#lance mc

Lance hadn’t slept at all this week, his brain refusing to shut off and agonizing over what Hunk said at lunch a few days ago. He wasn’t paying much attention in class, but the gist of it was they had to come up with some ways the school could reduce waste. The partners were chosen at random, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Keith and Lance were paired together. Twenty-odd students crammed in this classroom and they were once again thrust together. The universe had it in for him. He sighed, eyes narrowing as Keith pulled out a notebook to write in. 

Keith clicked his pen and began writing something. “I was thinking that we could lower our power usage by turning off the lights on super sunny days. Some classrooms get a crazy amount of morning or evening sun.”

Lance stayed quiet, but nodded along with him. 

“Okay, good. What do you think about the waste at lunch? I was thinking about compost–but I don’t know if anyone would sort out their scraps. Not really the best, but if we can’t come up with anything else…” Keith trailed off as he scratched his arm. 

Lance felt Keith’s eyes on him–but instead of asking him anything, he turned back to his notebook and wrote down the compost idea with a question mark behind it. 

“The school uses disposable plates and bowls. This place is pretty small, so why aren’t they using reusable dishes? My old school got away with it, but…” Keith got distracted by writing in his notebook.

Lance watched Keith’s pen scratch the paper quickly as he began mapping out the content of the essay they were supposed to write. He was pretty diligent, jotting down several supporting facts all without Lance’s input. Keith didn’t even need him, he realized, and not just for the essay. 

Keith kept true to their agreement and was seeking out other friend groups. One of which was Jake and his misfit metalheads. It seemed that they had a lot to talk about, sharing a lot of their taste in music. This was what Lance wanted…but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling bitter. Keith was finally distancing himself but it happened to coincide when Hunk met Shay. He’d never felt so alone. Even if he lost Hunk, he realized that he was still tied to Keith, as annoying as that was. And yet…the thought of not even his soulmate sticking around made Lance feel like Keith was beginning to understand what he already hypothesized.

Something was wrong. They were wrong.

The thought sent a chill all throughout his body. 

Keith shook out his arm, like he was getting a cramp. When Lance glanced down at the page, he noticed that he’d flipped to the other side of the paper. Of course he’d get a cramp after writing that much. Lance looked at the clock and noticed that they had about a minute before the bell rang. He started to pack up, which signaled to the rest of the class to do the same. 

He felt Keith’s eyes on him again, but he said nothing. 

“We’ll pick this up later,” Keith said nonchalantly. 

Lance stood beside Hunk’s locker as he packed his backpack.

“Want to test out the new meta decks with me tonight? I can text you the passcode,” Lance said, trying to shake the terrible mood he’d been in all week.

“Oh, sorry, I’ve got something planned with Shay. I’ll text you after, though. I’m still working on getting my Giratina-Mewtwo deck functional.”

Lance hid his distaste with a smile. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” Hunk said and with a quick nod he was gone. 

Lance sighed and started to follow him out of the building, albeit at a slower pace. He watched as Hunk’s back became smaller and smaller. There was something about his gait–each step he took was quick, like he was giddy. And who wouldn’t be after finding the love of their life? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his question, but was certain it wouldn't leave his throat.

Lance nearly stopped when he saw Hunk wave down the hallway to his left. He waited a beat and saw Keith and Jake reveal themselves. Both of them were ready to go, exchanging goodbyes. Lance was quiet as he slowed his pace even more so he wasn’t detected. 

Truth be told, Lance was avoiding Keith–as much as he could avoid someone he shared every class with, anyway. Despite his obvious attempts at ignoring him, Keith seemed to think that they were cool after he was forced to help him with yard work last weekend. He wasn’t in the mood to do some stupid project–not when such a devastating revelation hit him out of nowhere. 

It seemed that their conversation was coming to an end so Lance began walking at his usual pace. That was until Lance caught Hunk pointing behind him with his thumb. When Keith’s eyes glanced down the hallway at him, he acknowledged his presence with a nod and a quick, almost imperceptible smile. He said his final goodbye to Hunk and Keith stopped towards the side of the hallway to let the last few stragglers pass him. Jake was planted firmly at his side.

Goddamn it, Lance thought to himself. He wasn't in the mood for this.

