#soulhate!

But Lance knew that her leaving wouldn’t fix anything–just like removing a tumor didn’t erase the fear and pain inflicted on the sufferer. His mom would continue not to trust him, his father would act like Lance needed to grow up. Aunt Amillia Rose would stand aside. His older brother might shake his head, and worse still, Blake might share with him a guilt-ridden glance. So here he was, making the ten foot distance to his parent’s room as soundless as possible, retrieving the last thing able to provide him any comfort in this house of horrors. 

He opened his parent’s bedroom door slowly, as any sharp movement would make it groan in pain. He tiptoed in, eyes scanning the darkness for a good hiding spot. His first thought was underneath their bed, but all that was hidden underneath were laundry baskets and organizers full of sheets and pillowcases. Next, their closet, which he rifled through the cubbies of. Coming up with nothing, he shook his head before his eyes settled on the large TV in their room. Between the top of his father’s dresser and the bottom of the screen, there was something large tucked away out of sight. Lance peeked behind the TV and there sat Tracey’s old CD player. When he pressed the release mechanism on top of the CD tray, he sighed with relief. The CD Keith gave him was still inside. Lance picked it out carefully and closed the CD player quickly. When he turned towards the door, however, the light turned on. 

Lance stopped dead in his tracks and when his eyes adjusted he saw his dad standing in the doorway. 

“You can keep it,” Lance gestured to the CD player with his temple. He held the CD gently in his hand as he moved towards the door.

Cedro put out a hand to stop him. “Why’s it so important?” He asked, grabbing Lance by the arm. 

“It’s not,” Lance answers as he takes his arm back, shooting Cedro a look as he does. 

His father seems to narrow his eyes–not in anger, but in curiosity. Lance tries once more to escape but his father blocks the door with his body. 

“Lance, why did you ask me that question last summer?” 

The question sends him reeling, but on the outside, he keeps a cool head. He just shrugs, looking as exasperated as he feels. “I don’t remember, what was the question?”

If he knows Lance is lying, he doesn’t show it. Cedro doesn’t repeat the question. Instead, he searches Lance’s eyes, one by one. “I didn’t tell your mom what you asked.”

“Okay,” is all Lance can think of to say. Because he knows that this is the truth. Or most of it is. His mom mentioned something about his dad telling her to lay off of him. The reason why was left up to her interpretation.

“If there’s something going on, you can tell me and it will stay between us.”

That was a lie–he knew it was. Because his father would never, could never, keep something like this from his wife. So Lance let his half-lidded eyes, full of boredom and resentment, glower at Cedro. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Cedro doesn’t budge from the doorway. 

Suddenly, there is a fury unlike any he’s ever experienced rising in his chest, taking root in his stomach. He just wants to leave. He wants to run to his room and hide beneath his blanket and never come out. But he has to stay here and play pretend with his father until he gives up. But pretending is exhausting, so he glares at him. “I’m tired of everyone thinking I’m the problem. Maybe it’s the awful old lady we let stay here that’s turning us against each other.”

Cedro shakes his head, taking his anger in stride. “She’s not doing that, Lance.” His calm is infuriating–his soothing voice grating against his ears. 

He huffs, “You didn’t start thinking I was a liar until she called me one.”

Cedro shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue. Lance takes his silence as confirmation that he is correct–that there is nothing he can say to refute it. So, he pushes through Cedro and makes the way to his bedroom. But, before he can make it, he catches his mom standing beside the top of the stairs, no doubt catching every word of their exchange. He looks her over, silently asking if she had anything to add. 

Her voice is just as calm, and therefore just as disgusting. “We’re having a family meeting tonight. After dinner.” 

Lance makes no moves to join them downstairs, instead he turns towards his bedroom. “I’ll be in my cell, then.”

If she says anything afterwards he doesn’t hear it, because the sound of him slamming his door is all his mind processes. 

Angella sits at the table, waiting for Blake and Tracey to take their seats at the dining table. Nino and Amada have finished their night routine and have gone to bed. Grandma Catalina has done the same, desperate for some rest after another disappointing dinner. Cedro sits beside her, holding her hand beneath the table. This show of comfort is all he has been able to give her as the last few months brought with it a grueling test. She closes her eyes for a second as Tracey gives her a kiss on the cheek and the meeting commences once Blake takes his place between Tracey and Amillia Rose.

“Something is going on with Lance,” Angella says over the growing silence at the table. “I need you all to tell me what you know.”

Tracey gives her a look, “Nothing? Isn’t that why he’s grounded?”

Angella shakes her head. “Look–something is going on and he’s not talking–but there’s got to be something we missed.” She looks around the table, “Can you think of anything that might be bothering him?”

Her eyes settle on everyone at the table, one at a time, looking for any indication that they have something to say. Amillia Rose clasps her hands together, eyes downcast. Blake is fiddling with his thumbs, glancing nervously up at her. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he swallows anxiously. 

“Blake?” She prompts him to speak up. 

He gives a small look towards Tracey, who meets his gaze with just as much curiosity as the rest of them. 

“It’s my fault,” Blake says quietly, his face tinged with guilt. 

For a moment, she doesn’t know if she heard him correctly, “What?”

Blake looks again at Tracey, “We uh, I told him something a while back and he’s been keeping it from everyone for me.” Blake says, the words falling from his lips despite his brain’s obvious refusal.

“Was it about your fight?” Tracey asks.

Blake looks at him, and shakes his head. Tracey seems to search his face for the answers, and when he finds them his mouth drops. Then, like he remembers everyone’s eyes are on them, he fixes his eyes to an unseen object and stares. His hands lie straight on the table, as if all animation has left him. It's a familiar sight for Angella. And just like all those years ago, her confusion is immeasurable at what could have possibly stupified her eldest son.

“What secret?” Angella asks Blake, bewildered.

Tracey shoots a look at Blake, and in response, Blake shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

Angella is about to press harder for details when Amillia Rose speaks. 

“I…I also told him something I wanted to keep secret. It’s been weighing on him, I think.” Her eyes are still focused on her clasped hands, blinking slowly. 

“What secret?” Angella repeats.

Cedro tightens his grip on her hand. “Honey, maybe we should leave it at that. We know why he’s been lying now.”

Angella shakes her head, tossing away his hand. “No. I want all of you to tell me what’s going on right this second.” She rises from the table, pressing her hands to the smooth finish. “Your secrets are hurting my son, so I want to know what they are.” 

Blake looks at Tracey, as if to ask something and Tracey sighs. 

“Mom, we’ve got something to tell you,” Tracey says, like he’s about to tell her he broke something. 

Angella sits, her hand on Cedro’s once more, terrified of what will come out of his mouth. 

“Blake might be my soulmate,” Tracey admits, “He told me a little while ago.”

“I wasn’t sure if we were, but when I told Lance he made me tell Tracey,” Blake confessed quickly, like he wasn’t sure he’d get the chance to come clean.

Tracey kicked him underneath the table, “You shouldn’t have needed telling.”

Angella blinks at the news, her mouth slowly falling in shock.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Tracey admits, “so I came home.”

His words swam around in the back of her eyes and tears threatened to fall. She sniffed, trying to put aside her feelings and focus on the family meeting. But there was so much to dissect with just this secret. Once again, Tracey might have found his soulmate. It was as if his teenage years were upon them once more. She could still hear their last argument slam against the walls of her mind. She wanted to ask a hundred questions–needed to ask a hundred more. But, then she recalled their conversation on New Years. How he hated her questions and felt as though his tattoo were a curse. So, when he looked for her response, terrified of what questions she might spray at him, she simply nodded. 

“Thank you for telling me,” she smiled through the tears in her eyes. 

The relief on her son’s face was all she needed to know that she had done right. Cedro opened his mouth to congratulate them, but he stopped when Angella put a hand to his shoulder.

“And you?” Angella said, eyeing up Amillia Rose. 

She swallowed hard. “It was just after Lance started school last year. He told me…uh, I told him something about Uncle Mickey and me.”

When Angella kept staring at her, she knew she had to go on, but fear held her voice in her throat. 

“Amillia Rose,” Angella prompted, “please.”

She closed her eyes, trying to let her courage shine through. When it did, she glanced Angella’s way. “I told him Uncle Mickey and I aren’t soulmates.”

The collective gasp that rang through the room was enough to send shockwaves down the street. 

“What are you talking about?” Tracey asked, throwing his head out so he could look at her without Blake’s fat head in the way. “He didn’t say–

“Tracey,” Angella shushed him with a look. Her eyes went to Amillia Rose. She tried to look at her with kind eyes–ones that empathized with her–but she knew she couldn’t maintain the lie for long. The feeling that meandered through her, tugging at her stomach and ripping her heart to shreds, was determined to make her mask fall to pieces. How could she pretend to be okay with something so terrible? 

No good could come from ignoring a soul tattoo. It left four partners without their match. How could she choose to live like that? How could she doom her soulmate to a life without her? And Amada–would she ever come to know that she was conceived in such disregard of fate? 

“Why would you tell him that?” Angella asked, trying to hide the betrayal in her voice–she failed.

Amillia Rose shook her head, like somehow, whatever she was going to say was worse than what she already admitted. 

“Honey,” Cedro attempted to soothe her by grabbing her hand. 

“Cedro, unless you’re going to tell me what happened last summer, don’t talk to me.”

Silence fell about the room again as they all awaited his secret. 

Cedro cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter. He knew he was caught–Angella overheard his conversation with Lance. There was no choice but to come clean. For a moment, his hesitation outgrew her patience and she pushed herself up from the table again. 

“Why aren’t you telling me!?”

For a moment, Cedro’s eyes fell on Tracey and Blake, then went to Amillia Rose. What look were they exchanging? What did they all know that she didn’t? 

“Lance had a fight with Keith,” Cedro said just before Angella blew her lid.

Tracey nodded, “Yeah, it was probably about what Blake told him,” he pointed his thumb at Blake, who recoiled from the blame. “He said they shouldn’t be friends.”

Blake chimed in, throwing his hands out in defense of himself, “Oh, yeah, no, that’s not–

“Why shouldn’t they be friends?” Angella asked, incredulously. 

“I mean, I said that, but–

Suddenly, Cedro stood up from the table, startling Angella for a second. She looked him up and down, noting that his expression had fallen somewhere between shock and bewilderment. His face became ghostly white. 

“Cedro?” Angella asked, putting a hand to his shoulder. “What is it?”

He shook his head, “You should talk to Lance.”

Lance sat on the floor of his bedroom, spinning the CD case back and forth in his hands. He tried to listen for the faint music playing in his head, singing along to imaginary lyrics so he could keep time. There was nothing to do tonight but sit around and wait for the weekend to be over. His stomach growled, angry that he hadn’t eaten a bite since breakfast. Better to starve than see the judgmental faces of his family. 

Then, Lance heard a small knock on his door. He didn’t get up, didn’t ask who it was. He just sat there in silence, hoping they would go away if they thought he was sleeping. 

“Lance,” his mother’s voice called through the door, “can we talk?”

Her tone sounded sympathetic and it almost made Lance run to the door. But there was no way she’d be extending him an olive branch–not now. She was probably trying to trick him into feeling bad for her. That she had to punish him because he was caught lying. But…the plea was too innocent on his mother’s part. Perhaps he was confusing her with someone he’d never actually met. Maybe he was thinking the worst of her because that was what his anger wanted him to think. So he crept towards the door and opened it. 

He didn’t get a look at her face, only turned away and went back to what he was doing. Angella stepped quietly around the bed and sat beside him, watching as he rotated the CD case once more.

“Where did you get that?” She asked. The question wasn’t accusatory, nor was she digging for information. It was simply an acknowledgement that she didn’t know where it had come from.

“It was a gift,” Lance says, and he wonders if she thinks he is lying again. He tries to find comfort in the fact that, since he’s been grounded for lying, he hasn’t lied to her once. Though, if he asked her, she might argue that lies of omission were lies just the same. So he continued spinning. 

Angella nods, taking his answer at face value. She changes the subject entirely. “I had a nice long talk with everyone downstairs.”

“What did they say?” Lance asks–his tone a mixture of disinterest and anger. Though, in truth, he couldn’t have been more worried over her answer. In the time he’d been up here stewing, he was terrified that Blake and Aunt Amillia Rose’s guilt would get to them. That they would cave under the slightest pressure. 

“They told me you were keeping their secrets–and what those secrets were.”

Lance looks her way, measuring the look of her. The red eyes, the heavy weight to her shoulders. What she is saying could very well be true. “So you know about them then,” he prompted, fishing for more information just in case.

She nods. “I never would have guessed–about either of them, really. But a lot of things started clicking once they told me. I asked Amillia Rose once about all the popsicles if she and Mickey were so close, but she waved me off. And Blake? That’s who the universe chose for Tracey?”

Lance feels a laugh bubble up to the surface, but he coughs. “There’s still a chance they aren’t.”

Angella shook her head, like she was almost hopeful. “Let’s hope. I mean, I love the kid, but show up on time.”

“And Aunt Amillia Rose?” Lance asks. 

Angella’s face falls, but returns after a few seconds. “It was a lot to take in–I’m not sure how you kept it a secret for so long.”

“Did they say anything about me?” Lance asks, steeling himself for the answer.

When she shakes her head, Lance nearly collapses from relief. She studies him, terrified to ask the question on her mind. He wonders how long it will be until she gets to the root of why she’s here. Lance knows that it cannot be to commiserate about the family.

“They didn’t tell me anything,” Angella admits. “But they all know, right?”

Lance can feel his throat start to strain, terrified of what he might reveal if she keeps asking the right questions. He shrugs because he isn’t sure what they all know after their little show and tell. He’s not even completely sure what his mother knows.

“Is there a reason I can’t know?”

He can feel his floodgates crumbling at the heartbreak in her voice. He wants so badly to answer her, to say that there was no reason she couldn’t know. But to come out and say it would take a terrible hit to his pride. How could he fold with such little provocation? This was his most important secret. The one that he lied to everyone to keep–the one that he needed to reveal himself when the time was right. 

She sniffs, but tries to keep her voice from shaking. “I want to understand, honey. They put so much on your shoulders–but their soul bonds aren’t your responsibility. You shouldn’t have been expected to carry all that.”

Lance feels the tears sting his eyes, and he focuses on the title of the CD, trying his best to see the obscured text through blurry vision. 

“Did you feel like you had to? Because you didn’t. Those kinds of things, they’re for the whole family to deal with–not just you.”

The ache in his heart, the pit in his stomach, everything inside him is breaking. All of her assurances, her soft voice, it is all he’s wanted to hear. That there was a lot thrust upon him, that he couldn’t handle it alone. 

“Why were you keeping their secrets, honey?”

The question comes so softly, Lance can’t help but answer. “Because they were keeping mine,” he says, tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

“What’s your secret, baby?” Angella asks as she pulls him into a hug. 

Lance feels his tears dampening her skin, her shirt’s collar, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he buries his face in her shoulder and tries to remember how to speak. The words get caught around the lump in his throat, so for a while, all he is able to get out are choked sobs. But, eventually, Lance takes a deep breath, and on his exhale, he tells her what he should have told her somewhere between now and when she introduced them to the Koganes. 

“Keith is my soulmate,” he whispers against her chest. 

A few seconds pass as the news sinks into her skin. She hasn’t gone rigid beneath him, hell she hugs him tighter. When she pulls away, she wipes a tear from his cheek and ruffles his hair. 

“Is that it?” She says with a small teary-eyed chuckle. “All this because you met your soulmate?”

Lance shakes his head, “It was all wrong–it was nothing like you and dad. We were just two kids who slammed into each other.”

Angella grabs Lance by the shoulders, lowering her gaze so that their eyes meet. “Lance, your father and I were just two kids who slammed into each other.”

“But you had this instant connection–dad said he felt like the waves were singing to him.”

“The only connection we had was our tattoos, baby. The rest was up to us.”

Lance sniffs, “What?”

“No soul bond is perfect,” she says with a smile. “It’s work. Hard work. Your father and I chose to make things work–even when,” she trailed off for a second, “other people didn’t think we could.”

Lance took in her words, but he knew from experience that she was right. Once he got over the shock of it, Keith being his soulmate grew on him. The more he learned about him the more he wanted to learn about him. And the more he was around him the more he craved his presence. To the point that when he had him, all he wanted was to lessen the distance between them. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, holding Lance close to her again. “I should have asked you what was wrong the second you started acting off. I just didn’t want to assume you couldn’t figure stuff out on your own. My mom always tried to make my choices for me.”

“She did?”

Angella nodded, “Yeah. Where I should go to school, where I should work, where I should live,” she listed a few, though Lance had a feeling she could go on. “As strong as you are, you shouldn’t have had to figure all this out alone. I should have been there.”

Lance shrugs, “I wasn’t really alone, I had him.”

She smiles. “You do, and you always will.”

The thought cheers Lance up, and his mother catches this. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “You’ll be there for Nino.”

“And if I mess up again, you’ll help me out?”

Lance nods, “Me and Tracey. And your son in law, Blake.”

Angella groans, pulling Lance into another hug, hoping to silence him. She takes a greedy sniff of his hair, and exhales. “You know, in hindsight, I should have known he was your soulmate.”

Lance looks up at her, catching only the side of her head. “Why?”

“You never made fun of his mullet once.”

Lance lets the laughter come easy, appreciating that he still has the capacity. “Not out loud,” he admitted.

The next two hours are spent in Lance’s room as he mindfully sifts through all the details of his life these last two years. He tells her how he and Keith met, how awkward their “first meeting” was, how mean he was to him at school, the urges he felt to help Keith, the sensations in his tattoo. He told her how he came to know of Aunt Amillia Rose’s secret–how he came to know Blake’s. How knowing about Uncle Mickey and Amada did nothing to change his mind about them. When he approached the time period that Grandma Catalina showed up, he admitted that he did come home drunk from Jake’s party. His mother confessed that she had her first cigarette because Grandma Catalina always accused her of smoking. Though, she was quick to remind Lance that she would kill him if she ever caught even a whiff of ash off him.

When they emerge from Lance’s room and go downstairs, they find everyone still at the table, chatting amongst themselves. Angella looks at them, though their unfinished conversation is hanging in the air. In the time it took her to learn the truth from Lance, it appears that they have put it together themselves. She gives Lance a small shove forward and smiles. 

“Lance is no longer grounded,” she announces. 

The question no one is asking hangs in the air. 

“So it’s true?” Cedro asks, his eyes welling with excitement. 

Lance looks at Angella and they both smile. “Keith is my soulmate, dad.”

The cheers that rise up are enough to wake the entire family, because soon Nino and Amada are running downstairs. Grandma Catalina even shuffles out of her room, wondering where the fire is. But Angella tells them of Lance’s news.

“And you’re okay with that?” Grandma Catalina asks, her frustration evident in her tone. “That his soulmate drinks and gets grounded right along with him?”

Angella looks down at her, “Mom, I’m proud of Lance and who he loves. That’s something I always wanted for you and me, but if you can’t give me that, at least give it to him.”

Lance watches as Grandma Catalina opens her mouth to argue, but concedes relatively quickly. What could have made the fight go out of her, he’d never know, but he was glad it did. He was even more glad that his mother was so ready to defend Keith. For whatever reason, Grandma Catalina decides to bless everyone with one of her favorite midnight snacks, though Lance senses that it is an apology of sorts. After she hands him a steaming cup, and their eyes meet, he can tell a wordless exchange is taking place. He just doesn’t know the subject matter yet. 

Before the end of the night, Cedro puts Lance’s phone into his hand. 

“Tell him we’re happy to have him,” Cedro smiles and rejoins the cluster of McClaines crowded in the living room. 

Lance turns on his phone. He knows that it's the middle of the night, but he holds out hope that Keith is still awake. The first chance he gets he opens their text chat–not their snapchat where everything is set to disappear after twenty-four hours–the one they use to talk about anything but their soulbond. He types out his first message in over a month, almost baffled by its brevity. But when he hits send, he feels this immense pressure fall from his shoulders. In its wake, he’s hit with a wave of something he hasn’t felt in a long time: hope.

