Chapter Text
He first noticed it when he was eleven. He knew he should be feeling something, anything at all. Everyone else felt things, but he just didn’t. He didn’t feel anything. So he pretended. When his friends crushed on Patricia at school, he supposed her hair was a nice brown and her frame was petite, so he played along. He fought the other boys to hold her hand during recess and bragged about kissing her behind the slide. He joined in with the other boys chasing girls around to flip up their skirts.
It was what he was supposed to do.
When he was twelve his sister gave him a CD and a poster of Ariana Grande. He hung it dutifully up above his bed. When his mom asked who he thought was cute in Black Pink, he just pointed to the blonde one, because he had to like one of them. He was supposed to like one of them. It was the correct way to be. Lisa joined the increasing number of scantily clad women lining his bedroom walls.
He didn’t understand the appeal; boys, girls, he didn’t see what everyone was so excited about. He felt like fraud, an imposter in a sexual world. Late at night he would Google asexuality and wonder if he belonged there. Other nights he would Google forbidden porn sites out of curiosity and look at the naked bodies of men and women. His stomach would feel funny and his face would flush during those stolen hours. Sometimes he would rub himself on the chair he was sitting on to relieve the feeling his belly.
At thirteen it finally happened. Alex, a friend of a friend, was introduced to him. That feeling stirred in his belly like it did late at night when he was alone with his computer. Alex had brown hair that dove for miles down to slender hips, and preferred hockey jerseys and skater shorts. Lance fell hard. He tried everything to get Alex’s attention. He was sure to walk next to Alex at all times, brushing up against an arm while he talked, and invited himself to all the hangout sessions. He just wanted to be around Alex, bask in that confident air and soak in the sight of too many T-shirts layered in a multicolored spectacle.
He wanted to be Alex’s best friend, right? Yeah, that was it.
At fourteen Lance was accepted into the Galaxy Garrison for pilot training. He had to leave Alex, but he kept a picture in his wallet.
At the Garrison he got his first girlfriend, Anna. Anna was so cute. She had curly, dark brown hair that matched her eyes. She had pouty lips that Lance was instantly addicted to kissing. Her boobs were small but soft and all that mattered was she let him touch them. He made out with her every chance he got. Hickeys lined his neck after the weekend, and a smug smile was permanently plastered to the features of his face.
Lance was relieved. He was normal. He liked girls. He liked girls a lot. He liked how soft they were, how small they were, how warm they were. He liked their hair and their smell. He wasn't pretending anymore. He was totally normal.
It was after a particularly heavy make-out session with Anna that he ran into Nick--literally. Lance slammed into the shorter boy as he rounded a corner trying to sneak back to his room. They collapsed backward into a puddle on the floor, long legs and long arms sticking this way and that. Nick laughed and made a snide comment about the state of Lance’s neck. Lance and Nick became quick friends, especially since they were both in the cargo pilot track. Lance spent his days playing games and hanging out with Nick. They would lie on his bed and argue about which Gundam pilot was better, if Superman or Goku would win in a fight, or if it was better to eat ice cream in the summer or the winter. Sometimes their fights would escalate into physical wrestling. Lance would get extra passionate and start punctuating his arguments with a finger in Nick’s ribs. Nick would begin reinforcing his rebuttal with a shove.
Sometimes after these arguments Lance wished he could hold Nick the way he held Anna after a make out session. Other times he wondered what it would be like to simply crash his lips into Nick’s. Fear always held him back, made Lance keep his distance. Lance was straight. He had Anna.
Lance really did like Anna, she was hot. And if you were a boy that liked girls, you were straight. That was the rule. So his thoughts about Nick must be how everyone felt about their best friend. Everyone loved their best friend. Everyone wanted to hug them and hold them and kiss them. Everyone pushed those feelings down, like he did, because those were not things you should do with your best friend. Nick was hot, everyone thought so, even Anna. You could be straight and appreciate boys’ beauty, right? Yeah, it had to be that.
He was still fourteen when Anna broke up with him. Nick and Anna had decided they liked each other more than Lance. His entire circle of friends split after the break-up; everyone seemed to take a side. When all was said and done, Lance was left with the barest fraction of the friends he had gained during his time at the Garrison, and those left to him wanted to forget it had even happened. He spent his days going to class and locking himself in his room, all desire crushed out of his existence.
He needed an outlet. He needed something to keep him distracted from the depression that was creeping up around him.
He needed a plan.