Reblogged

Day 2: Curse

Lance was just a child when it began. He’d come down one night to the smell of dinner, only to discover everyone already eating without him. Mad, he’d asked his mother why she hadn’t told him dinner was ready and she’d startled, turning to blink down at him in surprise. It took her a moment, and then she softened, apologizing and saying she had forgotten. But years later, that moment would come back to him, and it would stick, because he knew now what had actually happened. What would continue to happen. She hadn’t just forgotten to call him down to dinner, no, she had actually forgotten him.

It was subtle at first, like that. Little moments where his family or teachers would forget him, quickly brushed off and passed by. Sometimes his classmates would forget they had invited him to join their games, or his sister would forget he had gone on a walk with her and accidentally leave him behind. It was frustrating, and sometimes lonely, but he never thought much of it. Not at first.

It was when he was thirteen that the first alarm bells began to ring. His teacher forgot to say his name one day during attendance, and so he raised his hand to remind her. She‘d stared at him in confusion, asking if he was in the wrong classroom. Of course, he told her he wasn’t. It was halfway through the school year, after all, and he’d been in her class all semester. But still she seemed confused and insisted he wasn’t in her class. It was only when she at last checked the attendance sheet again that she had startled, finding his name clearly printed there. She’d apologized, and they moved on, but then a week later the same thing happened again. And both times the other students hadn’t corrected her or stood up for him, only watched on in confusion, like they too didn’t know why he was there.

From then on things only got worse. His grandmother, who he only saw a few times a year, stopped sending him cards. His siblings’ birthday and Christmas cards still came in, but his never did. He took it personally at first, until she came to visit, and then even in person she claimed she had no idea who he was. His mother only frowned, telling him it was just a part of getting old, but her memory for everyone else in the family remained sharp. It was only him who was forgotten.

Over time, everybody around him steadily began to forget his existence, though he never discovered why. He was unable to make friends, as one day they would hang out and get along great, then the next they wouldn't even remember his name. School was a struggle, since the teachers never remembered him. Even at home his own family were becoming increasingly forgetful, neglecting to wake him up in the morning or call him down for dinner at night. His mother frequently startled when he appeared before her, staring at him wide-eyed as though he were a stranger in her home before at last relaxing when she remembered he was her son. His oldest brother Louis had nearly forgotten him all together.

It was like he was a ghost, walking along through the world without leaving a single trace of himself behind.

When Lance was sixteen he stopped going to school entirely. Nobody noticed anyway, and he couldn’t stand the daily struggle of trying to prove he belonged there anymore. Instead he spent his mornings sleeping in and his evenings sitting down by the water, staring out at the waves. Nobody ever came in to wake him, or went out to tell him to come home. Actually, no one looked for him at all. They didn’t even know they were supposed to.

Lance was seventeen when the dreaded day finally came. He went downstairs one afternoon, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and then nearly fell down the steps when a terrified scream pierced the air. Catching himself on the railing, he looked up to see his mother’s face twisted in horror, hands wrung together in front of her. Her eyes were placed squarely on him.

Heart sinking in his chest, he turned, hoping beyond hope that there was a burglar standing just behind him, but there was nobody. The two of them were alone in the hall, and that terrified expression on her face was entirely for him.

Frantically, she’d run to grab the phone, babbling in Spanish so quickly he could hardly catch it. Chasing after her, he yelled for her to calm down and just listen. “Mamá, it’s me! It’s Lance! I’m your son, Lance— Please, just listen!”

After what felt like an eternity of her screaming and him shouting, recognition at last dawned in her eyes, the phone falling from her hand to hit the floor with a clack. Then a new kind of horror filled her eyes, followed by tears, and the next thing he knew they were knelt together on the floor, his mother sobbing into his arms and apologizing over and over for ever having forgotten him. He told her it was okay, don’t worry, but in that moment he knew.

It was over.

That night he packed a bag, shoving in his most comfortable clothes, basic hygiene supplies, and whatever food he managed to smuggle from the kitchen. After only a moment of hesitation, he snatched an old framed family photo that sat on his dresser, cramming it in as well. He was maybe twelve in the photo, and he was pretty sure it was the last family photo he’d been in. Not that they hadn’t taken any since then— they just never remembered to put him in the picture.

He left out the back door and didn’t once look back. Even if they saw him leave they wouldn’t think much of it. By morning they would forget he had ever been there at all.

Lance spent years just floating through life. It could be fun, sometimes. He once challenged himself to see how many free samples he could get before they realized he was the same person coming back over and over; needless to say, he’d cleaned the entire tray with no one being the wiser. Most of the time, though, it was heart wrenchingly lonely not having anyone to talk to. Sometimes it almost felt as though others couldn’t even see him— like in addition to being forgettable he had become invisible too. That was maybe what hurt the most. The feeling of existing without a presence.