Lance groans a little too loudly, prompting both he and Keith to look around at neighboring dancers. Luckily for them, they are surrounded by a few couples they do not recognise. They are probably a cluster of relatives from Uncle Mickey’s family. He feigns a smile before ducking his head low so he can whisper to Keith. 

“It better be worth it,” Lance says quietly. 

Keith pulls him in closer, dragging a heavy hand across the shoulder he was trying desperately to itch. With Lance’s sigh of relief comes a surge of positivity. 

“I wouldn’t mind this place as a wedding venue,” Lance says, admiring the care taken in decorating the space. The whole room is bathed in white and blue flowers, something that Lance remembers from Aunt Amillia Rose and Uncle Mickey’s actual wedding. Seeing them here is only fitting.

Keith turns them both on the dance floor. “You know, to have a wedding you have to convince someone to marry you.”

Lance smirks from the challenge. “Please, you’re already begging me to marry you.”

All the humor leaves Keith’s face, and he raises his eyebrows apathetically. “The only thing I’m begging for is a bigger bed. I keep finding you on my side in the morning.”

“Bigger the bed, shorter the marriage,” Lance shakes his head.

“Whoever came up with that probably didn’t marry a stage two clinger.”

Lance shrugs indifferently, “I like to cuddle.”

Before Keith can respond, they hear a shift of heels beside them. Helen’s bouncy red curls splay out over her back as she leans into them while dancing with Vinney. 

“What are you guys arguing about now?” She asks, eyebrow raising as Vinney pulls her back into their dance.

Lance puts on his best puppy face, playing to his audience. “Keith won’t marry me.”

Keith immediately goes to defend himself, “I didn’t say that.”

She only laughs, “When are you gonna make an honest woman out of him?”

Vinney tries to stifle his laughter as Lance juts out his chin. Keith, however, is too busy cringing to respond. The sound of their argument seems to have alerted another pair of dancers as well. Keith nods in acknowledgement to Angella.

“Would you tell your son he has to propose before we can get married?”

Angella sucks her teeth, “Baby, you’re gonna have to do it yourself at this rate.”

Lance can’t help the sour face he makes, and points them in a different direction on the floor. In a few turns, they are out of sight and earshot. “We can go mattress shopping next weekend,” he concedes.

“It won’t help,” Keith says with a devious smirk and sneaks in close. “We’ll go ring shopping instead.”

“Won’t that ruin the surprise?” 

Keith looks at him for a moment, bewildered. “You’ve been talking about it for three years now, the surprise is already ruined.”

“But I want to be romantic about it,” Lance pouts.

Keith sighs, “Okay, but if I don’t like it I’m sending your ass back to the store.”

This gets Lance to perk up right away, “You’re gonna like it. All these years with you clogging my shower drain and you think I’m gonna get something you don’t like?”

Keith fights the smile that spreads across his face tooth and nail before giving up the battle. “I do not clog the drain,” he says with tight lips.

Lance rolls his eyes and mutters, “Says the guy who never cleans the drain.”

Before Keith can retort to his sass, Aunt Amillia Rose’s voice billows out to the guests. The music cuts out shortly after, and the two of them are standing in a sea of loved ones. 

“Mickey and I just want to thank everyone for celebrating our vow renewal with us today. As you all know, I don’t like to mince words–so Mickey has prepared a little speech–

The crowd erupts in laughter, and Lance can’t help but smile knowing that Uncle Mickey does not do speeches. When he looks at Keith, he sees that he understands the joke as well–afterall, who could forget Uncle Mickey’s “speech” following Lance’s high school graduation? Their parents put on a graduation party to celebrate the weekend after. His mom and dad were too busy blubbering about how proud they were of him, leaving Uncle Mickey with the honors. All he could say, after all the years they knew each other and all the time they spent together, was that Lance was a damn good kid. Even Vinney could muster up more, and he was talking over a lump in his throat.

It appeared that several of the people in Uncle Mickey’s family also received a few brief speeches as well because they hollered the loudest around them. How many best-man speeches did he blunder? How many reports? 

Aunt Amillia Rose waved at everyone to quiet down. “We’re serious, he actually prepared something this time!” 

Lance follows Uncle Mickey as he pulls a scrap of paper out of his pocket. His cheeks are stained red as he is handed the microphone. Aunt Amillia Rose lingers beside him, her wide, red-tinted smile on full display as she waits for him to start. 

“To our friends and family with us tonight, and the ones we carry with us in memory, we want to thank you for filling this day with love and laughter,” he pauses to look about the room.

Lance sees his mother lower her head in front of them, dabbing her waterline with her finger. 

“For the longest time, I never thought I’d get the chance to marry someone, let alone renew our vows. I never thought I’d get to feel that little girl’s hand wrap around mine,” he points towards Amada, who Tracey raised onto one of his shoulders so she could see past the crowd. “I didn't think my heart could hold enough people to fill an elevator, let alone an entire banquet hall.” He looks around the room again. “I think the only way to truly experience this life we’ve been given is to take a chance. What’s the worst that could happen?” He says with a laugh. “You have to write a speech?”

Everyone starts clapping and Lance follows suit as Uncle Mickey hands back the microphone to Aunt Amillia Rose. She also dabs at the tears in her eyes, trying to calm herself lest she openly sob into the microphone. After a second, she sniffs and announces that they are serving cake at the table at the far end of the venue. 

Keith doesn’t hesitate before ditching Lance to get in line. “Grab me one too,” he manages to get out before Keith disappears into the crowd. 

While he waits for Keith to return, Lance meanders over to Tracey and Amada. He is about to announce his presence when she turns abruptly and smacks into him. 

“Sorry,” she yells, and upon seeing Nino departing for the rear table, darts in front of him.

Before he looks back at Tracey, Lance catches the faintest shrug from Nino as he allows her to take his place in line. The two of them had only gotten closer since he moved in with Keith.

“Where’s your other half?” Lance asked, taking great satisfaction in the irritated look on Tracey’s face.

He pointed towards the array of tables and chairs where several cake-hating individuals rested after their dance. Among the crowd was Blake, who stood beside a seated Grandma Catalina. He held out his hand to her so that she could take it if she needed help up–but she swatted it away with great annoyance. It seemed that with every sweet gesture Grandma Catalina disliked him more. Or perhaps disliked was the wrong word. Maybe she, just like Angella, found it hard to ignore Blake.

“You can stop calling him that, it gives him a big head,” Tracey says, resting all his weight on one hip. 

Lance nods, “You’re right, I wouldn't want that thing getting any bigger.” The two of them watch for a while longer as Grandma Catalina berates Blake once more–before placing her hand in his for support as she rises from her seat. 

“That’s new,” Lance notes. 

Tracey only shrugs, “You know she answers his calls now?”

Lance huffs, very few people get to interrupt Grandma Catalina’s peace. She was the one that called you, not the other way around. “What, he hangs a few pictures for her and suddenly he’s the favorite?”

Tracey shakes his head, "You know he just chatted with her the whole time? I did the actual work.”

He pouts again, and as he does, he realizes that their sulking has caught Blake’s attention. He points to Grandma Catalina and gives a thumbs up. 

“And now he’s gloating,” Tracey gives him a thumbs down in response.

“You could bring someone else to these things,” Lance says while Blake sticks out his tongue. 

The idea leaves Tracey looking, for once, at a loss for words. It seems all he can do is shake his head. From what his brother and Blake have told him, they have landed on the assumption that their friendship is their deepest bond–to hell with their tattoos. If either of them happen to meet their fated partner, so be it, but until they have concrete proof, there is nothing stopping them from being each other’s ride or die. They still wreak havoc and raise hell, just ten minutes later than the agreed upon arrival time. 

Tracey changes the subject. “Have you heard from Hunk?”

Lance smiles, “He calls me from time to time, but I really look forward to his letters. He sprays them with his cologne and writes to me like I'm the wife he left behind for war.”

This makes Tracey find his humor again. “And what does your actual wife have to say about that?”

“Hunk does the same with his,” Lance says matter-of-factly. “He and Shay take turns traveling to see each other on breaks from school.”

“And you two?” 

The question makes Lance smile. He hasn’t been as in touch with his brother as he would have liked these last few months. Between working full time, keeping up with his hobbies and trying to indirectly suggest to Keith they should get a cat, he’s been rather busy. Their squabbles aside, the two of them were very happy in their little apartment. Lance had gotten used to coming home to Keith already in his PJs and ready to cuddle on the couch until bed. 

“We’re great,” Lance says swiftly. “Are you going home after the party?”

Tracey shakes his head, “We’re driving Grandma Catalina back home.”

“I can't believe you're not staying to help mom clean up,” Lance shook his head–nevermind that he was also shirking the responsibility. 

Tracey looked down at him, as if sensing that he was being hypothetical. Then, his expression fell the moment Keith meandered over with two slices of cake. 

“Vanilla for you,” he said as he handed off Lance’s cake to him. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Grandma Catalina,” Lance answers as he delves a plastic fork into the mass of white icing. 

“Oh, did Lance tell you that she and my grandma are best friends?” Keith asks Tracey.

He knits his eyebrows together, confused. “No?”

Lance shrugs and allows Keith to fill him in. 

“They met at our graduation party,” Keith says, gesturing between himself and Lance. “Apparently they stayed in touch.”

Lance scoffs, “No, it's not just staying in touch. They meet for lunch and pass books back and forth.”

This news is apparently so foreign to Tracey that he stands there, mouth agape. 

“It surprised us too,” Keith explains. “My dad thought they would hate each other.”

Their conversation is quickly interrupted by a soft voice. “They bonded over how terrible their daughters were.”

The three of them turn around to see Aunt Amillia Rose, standing in her mature, knee length white cocktail dress. Lance goes back to his cake, leaving Keith and Tracey to carry the conversation. 

“Did she tell you that?” Keith asks.

She shakes her head, “No, but that’s the joke between your moms.”

This leaves Tracey with a smile on his face. “And she wonders where we get it from.”

They all laugh, but eventually Aunt Amillia Rose cringes. “Do not tell her that.”

Lance looked around the room, more than half of the guests took their seats with their cake. Grandma Catalina is no exception to this, as Blake is trailing behind her with one slice in each hand, and one more teetering on his thick wrist. When she takes her seat at the table, Blake serves her quickly, and with a smile joins the four of them.

“Here,” Blake said, handing off a piece of cake to Tracey. 

He takes it with a shrug, “So, how’s the new place?” 

Aunt Amillia Rose snaps to attention, “Oh yeah, you haven’t been by to see it yet, huh?” She smiles, “It’s great. Amada has her own room, and the backyard is perfect for entertaining. Uncle Mickey said he didn’t want a house if we couldn’t fit all the McClaines and Blanchets.”

Lance smiled at how happy she seemed. They closed on the house a year ago, after Uncle Mickey officially retired from the service. Angella was sad to see them leave, but she rejoiced that they were moving into their dream home. Lance and Keith helped move them in, and she wasn’t embellishing in the slightest. It was a two bedroom, two bathroom rancher–and it was built for hosting parties. Open floor plans, large ceilings, a private backyard. The only thing that impressed him more than the inside was the gardens. The previous owner loved tending plants as much as Aunt Amillia Rose does, and she was happy to keep their vision alive. 

“Christmas at your place this year?” Blake asked.

Aunt Amillia Rose laughed, loudly. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t have New Years either,” Lance said through bites of cake. “That’s Vinney’s holiday.”

“Fourth of July is Uncle Raymóns,” Tracey reminded them. 

The answer finally dawned on Keith, “Halloween?”

This everyone seemed to agree on because they all nodded.

“Your neighborhood is pretty walkable. Trick or Treat for the kids–and for us,” he looked at Tracey with a giddy smile.

“An absolute rager,” he finished.

Aunt Amillia Rose smiled again, “I’ll run it past Uncle Mickey.”

“Run what by me?” Uncle Mickey asked, settling behind Aunt Amillia Rose. 

“They want us to host Halloween,” she explained.

“Aren’t you guys too old for that?” He smirked. When they defend themselves, he throws his hands up. “I was hoping that we could start up our camping trips again.”

Lance nearly drops his cake at the idea. Tracey immediately pales–leaving Blake confused. “What a shame, I’m busy that day,” he says, faking even a hiss of disappointment.

“Oh, you not excited about that Tracey? I can’t imagine why,” Lance gives him a smug look.

“You think Cleo will go?” Keith asks.

“If I’m going, she has to.” 

“Can I go?” Blake interjects.

“Absolutely not,” Tracey answers before anyone has the chance to. 

While Uncle Mickey comforts a pouting Blake, the conversation continues, though Lance can barely keep up. Between Keith laughing at Tracey’s attempts at keeping Blake in the dark about his trip to the creekbed, twice, and Aunt Amillia Rose wheezing at the mention of it, he can barely contain his excitement. Obviously having all the cousins back in their old stomping grounds would be great–but one thought towers above all the rest. 

Keith will be tagging along this time. 

He turns to him, his eyes full of joy at the prospect. Of course, he knows that it will take some convincing. Keith was still hung up on his preference for indoor plumbing and beds–hence why he wasn’t able to take him out since that time in high school. When Keith looked over, all of the humor left his face. 

“I am not going,” he said immediately, prompting Lance to also pout. 

Aunt Amillia Rose continued to laugh. “I don’t like it either,” she says to Keith. 

He lifts up another bite of cake, but before he puts it in his mouth, he speaks. "I think I could tolerate it, actually.” He then points his fork to Lance, “He just wants it too much.”

This gets Tracey laughing, and soon the huddle is making a spectacle of themselves. Lance looks away from the group, catching sight of Angella as she gives them a quizzical look beside Grandma Catalina. Nino, Amada and Cedro were eating their cake quietly around the table. He knows the look she gives him a little too well, so he goes back to his cake. It looks like Tracey has also caught her eye and he does the same. 

After finishing his slice, Lance looks up at Keith. “All done,” he announces, “You ready?”

Keith glances over at Lance, and then turns his head obviously at Uncle Mickey and Aunt Amillia Rose, who are very much still beside them. “No?”

“Are you guys leaving early so you can kiss?” Blake taunts them, catching their exchange.

Keith and Lance answer, no and yes respectively. This results in thunderous laughter. Keith turns red with embarrassment and goes quiet. Lance, on the other hand, smiles devilishly. He takes Keith’s empty plate and fork and stacks it with his own. In the time it takes him to do so, Keith sighs. 

“I guess we’re leaving, then.” Keith says with exhaustion. 

Lance perks up, smiling widely. “It’s been fun,” he says as Keith grabs the button up beneath his tux and drags him away from the group. 

They pass by Grandma Catalina’s table, saying goodbye to everyone that’s congregated there. Helen and Vinney stand behind Angella and Cedro, laughing up a storm at the state of their boys. Lance’s eyes go to Grandma Catalina, who is surely thinking that she will never have a moment’s peace now that she’s become more involved in the family. 

“Drive safe,” Cedro offers them both as they are pulled into several pairs of arms for farewell hugs. 

Helen is the last to let go of Keith, kissing him despite him outgrowing that as quickly as she started it. No one comments on his sour expression, having long come to recognize his irritation with Lance was constant. It was only serious when Lance was also irritated, but since he was all smiles, they knew that things were well between them. When they left this time, Keith grabbed the crook of his elbow and led him out of the venue. 

The two of them are almost at the building’s exit when Keith halts abruptly. 

Lance is immediately confused, “Forget something?”

Keith doesn’t answer, merely pulls Lance down a long, unlit hallway. When they get to the end of it, Keith is already loosening his tie when he drags Lance forward by his. Their mouths meet desperately in the middle, their stifled breathing and soft moans the only sounds that pass between them. Lance feels Keith’s hands grip at his button down, pulling him deeper into their kiss. Lance’s, however, snake into the soft tufts of his hair. For a few minutes, they get lost in the warm, wet sensations breaking only when Keith pushes him back against the wall. 

Lance watches with rapt attention as Keith wipes at his bottom lip with his thumb. When his eyes flicker upwards, the smirk that spreads across his face spells trouble. 

“Satisfied?” He lifts an eyebrow, very intentionally.

Lance uses the wall for much needed support as he takes in Keith’s silhouette. “No,” he says, hating the desperate tone of his voice. 

“Good.” Keith steps into him and his right hand goes to Lance’s tie again. He runs the fabric between his fingers, “We can continue when we get home.”

Lance tries his best to remain calm, however upon leaving the hallway there is a change in the rhythm of his walk. Since their kiss, he has a pep in his step; the cause, his broody soulmate. But he cannot help the anticipation that accelerates him out into the parking lot. Lance gets to the passenger door of his dad’s old truck first and opens it wide for Keith.

“Mister Keith McClain-Kogane?”

Keith can’t repress his distaste fast enough. “Nope, don’t like that.” Keith raises himself into the truck and looks back at Lance smugly. “It’s actually Keith Kogane-McClain.”

Lance sticks out his tongue in mock disgust. “Ak-shully,” he repeats with a small shake of his head as he closes the squeaky door. He climbs into the driver’s seat, running through his usual checklist. Key in the ignition, check. Seatbelt, check. And finally, a small kiss for his favorite passenger. 

But, what is supposed to be a small peck turns into something longer, deeper. He rests an elbow on the folded down center console and exhales all the air from his lungs onto Keith’s cheek. Their lips move slowly against one another, relishing in the smallest pressure and plush softness. He’s kissed Keith thousands of times by now, and nothing has ever seemed so timeless. It’s a sensation he could never grow tired of–and for the millionth time–he thanks his lucky stars for his beanie-wearing, mullet-having, MCR-t-shirt-clad soulmate. The one he didn’t want, but ended up needing. 

Lance is the one to pull away from their kiss–and even then, it is slow and painful. Lance is tasting all of the sweet icing from the cake and then nothing. Keith’s presence is gone, save only for the small puffs of air he feels on his skin. 

“Satisfied?” Lance copies Keith from earlier–from his tone to his mannerisms. 

Keith bites his bottom lip as if to stifle a bitter laugh. “Drive,” he orders.

Lance snickers as he shifts the truck into gear. When he looks right to pull out of their parking spot, he catches sight of a sunsoaked Keith. Several strands of his dark hair light up under the scrutiny of the afternoon sun, making his presence that much more comforting. When they are finally on the road, Lance rests his hand on the center console. In no time at all, Keith wedges his hand between Lance’s and the smooth leather.

“I think we should get a cat,” Keith announces as he tightens his grip on Lance’s hand. 

Lance does everything he can to hide his smile, “We should.”

FAQs about SoulHate!

What inspired the story? SoulHate was supposed to follow the usual formula of 2016 era soulmate au’s. It wasn’t until much later, when my son was diagnosed with a congenital defect, that I wanted to go in a different direction. So much of my internal struggle went into the making of this fic. Lance’s emotions followed my own as I coped with what my future would look like. We both started out shocked and terrified–teetering between expectation and reality–and finally settling on unconditional love.

Was there supposed to be spice? YES! But it just didn’t feel right sexualizing teenagers (even when I was one when I plotted this fic out). The most intimate moments in the series were rewritten to not include spice, but I guarantee you know which ones. 

Why did you name it SoulHate? For the longest time, this fic was in my drafts with the working title: The Klance SoulHate AU. Tragically for me, I realized around the third arc that a perfect name for it would have been Liar, Liar. You live, you learn!

What can you say about the family dynamics in the fic? I wanted Lance to have a deeply loving relationship with his family–but slowly show how easily it can deteriorate. And Keith–he was always portrayed as an orphan in 2016 era fics since we knew so little about his lore. Several of my friends were adopted, and each of them carry some sort of trauma associated with it. I also drew from my own experience being unable to call my step father “dad” despite him being more of a dad to me than my biological one. 