“Hey,” Keith said, matching Lance’s pace. “When do you want to work on the essay? I can start typing it up on Google Docs tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Lance said, ducking the question and walking faster past Keith.

Lance's pace did nothing to dissuade Keith, as he simply followed along with him down the hallway. “Does six sound good? What’s your email?” Keith asked, taking out a pen and getting ready to write it down on his arm. 

Lance watched as Hunk disappeared out the doors of the school. 

“Lance?” Keith prompted. 

Lance whipped his head around at Keith. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was pressed into a tight line. He stepped into Keith’s personal space–so close their foreheads were nearly touching. He looked Keith right in the eye, watching him stand starkly. The moment he'd seen his eyes widen, he regretted turning around. Months of disgust, guilt and anger swirled in his stomach and he had done everything he could not to spill–but his defenses were crumbling around him all week. While he didn't want this to happen–nothing could have stopped what came out of his mouth next. “Would you just get lost? I don’t care about the fucking project.”

Before Keith could react, Jake stepped forward so he was right beside him. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Lance glared at Jake, then his eyes settled on Keith. He grit his teeth and started to walk down the hallway.

Lance felt his tattoo begin to ache as he sat up in bed. He'd dozed off after dinner, ignoring his homework completely. He had the luxury of waiting until Sunday afternoon so he would do it then. When he checked his phone, Hunk hadn't texted him. The pain he felt on his left side was nowhere near the level he felt before, which was good, but the fact that it returned was a bad sign. Lance recalled his conversation with Tracey when he couldn't hide his tattoo pain from him while they shared a room.

“Why does it hurt so much?”

“Well, there's a theory that the pain your soulmate is feeling transfers to you.”

“Please tell me you're joking.”

Tracey laughed, “Yeah, I don't think it makes sense either. It's one of those old wives tales.”

Lance wondered if Tracey was wrong to second guess the wise women of the past. It was guaranteed that once the tattoo emerged some pain would be felt. The degree of which varied from person to person. 

“Some say the placement affects the level of pain you feel,” Tracey shrugged. “But that’s probably fake, too.”

Lance grimaced at the thought of his words. They were echoing in his ears every day since Hunk met Shay. Hunk said that his tattoo stung. Stung. That was it. He wasn’t doubled over, lying in bed or ruining his appetite with orange popsicles for days. Speaking of…a popsicle would really help.

Lance took a deep breath and stood kicking on his slippers as he walked towards his bedroom door. He opened the door quietly, though it was not like anyone was awake to hear him. His dad snored so everyone that ever shared a hotel room with him could sleep through an earthquake. He snuck downstairs, using his mom’s wallflower nightlights to avoid stepping on any number of toys strewn about the house.

After opening the freezer and pulling out a popsicle, he pressed it to his tongue and sighed. There was something instantaneous about the relief he felt. Perhaps after all this time it was pavlovian–each time the popsicle graced his tongue he felt his pain melt along with it. If so, he’d consider it a win. Lance stood in the kitchen, which was lit only by the clocks on the stove and microwave.

Lance felt his body go numb to all sensation in the quiet of the house. The silence washed over him, attempting to calm the storm inside him–but Lance was slowly realizing that it was futile. There was nothing he could do to feel better. 

Then, a light flicked on in the living room.

Lance slowly walked over, and to his surprise, Aunt Amillia Rose stood from the couch. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

“Oh, Lance,” she held her chest. “You scared me.”

“Did you fall asleep?”

She nodded, folding up the throw blanket that someone must have draped over her. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” he said, leaning on the side of the archway that separated the foyer and living room.

“What are you doing up?”

Lance shrugged, holding up his popsicle, before taking the last bite.

There was a flickering of understanding between Aunt Amillia Rose and Lance at that moment. It was her that discovered that orange popsicles dulled the tattoo pain and passed on that information to anyone who would listen. Much like a migraine sufferer would dole out their hacks of dealing with the pain. 

“Has something been bothering you?” 

Lance’s anxiety flared at the question. His immediate instinct was to deny, deflect and disappear–but something stopped him. Maybe it was the dull ache returning to his side that urged him to step into the living room. Or, maybe it was his unresolved feelings about Hunk making him sit down on the couch. It also could have been the way he blew up at Keith earlier today. 