He’d left Cuba a little over two years ago, finding it unbearable to stay somewhere so familiar while having no one within it recognize him. Being so close to his family had hurt, too. He’d once run into Rachel at the grocery store and she’d simply stepped around him and kept walking, barely glancing at him. That night he had cried himself to sleep in the tent he’d been calling a home.

Now he lived in the Texan desert, maybe a half hour drive from the nearest town. He’d realized early on that holding a job or apartment was impossible as nobody could ever remember hiring or renting to him, so instead he’d found a rundown little shack and patched it up himself. He drove back and forth from the town in a shitty old pickup truck he’d stolen from some farmer’s yard — he hadn’t been using it anyway — and made money pulling card tricks at the casino. It wasn’t an honest way to live, but it was all he could do. And besides, Lance couldn’t get in legal trouble anyway. As it was, he’d flown here, passed through security, and lived in the U.S. for two years without anyone realizing he didn’t have a visa or any official paperwork. No one ever caught him out at the casino, either. And even if they did, they would have already forgotten by the next time he came. He was a living ghost, with no real life to speak of. No one could ever catch him out for anything because as far as the world knew, he didn’t even exist.

He didn’t exist.

It was Saturday night and Lance was out on the town, tricking strangers into buying him drinks. Sometimes he would open a tab he would never be asked to pay, but usually he felt too bad. Tonight the bartender had been especially friendly, so he earned his drinks through shameless flirtation instead. It was easy not to have shame when no one would remember anything he said or did anyway.

Spotting his next victim, he slid from the barstool, striding purposefully across the room to a dark booth in the corner. There was a lone guy sitting there, staring moodily into his drink. His style was… a bit outdated. Mullets and cropped leather jackets were seriously four decades ago. But he was alone and clearly in a sour mood, which made him ripe for some cheering up from Lance. And people who felt cheered up were more likely to be generous with their wallets.

Sliding into the booth across from him, Lance put on his best flirtatious smile, leaning his elbows on the tabletop. The guy startled a little, glaring at him and pulling his drink just a little closer towards his chest.

“Hey,” Lance hummed. “Noticed you from across the bar.”

The guy’s frown deepened. “That’s a really cheesy line.”

Waggling his brows, Lance replied, “It’s not a line if it’s true.”

The guy continued to frown, but didn’t say anything, taking a small sip from his drink. It looked dark and sour, whatever it was. Definitely not to Lance’s taste.

Settling more comfortably into the booth, Lance asked, “So, what’re you doing here? You don’t look much like you’re having a good time.”

The guy hesitated, and then shrugged. “My, uh, brother told me I needed to… get out more.”

“So you chose a bar?”

He shrugged again.

Alright, okay, so he wasn’t the talkative type then. That was okay, Lance could work with it. He still had this.

“Sooo, your brother thinks you need to get out more. What do you normally do then? Like, read books and play video games or something?”

The guy gave him a wary look, as though Lance had just asked him to divulge intensely personal information and not just basic hobbies. But then he took another, slightly larger, sip of his drink and set it down before replying, “I watch movies. And I’ve been working on my bike.”

Lance perked up, sitting straight in the booth. “Wait, bike? Like a motorcycle?”

He nodded.

Grinning, he leaned forward in the booth, making the guy scoot back an inch in response. “That’s awesome! What kind of bike is it? Man, I’ve always wanted one myself but they can be such a project.”

For a moment, he just stared at Lance, looking wildly uncertain. And then, with a sudden and swift motion, he downed the rest of his drink. Lance startled as he slammed the empty glass back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he stood, and for a moment Lance was certain he’d messed up. But he stopped in front of the booth, looking uncertain still, and asked, “You wanna come see?”

So that was how Lance found himself out in front of the bar, the night air cool against his flushed cheeks as he ooed and awed over the bike parked neatly in front of him. It was red, and shiny, and very clearly well loved, and he was so damn jealous of it.

The guy shifted nervously behind him, watching him examine every inch of the vehicle. But when Lance asked him to rev it he visibly brightened, relaxing a little as he climbed onto the bike and brought it to life. Lance couldn’t contain his excitement when he heard the engine roaring to life, loud and clear and so, so cool. The guy grinned, seeming just as excited.

“Man, that’s so cool,” Lance breathed. “I am incredibly jealous, this has to be one of the nicest bikes I’ve seen.”

The guy’s smile softened a little, looking fondly down at the shiny red metal. “Yeah, well, I’ve worked hard on her.” That hesitant look came back, then he turned his eyes warily toward lance, asking, “Would you… want to go for a ride?”

Lance blinked, then grinned. “Would I? Hell yeah! Let’s go!”

The guy snorted, then pulled out a helmet, handing it over to him. Within moments they were off, Lance’s arms wrapped around the stranger as he wove them through the lamp-lit streets. The air rushed by them, cold and refreshing, and Lance let out a whoop that made the stranger snort again, his back jolting against Lance’s chest. Tightening his arms, Lance leaned in closer, grinning wildly.