Your favorite chapter? The Halloween Episode, hands down. The tension, the yearning, the banter. And I didn’t even plan for it to be part of the story! 

Who is your favorite character? Blake. Next question.

Any fun facts? 

I initially wrote Helen and Vinney to be transfem and transmasc respectively. While I didn’t scrap the idea, I remained subtle with my hints at their origins. 

There was supposed to be a chapter dedicated to their graduation, but I was losing motivation to continue the fic. This tidbit of Vinney’s speech is all I have: “When I first met Keith he was a foot shorter–and so was his temper. Who’d have thought that same snot-nosed kid would make me blubber at his graduation?” Vinney points to someone in the front of the crowd raising their hand. “Helen, put your hand down,” he ordered.

Keith’s Alakazam deck in Pokemon Trading Card Game Pocket is one that I made out of desperation after losing so hard to the Celebi Meta.

The pullout couch that Blake & Tracey stash in the basement is inspired by the very real one that I moved from my apartment and finally to my current home. It’s heavy as shit!

I made a few title cards for SoulHate! before settling on the one that eventually became the cover. The ones below didn't make the cut for obvious reasons, but they still look really cool!

8. Are Blake & Tracey soulmates or not!? Great question! Narrator: According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.(Cut to Barry's room, where he's picking out what to wear.) Barry: Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Yeah, let's shake it up a little. (Barry uses honey from a dispenser to style his hair, rinse his mouth, and then applies it to his armpits.) Mom (Janet Benson): (calling from downstairs:) Barry! Breakfast is ready! Barry: Coming! (phone rings) Oh, hang on a second. (adjusts his antennas into a headset) Hello? Adam Flayman: (on the phone) Barry? Barry: Adam? Adam: Can you believe this is happening? Barry: I can't believe it. I'll pick you up. (hangs up, sharpens his stinger) Lookin'  sharp. (flies downstairs) Mom: Barry, why don't you use the stairs? Your father paid good money for those.

Thank you for reading!

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.

It had been a week since Blake dropped the bomb that he might be Tracey’s soulmate. That they might be bonded for life. And yet…there was no romance between them. There was only what Lance could assume was the most powerful friendship he could ever hope for. And seeing that his own best friend was keeping secrets from him…it might be just that–something to hope for, but never realize. But who was Lance to talk? He’d been keeping the most massive secret from Hunk this entire time.

As he spit foam into the sink, Lance thought that he was finally reaping what he sowed. 

After a few minutes, he crept back into his room, thinking that by tugging on his clothes he might start to feel more like himself. As he threw on a blue t-shirt and jeans, he noted that the only thing putting on clothing did was make him look more like himself. As Lance sat on his bed, he grabbed his phone and pulled up his text chat with Keith. 

Are you ready?

Lance watched as his message got delivered, but instead of waiting for Keith’s reply, he fell back onto his bed, bouncing slightly. He felt heavy, like his body was weighed down by rocks that were desperate to pull him under cold, dark water. He let his phone fall away and he inhaled, trying to dispel the heaviness he felt in his chest. On his next exhale, Lance touched his face, where he still felt the warmth of Keith’s skin buzzing against his own. He traced down his cheek, desperate for that same contact but always coming up short. The longing was unwanted–but Lance could not keep it at bay.

Then, Blake’s words came cutting across his memory, that familiar wave of shame splashing right over any tenderness Lance held there. He physically recoiled, closing his eyes against the onslaught. 

And yet, what he said wasn’t wrong. Blake was just being honest. 

After all the time Blake spent with Tracey, he must have heard about his many failures looking for his soulmate. Lance imagined it was tough–each time someone wants to introduce themselves in a casual manner, he hears those words–and each time he startles, thinking this is the moment. But it never is. Suddenly, all of Tracey’s outbursts as a teen made sense to him. Their mother’s constant questions and meddling far too persistent for his liking. Seeing their parents’ happy soul bond must have stung him, too. 

Lance understood why Blake kept it a secret, even now. They were no better than strangers when they met–and as Blake learned more about Tracey, he likely felt keeping quiet about a possible soul bond wasn’t worth risking their friendship over. Why disappoint him again when they find their actual soulmates? It was easier to pretend their potential soul bond didn’t exist. 

But that was the difference between Blake and Tracey and Lance and Keith. They were awarded plausible deniability–something Lance once wished he had. There was no denying that there was something there. His tattoo pain, and even the warmth he felt from it from time to time was evidence to that. There was no question in his mind that they were soulmates. Except now a new question rattled around in his head–and it had been gnawing at him relentlessly. 

Was Lance trying to force things?

When he met Keith, he was desperate to get away from him–and now, they were trying to work it out. Was Lance just throwing himself into it because that’s what he thought he was supposed to do? Blake and Tracey couldn’t have been the only soulmates to just stay friends–or even strangers. Hell, even Aunt Amillia Rose proved the existence of couples choosing against their fated partners. She had a beautiful marriage and a happy family, too, all without the damned tattoo shoving its nose into her business. 

Lance swallowed when he heard his phone ring out the text tone he picked out especially for Keith: the PokéCenter healing sound. For just a moment, it seemed like the tune had an effect on him, because the storm cloud that was hovering over him all week seemed to clear away.

Yeah

Are you gonna tell me where we’re going tonight?

Lance let out a scoff, then typed his next message. 

Hell no

Lance felt the smile tug at his lips almost involuntarily. His fingers rested against the sides of his phone, snickering to himself about what he could text Keith to confuse him about where they were going. Should he ask him to bring a marble and stick a penny in his shoe for luck? The thought of Keith scrambling to understand such a cryptic, ridiculous message filled him with glee. He felt a small sensation in his tattoo as he let his phone fall back onto the mattress. He pulled up his shirt and prodded at his tattoo. If Lance had to describe the feeling, it was closest to a gentle steam brushing against his hip. He prodded at it–thinking that the heat would dissipate quickly…but it lingered for a half second longer than all the times before. 

Huh, Lance thought, pressing a hand to his skin, that was new. Lance wondered briefly if the heat he felt from his tattoo really did grow in intensity or if he was imagining it. His money was on the latter considering everything to do with Keith muddled his mind a bit. And speaking of Keith, he had to start moving soon. He sat up in bed and sent a quick courtesy text over to Keith before leaving his bedroom. 

I'll be over in five

Lance made his way down the stairs, eyes focused on the seashell that held the McClaine family keys. When he stopped in front of the end table, he dug around a bit before realizing that his dad's truck keys were missing. He raised a brow, he definitely asked his dad for permission to use the truck.

“Right here,” Cedro called, dangling his keys from the back of his lazy boy. 

Lance walked over, grabbing them quickly. “Thanks again, we'll be back before it gets too late.”

Lance noted that his father was alone in the living room, watching a game. From the looks of things, he was going to be enjoying a night alone. His mom had taken Aunt Amillia Rose and the kids to the park this afternoon.

Lance watched as Cedro nodded. “Have fun,” he said, giving Lance a look over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow. “What's wrong?”

Lance realized that he was still wearing a furrowed brow and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He corrected his expression, relaxing his eyebrows so they fell in their natural arch and smiling. “I was just thinking,” Lance said without much thought. 

“Yeah?” Cedro hesitated a moment, like he was trying to be quiet about his desire for more information. He'd already failed, because if he was genuinely seeking to be left uninformed, he would have just nodded. 

Lance debated whether or not he should say anything. That seemed to be the consensus around his family members. But still, he knew his father–just like Aunt Amillia Rose–was not one to gossip. In fact, the entire family was astonished at the irony of him marrying the biggest gossip in the world. She made up for the both of them, he supposed. 

“Does every soul bond have to be romantic? Can’t you stay friends?”

Cedro's eyebrows went up at the question. He wasn't bothered by the subject matter in the slightest, nor was he particularly interested in who posed the question. Instead, he made a noise like Lance had asked something he had never considered before. He scratched his head. 

“I'm gonna need to think on that one a bit,” Cedro said, turning back to the game.

Lance patted him on the shoulder as a way of saying goodbye, then he turned to leave.

The drive to their destination was a long one. As if to mitigate, the evening light settled in and darkened the sky making it by far the prettiest drive Lance had taken in a while. Keith preoccupied himself by taking a few photos of the sunset. He didn't blame him as their forty or so minute drive was even wearing Lance out. Lance caught Keith moving out of the corner of his eye and looked over briefly. 

“Smile,” Keith said, angling his phone up so he could get both of them in a picture. 

Lance stuck his tongue out instead, his eyes remaining on the road. 

“Hunk’s gonna love it,” Keith snickered. “Why couldn’t he tag along, anyway?”

Truth be told, today was just for Keith…but admitting that to Keith would surely lead to his early demise. Instead, Lance gave him another version of the truth: “He had a college thing this weekend so I didn’t think he’d be up for a–

Keith’s head shot over, excitement flashing across his features.

Lance clamped his mouth shut. He laughed, relief wafting off him. “An outing,” he finished. 

Keith turned away disappointed, tapping away at his phone. Lance guessed that he was texting Hunk about how everything went to further occupy himself.

Hunk hadn't brought up his conversation with Uncle Mickey at school, and while Lance was burning with curiosity, he was also burning with something else. The bitterness rose in his chest to think about it: the jealousy he felt towards Hunk for receiving advice and even a hug from Uncle Mickey. The worst part of it was, he knew he was being unfair. Lance brought it on himself, acting as though his problems were Hunk's. The desire to know about what was going on in Hunk's life was outweighed by his own problems at the moment, however. 

Lance began planning this little excursion for him and Keith at Uncle Mickey's party. Upon seeing how Keith warmed up to his family, he wanted to do something nice for him, like Uncle Mickey said. Of course, the revelation Blake gave him about soulmates stopping their relationship from progressing past friendship made this more complicated.

Keith sat back in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers against the door to the music. His dad had procured one of Breaking Benjamin's CDs from Tracey’s collection and had kept it in the disk drive ever since. Luckily for Keith, Lance didn't have the wherewithal to trade out the disc for something a little more mainstream. 

“I officially have no idea where we are,” Keith announced.

“Good,” Lance said, his face stiff. Keith looked over at him, and Lance met his gaze for a half-second and returned his eyes to the road. “What?”

Keith leaned his elbow against the center console. “Can I have a hint?”

“How about a riddle,” Lance shot over to him, sarcasm oozing from his words. Then he added, “It's supposed to be a surprise.”

Keith pouted–actually pouted.

Lance felt heat spread across his cheeks before easing the truck into a turning lane. “We're here–but you have to close your eyes.” Lance made the turn the second he confirmed Keith's eyes were closed. He drove towards the front of the building and parked. “Stay here.”

Lance got out, moving towards the passenger door and opening it. He grabbed Keith's hand, helping him down out of the cab and onto the cooling asphalt.

“Open,” Lance said. 

“A parking lot?”

“You guessed it,” Lance said with fake enthusiasm before spinning Keith's head over to the sign above the building they were parked outside of. 

As Keith stood there, obviously confused, Lance explained.

“You're looking at the Abalone Mall,” Lance announced, like he was a tour guide. “While several classics like H&M, Spencer's and Auntie Anne's Pretzels take refuge in its halls,” Lance looked at Keith’s profile before he continued, “this mall is home to a dying breed. The only two dollar theater left in our area.”

Keith's eyes shot over to Lance and he was surprised at the emotion that overtook his face. He'd never seen him like that–his eyes wide, his mouth slack with surprise. 

“Really?” Keith breathed, and Lance felt his heart skip a beat at the sound. 

He tried to refocus, “Yep, and we're going in.”

Keith grabbed onto Lance's arm, nearly dragging him towards the entrance. The two of them made their way through the almost dead mall–whether it was because of the time of day or because malls were becoming obsolete, Lance didn't know. All he knew was that when Keith reached down for his hand, he let him take it. His tattoo seemed to roar to life when their fingers wove together because a heat far hotter than a candle or steam flashed across his skin. It was far from uncomfortable–being downright pleasant as the air conditioned building chilled him.

Keith half-walked, half-dragged Lance towards the opening of the theater–and Lance recognized the lobby from the pictures online. It looked…destitute. There was only one employee behind the counter and he looked like he'd be better suited to giving people piercings rather than popcorn. Speaking of, popcorn littered the floor towards the trash cans and Lance couldn't even grasp how a floor so colorful could still look so drab.

Still, Lance stepped toward the counter and asked for two tickets to the seven o’clock showing and some popcorn to split. Keith interjected with his demand for a blue icee and in moments they were headed to the main, and only, theater. When they walked down the steep slope that led to the seats, Keith halted. Lance looked around for where to sit–but he soon picked up on what Keith was looking at. The entire theater…was empty.

Lance looked behind him, at where he assumed people would be filing in at any moment, but they did not. He knew that it was their last showing of the night and this particular movie would never be his first choice, but where was everyone? They were even late. 

Keith tugged on Lance’s arm and he led him to the seats in the direct center of the room. When they sat down, Keith put his icee in the cupholder between them, and Lance kept the popcorn on his lap. 

“What movie is playing?” Keith asked, taking a few pieces of popcorn and crunching them between his teeth. 

Lance sat up straight, “Beauty and the Beast.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, amusement finding his features. “Really? Disney?”

“I wanted to avoid the crowds,” Lance gestured to the theater. In reality it was the only time that he could borrow the truck. But Keith didn’t need to know any of that–so he stayed quiet. 

Keith laughed at that, “Well, you succeeded.”

Before Lance could respond, the lights dimmed in the theater and the screen lit up with the opening credits. Keith settled into his seat, his back flat against the cushion. His right leg rested over his left, his ankle resting on his knee. With one hand, he grabbed for more popcorn. 

“This is actually my mom’s favorite remake so far,” Lance said, joining in grabbing some popcorn. 

“Yeah? I’ve heard that the dress was a flop,” Keith said, punctuating his sentence with a sip of his icee. “Here,” he shook the icee at Lance for a second, offering him some.

Lance took it in kind, sipping at it and shaking his head. “God, that’s sweet.” After smacking his lips together a few times, Lance handed it back. Keith responded by placing it on the cupholder to his left. Lance continued the conversation once Keith’s eyes were back on him. “She said she loved it, I guess they added some backstory for the Beast?”

Keith nodded his head, a quick “huh” leaving his lips. 

Then, the opening credits ended–and the two of them were bathed in the bright lights of the opening scene of the movie. As the dialogue echoed through the theater, Lance gave one final look towards Keith. His features were lit up by the screen, his eyes were captivated by the movie. And he looked…happy. 

Then Lance realized that, this entire time, he was smiling. Although he’d had such a brutal wake up call last weekend, he felt miles away from it. Which, wasn’t as ironic as he thought it was considering they were miles away. Lance not only had never been to this mall before, he’d never once visited this town. He’d never even heard of it before looking into two-dollar theaters at Uncle Mickey’s party.

Lance looked at Keith’s hands, which fell loosely on his lap. His eyes traced the lines of his arms as they met his wrists and hands. When Lance looked upon them, he felt a tremor of anxiety ball up in his chest. Swallowing hard, Lance realized that he wanted to hold Keith’s hand. He wanted to feel that heat again–like the haze from a campfire’s glow–emanating from his hip. But, Blake’s words haunted him. If he wanted to stay friends with Keith, he had to ignore the urge to close the distance between them. He had to ignore the emptiness he felt as he leaned back in his own seat and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Lance and Keith walked out of the theater, empty popcorn bucket and icee in hand. They trashed the items and quickly made their way to the exit, their ears still buzzing from the final musical number. As they crossed the lobby, Keith waved to the employee behind the counter. If he waved back, Lance didn’t catch it. The walk back to the truck was quick, the two of them chatting and laughing about the CGI. 

The ride home was similar, the thirty minute drive felt instantaneous as they finally turned onto the familiar street where their homes sat, mere yards from one another. Lance stopped in front of Keith’s driveway, keeping the engine on. The house was dark except for the front porch light which the Kogane’s likely left on for Keith. Lance watched Keith’s back as he opened the truck door. Before getting out, Keith hesitated. 

“You should stay,” he said, his voice softer now than when they were driving. 

Lance thought about it for a second. He looked at the time displayed on the radio’s screen–he had some time before he had to be home. And technically–he was home. Just a few yards away from where his parents expected him to be. 

“Okay,” Lance said, taking the key out of the ignition. 

He opened the door and slid off the seat and onto the road. Both doors slammed shut as Keith followed suit, meeting Lance on the sidewalk. Lance took a step towards the stairs, but Keith grabbed his arm and started tugging him in the direction of the back porch. Lance matched his pace and soft creaking accompanied their steps as they walked up the stairs. When he tried the door it creaked open making both of them nervous.

“Looks like they went to bed already,” Keith noted as he pushed past the door.

“It’s so early though,” Lance raised an eyebrow. Nine p.m. was still early, right? Or had the impending summer completely ruined him? 

Lance looked around the kitchen which was illuminated by the stove light. Everything was bathed in its soft yellow glow leading to a coziness that fit the place well. From the corner of his eye, Lance saw Keith open a small tub on the counter.

“Hell yeah,” he hissed, pulling the tub towards himself.

“What is it?”

“He made cookies,” Keith said before moving to the fridge. “You thirsty?”

“Whatcha got?” Lance asked, stepping closer to help him carry what he got out. 

“Coke, water…OJ,” Keith said, dipping his head a little to see other shelves. 

Lance peeked inside and pulled out a water bottle, “What do you want?”

“Water for me too,” he said and headed towards the back door. 

Lance grabbed it and followed him outside. Keith paused where the deck met the stairs and sat down. He looked back, motioning with his head for Lance to join him. When they were both sitting side by side, Lance handed him his water. He opened his own, leaning back on one palm and looking skyward. Hundreds of stars twinkled above them, not one cloud obscuring their view. 

He finished drinking, and placed his water by his side, keeping the cap in his hand to fiddle with. 

“Try this,” Keith said, his hand offering a circular cookie with a well of what looked like icing in the center. 

“You’re sure Vinney made them?” Lance asked, hesitation filling his voice. He remembered that Helen couldn’t bake to save her life.

“Trust me, you would know if Helen made them,” Keith chuckled. 

Lance took the cookie, their fingers brushing against one another as he did. The sudden contact made his stomach lurch, but he ignored it. He brought it to his lips, the smell of lime hitting his nose. He took a bite and the icing slid free, decorating his top lip. He chewed slowly, licking at his lips at the tangy, sweet flavor. 

“Wow,” Lance said, happily finishing the rest of the cookie. “What the hell was that?”

“That,” Keith said, grabbing another one from the tub, “was a key lime cookie. Vinney tries out new dessert recipes sometimes–these were a hit. I guess he had some limes lyin’ around.”

Lance put out his hand for another, excited to feel that zing from the lime again. When Keith dropped one into his hand, he ate it happily, licking the tip of his finger where some icing got on him. 

The two of them sat in silence for a little bit, the only sounds that passed between them being soft munching and moans of approval. When they were finished snacking, Keith looked over at Lance. He wasn’t sure how he could tell–maybe it was because he felt eyes on him. Regardless, he looked over and sure enough Keith was looking at him.

“What?” Lance asked.

“Thanks for tonight,” Keith said, his voice and expression soft.

Lance sat forward, bringing his knees up towards his chest. While it seemed like he did so in an effort to get comfortable, Lance knew that he was just trying to hide. Like if he tucked his body into a small enough ball he’d disappear. “It was nothing,” Lance assured him.

Keith looked out into the backyard and Lance followed suit. He caught a few lightning bugs rising from the grass and into the crisping night air. 

“You haven’t said anything about Blake,” Keith said after a few moments of silence. 

“What about him?” Lance asked–and the moment the question left his mouth he knew he was too defensive. His tone was an obvious indicator that something happened. And something did happen. He couldn’t lie to someone who was there.

Keith glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “So he knows then?”

Lance clamped his mouth shut for a second, unwilling to admit that Keith was correct. Although, knowing he was right wasn’t as bad as knowing what Blake thought of their soul bond. Cutting his losses, Lance looked over at Keith, their eyes meeting briefly. 