“I met my soulmate,” Lance said quietly–like he was admitting his deepest, darkest secret. And to him, it was just so. 

Aunt Amillia Rose didn’t respond–and he was glad for it. Instead, she took a seat on the couch, grabbing a pillow to hug as she got comfortable. 

“I spent my whole life hearing mom and dad talk about what it would be like, and when it finally happened…” he trailed off. 

Aunt Amillia Rose nodded along. “They like to rub it in,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.

Lance nodded bitterly. “It wasn’t anything like theirs, or Hunk’s. They were so different from what I was expecting.”

“Everyone’s experience is different,” she said.

“I don’t think it’s just different. I think something's wrong.”

Aunt Amillia Rose sat with his words for a while. It seemed like she was really searching within herself for what to say. She took so long deliberating, Lance was starting to get cold feet. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe he should have just lied or something. But then, she asked a question.

“Do you know how I figured out orange popsicles help the pain?”

Lance shook his head no.

“I have…chronic tattoo pain. I tried everything, ice baths, hot showers, acupuncture–nothing helped. Until one summer night I grabbed a popsicle from the freezer and my pain was gone.” Aunt Amillia Rose folded her hands. “While it was only for a minute or so, it was like I could finally breathe. I’ve kept this house stocked ever since I moved in.”

Lance narrowed his eyes, “Why do ours hurt so much”

Aunt Amillia Rose looked behind the couch–towards the staircase–to make sure no one had come down in the time their conversation started. “You’ll have to keep this between us, but Uncle Mickey isn’t my soulmate.”

Lance was sure that he’d heard her incorrectly. What? What? Uncle Mickey–the guy Aunt Amillia Rose met in the military, fell in love with and had Amada with–was not her soulmate? The man that everyone just assumed was her perfect match, wasn’t? Lance tried to look back for any indication such a secret existed, but he came up with nothing. The holidays, birthday parties, his camping trips–nothing struck him as odd. He was like any other member of their family: a wonderful addition. 

Lance was evidently too dumbfounded to respond, so Aunt Amillia Rose continued. 

“I was still enlisted, sure that I’d meet my soulmate after being stationed in France–but years went by and nothing. When my sight started to go,” she pointed to her left eye, which was now blind, “I realized that it wasn’t going to happen.”

There was an emotion that Lance didn’t quite catch that spread across her face as she recounted this memory.

“All my life my sister and I did everything together. But she had Tracey and you and little Nino on the way–and I didn’t have anyone. So I met Uncle Mickey–who wanted the same thing I did–a family.”

Lance let it sink in for a moment. He knew that his mom and Aunt Amillia Rose were really close–hell they lived together ever since Uncle Mickey got deployed to keep costs down. 

“We just went along with the whole soulmate thing,” she shrugged. “Now, my tattoo aches, sometimes for days at a time, but I remind myself of one thing.”

“What is it?”

“I remind myself that I chose this. I chose Uncle Mickey and we had Amada and our life is beautiful. I have the family I’ve always wanted–right alongside my sister.”

Lance sat with her words for a moment. “So, if I wanted to, I could ignore my tattoo?”

Aunt Amillia Rose shrugged, “If that’s what you want, then okay. You get to choose–and that choice can lead you to a wonderful life.”

Lance rested his back against the cushions of the couch. He fell silent, pondering her words as he moved the popsicle stick between his hands. She stood up from the couch again and tossed the throw pillow down. 

“Try and get some sleep, yeah?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah,” he replied quietly.

Lance heard the creaking of the steps as she made her way upstairs to her room. Lance sat in the yellow glow of the lamp, his eyes fixed on the popsicle stick. Then, he recalled the placement of Keith’s tattoo–how he scratched at it and shook it out earlier today. Maybe that old wives tale was right–when Lance felt off, he transferred his pain to Keith. 

Then–it dawned on him–somehow for the first time. If Keith was feeling something from his tattoo because of Lance, didn’t that mean that–

Lance put a hand to his tattoo–a silent, knowing air fell about the room. Guilt started to lap at his feet like ocean waves and he hoped–prayed that the coming tides didn’t sweep him under.