curled up in his seat to text back, Lance read a couple of words the split second allowed: “Put $400 into your account for last n...”
Lance knows very well how meddlesome he is, but now that he wasn’t able to finish reading the text, he wanted to know every possible thing about Keith. Why was he hacking? Smoking? Getting freaky on a school night? Squinting down the conundrum of a human, Lance gently picked at the cuticles of his thumbs, contemplating what Keith’s life truly was like.
Why an unknown number would deposit four-hundred dollars into his bank account. Why he was known for disgraceful reasons. Why Shay had goosebumps when he brought up Keith’s name. This was uncharted territory, or in Shay’s words, parlous territory. Despite all the caution signs and warning signals, Lance refuses to turn down any chance to figure out why he was unconditionally enticed by his enigma of a neighbor, and just what makes Keith Kogane such a mystery.