“He knows,” Lance said on an exhale. 

Keith inhaled and nodded, a soft hm the only thing coming from his mouth. 

“He said he’d keep our secret,” Lance said, trying to fill the silence so that he didn’t spill that other thing Blake said. 

“Do you still want it to be a secret?” Keith asked with his voice low.

“Huh?” Lance whipped his head over fast. When he caught Keith’s eyes, he searched for any signs that he was joking. When he saw nothing but Keith’s stone cold serious expression, he pressed his mouth into a thin line. Lance swallowed the terror in his throat, unable to speak. 

“I just don’t see the point anymore,” Keith shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

Keith gave Lance a once-over before he let his legs stretch out along the steps below, crossing his feet at the ankle. “I didn’t talk to Helen or Vinney for a week after they told me we were moving again. Every time we moved it felt like I was leaving my soulmate behind. I never thought moving would bring me closer to you.” He looked towards Lance again. “We met, nothing is gonna change that.”

Lance rubbed at his chin absentmindedly, like the memory brought back an ache from the night they met. 

“You were a huge asshole at first, don’t get me wrong,” he put out his hand, “but then you weren’t.” He sighed. “It’s been nice getting to know you.”

Lance felt the air between them get lighter. His shoulders relaxed, feeling the crushing weight of the last week roll off him. For a moment, everything didn’t seem so bad. 

“I’m just saying, I’m ready when you are,” Keith said, offering Lance a small smile. 

Lance felt the tension leave his face as he smiled back at him. It felt…easy. He tossed around the idea of telling everyone. For a moment, he read their shocked expressions, not as abject horror, but instead as excitement. He imagined telling everyone and it went right. But then, Aunt Amillia Rose’s words–Blake’s words–loomed at the back of his mind like a cloud of thunder, raining down on the bright yellow of his daydream and staining it gray. 

You get to choose.

“What would we tell them?” Lance said, his voice sounding strange in his ears as he struggled to hear it.

“I don’t know,” Keith shrugged. “Hey guys, sorry we haven’t said anything, but we’re soulmates, actually.” Keith said, altering his voice from its usual pitch in an attempt to be funny. 

You get to choose.

Keith rattled on, but it was no more than background noise. Lance couldn’t hear him anymore–all he could hear was one question echoing in his mind and his own heart beat.

Would Keith have chosen Lance?

Lance thought back to how shitty he treated Keith when they first met. The stares, the obvious distaste in Lance’s voice as he spoke. The complete disregard of him as a living, breathing, feeling person. And Keith put up with all of it–even though they were supposedly soulmates. If not for that tattoo–Keith would have slugged him for sure. Keith should be with someone who treats him right from the start–not months after they met. Even their trip to the two-dollar theater was some lame attempt to make himself feel better. He was so desperate for Keith to think he wasn’t that person–the kind that would run away from something–but he couldn’t deny that part of himself. He convinced himself at that moment that they should cut their losses. Maybe this was what they both needed–something that would bring them both back to reality. And just when the feelings swirling inside him couldn’t get any harder to suppress, Lance opened his mouth. 

“Blake said something after he found out about us.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance’s tone–and abrupt change of topic–but he didn’t acknowledge it. “What was it?”

“He said that soulmates could agree to just be friends,” Lance kept his eyes on his hands. “And maybe that should be it between us.”

Lance noted the chill in the air, but knew better than to blame it on the summer air finally going cold. He heard–and felt–Keith shift on the deck they were both sitting on. He didn’t want to look over. He didn’t want to see the expression on Keith’s face–but he turned anyway. Keith’s eyes were on him, studying every minute change of his expression. 

“Do you agree with him?”

The words cut through Lance like a knife. “I-I don’t know,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth between Keith and his hands. Lance swallowed, trying to steady his thoughts. “I just think it’s odd that we didn’t have that instant connection–and maybe this is the reason. Maybe we aren’t supposed to be together together.”

Keith desperately searched Lance’s face for some kind of indication that he was joking–that must have been why his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. 

“Then what was tonight?” Keith sat up, his knees going towards his chest. “Just a guys’ night?”

Lance put his hand on the back of his neck–Keith’s rising tone extinguishing all of his nerve. “W-well–

“I thought you–I thought we–were finally…” Keith paused and took a deep breath in, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. 

“Normal soulmates don’t have to do this–they don’t have to force it,” Lance explained.

“Is that what we’re doing?” 

Lance physically recoiled at the hurt in Keith’s voice. He hated how the very sound made his stomach churn and his heart drop. Lance put his hands up, recalling what Keith said before. “It could be like you said–maybe your actual soulmate is still in Texas.”

“My actual soulmate is right here,” Keith said, his eyes hot with anger and frustration–both of which were pointed directly at Lance. 

His eye contact unnerved him, so much so that Lance had to look away a few times to continue explaining himself. “I’d hate for us to force things and then your real soulmate–the one you always wanted–finds you.” He leaned towards Keith. “The real loves of our lives could still be out there.”

“You don’t think I could be the love of your life?”

Lance sat back, “I didn’t say that.”

Keith stood up, “But it’s what you meant.”

Keith started walking towards the back door–and Lance couldn’t stop himself from standing and reaching for him. He grabbed onto his arm, and Keith snatched it back from him. All his tugging did was reward him with one last glower from Keith. Lance looked into his eyes–at the pain and anger seeded deep within them.

“You’re a fucking coward,” Keith whispered–anger punctuating every word. 

And when he disappeared inside, Lance palpated his tattoo, steeling himself for when it began aching. But there was no pain. In its place? Numbingly cold still water. It was as if he stood in a waist-high pool and the only part of him truly submerged was his tattoo–searing the icy water into every word etched onto him.

The walk to the truck was lonely. Not so much as a cricket gave Lance the sense that he wasn’t alone out there in the dark. He climbed in slowly, and instead of turning around in Keith’s driveway, he put his dad’s truck in reverse and continued until he was backing up beside his mom’s minivan. He looked in the rearview mirror at the light that his family left on for him since he wasn’t home yet. 

Lance pulled the keys from the ignition and walked towards the door. It was only when he placed the keys in the seashell that he knew someone else was awake and walking around. 

“You’re back,” Cedro said from behind Lance. 

Lance could hear him putting down the leg rest on his chair. He faced the door, pretending to fiddle with his phone so he didn’t have to look Cedro in the eye. “Yeah, sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” he was right behind Lance now, moving into the kitchen to put his beer can in the trash. “Oh, I came up with an answer to your question from earlier.”

Lance looked over at him for a second, like his question was written on his father’s face.

“Soul bonds don’t always have to be romantic, but I think every soul bond needs to start out as friends.” Cedro said as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard. “When you gain a soulmate, you gain a friend. If it becomes more than that, I say that’s worth it.”

As Cedro filled the cup with water, Lance felt something inside him shatter. The fight he had with Keith no longer buzzing around his head and instead smashing into him. The force of which sent his back against the front door. 

“I think there are people out there who would rather stay friends because it’s easier. Building towards something more takes time. Some choose to run, but most find that the reward is worth the work.”

Lance dropped his phone and slid down until he was sitting on the doormat. He pulled his knees in close and hid his face in his arms as tears started to sting his eyes.

“Lance?”

His father’s words ran around his head. He realized, so so late, that he had that. Keith was willing to put in the work. Keith stayed by his side as Lance wrapped his head around the fact that they were soulmates. That instant connection was nothing compared to the thrill of seeing who was better at skeeball or Mario Party. It didn’t hold a candle to how holding Keith’s hand went from feeling odd to feeling right. Lance realized, as he sat crumpled on the floor, that he had a friend and a soulmate.

And now, he had neither.

Though his classmates seemed to be having a good time, Lance couldn’t say that he was enjoying himself. The Senior Bonfire is a celebration for all seniors, and Lance had once been excited to join in on the festivities ever since his brother came home reeking of smoke. But now that he was here, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d been cheated somehow. Lance looked at his classmates once again and knew for a fact that it wasn’t because the bonfire sucked. It wasn’t because of the cheap beer. It wasn’t even due to the colder evening air. The bonfire sucked because everything sucked.

He spent so much time tonight watching his classmates carry on with people they normally wouldn’t have shared a two minute conversation with before. It got him thinking about how lonely he’d been these last few weeks. 

After his night away at Blake and Tracey’s apartment, Lance returned to his home with a quiet anger for everyone that put him there. His mother got the brunt of his attitude, and he could tell that she was conflicted about her treatment of him. But not conflicted enough to stop thinking the worst of him, he thought bitterly. When he was doing his Sunday chores, she approached him in the mudroom. She suggested, if Lance could even call it that, that he stay home for a while. Her reasoning being that Grandma Catalina was concerned about his welfare. By staying home, he could prove that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. This, of course, did nothing but keep him under Grandma Catalina’s scrutinizing eyes. Any freedom he’d been able to secure was snatched from him with one foul swoop. As usual, his father stood by–or rather, walked away–always complicit in Grandma Catalina’s affairs. 

Every day there was a new thing she noticed. He shut himself in his room too much. He watched strange shows. He played too much on his phone. He chewed too loud. He wasn’t much for conversation. It was as if life was being drained out of him. Often, he looked at his mother with the same expression after Grandma Catalina said something awful to him. No response. No acknowledgement, even. So when the Senior Bonfire came up, Lance naturally did everything in his power to ensure that he could break away from the hell that his home had become. 

Lance spent a week talking up a fictional project he was assigned, that he was partnered with Hunk. It was an oral project for English, the topic being hand picked by Hunk himself: Sexual Objectification in the Media. He even asked permission to stop by Dollar Tree following a grocery store trip so he could get craft supplies for his visual aid. The lies fell from his tongue so easily, Lance forgot how good he was at it. Tracey would be proud. The night before the bonfire, Lance asked if it would be alright if he stayed at Hunk’s so they could rehearse their parts. By that time, Angella had heard so much about the project, she didn’t even think to question it. 

So, Hunk picked him up and he, finally, was free of his cage. At least for tonight. But there wasn’t any fun to be had. The anger he felt at being caged in the first place was too glaring to ignore. And, as much as he hated it, Lance was still ignoring Keith. His last text to him, a question about what was going on with him, sat there ignored ever since. They hadn’t spoken in weeks. But…

Lance looked up from his can of beer and peered into the crowd. Just beyond the bonfire, on the other side of the clearing, was Keith. He was standing in a small huddle, watching Jake pour a shot-sized amount of Fireball into his mouth from a plastic bottle he’d been nursing from all night. He slung his arms around Keith and Mel’s shoulders, whooping about whatever college he got into. Before Jake could take another swig of the Fireball, Keith seized the bottle from him and put on the cap he held onto since Jake dropped it a few minutes ago. Little protest was given about being cut off, though Lance was certain Jake was too far gone to care. He watched as Keith tucked the bottle into his back pocket, and his gaze stretched beyond the bonfire. Their eyes met and they held each other’s gaze, like in the hallway, or before they went inside their houses for the night. 

Lance swallowed hard at the sight of him. Though Keith was surrounded by his friends, he wondered if he too was lonely without him. Maybe it was selfish of Lance to even think that, but he did. He hoped that somewhere in his head swam the understanding that Lance wasn’t keeping him at a distance for no reason. If Keith was as good as he said he was at reading him, then certainly just his current expression was enough to go on. Though Lance tries his best to reflect whatever emotion he feels at the time, regret, longing, guilt, Keith always has the same one. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is downturned. Lance had long since stopped wondering what this could mean. He initially thought it was wrought with anger at his lack of communication, something they’d worked hard to establish. Maybe he was disappointed in him. But, when those thoughts were too much to bear one night, he resigned himself to never knowing. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t read Keith. Afterwards, his longing gazes at Keith focused only on memorizing the flutter of his eyelashes and the curve of his smile–which Lance realized was a privilege to see. Keith is the first to look away, a rather disheartening constant. 

Lance chugged the last quarter of beer and crushed the can on the tailgate with his hand. He hops off, tossing the tin into one of the empty boxes everyone was using for their discarded cans. He scanned the dizzying crowd for Hunk and noted that while he held a can, it wasn’t beer and instead the mighty Dr. Pepper. Hunk looked happier these days. No longer having any secrets weighing him down did that to a person. Well, save for one. He was having a lot of fun cracking jokes with everyone–something that Lance couldn’t interrupt. Instead, Lance headed for the treeline, hoping that some time away from everyone would help clear his head from all the bad shit. Remind him that he was free now and he could stop pretending he was still locked away.

He comes to a stop a few rows of trees deep, not able to see the bonfire itself, but the trees still illuminated by its orange glow. He rests against the trunk of a tree, trying to remind himself what it was like before, when he enjoyed parties. The music, the ambiance, the conversation. But, the only thing Lance felt was the swirling of alcohol in his gut. Maybe he could fake it? Get wasted like Jake and pretend nothing was wrong. Like he’d never ignored Keith and that he wasn’t the sole person keeping his household from falling apart. Maybe, just tonight, he could act on those impulses–the ones that would surely get him caught. 

But, his thoughts were interrupted by a distant crackling–and it hadn’t come from the fire. Lance, at first, was curious as to who could have followed him into the woods. But, it didn’t take long to narrow down the suspects to just one. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Keith’s mullet catching the light of the fire as he passed him on the left. Their eyes met again, and Lance studied him with renewed interest now that he was so close. Like he knew what Lance was doing, Keith walked on, faced a nearby tree and started peeling the bark from it absently. 

“You gonna tell me what you’ve been thinking these last few weeks, or am I supposed to guess?”

His tone is quiet, as if the anger had become too much and subsided leaving exhaustion in its wake. This did nothing to comfort him. Keith’s very presence didn’t do anything to comfort him. All it did was remind him that there were things Lance couldn’t tell him. Keith gave him a few seconds to speak up, but when it was clear that Lance wasn’t going to, he sighed.

“Fine, I’ll guess.” Keith turned around, his back to the opposing trunk. “If it’s about Jake, he doesn’t remember what he said.” He looks to Lance for confirmation, and his face seems to tell Keith everything he needs to know. 

Lance knits his eyebrows together. Letting Keith guess is already terrible. There is a rush of relief every time he mentions something Lance was worried about, but it is quickly overshadowed by the fear that he could guess correctly if allowed to go on too long.

“Not that. Okay. After that, Hunk went missing. Did you start freaking out about college, too? I know we haven’t talked about it, but we can.” Again, he searches Lance’s face for an indication that he is on the right track.

Lance can feel himself wishing that he would just drop it, but he is so desperate for Keith to know what has been swimming in his head.

“Then it has to be that,” Keith said, his eyes finding Lance’s.

Lance swallowed hard, knowing that he’s got his number. 

“Your mom didn’t look like she believed you,” Keith said softly, “about Hunk going missing.”

Lance looked away, but it’s too late. 

“And your Grandma,” he prompts, “she kept bringing up Jake’s party–like she was testing me.” Lance’s refusal to look at him is an indication all on its own, so he continues. “Is that why you told me to go? So you wouldn’t get caught in a lie?”

One nod is all Lance gets in before Keith drags him into a hug by his jacket. The force of their chests colliding hits him hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but he ignores it. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around Keith, threading his fingers in his hair and burying his face deep into his neck. For a moment all he can smell is smoke and cinnamon, and it is all he cares about until Keith pulls away. 

“I wanted to tell you that night,” Lance says, voice barely above a whisper, knowing that ignoring his text was foolish. Even if Keith needed confirmation, it didn’t take from the fact that he was always searching for an answer for Lance’s behavior. 

“Why didn’t you?”

“It feels like if I start I won’t be able to stop and everything will come crashing down around me.”

This is true. If he told Keith about Grandma Catalina calling him out, then he’d have to tell him about the hold she had on his mom. If he said that, he would have to bring up that she no longer trusts Hunk or Keith. And why were they not trusted? Because Lance was clawing at freedom–clawing towards them. Why did he need freedom? From the hell his home had turned into. Why was it hell? Because he couldn’t talk without thinking over every word he said. If some phrase he used would allude Aunt Amillia Rose to worry that he was being too blase with the most important secret of her life. Maybe he would accidentally let something slip about his recent talks with Blake and Tracey. Everything would snowball and he’d be babbling to Keith for hours about every small thing. He wanted to save him from that fate–the one that had him second-guess every sentence, every cursory glance.

“There’s so much–too much,” Lance reaches for him as if he were desperate, and he reluctantly realizes that he is. He’s missed Keith so much he could scream. His thoughts go to his tattoo, which has been dormant since he told Keith to get lost. The only way he knew Keith wasn’t through with him was via the pangs of pain he received. “You didn’t go numb did you?” Lance asks, pawing at his arm, terrified of the answer. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, promise.”

Keith lets him take his arm in his hands, stepping into him again. “I didn’t–and I knew you weren’t.”

Relief swells in his chest. “She thinks I drank at Jake’s party.”

“You did,” Keith says. 

Lance pulls away, “But she doesn’t know I did.”

“She does, Lance. She knew before she ever asked me.”

Lance knew that he was right, but he still couldn’t admit defeat. He had been so careful. There was no way she actually could have known. She didn’t see him come home, hadn’t heard anything all the way in her room. She was just assuming the worst of them. Convinced that Lance’s friends were going to lead him to ruin. Still, he couldn’t tell Keith how precarious of a situation they were in. To think he once worried about Keith not being accepted as his soulmate, and now it was coming to fruition. 

“You can’t be around her, you or Hunk,” Lance warned. “Please.”

“I’ll stay away,” Keith quiets him with a small stroke of his thumb on his lips. “Is there anything I can do?”

Lance takes every drop of affection from Keith greedily. “I don’t know,” he lowers his head. 

Keith drops his head as well and touches their foreheads together, offering him a few calm breaths. His mind pauses for a moment, the  waters so still he can see what they must look like here in the woods. Two dark figures illuminated by firelight, clinging to one another for comfort. He was thankful all of their classmates were wasted–or getting there.

“All that stuff you can’t tell me,” Keith prompted, “is it worth it?”

Lance nodded. One thing he did know was that saving his mother this heartache was the one positive out of all this. Finding out her sister was lying. Her eldest. Her middle. What good could it have brought her to know they were all such good liars?

Keith holds Lance’s face in his hand, stroking his skin gently. “When it gets too much, come find me.”

Lance shook his head, separating them. “I don’t want her saying anything else about you.” The words left his lips so easily, he instantly regretted it. Keith being so easy to talk to was going to be his undoing–another reason he couldn’t seek refuge in him. The risk was astronomical.

“What is she–

Lance gives him a look, one that begged him not to ask another question. He quiets and drops the subject. Instead, he reaches behind him and palms the Fireball he confiscated from Jake. “I nabbed this earlier,” Keith shook the half-empty bottle. “Want some?”

“Share an indirect kiss with Jake? No thanks,” he follows Keith’s lead, hoping it will lead to a lighter mood. 

Keith raises the bottle with a shrug. “More for me then.”

Lance gives him a look, “You better not.” Lance grabs his hand, trying to take the bottle away. Keith tries to flee, but Lance catches him, spinning him until he feels their bodies collide with the trunk of the tree. His hands are on either side of Keith’s head, fingers in line with scars in the bark. Before Lance can stop him, Keith takes a hearty pull on the bottle. 

“Ugh,” he makes a face. “That’s bad.”

Lance laughs, “I tried to tell you.” 

Before he can step away, Lance hears the bottle clatter against the roots and land somewhere under the brush on his left. Within seconds, Keith leads Lance into him using his jacket. Their kiss is laced with cinnamon and the all-encompassing scent of alcohol. Lance feels everything he was worried about melt away into nothingness in an instant. He stole this moment like the little criminal he was, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. As he returned Keith’s kiss, he wondered when he’d be able to do this again–sneak away in a secret rendezvous.

Lance can hardly stop himself from getting carried away. Perhaps it was all the weeks he’d been forced to stay away, surviving off glances. Regardless, he kisses Keith down to the hollow of his neck, his hands dragging down the fabric of his coat. His fingers, chilled to the bone, snake below his shirt, wrenching a gasp from Keith. Still, they climb up his spine as Keith lets his head fall to the side, giving in to Lance’s mouth as it suckles at the sensitive skin at his neck. Their legs lace together and Lance puts force behind his knee as he searches for the small sliver of space between Keith’s thighs. A soft exhale escapes Keith’s lips and he searches for Lance’s in the dark. Lance can feel his hands travel up his jacket, grabbing fitsfuls of fabric to steady himself, or pull Lance closer. Anything that results in more friction, more kissing, more breathless moans.

“I missed you,” Keith whispers against his lips. 

Lance’s heart, once racing, is now aching. Keith isn’t playing fair. Though, he parrots back how much he missed Keith as well. “Every night I’d fall asleep resting one hand on top of my other, pretending it was yours,” he adds. 

Lance can tell that Keith is smiling, can feel the electricity between them crackle in the air. The smiling has turned to laughing in seconds.

Lance decides, somewhere between being called pathetic and a loverboy that they should head back to the bonfire. He crouches down, attempting to find the discarded bottle of Fireball while Keith composes himself. Above him, Keith’s breath hitches once Lance’s knees have hit the ground. Lance looks up, curiosity raising an eyebrow as he focuses on Keith’s face. From his vantage point, he sees desire welling in Keith’s eyes. Lance blinks, then notices that his right hand is brushing against Keith’s upper thigh, to steady himself on his way down. But with his mouth inches away from Keith’s zipper, it was likely Keith thought he had other plans. The look in his eyes, the reddening of his cheeks, all of it is so delicious. 

But instead of acting on anything like he wants to, he instead smirks up at Keith. “Who’s pathetic now?”

Before Keith can say anything snarky in reply–or worse–goad him into something, they hear a branch break a few feet away. Lance grabs Keith’s outer thigh to pull himself up, but Keith holds him in place by the shoulder. He watches as Keith glances behind them, towards where they both entered the woods a few minutes earlier. Lance sees only Keith, but he can hear the unmistakable sounds of Jake singing the chorus of some Breaking Benjamin song. 

“Keith?”

Lance felt Keith go rigid beneath him. He can see Keith weighing his options. Speak or stay silent. 

“You’re not throwing up are you?” Jake laughed.

Jake’s footsteps are inching closer and Lance realizes that this is not how he envisioned getting caught. Because that was what would happen. Drunk Jake was no one’s friend and a rumor like this would catch like wildfire. Lance looks up at Keith, who is still coming to a decision.

“Are you–

“I’m good,” Keith called out, his voice hoarse from underuse. The sudden burst of noise stops Jake in his tracks. 

“You don’t sound good,” Jake said, skepticism evident in his tone. “Where are you?”

Keith clears his throat. “I’m just,” he trails off as he meets Lance’s eyes. He must know that they are seconds from discovery. There is a second where Lance wonders if he will soon be reunited with the bottle of Fireball. Instead, Lance watches as Keith peeks his head out from behind the tree. Lance feels his hand get pushed inward on his thigh. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Jake paused, and Lance gave a small prayer in the absence of noise. Then he started chuckling. Lance could only hope that he thought Keith was indeed puking and trying to be strong about it. 

“Alright man, I’ll see you. Don’t have too much fun.”

Footsteps receding back into the clearing signal that Jake has left the woods. “Did he see me?” Lance asks, hands combing the forest floor for the bottle.

“Maybe your hand,” Keith said, pushing it away from his inner thigh. “Do you think he got the wrong idea?”

“He’s not the only one,” Lance says under his breath as he stands, Fireball in hand.

The smack to the arm he gets is deserved.

After he and Keith staggered their re-entry into the clearing, Lance attempted to mingle with Hunk. It seemed that his tryst with Keith eased him up enough that he finally felt every mile that separated him from his problems at home. There was only the bonfire, the beer and their classmates now. He was handed a luke warm bottle, but before he drank it, he put it up, everyone in their huddle returning the gesture and coating his hand in foam.

The party was still going on strong when Hunk’s ringtone squawked in his pocket. He picked up quickly, recognizing the song he’d chosen specifically for his mom. Lance looked elsewhere as he stepped away, urging everyone back to their conversation as a way of offering him privacy. It wasn’t until Lance looked back and saw the expression on his face that he followed him to the treeline. Hunk’s eyes were wide, his smile wiped from his face. 

“Y-yeah, we’ll be home in thirty,” Hunk said as he hung up abruptly.

“What’s up?”

Hunk gave Lance a look before answering him. “Your dad is at my house.” The shock must have registered on his face because Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Did you not tell your parents you were coming here?”

“You did?” Was all Lance could come up with as he attempted to still his heart.

Lance could see that the question bothered him, but Hunk just said, “I learned my lesson.”

“What’s going on?” Keith asked, emerging from the other side of the bonfire once he saw Lance and Hunk huddled together.

“Hunk,” Lance reached for him, but he was soon pushing through the crowd towards his dad’s busted sedan. He and Keith exchanged a look before they followed him. 

Keith’s question never got answered, as he and Hunk were both silent on the way back to town. Lance could hear each of them draw breath since Hunk hadn’t bothered to turn on the radio. It didn’t matter though, because the sound of his anger was deafening. It wasn’t that Lance had ruined the night–it was that he didn’t tell his parents where he was going. Of course Hunk would feel some type of way about that having just regained his parent’s trust from the disappearing act he pulled. Lance tried not to take it to heart. Afterall, Hunk wasn’t aware of everything–and he preferred it that way. It was easier for him to be left in the dark than have yet another person be subjected to half truths and lies of omission.

Just like Hunk said, they were home in thirty minutes–and Lance was dreading his reunion with his father the whole time. Before they pulled up outside, Lance could see his truck parked behind Helen’s Subaru, lights on, heat running. His dad was leaning against the driver door, waiting stoically in the dark. Hunk’s parents were with him, chatting in their pajamas, their hoodies covering their midsections. 

Lance was the first to get out of the car, stepping out onto the sidewalk as his father took measure of him silently. The whole ride to Hunk’s, he wracked his brain trying to figure out how they knew. He was so careful–way more careful than he’d been with any of his other lies. Hunk and Keith followed him, and Tama ushered Hunk into the house. Keith split, giving Lance a cautious glance. Cedro nodded towards Hunk’s dad, a usually cheerful man that now looked grimly in Lance’s direction. Cedro didn’t speak–he merely got in the truck. Lance followed suit, anxiety propelling his legs more than anything. 

Lance and his father shared a wordless, radioless, soundless drive home. He half-expected the lecture to start there, or maybe he’d fill Lance in on what he was in for. But no, it seemed that Cedro wanted him to walk into the hornets nest they called a house completely unprepared. He would just have to come up with his own plan, then. 

His parents knew about the bonfire–not sure how–but oh well. How could he get out of this? He lied, yes, but he’d tell them that he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to go. They had, in fact, trapped him in the house these last few weeks. How could they argue that an elaborate scheme wasn’t his only option? His mom would be angry, yes, but what other avenue had she given him?

His dad’s truck slid into its resting spot in the driveway. Lance swallowed once he saw every light on the first floor was on. He looked at his dad, who disregarded Lance as a passenger. He followed him outside and into the foyer, where his mom, Grandma Catalina and Aunt Amillia Rose were waiting. He steeled himself, wondering why everyone needed to be here. Cedro walked past him and joined the other adults, their eyes focused on him.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Grandma Catalina’s accusatory voice breaks their silence. “See? I told you. What did I say? I said there was no project. Call Miss Tama, I said, and look where your boy was. Out with those…those hooligans.”

Lance narrows his eyes at her, the urge to yell at her to shut up burning his throat. 

“One scared his parents to death and the other one is dragging him places to drink themselves stupid.” She eyes him with a look of disgust that she is doing a wonderful job articulating. “I can smell the beer from here.”

Lance clenches his fists at his sides, “That’s not true. Keith didn’t drag me.”

Grandma Catalina throws up her forefinger, “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

Lance looks towards Aunt Amillia Rose, who shakes her head, as if his actions tonight were unforgivable. His father has checked out, likely staying so that he doesn’t have to hear about his absence from Grandma Catalina. And his mother? Her eyes are trained on him, they have been since he walked through the door. Her eyes are red, her mouth twitching to stay in a tight frown. 

“I’m not lying,” Lance says, his eyes looking for someone, anyone, to help him defend Keith. But there were no allies here. Only enemies. Still, he had to try. “Mom,” Lance gives her a look, begging her to stand up for Keith–for both of his friends. Afterall, she is well past defending him.

“We know about the Valentine’s party, Lance.”

Lance’s confusion comes quickly across his face, “What about the Valentine’s party?” He asks, incredulously. Every ounce of malice he had in his body propelled forward at her.

“You and Keith came home drunk,” she explained, voice wavering. 

“Why? Because that’s what Grandma Catalina said?” 

“The breakfast sandwiches,” she tells him, and Lance can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth. 

“Oh no, I ate a breakfast sandwich,” he says, waving his hands around like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“Lance!” His mother yells, clearly forgetting about Nino and Amada sleeping upstairs. “I am through with you lying to me! I want the truth, now!”

“I’m not lying!” He brought his hands out, as if to lay himself bare. 

“You are! You have been lying to me for a while now, and,” her voice falters for a moment, “you’re so good at it I didn’t even notice.” When her eyes meet Lance’s again, they are dark with anger. “So until you tell me what’s going on, you are grounded!”

Lance wants to turn around, open the front door and walk out. He wants to run away where no one will ever find him. But he can’t. The one place he would go, Keith’s, would get him–their relationship–found out in a second. Instead, he takes a deep breath and ignores the tears stinging his eyes.

“Then I guess I’m grounded,” Lance shoots a look her way as he turns for the stairs.

“Lance,” his mom calls and he looks at her, not even sure what he’s expecting from her anymore. Maybe some leniency depending on the wavering of her voice. Instead, she stretches out her hand. “Phone.”

Lance pulls his phone out of his back pocket, and watches as the screen flicks on. Without much thought, he tosses it to the floor at her feet. “Passcode is sixty-nine sixty-nine.” He ascends the stairs. 

Lance reaches his bedroom in seconds, hearing small footsteps scurry back to bed. Both Nino and Amada heard their fight downstairs. He clenches his teeth and slams his bedroom door behind him. He sits on his bed, head in his hands. He wracks his brain, trying to think of what his mom knows already. The bonfire, duh, the Valentine’s party, sure, but what else did she know about? He recalled her telling Tracey that something happened last summer–could she be tracking his lies that far back? Was this not just about his recent lies, but about his first one?

The thought is so terrible, Lance goes pale. He wants to assure himself that this couldn't possibly be true–that his mom could just be bluffing. But, before he can stop himself, he is reaching underneath his bed and ripping the walkie-talkie he duct taped there away from its hiding place. Lance stares at the talk button, wondering if Keith made it home already. If he was in his room. If he was texting him or snapping him asking for the information he didn’t get earlier.

“Keith,” Lance whispered into the receiver. “Keith, are you home?”

“Lance,” Keith’s voice whispers back. “What’s going on? Helen said your mom didn’t know about the bonfire tonight.”

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat. Was he really the only one that lied to their parents? “Uh yeah, I told her I was doing a project with Hunk. But look, I got grounded so,” he hesitates. “My mom has my phone.”

“Lance,” Keith says, like he’s preparing a lecture.

“She wants me to start telling the truth, Keith.”

There is a long pause and Lance fears that maybe Keith’s batteries have finally given out. But, then he answers, calmly, warmly. “Then tell her we drank, she can’t be too surprised.”

“It’s not just about the parties, Keith.” Lance sighs into the receiver. 

“Like what’s going on with Blake and Tracey?”

“Blake and Tracey, Aunt Amillia Rose…us.” The heaviness in his chest doesn’t subside, but Keith’s voice still soothes him. Enough at least to stop the tears from welling in his eyes. “Do me a favor and tell Hunk. I know he wouldn’t text me about anything like that, but just in case.”

Keith agreed, his voice spackled with radio static. Then, as if he could sense the turmoil Lance was hiding, he spoke again. “You know what to do when it’s too much, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance whispered into the receiver, his voice breaking. “Come find you.”

“Come find me,” he repeated.

With that, Lance hid his walkie-talkie farther underneath the bed in case his parents tried to find it. With any luck, they would think Nino still held possession of it. Lance fell onto bed, wrapping his arms around himself. His jacket smelled of cinnamon and smoke and it reminded him of Keith. Their kiss. Their soulbond. With two fingers, he palpated his lips and thought of a way to see him. Chances were bleak he’d be able to sneak away anytime soon. He wasn’t sure what his parents had in store for him anyway as he’d never really been grounded before. School might be the only place he could see him now.

Lance let out a scoff, far from amused. “I didn't even do anything.”

“She said you were rude,” Cedro stated to the road ahead of them. 

“Well, I wasn't,” Lance shot over to him.

Cedro took his obstinance in stride. “Your mother is going to get an earful about it whether you think you were rude or not.”

Lance felt a tightness in his chest–a pang of guilt. Anger even. His mind raced with the phrase It's not my fault. It was as if the words came from a broken record spinning endlessly, reverberating out its woeful melody. He wished the noise in his head would stop. But it persisted, choosing to loop in other parts of the record. I hate it here. I don't care. I didn't do anything.

The only thing worse than the anger was the guilt. He'd already been witness to Grandma Catalina talking down to his mother. After Hunk went missing she was especially harsh on Angella, weighing in on what happens when you don't police children. Hunk was a warning sign of trouble to come–and Lance was next. Afterall, he was always running off with the neighbor boy to do God knows what, with God knows who. Angella could count on more instability if she didn't put her foot down.

His mother's reaction to this was stark denial. Hunk was going through something. Lance wouldn't run off like that. Keith was a nice boy. The Koganes were good people. And while he wished he didn't hear it, they were loud enough to broadcast their fight upstairs. Aunt Amillia Rose had to remind them that Amada and Nino were sleeping. If she mentioned that Lance could be awake, he didn't hear it. After that, they were quiet–only then could Lance fall into a dreamless sleep. 

There was nothing he or anyone could do to make Grandma Catalina leave his mother alone. Nothing she did was good enough. Everything Lance did was under a microscope. There he was with every minute action he took presented for inspection on a glass slide. Angella would hear about how rude he was regardless of if he meant to be or not, just as his father said. And the guilt made him lean against the window harder. His cheeks got red hot as he relived the events that got him exiled in the first place.

Like Aunt Amillia Rose said, she was fixing to garden this weekend. She was already knee deep in weeding before Lance even caught wind of her plans. He tried to hide how hurt he was that she didn't ask for his help as he threw on his mangled yardwork jeans. He was downstairs in a minute or so, for once excited to be out of his room. Lance opened the front door and every molecule of joy evaporated. 

There, in the front lawn, was Grandma Catalina with his gloves on. They didn't fit her right, which she made the world aware of by constantly tugging on the sleeve and clicking her tongue. Aunt Amillia Rose offered to switch with her but she insisted they would do. She would help out for as long as her wrist would allow.

“They just aren't my gloves,” Grandma Catalina spoke with a bitterness unknown to any other mortal in this realm. 

Aunt Amillia Rose let her comment slide off her back as they all, on hands and knees, weeded the front bed. Lance, however, was not so forgiving. He looked at Grandma Catalina from the corner of his eye. He wondered if what she was doing was intentional. 

“I bet my garden is in ruins by now.”

Lance peeked over at Aunt Amilia Rose, who was tugging away at a thick thistle root. Lance shook his head. Were they supposed to feel guilty about her garden? Were they somehow supposed to fix it? The questions swirled in his head as he snipped overgrown branches off of a shrub. Still, Grandma Catalina squawked about her flowering plants and her usually manicured hedges. What the neighborhood would think if her rhododendron went without pruning for a season. Someone might as well cut her open and bleed her out. 

“Who would put a bird feeder here?”

The question caught Lance off guard and he looked towards Grandma Catalina. She had just come upon the base of the rod holding up the large feeder. Lance's face immediately fell to a frown. That was his mother's bird feeder. The one she inserted into Aunt Amillia Rose’s garden with little thought. And despite all the inconvenience, Aunt Amillia Rose still weeded around it because it was her sister's. 

“Where is the sense?” Grandma Catalina stood as swiftly as a lady as old as dirt could. With both hands she gripped the rod and tugged upward. In three hearty tugs, the garden hook came away, sloshing uneaten seeds about the ground. Once it was free, Grandma Catalina simply released it, sending it clattering loudly to the grass below. In a second, Lance was standing, fear for the feeder’s well-being sending him towards it. He knelt beside it, the thinner parts of plastic getting the most of his attention as he inspected it for cracks. 

“Let it be,” Grandma Catalina ordered over her shoulder. “We'll move it later.”

Lance's eyes shot over to Aunt Amillia Rose, searching for an ally. Someone who understood the significance of his mother's bird feeder being tossed away like trash. But instead, all he saw was Aunt Amillia Rose's tired expression as she threw a shrug his way. He couldn’t help but grind his teeth as resentment settled in his chest. It wasn't about the bird feeder. His mom couldn't pass up the discount so she stuck it in the cart. It wasn't anything special or meaningful–but it was hers. 

It was her bird feeder, in her garden, at her house. And yet Grandma Catalina saw fit to remove it. Tossing it away in the yard and spilling its contents as she did so. Why would she do that? Why would she come into their lives and add nothing but bitterness? Why did she insist on seeing no one's point-of-view but her own? Why did everyone put up with it? That was still something Lance was trying to work out even as he sat in the truck with his dad.

When Aunt Amillia Rose blew him off, he swallowed his anger like he had since she came bursting into their home. He returned to the garden, beside Grandma Catalina as she erected a small pile of weeds beside her. If the afternoon would have stopped there, Lance wouldn't be having this fight with his father. Instead, he'd probably be in his room texting Keith to ask when Helen and Vinney were asleep. He wanted to see him, to run away for at least a little while. But, Keith would bring up the same thing he always brought up. 

You haven't invited me over in a while.

And Lance didn't have the time or emotional capacity to explain to him why that was. He hadn't so much as breathed a word about Grandma Catalina since Jake's party. He was hoping Keith would assume that, with the addition of Grandma Catalina, their hopes for a midnight rendezvous was impossible now. But Keith wasn't just asking about their trysts. He was asking why no dinner invites had been extended. Why he and Hunk hadn't crossed the threshold for another guy's night. Why he spent every moment he could away from his house. There was no way to make him understand. How could he subject Keith to Grandma Catalina’s sharp tongue and eyes? But, the afternoon hadn't stopped with the man-handling of his mom's bird feeder. 

Lance pricked his finger on a wayward thistle and shook it. This went unnoticed to Grandma Catalina and Aunt Amillia Rose. He held his hand out, inspecting the small drop of blood that raised from the injury. The pain he felt was minor, and nothing new, but it was what sent him teetering towards the edge.

“Hey,” Keith said from beside Lance. 

When he looked over his shoulder, Keith’s hands were on his knees and his smile was bright. He was dressed for the weather. Jeans, t-shirt, and Lance could see a pair of gardening gloves sticking out of his back pocket. The sight of him should have filled Lance with relief–and it did–until he heard Grandma Catalina rise. Then, his face drooped, absolute terror taking its place. 

“So this is the famous Keith?” Grandma Catalina takes Lance’s gloves off, leaving her dominant hand free. 

Lance comes to stand beside her, looking at Keith’s shocked expression as he registers just who is standing before him. He puts on a timid smile and stretches out his hand.

“That’s me,” Keith takes her hand in his own. “Though I didn’t know I was famous,” he adds with a curious glance towards Lance. 

Grandma Catalina laughs, “I hear little Nino jabber on and on with that little radio.” She gives Lance a playful shove, “This one over here is always saying, ‘He’s busy tonight, we can’t have him over.’ Not allowed to have any fun, huh?”

Lance stutters to defend himself, his protests against her claims getting caught in his throat. She was telling the truth–she was–but it lacked context. His eyes went to Keith, who seemed to take her comment in stride. Keith looked over at him, ever so briefly, assessing him. He likely noted the sweat percolating on his forehead, his furrowed brow, maybe his darting glances. He prayed that Keith would be able to read him like he had all those times before. That his true intentions were not hidden beneath his ever-present mask.

Keith smiled as he met Grandma Catalina’s gaze, “Not much these days.”

“I thought my daughter told me you went to a party the other week?”

Keith nodded, “Yeah, let’s just say attendance was mandatory for that one.”

Lance studied Keith and Grandma Catalina as she showcased her charms. The despicable woman he’d come to know these last few weeks disappeared, revealing a lovely, well-mannered lady. She spoke softly, with minimal affectation. Then, Lance looked at Keith, who was holding his own despite her questions. He wondered just how Keith was able to face her without cracking. Had he become a better liar in the time they knew one another? Was that due to Lance’s influence?

“It was very nice of you to accompany my grandson,” she beamed, and Lance looked at her strangely.

In all her time here she’d never called him that.

“Well, we figured we should walk together.”

Lance stepped between the two of them, “He should be getting back home soon, Grandma.”

“Nonsense, Keith, have you come to garden?” Grandma Catalina rested a hand on Keith’s upper arm. “Amillia Rose mentioned you were such a big help before.”

Before Keith could clock Lance’s obvious distaste, he answered, “I have.”

“Good, then you can tell me all about your friends in school,” she said as she tugged him towards the flowerbed. “Lance talks about Hunk sometimes, was he there at the party?”

Keith shook his head as he followed her to the garden bed. “He couldn’t go,” Keith said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Hunk couldn’t go since he had met his soulmate–something Keith and Lance were simply pretending hadn’t happened to them. 

Grandma Catalina clicked her tongue, “Too bad, I bet he would have had a lot of fun.” She tugs Keith’s gloves out of his pocket. “Put your gloves on quickly, the thistles are ghastly this year.”

Within seconds, it seemed that Aunt Amillia Rose and Lance were ousted from their own activity. They stood there like servants, waiting to be called upon for a task. Aunt Amillia Rose watched for a few seconds before announcing that she would grab drinks for everyone. That left Lance gawking down at Keith as he started to tug on a few hearty weeds Grandma Catalina couldn’t get a good grip on. Her wrist was hurting, after all, and she probably overdid it when she threw the bird feeder to the ground.

“I heard from Lance about your PT,” Keith said. “Does it hurt much?”

She shook her head, “The world just keeps reminding me I’m no spring chicken.”

Lance positions himself beside Keith, removing bits of debris from the mulch and into the waste pile Grandma Catalina started. Their conversation continues, most of the topics innocent. After a while, he was caught in the repetition of his task so he failed to register just what Grandma Catalina’s goal was.

“No way,” Keith shook his head, confirming she’d aged gracefully.

She batted at him, charmed. “I’m serious, I was quite a party girl back in the day,” Grandma Catalina said, her tone suggesting a quiet, devilish nature. “I can’t even smell tequila without gagging.”

Lance watched Keith’s profile as he laughed. “I believe that,” Keith said as he got lost in his task–just like Lance had. 

“So your parents drink?” 

Every hair on the back of Lance’s neck stood up as he finally realized what she was doing. Before Keith could give her an answer, Lance grabbed him by the arm. His head whipped around, finding Lance’s eyes. He didn’t doubt that he looked nothing like before. There was no fear of misunderstanding here now–only anger. 

“Go home,” Lance said inches from Keith’s face. 

Surprise turned to caution, then finally to hurt. Seeing it made Lance’s heart drop–but he couldn’t have Keith here anymore. Grandma Catalina gave her innocent protests as she stood, like she wasn’t just playing good cop. But Lance didn’t waver. He saw Keith to his feet and watched as he stripped his hands of his gloves. They held eye contact as he pressed them into his pocket once more. Keith stalked off, his shoulders hung low the whole way to his house.

“What did you do that for?” Aunt Amillia Rose shouted from the porch. 

Lance’s eyes found hers–genuine anger welling in them as she held two of the four plastic cups in her hands. The other two were in his mother’s. They both looked disgusted at his actions. He turned towards Grandma Catalina, who was far from innocent, but looked the part decently enough. He glared at her. 

“Lance,” Angella stepped over to him, prompting him to explain himself. 

Lance didn’t know what to say and he certainly didn’t know what to do. Where would he even start? Grandma Catalina was so exact in her deception he was sure Keith hadn’t even recognized her questions for what they were. So maybe he would start there. He pointed at Grandma Catalina, his eyes full of indignation. 

“She was interrogating him,” Lance said, his voice wavering with emotion. 

Their eyes went to Grandma Catalina, “I was just asking about the party they went to.”

“You were trying to catch me in a lie,” Lance said defiantly. 

“Did you lie?” Grandma Catalina asked, her tone suggesting that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Lance clamped his mouth shut. Instead, he looked towards his mom. “Mom,” he said, gesturing towards Grandma Catalina. He hoped that she would do something. Put her foot down. Tell her that it wasn’t okay to pry into his life using his friends. But…

“Did you lie?” His mother asked, her eyes focused on Lance. 

Lance looked at her a moment and knew exactly why Tracey lied to her for a majority of his life. He would tell her the only reason he drank at Jake’s party was because Grandma Catalina already accused him of it. But she wouldn’t hear the latter–she would only hear that her mother was right. He was doomed to a life of chips and swapping rock-bottom stories. What good was it to tell the truth? She was already disappointed in him. Grandma Catalina saw to that.

Lance watched as his mother’s confidence in him sank into nothingness and suddenly he was certain that any answer he gave didn’t matter to her. His shoulders sagged and he wanted to nestle himself under Keith’s blankets to hide away from the afternoon. But even that fantasy was stripped from him as he remembered the look Keith gave him. How long would it take for Keith to forgive him this time, he wondered. 

Like his silence indicated guilt, Grandma Catalina crossed her arms over her chest.

“I told you,” Grandma Catalina said, in that tone reserved for when she was talking down to his mother. “I said you couldn’t trust him,” she said. 

“Mom,” Aunt Amillia Rose said, as if that would do anything to quiet her.

“I told you they were bad influences,” Grandma Catalina was relentless.

“You don’t fucking know them!”

Lance didn’t know he’d said anything until his throat ached in response to the words. He stood there, fists clenching, eyes on the ground, heart pounding, for a few seconds before he looked up. Grandma Catalina wasn’t looking at him–but at his mother. Following her gaze, his mother looked caught off guard. His yelling attracted his father, who came barreling out of the house. Nino and Amada quickly followed. Lance stood there as his entire family gawked at him like he was the latest exhibit. 

He felt ashamed at how he exploded, knowing that it wouldn’t help his case now. He’d scared his little brother and cousin and made a spectacle of himself. But, his anger only quieted a moment. When he locked eyes with his mom again, and she merely blinked at him, he grit his teeth. Of course she wouldn’t say anything to defend him. Grandma Catalina already sunk her claws into her. She was no longer capable of seeing him as anything but dishonest and untrustworthy. The same went for Hunk…and Keith apparently. The latter of the two the most undeserving of her misgivings. 

Lance adjusted himself in his seat as Cedro pulled into a parking spot outside of Tracey’s apartment. Instead of defending her son, who she’s known all of his seventeen years, his mom instead called up Tracey while Lance was wallowing in his room. She suggested, very forcefully, that he get away from the house. His brother was nice enough, and likely forced, to extend an invitation. While he was upset that she felt so ill-equipped to deal with him at the moment, he couldn’t deny that it gave him a way out of the house he so desperately needed out of. Plus, since Angella set up the whole thing, she wouldn’t ask a million questions about his whereabouts, who he was with and what he was doing. Lance didn’t bother with any goodbyes as he collected his overnight bag, which consisted of a backpack. He opened up the door of the truck and slid to the concrete below. 

“Don’t forget mom’s tupperware,” Cedro said as he slammed the door. 

Lance threw his backpack over his shoulder, not bothering to reply to his dad. Cedro seemed to hesitate in the parking lot instead of driving off right away like he had when he dropped him off at Hunk’s. He wondered if his dad’s renewed interest in him had something to do with his outburst, but he thought better of it. He was probably just informing Tracey that he was walking up. Either that or he was reporting his every step back to Angella. 

Lance sighed as he walked up to Blake and Tracey’s apartment door. He knocked before trying the knob. With a quick twist, it popped open and Lance was confronted by the remarkably clean space. Lance hadn’t been here since he moved them in and it was nice to see that the walls were no longer bare. The place looked lived in–smudges on the appliances, a pile of junk mail on the countertop and a few stray socks decorating the floor. 

Once inside, Lance kicked the door closed with his left leg and dropped his bag at his feet. Behind him, he twisted the deadbolt before stepping deeper into the apartment. The smell of something delicious wafted up his nose and he couldn’t help but salivate. He stepped towards the kitchen, hoping that whatever was cooking would be done soon because he was famished. The anger he felt at his family gave rise to quite an appetite. 

“Somebody’s in trouble,” Tracey sang and he tapped the side of his skillet with a wooden spoon. 

“Shut up,” Lance said, rolling his eyebrows. “How much did she tell you?”

“Oh, not much,” he said with little regard. “Just that you needed some time away.”

Lance wondered if he was telling the truth or not. It wasn’t so foreign a concept that Tracey and their mother held a certain understanding now and kept secrets between them. But then again, he knew that Tracey wouldn’t sell him out to her. He would give him the benefit of the doubt, even if she didn’t. So more likely than anything his statement here was the truth. If his mother said anything to him, he probably pretended to listen, maybe getting the highlights, but otherwise ignoring everything that wasn’t pertinent. He hoped the details he committed to memory were the right ones. 

“I’ve needed time away for weeks,” Lance shrugged, peering over his shoulder at the cheese sauce that bubbled in the skillet. “What’s that?”

“Cheesy tuna pasta,” Tracey said as he gave another stir to the skillet so the contents wouldn’t burn. “Blake requested it.”

“Box?”

“Scratch,” Tracey gestured to the empty bag of egg noodles and the discarded remnants of the cheddar cheese block. 

Lance grabbed the haggard hunk and started chomping away at it, eager for something in his stomach to take away the hollow feeling. “Where is Blake?”

Tracey pointed in the vague direction of his bedroom. 

“So, what are you guys doing tonight?”

“You mean, what are we doing tonight,” Tracey corrected. “Blake wants me to watch some chick-flick with him so you’re along for the ride.”

There was literally nothing on this Earth worse than the thought of sitting with his brother and his possible soulmate watching a stupid movie. With everything going on at home, and his brand new fight with Keith, he just wanted a quiet room to disappear inside of. 

Keith. 

The look on his face didn’t hesitate to shred his heart as Lance recalled it. He didn’t mean to be so…mean, so forceful. He just knew that Keith was about to fall right into Grandma Catalina’s trap. She was so good at it–getting people to drop their guard. Keith could have revealed what happened that night–that they came home drunk–just what Grandma Catalina accused them of. But there was no easy way to tell him to shut up–no easy way to tell him that he was about to blow everything. 

“Whatever,” Lance sighed as he leaned against the sink–far enough away from Tracey to not get in his way, but close enough to welcome conversation. 

When a door opened deeper into the apartment, their heads snapped up. Lance watched as Tracey’s back seemed to tense for a second at the sound of Blake’s approaching footsteps. He tried to interpret what that could mean. Was Tracey still not entirely comfortable around Blake since he spilled his guts? Or was he trying to put up a front since his kid brother was here? Had Blake outed Lance for knowing about their soulbond? Did he agree to have him over so that they could talk about it? 

Suddenly, Lance did not feel so confident about sibling-solidarity anymore.

“Ah, the fugitive,” Blake said with a wide smile. 

Lance stayed where he was, acknowledging Blake’s entrance into the kitchen with a nod. “That’s me.”

“Your mom was so cryptic on the phone,” Blake said as he navigated the cabinets for three bowls. “What did you do?”

The question was directed at Lance, but he didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to relive a second of the shame. Being accused of lying in front of the entire family, watching as his friend’s integrity got called into question, lashing out. Proving that Grandma Catalina’s accusations were not baseless in the very least.

“The McClaines take gardening very seriously,” Tracey replied cooly. 

Blake had never looked so bewildered in his life, but he shrugged. “Well, anyway,” he set three bowls down beside Tracey: two ceramic and one plastic. “I hope you like J-Law because we’re watching No Hard Feelings.”

Lance nodded, “Fine.” So at the very least his mom was choosy with the details she chose to share. The chances of Tracey being on her side were slim–but the odds still weren’t in his favor. 

The three of them sat down with heaping bowls of cheesy tuna pasta. In addition to his plastic bowl, Lance was also given a plastic cup. Like a child that still couldn’t be trusted with glassware. Still, it was nice to see that even in the mood he was in, they still felt comfortable enough to poke the bear. In fact, during dinner, Lance let down a majority of his guard while Blake and Tracey riffed off one another. It was nice seeing the tension from earlier melt off Tracey’s shoulders. He recognized it because he could feel it within himself as well. 

Blake slammed his hands onto the table, “You’ve never seen White Chicks?”

“Why does it matter?” Tracey raised an eyebrow at him as he took a spoonful of food into his mouth.

“You’ve seen Akeelah and the Bee,” Blake said, enunciating the words, “but not White Chicks?”

Tracey was growing increasingly exasperated. “I watched a lot of Disney Channel, what do you want from me?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he looked at Lance. “I don’t think we can watch J-Law tonight. Not when there is a cinema crime happening before me.”

Lance blinked at him. 

“Not you too,” he shook his head.

Lance pressed his lips together, trying to keep from smiling. But when he saw Blake collapse against his chair he burst out laughing. 

Blake pulled out his phone. “It’s on Netflix right now, we’re watching it.”

“But J-Law,” Tracey prompted in a mocking tone.

Blake mocked him back as Lance held back his laughter. Watching the two of them, you would never have guessed that they were still mending fences. They were nearly back to their old selves–always ragging on one another and just seconds away from a brawl. He wondered if their neighbors minded their horseplay as much as Angella did. Perhaps the move from their last apartment was well-appreciated. As for their new ones, maybe they were rubber-necking at For Rent signs. He knew he would be if he had to hear Blake’s toddler-like stomping and Tracey’s penchant for slamming doors after an argument. Despite this, Lance knew that he was in for quite a treat tonight.

It was hours before the three of them called it a night. White Chicks was fine, but he didn’t hold it within the same regard Blake did. How did he put it? It was a comedic masterpiece that humanity did not deserve. Tracey also thought it was “just okay”, which really got his blood boiling. The J-Law movie wasn’t half-bad either, though Lance would have appreciated not being half-suffocated by a pillow when the beach scene came on. Tracey held the pillow to his eyes, Blake insisted that nothing was happening.

Still, Lance managed to have fun. Blake and Tracey had done what Lance thought to be impossible–they cheered him up. He was certain that he would go to bed with a knot in his stomach. Shame and embarrassment weighing him down into the couch until he couldn’t get up. But instead, he felt like his outburst was a well-contained mess of tupperware that he could simply ignore until he needed to open that cabinet door next. 

He rested his head on the arm of the couch, watching as Blake brushed his teeth in the kitchen. He stripped out of his ever-present hoodie down into a tank top and boxers, scratching a spot on his rib. With his toothbrush still in his mouth, Blake started in on the dishes. Lance watched him tiredly, sure that he could drift off any second. When was the last time he felt so comfortable drifting off in the living room? The sounds of running water and the soft clacking of dishes gently, methodically lulling him to sleep? He couldn’t even remember. Then, Lance heard a noise from the bathroom. 

By the sounds of it, Tracey had just started the shower. Lance rose from the couch. If he wanted to talk to Blake, he realized that this might be his one and only shot. He collected a few straggling dishes from the end table before going into the kitchen. He snuck around Blake as he spit some foam into the stream of water.

“Ew,” Lance said before he had the better sense to just keep quiet. 

Blake didn’t seem to care about his disgust, simply shaking his head. “Where else am I supposed to spit?” He gestured towards the bathroom sink through the wall. “Princess needs his privacy.”

Clearly Tracey was still a prude. No one could be in or near the bathroom when Tracey was in there. He was glad to see some things about his brother never changed–not even for his possible soulmate. 

“Did you tell Princess about me? What I know?” Lance asked.

Blake rinsed out his mouth and washed his toothbrush off. “You don’t think he would have mentioned it by now if I did?”

Lance shook his head. The answer was obvious: of course Tracey would have said something. He would have reacted one of two ways. Either he would have mentioned it off-handedly and given Lance the cold shoulder or he would have exploded about it. Tracey was either a tepid pool or a rolling boil kind of guy–there was very little in between. There was neither a frigid chill or scalding burns so Lance was in the clear. But that was far from the only thing on his mind tonight. 

“How did he take it?”

Blake scoffed as they both recalled the impromptu visit he gave their family on New Years. “Pretty well, all things considered.” Lance could tell that he was joking, but he was hoping it was true. 

“All he said was that you were in a fight.”

“Well we were,” Blake shrugged. “He kept trying to tell me I was wrong, but eventually he ran out of excuses. I saw the exact moment it clicked. He’s never been so mad at me before. He didn’t yell, he never does, he just started packing his shit.”

Lance nodded along as Blake recalled it. He assumed that was how it went down. As it turned out, his brother liked to swallow his anger alongside Fireball. This he told Blake, and it seemed he already knew. 

“He always pukes when he drinks Fireball,” Blake said with a tenderness he hadn’t experienced from him before.

Lance didn’t know how to phrase his last question. He wanted to know what he and Tracey were going to do now. If they were going to live as soulmates or if they wouldn’t cross the boundary they’d set in friendship, just as Blake wanted. Were they even sure they were soulmates? 

“Do you…feel anything different?” Lance asked cautiously. 

“I feel sick,” Blake said, holding his stomach for a moment. “When I think about how long I kept it from him.”

“In your tattoo, I mean,” he pointed in the vague direction of Blake’s tattoo. 

Blake blinked at him, and Lance could tell he was confused. He felt like he was collecting testimonies, somewhat like an investigator. Hunk said he felt Shay’s heartbeat. Lance felt flames; Keith bodies of water. So what did Tracey’s connection feel like to Blake? There were two possible answers here as well. Either Blake felt something, or he didn’t. If he did, chances were they were bonded, they were soulmates. And if he didn’t…

“I don’t know, what am I supposed to feel?”

Lance looked at him. Was Blake just that oblivious? “After you told him, did your tattoo…hurt?”

Blake fussed with his hair, “I don’t know man, I was pretty preoccupied with him walking out on me.”

Lance wanted to shake him. Had they not talked about anything? After Tracey came home with him, Lance assumed that they would have a heart-to-heart. He thought they would have met in the middle and separated what was real and what was an old-wives tale. How was it that he and Keith had a better understanding of their bond, and they spent a lot of it ignoring each other?

Blake sensed his frustrations so he busied himself with finishing up the dishes. Lance didn’t know how else to phrase the question. It really was that simple! If Blake didn’t feel anything, then that was it. He was officially not Tracey’s soulmate. They could get on with their lives. Lance was just seconds away from telling him this when Blake shut off the spigot slowly. 

“There was this one thing,” Blake whispered. “Not sure if it counts.”

“What?” Lance asked, his heartbeat quickening.

“After he left,” Blake prompted, “I promised myself I’d give him his space. As long as he needed. But,” he hesitated.

“But?”

“That night, I got this…urge. One minute I was here,” he gestured around them, “and the next I was pulling up to your house.”

“Does that happen a lot?” 

Blake shrugged.

Lance wondered what this could mean for them. It wasn’t as concrete as feeling something in his tattoo. In fact, it was as insignificant as craving cheesy tuna pasta. Blake simply desired Tracey’s presence; he sought to fill their home once again with petty arguments and joy. It was by no means evidence of their soulbond. But it was evidence that Blake cared for his brother an awful lot. And that was enough to put a smile on his face–even if it did exhaust him to still not have an answer. 

Lance helped Blake with the rest of the dishes as Tracey finished up in the bathroom. He came out dressed in his pajama bottoms, a puff of steam following him down the hallway. Tracey was still drying his hair when he took notice of Blake and Lance in the kitchen. 

“What?” Tracey asked, his eyebrow raising. 

Lance blinked at his question, then realized that both he and Blake had been staring. He would have chastised Blake for being so obvious if he weren’t caught in the act as well. Instead, Lance busied himself with drying off his hands. 

“Lance called you Princess,” Blake threw over his shoulder.

Lance’s head whipped behind him, clicking his tongue. “He said it first!”

To everyone’s surprise, Tracey just rolled his eyes. “One blanket or two,” he said to Lance. 

It took Lance a second to realize that he was not being insulted. “Two,” came his answer. 

Tracey left the kitchen without another word. When he returned, he threw two blankets and one pillow onto the arm of the couch. He started making Lance a plush nest, something that Lance had done for him months ago. Lance wondered mutely if he was returning the favor. Perhaps this whole night away from their family was just that. A thank you for taking care of him on a night he hadn’t shown himself much care. Could that be what Tracey was inferring from his conversation with their mom? Blake excused himself for the night sometime before the second blanket was arranged atop the first, leaving Lance and Tracey in the dimly lit living room. When he was done, he stood back and admired his handiwork. 

“Thanks,” Lance said softly as he went to his backpack to pull out his charger. “Night.”

“Night,” Tracey replied in turn. 

Lance was certain that he would have left quickly since he was yawning through the second movie. When Lance turned around after plugging in his phone for the night, he was shocked to still see Tracey standing there. He raised an eyebrow, eyes focusing on Tracey’s face. He couldn’t immediately read his expression which gave Lance the impression that this would not be a conversation he was going to enjoy. His mind and body were exhausted, he just wanted to sleep. He had a hell of a day to recover from, but it seemed that his brother wouldn’t let that happen without a fight.

“What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Tracey quipped, putting his hands in his pockets.

Lance wanted desperately to avoid this, though he knew in the back of his mind that it might happen. During the movie, he thought up some responses to such questions. “Just took gardening too seriously,” Lance copied Tracey’s tone.

He could tell that Tracey would not accept that as an answer. His tiredness seemed to have left with Blake because he was now alert. Lance wished he’d had a drink or two with dinner–maybe it would have been easier to lie to him if Tracey weren’t stone cold sober. Maybe Lance could have evaded the one person he couldn’t lie to. Not for lack of trying–but because Lance learned all his tricks from Tracey–he’d surely know. When it was obvious that Tracey was expecting his real answer now, Lance sighed. 

“Mom already told you,” Lance reminded him, carefully examining the minute changes in Tracey’s expression. Tracey did the same to him. The ball was in his court. Would he admit to how much he knew or would he still feign ignorance?

Tracey rocked back on his heels, taking his question into consideration. His eyes fell back on Lance, and a knowing smirk found its way to his lips. “What does she know, anyway?”

Lance didn’t mean to–but he broke for a second. He let his eyebrows turn up slightly with the hope that Tracey was, after all, not swayed by what he might have heard. The callback to when he was puking his guts out stuck out to him. Tracey was referencing his fight with Blake–how he knew nothing about what was actually going on with Lance and Keith. Lance was almost too eager to give in–and with such little prodding, too.

“Not much,” Lance closed his eyes, resting them a second to avoid any unwanted emotion being reflected in them. When he opened them, he stared between Tracey’s eyebrows. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

Tracey nodded but Lance didn’t trust the immediate ease he felt. Lance realized that the one thing keeping him from truly trusting Tracey was that he had no assurances from him. The plethora of secrets he was keeping were all in exchange of their holders keeping his own. There was a mutually assured destruction should either of them talk. With Tracey, he had nothing on him. Nothing he could use anyway. Yes, he knew about Blake–but on the off chance that they were bonded–he couldn’t bring himself to go there. Tracey said that the first person he would tell would be their mother and he wasn’t going to take that away from them. 

Lance sighed. Even if Tracey relayed the contents of this conversation back to their mom–would there truly be any worry? Maybe he could skirt around the things he couldn’t talk about. Honestly, Tracey would be a welcome listening ear. He knew Grandma Catalina and felt the sting of his mother’s distrust for years. He, too, would understand why Lance’s blood boiled when accused of lying–as if the truth had always been so easy. 

“Grandma Catalina,” Lance prompted, “she thinks that I’m lying.”

Tracey shrugged, “Well, are you?”

Lance shoots him a look, which causes Tracey to put his hands up defensively. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Is it because you are?”

Lance knits his eyebrows together and looks at the floor. He felt that familiar burn, like he was being misunderstood. Like Tracey was willfully ignoring everything he said in favor of what he believed to be true. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“So you are.”

Lance sighed.“Yes,” he deadpanned. “I’m lying about everything but I can’t stop.” When Tracey met his gaze again he rolled his eyes. 

A whisper of recognition passed between the two of them before Tracey looked away–towards one of the walls decorated with old high school art projects. There was a moment where Lance regretted telling him so much, even if he did frame it like he was being sarcastic. But, Tracey’s next words stopped him in his tracks. 

“Not everyone has the luxury of telling the truth.”

Lance wonders what made him come to that revelation. Was it all the years he spent lying to their mother? Was he alluding to his possible soulbond with Blake? Or had something else entirely befallen his brother?

“What would you do,” Lance began, setting his eyes back on the floor, “if you had this huge secret that you couldn’t tell anyone?”

Tracey laughed–actually laughed–and Lance knew that Blake was at the forefront of his mind. “I’d probably throw a huge fit.”

“Is that what happened on New Years?” Lance asked, daring him to bring up Blake, if only to prove that some secrets were too big to reveal right now.

“Yep, you caught me. I had a fight with Blake.”

“Over what?” Lance feigned ignorance and watched as Tracey braved the terrifying question with no change to his expression or body language. He was a master at this.

“He was keeping secrets,” came Tracey’s cool reply.

“And secrets are okay?” 

Tracey shrugged, “For a while. But they have a habit of coming out when you don’t want them to.”

“How did you know he was lying?”

“He told me.” Tracey said plainly. “Way before he actually told me.”

Lance wondered what he meant. How could Blake have casually dropped such a huge secret? Perhaps, in hindsight, Tracey was finally piecing things together. 

“So what do I do? Grandma Catalina knows I’m lying. And it’s not just one thing, it’s…” Lance trailed off, not knowing what he could share.

Tracey peeled his eyes away from the wall, “Nothing you can do about that.”

“Mom is starting to ask questions, too.”

“Not great,” he commented. 

“So what do I do?”

“Have you tried lying better?” Tracey laughed and Lance gave him a stank face in return. His smile fell, “If you want to fly under the radar, you have to quit throwing fits. Remember, liars are the loudest.”

“Huh?”

“Just shut up. Anything you say can and will be used against you, so stop talking.”

“I can’t even talk?”

“It might be an improvement,” Tracey noted. Lance hit him, but he didn’t budge. “I won’t ask what you’re lying about–but you can’t keep it up forever.”

Lance begrudgingly nods. He already knew that. Of course he couldn’t lie forever–and he was planning on telling their family about Keith sooner or later. But as for the other secrets…

Tracey interrupted his thoughts by putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just come clean,” he said and then he was off to bed. 

Lance fell back onto the couch, exhausted by everyone and everything. He nestled himself into the nest of blankets within seconds and waited patiently for sleep to grace him. When all he did was lay there for a few minutes, he felt frustration creep into him. Could he seriously not sleep? After the day he had!? With Blake and Tracey’s comfortable new couch beneath him? And with warm, soft blankets and a new pillow beneath his head? He rolled over onto his back, looking at the patch of ceiling that was illuminated by the stove light. 

He thought again of Keith and how he left things with him back home. He wondered what coming home tomorrow would look like for him. Would Grandma Catalina be just as awful as she was today? Would his mom keep them as far from one another as she possibly could? Or would she just stand by as Grandma Catalina thrust him deeper into the role of pariah? It was easy for Tracey to tell him to come clean when he didn’t know what secrets he was keeping locked away. 

Today he was lying about what really happened at Jake’s party. Tomorrow, he could be lying about Aunt Amillia Rose. Maybe next week he’d be lying about Keith. Or he could be asked about Blake. If he knew his secrets would be exposed right alongside Lance’s maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to tell him to come clean. Even if it was tempting to no longer have to carry the burden of so many potential scandals on his shoulders. 

He thought of how free he would feel once the only secret on his mind was his own. No more running off to escape watchful, distrustful eyes. No forced niceties to prove that he was present in the moment instead of down the street. His parents' questions were answered honestly instead of avoided or deflected. Perhaps peace would finally return to his household again. Maybe then he could tell everyone about where his heart had been all these months, because it certainly wasn’t trapped inside the walls of that house.

Lance felt his heart ache in his chest and he clutched the fabric of his shirt that rested over it. He wondered what Keith thought of him right now. Did he think he was an ass? Maybe that he was returning to his old ways? Was he rethinking everything? Rethinking him? The fear of Keith turning away from him was almost paralyzing. He wanted to explain everything to him, but he was so deep in the muck at home he was worried Keith would get bogged down with him. He had his own worries, Lance didn’t want him troubled by his ever-deteriorating homelife. 

Still, the thought of coming clean to Keith was a welcome one. Lance wondered how he would react to Blake and Tracey being bonded. Hell, how would he feel about Aunt Amillia Rose rejecting her soulmate altogether? He wondered if he’d respect her decision just like Lance had. Or maybe he would be bewildered. Afterall, Keith made more of an effort to make things work than Lance ever had. Perhaps rejecting the plan the universe had in store for him was foreign to him. 

Lance palmed his phone, checking the time. In all his overthinking, he’d wasted an hour and a half staring up at the ceiling. Blake and Tracey had to be asleep by now–maybe even Keith. Lance couldn’t help but hope that he was also lying awake trying to comprehend Lance’s actions earlier. The thought made him less lonely, though he supposed that didn’t make him any less despicable. He typed in his passcode and hovered over the snapchat icon. 

He wanted to talk to him–to explain his side. But how could he hope to convince him that he was trying to keep him in his family’s good graces when he couldn’t even convince his mom? Not to mention hearing his integrity being called into question wouldn’t help anything. He resigned himself to putting his phone down and trying, once again, to find sleep. While his mind was ready to call it quits, the rest of him had different plans. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d opened Keith’s chat and started typing a message to him. 

I’m sorry about today

Lance looked at the apology and thought that it was too simple–too weak. It didn’t even scratch the surface of everything he wanted to apologize for. No mention of his troubles with Grandma Catalina. Nothing about his mom becoming increasingly vigilant with him. But, perhaps that was the point. All those things were just excuses. He could have pulled Keith away, or chosen to walk him home. He didn’t have to embarrass him by being so stern with him while he was trying to help Grandma Catalina. He didn’t have to be…rude. 

Lance felt a disgusting swirl in his stomach as another wave of shame hit him. The last thing he needed tonight was to feel like Grandma Catalina was onto something about his behavior. Before he could get sucked too deep into that trap, his phone vibrated. 

What’s going on with you?

Lance felt the words like knives against his skin. Inside him, he knew that Keith just wanted to know what happened earlier today. But it was overcome by the fear that once Lance started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He felt something coil itself around his heart, something that made him curse his fingers for acting against his orders. Instead of answering, Lance threw his phone back onto the end table and suffered through the first of many sleepless nights.

“She doesn’t have anyone up here, no friends, no family,” Angella spoke, her voice hushed despite being on speakerphone. 

“We can make room,” Cedro said quietly, his mind likely churning out how to make that a reality. 

“She’d need to stay on the first floor.”

“I can clean out my office.”

There was a pause on the phone as his mom thought it through. “But you need that for the business,” she said.

Cedro shrugged, but Lance was the only one to see it. “We have a basement. I can just put my desk down there.”

Angella hesitated, “Are you sure?”

“It’s your mom,” he said softly. 

Judging by the silence, Lance was positive they were sharing a wordless conversation. 

“Would it even be big enough? And there’s no closet space.”

“You let me worry about that.”

Angella sighed, “It’s not worth it to make it into a big project, she only has to stay for PT.”

“What do I always say?” Cedro asked into the receiver. 

There was silence on the line again and Angella replied, “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.”

“Exactly. Let me figure out how to make the office work. If she needs to stay longer, it’s done. But if she doesn’t then the office got a much needed reno.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Amillia Rose and I are staying at her house tonight.”

“We’ve got Amada and Nino,” Lance reassured her. 

“Thank you sweetie,” she said to Lance. “Sorry to pull you away from the fun.”

Lance tried to smile past the disappointment, “It’s fine.” He wanted to tell her that they were a family and that they would get through it, but he couldn’t get the words out of his throat. He wasn’t sure why a sense of alienation overcame him–why he suddenly felt like his reassurance wasn’t worth much. 

“Did they say anything about the surgery?” Cedro asked. 

“She’ll see the orthopedic surgeon on Monday–Tuesday at the latest. Problem is we would have to stay in the area until then. Especially if she’s discharged tomorrow like they say.”

“It will give us time to set up her room.”

“I can call Aunty Mabel and ask her to watch the kids so we can work on the office,” Lance offered. 

“Let me call Tracey and see if he can help,” Angella said, and they heard some fumbling on the other end of the line, like she started to tap on her phone.

“I’ll call him, you worry about your mom,” Cedro said. 

“Okay, I’ll call you in the morning,” she yawned. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Lance and Cedro said in unison before she hung up.

After that, his dad called Tracey and he called Aunty Mabel. They explained the situation quickly and both of them offered their services. Tracey would be over tomorrow morning to help and Aunty Mabel said to drop off the kids whenever they wanted to get started. Once things were settled, Cedro and Lance got to work clearing out the office. He texted Keith intermittently to tell him the plan and to tell him to go to sleep around ten. He didn’t listen because he was awake to receive Lance’s goodnight text at two in the morning. Then it was right back up at seven to get the kids ready for the day. 

With Tracey and Blake both pitching in, they had more than enough hands to renovate the office for Grandma Catalina. His dad opted for a built-in closet on the interior wall that they could slap some rods and shelves into. Some demo, carpentry and drywall later and they had themselves a closet. They also took the liberty of adding a few grab bars to the downstairs bathroom. 

Grandma Catalina officially moved in the following Tuesday. Things were already looking grim the moment his mother stepped back into their home with a floral suitcase. Nino couldn’t help but run up to her and give her a big hug. But, as he clung onto her, he locked eyes with Grandma Catalina. Nino recoiled, and Lance couldn’t blame him. She was stick thin, her greying curly hair framing her face. Her lips were pressed into the permanent scowl Lance always remembered her wearing. She wasn’t an unfriendly woman–in fact, Lance recalled her being down-right pleasant. Perhaps it was the pain she was in following her fall, but her words were as sharp as her eyes.

“Well look at you,” Grandma Catalina said, looking down her nose at Nino. “Last time I got a picture of you you were still in diapers.”

“We haven’t had the time, mom,” Angella said, her voice wrought with exasperation. 

“Of course, you must be so busy,” Grandma Catalina spoke in such a smooth voice, but Lance knew that she was getting her licks in. 

This continued for the last two weeks. If she wasn’t directly challenging his mom, she was giving her backhanded compliments. The room she prepared was stuffy, the food she made wasn’t seasoned right, or the house wasn’t clean enough to her taste. Even worse was the micro-management of her parenting. 

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” Lance heard Grandma Catalina call from the living room.

Lance peered in and saw her looking over her shoulder at him. She’d taken over his father’s lazy boy the day she moved in. It was the only chair she could get out of without using both hands. The lamp was on, allowing him to see the stern look on her face. Instead of answering, he looked towards the kitchen, where his mother was cleaning up dinner. Angella looked at him with tired eyes. 

“He’s going to a party, mom.”

“What kind of party starts this late?”

Lance watched as all the strength left his mother’s body. Still, she had some fight left in her. “The kind he’s going to.”

“Well, who with?”

Angella looked at Lance, silently begging him to answer her.

“Some friends from school,” he said, projecting his voice so that Grandma Catalina could hear him clearly.

“Are you going to get into any trouble?” She threw a threatening glance his way. 

“Mom,” Angella shouted from the kitchen, “Leave him alone.”

“Will there be alcohol at this party?” 

Lance gave another look towards his mother. 

Angella met Lance at the door, opening it for him. “Have fun, I’ll see you guys at breakfast?” 

“Do you even know where this party is? Kids these days are getting hooked on drugs–do you want that for your son?”

Angella shut the door on him before Lance could hear her response. He didn’t even have time to give her a rough estimate about when he and Keith would be home.

With tensions at an all-time high, he was actually looking forward to Jake’s stupid Anti-Valentine’s Day party. He invited Keith as they were leaving one day, and he extended the invitation to Lance. Keith wasn’t as thrilled as Lance was seeing as he didn’t have a home he was eager to escape. His reasoning was that they weren’t actually single. And Lance’s counter was that they couldn’t hang out on Valentine’s Day without looking incredibly suspicious. So really, the question was: do they spend Valentine’s Day together or apart? As Lance jumped up the steps to Keith’s house two at a time and Keith was already at the door, he got his answer. 

They would be spending Valentine’s Day together. At Jake’s thinly-veiled hookup party. 

The walk across the neighborhood was cold but that only motivated them to move quicker. On Halloween, Lance focused on hitting as many houses as he could but today he could make a beeline for the party. It was easy enough to get to–all paved with a few straggling Christmas lights sprinkled here and there.

“Did you get my text?” Keith asked, hiding his face in his jacket’s tall collar.

“Huh?” Lance asked, but then realized what he was asking. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t respond.”

“So how are things over there?” 

Lance shrugged. The whole reason he didn’t respond was because he didn’t have an answer. Well, he did, but it was a lie. He wanted to tell Keith that everything was fine and that Grandma Catalina was a hard woman–but ultimately was grateful to be taken in. She was making up for lost time and bonding with the family. But it was a lie. Grandma Catalina did not show even her own daughters any particular kindness. She was nice only to Amada and Nino, who were too young to really grasp her digs. She tolerated Lance, but adored Tracey. That was until she met Blake–then it was “bad influence” this, and “bad influence”, that. And don’t even get him started on how she treated his dad. Cedro was a second-class citizen in his own house which was why he spent a lot of his time in the basement or the shed. Lance had seen more of his dad when he was working twelve hour days on nightshift. 

“It’s bad,” Lance said without giving it any more thought. 

Keith was waiting for Lance to continue, but he wasn’t sure if he could. It was just…bad. There was nothing he could do to change it, either. Even speaking about how terrible everything was at home only worsened his outlook on everything. But not venting about it was sure to destroy him as well. 

“She’s just a mean old lady,” Lance said bitterly. “She hates all of us. Even Amada.”

“But Amada is so cute,” Keith knit his brows together. 

“She told her her eyes were too far apart,” Lance kicked a rock that was on the sidewalk and watched it rattle away. 

“What did Aunt Amillia Rose say about it?”

“Amada didn’t know it was an insult and she didn’t want to act like it was so she let it go.” Lance was disgusted just revisiting the memory. He could see the absolute heartbreak on Aunt Amillia Rose’s face.

“When is she leaving?”

Another shrug from Lance. “Her PT starts next week, it was the earliest mom could schedule it.”

“So what, like six weeks or something?”

“It could be longer.”

Before Keith could respond, they turned onto Jake’s street. Several of their classmates were parked in front of his house. Some were lingering outside, red solo cups in hand. Something that Lance heard through the grapevine was that Jake had gotten the hookup from an older cousin of his. That meant that more than beer was being poured into their cups tonight. It would have been funny to think Grandma Catalina was right if he knew it wouldn’t give her immense satisfaction. Anger rose in his chest as he thought of her accusatory face staring at him from the corner of her eye. 

When they made it past the threshold, Keith and Lance shed their coats. Another student pointed to a bedroom where everyone had placed their jackets and bags. When they emerged from the bedroom, clad in their usual garb, they spotted Jake who was sporting a pair of black sunglasses on top of his head. 

“You made it,” he announced, pulling up on them with his own concoction swirling in his cup. “I got plenty of snacks for us.” 

Jake played the host well, bringing them to the kitchen. There were chips and dip and homemade goodies like pigs in a blanket. For a moment, Lance didn’t know if it was Valentine's Day or Game Day.

“We’ve got beer and soda in the coolers, but the real attraction is this,” Jake said as he showed off a magnificent collection of bottom-shelf booze on the counter. Alongside them were plenty of juices to chase with. “I saved up for months to get us all wasted tonight.”

Lance gave the cabinet a once-over. There were some flavored vodka bottles, a cheap whisky, and one bottle of tequila. Jake let his fingers linger on one of the vodkas as he eyed Keith up. 

“You takin’ a shot?” He asked, jutting his chin up as if he were challenging him.

Keith shrugged, “Fine, but not that one.”

Jake nodded to Lance as if to ask the same question. There was a second where he thought better of drinking–but then Grandma Catalina’s words rang in his ears. Her accusatory tone–her belittling voice. He nodded and the second Jake slid the shot glass over he downed it. 

As far as Jake’s parties went, this was one of the better ones. The music was pouring out of the living room, the snacks were great, and the alcohol made his classmates looser. Lance and Keith were on the couch trading stories when Jake started assembling a gaggle in the center of the living room. 

“Alright, time for Shoot Your Shot,” he announced. “You, too, let’s go.” He pointed to Lance and Keith. 

They traded looks for a second, Keith turning back to Jake first. “What the hell is that?”

“Spin the bottle,” Mel said with a shake of her head.

“Hush, it’s Shoot Your Shot, the game where you shoot your shot, or you take one!” Jake laughed as everyone plopped down on the floor. 

Keith and Lance hesitated as everyone made room for them to come down. Lance looked at Keith, his expression moving from curiosity to genuine fear. While they knew this was a hookup party, Lance just figured they’d watch everyone get drunk and flirt. They’d stand in the corner and see who would strike out and who would take home the glory. What they weren’t anticipating was a kissing game that they now seemed obligated to play. 

“What are you, chickens?” Jake egged them on.

Either they played and risked kissing someone that wasn’t each other, or they didn’t play and risked looking suspicious. Perhaps it was the perfect time to pretend to be wasted? Lance looked at Keith as if to telepathically communicate with him–but instead of seeing his terrified expression–Keith was lowering himself onto the floor. Lance followed unceremoniously, his gaze focused on Keith as he crossed his legs. Just what was he thinking?

It didn’t take long for Jake to set up the game. He gave everyone a red solo shot cup and filled it to the brim with the tequila from earlier. Once everyone was situated, he sat back and set the bottle in the center of their large group.

“Okay, I’ll go first!” Jake said, spinning the bottle super fast. 

Lance watched anxiously as the bottle slowed. His mind raced with questions. Like, for example, why Keith was so eager to play this game. Was it just about keeping their soulbond a secret? Or did he really want to kiss someone else? 

The bottle stopped on a girl from his Algebra class and she and Jake shared a quick kiss to get the game started. Once they were finished and they returned to their seats, she spun the bottle. It slowly fell onto Mel and the boys hollered. Mel rolled her heavily mascaraed eyes and pulled her into a kiss. 

When Mel sat back down she spun the bottle and it landed on Keith. A lot of the girls squealed, which was decidedly obnoxious. Lance pressed his lips together, trying to swallow whatever was rising in his throat. But, as Mel rose onto her knees to get it over with, Keith raised his shot cup and downed it. A few of them booed, but Mel took it on the chin like a good sport. Lance felt the tension leave his body as Keith started to refill his shot cup. It only returned when Keith spun the bottle next. But when it landed on Brody, he silently felt relieved. He followed Keith’s lead and slammed his shot.

For the next few turns, Lance breathed easy as his classmates took turns swapping spit. When Algebra’s bottle landed on Lance he raised his shot cup and drank it. He nodded along with the chiding, letting the burning of the tequila quell the embarrassment he felt. As he spun the bottle, he followed Keith’s shot intake. He'd been selected three times already to Lance’s two. 

While Lance couldn’t say that he was good at reading Keith, he knew anger when he saw it. Keith had clenched his jaw and his face was blank. His expression only changed when Lance’s bottle landed on someone from Band. They took the opportunity to taste the tequila rather than Lance. Afterwards, the smallest hint of relief rose to the surface of his face. Was Keith just as worried as he was?

The concept was foreign to him. In all of the time he’d known Keith–when they were “together” or otherwise–he hadn’t known him to be particularly possessive. How could he be when there was no one to be worried about? It’s not as though Lance had anyone barking up his tree. He wasn’t like Jake, whose magnetic energy was the driving force of his personality. Even the Band guy knew when it was time to pucker up. As Jake took possession of the bottle again, he gave it a good twist and sent it spinning.

Lance watched the bottle as it slowed, making its rounds about the circle of eager teens. It wasn’t until the bottle stopped that everyone stopped holding their breath. All except for Lance, who blinked a few times at the neck of the bottle pointed in his direction. He raised his gaze towards Jake.

“We doin’ this, McClain?” Jake said with a toothy smile.

He had a feeling that Jake was already pretty wasted, but he knew it was a fact when he started to rise from the floor. He didn’t think that Jake would be so eager to kiss him given their history. But…wasn’t that mostly one-sided on Lance’s part? He was the one reading into Jake’s relationship with Keith, always seeing something that wasn’t there. Afterall, he and Jake were cool ever since he and Keith made up after that time in the hallway. Keith must have mentioned that they were on speaking terms again. Hence why he was even invited to this party–and his previous one. Lance swallowed as Jake inched closer to him.

All he could see was Jake–until everyone started to whoop and holler. Both Jake and Lance looked beside him where everyone was exclaiming in surprise. Keith had grabbed Lance’s shot cup and downed it–effectively refusing the kiss for him. Jake laughed out loud and sat back. 

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Jake winked at Lance. 

But, Lance was honestly too distracted by Keith getting up from the circle, hand to his mouth. He followed him with his eyes as he went towards the back door. Could he be feeling sick? That was his fourth–not including the shot they took earlier in the kitchen with Jake. Lance got up to check on him–but his path was intercepted by Jake who beat him to the door. Lance looked back at the circle, which had closed so everyone could continue the game without them. 

As Jake stepped onto the deck to follow Keith, Lance jutted out his foot to hold the door ajar. He turned into the shadows, listening with his back against the neighboring wall. Lance knew that eavesdropping wasn’t the best–but he couldn’t deny the urge he felt to mock Keith incessantly. Here he was choosing to play the game but the minute someone might’ve actually kissed Lance, he shut it down immediately. And the worst part was, Lance could have taken the shot himself–in fact, he was going to–if he hadn’t been interrupted. He wondered how best to make fun of him. Should he play it smug until he says something? Or should he go right out and accuse Keith of being jealous?

Lance looked outside towards the two as they stood beside the shed, looking over the fence line. Their faces were fixed on the darkness of the adjoining backyard. From where Lance was standing all he could see was a pitch black patch of grass and the faint yellow squares of light from the house’s windows. He wondered if perhaps they could see something he couldn’t with their closer proximity. Maybe someone wandering within their home, or a rabbit hopping through the grass. But, what suddenly took precedence over all of that was Jake’s familiarity with Keith. Jake’s arm draped over his shoulder and he hunched over like he was whispering something to Keith. What was worse was Keith’s acceptance of his presence–his touch. When Jake leaned into him Keith didn’t stiffen or attempt to shake him off. Instead, he turned his head to the side, giving Lance a view of his relaxed expression. His reply came easy with his next exhale. 

With a tilt of his head and a pointed thumb towards the house, Jake was obviously asking a question. Lance’s eyes narrowed as he followed Keith’s head as it shook. As the conversation continued, Lance felt himself get increasingly worried that they might have been talking about their soulbond. Had Jake–as drunk as he was–seen through them just as Blake had? Was Keith lying to protect them? To, arguably, his best friend? When Jake waved his hand dismissively, Lance was sure he could hear nails being pounded into his coffin. If Jake knew, correction, if drunk Jake knew, then everyone would know. But–then Lance watched as Keith shoved him playfully. He blinked, not seeing a shred of anguish on Keith’s face. In fact, he almost seemed…happy. The two of them settled beside one another again, their shoulders a fraction of an inch away. If Jake said something, his body made no show of it. He stood there, head slightly down as if he was looking at his shoes, hands at his sides, anxiously pulling at the hem of his shirt. Keith went rigid suddenly, as if he’d realized something–or heard something from Jake. The one eye that Lance could see softened, and Keith reached a soothing hand to pat Jake on the back. 

Before Lance could process everything he’d seen, he saw that Jake started to retreat back towards the house. He looked frantically towards the darkened room he was in and searched for a door. When he found the bathroom, he ducked inside and hid in the shadows. Jake crossed into the living room with no trouble. As he stood there, shrouded in darkness, he noticed that Keith had not followed him in. Lance peeked outside the bathroom and, once the coast was clear, he found himself walking out onto the porch. 

He hesitated before stepping off into the grass towards Keith. His back was still to him but he looked farther away than he ever had. Swallowing the sharp feeling in his gut, he took the first of several steps until he was finally beside Keith once more. The fact that Keith was startled upon his reintroduction only proved to him that he was miles away. His conversation with Jake, whatever they discussed, left him reeling. And seeing Keith so shaken unnerved him. 

“Gonna puke?” Lance said as he placed his hands in his jean pockets. He didn’t bother looking at him. “Because I might.”

“Nah,” Keith answered his question. “Just Jake being Jake.”

Lance looked at Keith’s feet, which was all that he felt he could do. “Does he know?”

“He thought I had a crush on him,” Keith shrugged. “He said we could fool around until…” Keith trailed off, but Lance knew that he was referring to when either of them met their soulmates. 

He knew that Jake wasn’t really concerned about his soul tattoo. In fact, a lot of the kids in their grade weren’t. While parents could push the message that a soul bond was the most important relationship one could have, that didn’t stop the young and stupid from acting on basic attraction. Afterall, teenage hookups weren’t forever. Whether that expiration date was until college or until they met someone knew was completely in the air. Hence why this hookup party even existed. There was no one better suited to celebrate Anti-Valentine’s Day than someone who didn’t buy into the whole soul bond thing. 

But knowing that Jake held no affection for his soulmate yet only proved that his sincerity towards Keith was genuine. With clenched teeth, Lance thought of the first day of Junior year, when Jake first introduced himself to Keith. He was right there in ground zero when Keith, nervous as all hell, stammered out random tidbits of his life before their sleepy town. Jake didn’t experience the hesitation that Lance did upon their introduction. He didn’t shy away from him. He didn’t lash out at him. Jake made an effort to know Keith from day one. Jake was, and always had been, someone better.

Suddenly it was as if a staunch wall erected itself between Lance and Keith. The minute space between them, once filled with winter air, had made way for concrete and binding. This was why Keith had become so nonplussed by their conversation just moments earlier. Keith was on the precipice of the discovery that Jake was in every way, shape and form, a better match. Even if he didn’t have the ink to prove it. As Lance felt all the air leave his lungs, he understood that the ink, for a majority of his time with Keith, was all he had. 

“What did you tell him?” Lance breathed to the cinderblock between them.

Keith shook his head, “I told him he was wasted.”

His words gave Lance a rush of hope–that Keith hadn’t realized yet what Lance had always known. He wanted to tell Keith that he should have thought better of rejecting him outright like that. Maybe Keith should have given him a chance to prove his feelings later on. Maybe Keith was saying no arbitrarily. Afterall, there was no way to prove that Lance wouldn’t destroy everything they’d rebuilt. He could mess everything up tomorrow. Or right now. But…Lance clamped his mouth shut. As much as he wanted to tell Keith he was making a mistake, he was petrified that Keith would listen to his advice. Lance wanted him to make that mistake–so that they could stay together. And that was so unbelievably selfish and cowardly that Lance couldn’t bear the weight of it. So he kept his eyes to the ground as he spoke again.

“Would you rather be with him?”

Lance wished the wall he felt between them was real. If so, Keith wouldn’t be able to see the terror undoubtedly on his face. He wouldn’t be able to read him like he always did and call him out on his bullshit. Even when he felt Keith’s eyes on him he refused to take his gaze away from the frost accumulating on the grass below. The revelation wasn’t far off now–he could smell it in the air. Keith would realize that he was wasting his time with Lance, sober up and make his way over to the guy that never wavered. The one that always appreciated Keith’s presence. Lance didn’t want to end this, and he promised that he wouldn’t. But Keith made no such promise–Keith could do as he pleased. Gathering all the strength he had, he looked at Keith.

Keith hadn’t just looked over, he’d turned to face Lance. His brow was furrowed, his mouth in a tight line. His shoulders were stiff, in fact, everything about him was rigid and unyielding. From the way his jaw clenched to his fists as they balled up at his sides. The unrelenting anger in his eyes was enough to make Lance turn away, but he didn’t. He watched as Keith looked from one eye to his other, trying to comprehend whatever terrible thing was rattling around in Lance’s brain. Then, as if to say he finally understood Lance’s question, Keith’s face softened. 

“No,” Keith said, almost like he couldn’t believe he had to say it. “I want the sore loser who loves his mom and watches reality TV.”

Lance scoffed, “Sarcasm? Right now?”

Before he could say anything else, Keith pulled Lance by his shirt into him. Without any thought to their location, or who could see them, Keith pressed their mouths together. At first Lance was caught by surprise. He figured it was more likely that Keith would want to yell at him. When he felt nothing but genuine warmth behind his lips, Lance could feel himself melting into him. He knew that Keith held no sarcasm in his voice earlier and the implication that he had was only to spare Lance’s own feelings. Knowing this led to no hesitation on Keith’s part, he still snaked his hands around Lance’s back. He pulled him along, all the while kissing him, until their arms met the side of the shed. In one swift movement, Keith pushed Lance against it with a small thud.

Lance expected a stern talking-to only to be met with Keith’s lips again. His hands slid out from behind him and to his hips. Lance could feel his warmth through his t-shirt and he desperately craved more of it. With unsure hands, he grasped for Keith in the dark, finally finding his neck. His thumb stroked at his burning hot skin as he brought up his other and held him in place. He felt his heart drop as Keith pressed himself against him, their legs weaving together below. It isn’t until Keith separated them for a moment for much needed air that he realized the alcohol was finally hitting him. He must have been drunk because why else would he be feeling like this? His face was hot and his eyes stung from the wind that had picked up–but he wasn’t cold. Or if he was, he certainly didn’t feel it. Perhaps it was the familiar burning in his tattoo that protected him from the chill–or maybe it was Keith’s body that shielded him from the wind. 

All he knew was that when he went back for another kiss, he was swept away by it all. The unrelenting pressure, the wetness of their lips, their tequila-tainted saliva. When Keith’s tongue brushed his bottom lip, he opened his mouth and accepted his passion. Lance followed his every languid motion wanting more even as Keith was spilling over in his hands. Before this he had no concept of something being both subdued and yet strong. His thoughts were interrupted when Keith’s hands slid upwards and he fisted his shirt again. 

“I’m gonna say this one time, McClain,” Keith whispered against his lips. His eyes flicked upwards to Lance’s–their focus on nothing else. “I want you. I want your family. I want your problems. I didn’t leave my life back in Texas for you to tell me it was a wasted trip.”

Lance felt his eyes sting once more and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Okay,” Lance said quietly. 

Keith pulled away slowly, smoothing out Lance’s shirt as he took a step back. “Good, now play drunk. I told Jake you were a lightweight.”

Lance laughed at that, “Can do.”

Lance handed Keith a freshly prepared Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich as the two of them took their seats at the table in the kitchen. They took greedy bites, both desperate for calories and hoping Tracey was right when he endorsed it as a hangover cure. When they woke up this morning, Keith groaned, turning over in the nest they’d made up on the floor of Lance’s room. Lance was the first to sit up, his clothing disheveled and his back aching. He blinked a few times before he realized that the sun was enemy number one. The headache he had sported had its own heartbeat–and his stomach wasn’t feeling any better. 

On their way out of the party last night, Lance put on the performance of a lifetime to convince Jake of his impairment. He kept it up until they collected their jackets and were walking down the street. After that, they held hands the whole way to Lance’s house. The walk home was gone in the blink of an eye as they swapped funny stories. Once they hit the front door, Lance unlocked it within his first few tries. Of course Keith was laughing at him the whole time. He shushed Keith a few times once he finally got the door open. They could not risk being found in the foyer, half-drunk and giggling. He could only imagine the look on his mom’s face if she ever caught him. He forced Keith to tiptoe upstairs right alongside him.

When they got into Lance’s bedroom, Keith fell on Lance’s bed face first. He exhaled into the soft fabric of his crumpled sheets. “They stink like you,” Keith said 

Lance started pulling pillows off the bed and Keith tilted his head to the side to watch him. Then, he started layering several comforters on the floor. Keith perked his head up when he realized what he was doing. He lifted himself off Lance’s bed and threw his blanket and top sheet onto the pile. Lance couldn’t describe the way Keith looked at him–like he wanted praise. It was as if he was himself in image only. Perhaps the shots finally kicked in and he shed all of his broody teen angst. 

As strange as it was to see, Lance was still intrigued. He gave Keith a thumbs up and started digging in his dresser for some pajamas for the both of them. He found a pair of grey sweatpants and tossed them over his shoulder. For Keith he procured a pair of blue plaid pants. He just knew he’d feel right at home in them. “These stink like me, too.” Lance said with a shit-eating grin. 

Keith shed his jeans, nearly falling over onto the bed before catching himself. Lance snickered and Keith shot him a look before he tossed his jeans on the bed. Within seconds the two of them were clad in comfy pants and ready for bed. 

“Thirsty,” Keith said abruptly as Lance started to pull the top two covers up so they could sneak between them. 

Lance paused what he was doing and reached onto the nightstand to grab his thermos of water. He handed it to Keith first, who took a few greedy pulls before handing it off. Lance took a few sips and set it on Keith’s side of their nest. Lance hit the light as Keith snuck under the covers. After joining him, Keith turned his head so that they were facing one another. The two of them shared a hushed conversation stopped only by more soft laughter. Sleep came easily once they huddled closer, feeling each other’s warmth ease them into silence.

“God, I hope this works,” Keith groaned between bites. 

“He’s never been wrong before,” Lance said as he felt the hot food fall into the well of his stomach. 

“Good morning boys,” Angella said cheerfully as she made her way into the kitchen. 

“Morning,” Keith said, watching as she walked past him. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you two for hours.”

Lance shook his head, “We left early.”

“Did you have fun?” She rested her hand on Keith’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Keith said as he took another bite of his breakfast sandwich. 

Lance watched as her eyes lingered on the two of them for a second. Her expression didn’t change, but Lance could tell that something was weighing on her mind. Perhaps it was how he’d been more or less kicked out last night. While she was in higher spirits this morning, that always changed right around nine. Coincidentally, that was when Grandma Catalina arose for the day. 

“Well, I better get breakfast started for everyone else,” she said finally as she turned towards the stove.

“We’ll help,” Lance said, offering Keith up.

Keith shot him a look, though Lance knew that he was going to help regardless. As the two of them polished off their breakfast sandwiches, they stood ready to peel potatoes and add water to pancake mix.