When they at last stopped it was in front of an arcade: the old fashioned kind with cabinets and air hockey tables and rigged claw machines. Lance led them in, digging through his pockets for every quarter he could find. He operated purely in cash — banks always closed his accounts — and so he had plenty to go around. Shoving a few into the guy’s hand, he led him from machine to machine, insisting he play with him.

And without even realizing, hours passed by like that.

Lance found himself caught up in the joy of doing something new and different. He hadn’t been to an arcade since he was kid and it was way more fun than he had remembered. And the guy wasn’t all too bad, either! He matched Lance in most games, and the frustrated look on his face when he was lost was only slightly less amusing than the cocky smirk when he won. By the time they realized the extremely late hour, they had already run through nearly every machine in the arcade, and played many of them twice or more. Lance’s face was flushed and his hair tousled from running his hand through it but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when this was the most fun he had had in who knows how long.

“We should get heading home,” he sighed, seeing the early hour glowing back at him from his phone screen. “My truck is still at the bar.”

The guy nodded, but it was half-hearted, his attention clearly elsewhere as he peered across the open room. Then suddenly he turned, walking away without so much as a word.

Bewildered, and more than a bit curious, Lance followed after. He led them to a claw machine filled with stuffed animals, eyes already zeroing in on a specific one.

“You know these are rigged, right?” Lance asked, leaning in to try and see which one he was looking at.

The guy hummed, but didn’t respond, instead digging in his pocket for whatever remaining quarters. He pushed a few into the slot, testing the joystick experimentally before actually starting to line it up. He hit the button and watched the claw drop, but it didn’t catch anything and quickly returned to its starting point. Lance wasn’t even sure which one he’d been going for.

“Hold on,” he murmured, trying again. And again. And again. On the fifth try Lance started to feel a bit bad for him.

“C’mon, man, let’s get going,” he urged, nodding towards the exit, but he was entirely ignored. The guy was way too focused in on the machine.

This continued for probably fifteen minutes, and Lance had honestly begun considering just walking back to the bar to grab his truck, when suddenly there was a noise of triumph. Turning, he watched the guy bend down and dig around in the prize slot, grinning when he pulled out his winning. It was a stuffed lion, the same red as a fire truck, with bright yellow eyes and a cutesy smile stitched into its face.

Raising his brows, Lance said, “To be honest, you didn’t strike me as a stuffed animal guy.”

The guy stood, still grinning, plush held between his hands. “I’m not, but you seem like one.”

Before Lance could ask what he meant the lion was shoved unceremoniously into his hands, the guy brushing past him before he could even process what had just happened.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” he said, already halfway to the exit. Flabbergasted, Lance followed behind, lion clutched in his hands, its fur soft between his fingers. The bike was already started by the time he got outside, the stranger sitting on it and grinning roguishly at him.

Lance frowned, feeling a slight tugging in his chest, but he pushed past it quickly, moving to climb onto the bike behind him. It roared to life, carrying them off into the early morning streets. As they made their way back to the bar Lance looked down at the little stuffed lion sitting tightly between his legs, its adorable face smiling back up at him.

He was actually going to miss this guy a bit when he forgot him.

It was fully morning by the time Lance managed to drag himself back into his shack, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh. Turning his head to the side, he stared at the little red lion that sat beside him, still smiling cutely despite the early hour. Then closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of arcades, and garlic knots, and long dark hair.

When he awoke it was early afternoon and his body felt sore all over, head foggy and ringing slightly from the previous night’s drinking. He got up and filled a glass from the sink, downing it in one go before sighing and staring out the window at the hot baked earth that surrounded much of his shack. It was already sweltering and would only get worse mid-afternoon.

Putting the glass in the sink, he opened the fridge, cursing when he saw it was woefully empty. He hadn’t gone shopping in a couple of weeks. Sighing, he shut the door again, going instead to get changed. His clothes reeked of booze and some other mystery smell he suspected came from the arcade. Grabbing his keys, he then started towards the door. He paused, though, turning back to look at the little lion plush sitting on his bed. Impulsively, he grabbed it, taking it with him as he stepped out into the hot Texan sun.

The trip to his car felt ten times longer in the heat, and the car itself was even worse. Cranking the old janky AC as high as it would go, he leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh, still feeling foggy. The lion plush sat beside him, happy despite the circumstances, seatbelt pulled over its tiny body and secured in the buckle.

Once the car had cooled enough he could be confident it wouldn’t explode, he pulled out and headed back towards town.

The drive felt longer than usual that day, but when the dirt roads turned to pavement he knew he was getting close. The town sprung up slowly around him— first a couple of farms, then more tightly packed houses, suburbs, and finally the not-so-bustling streets of the small town Lance spent most of his time in. He stopped by the gas station for a quick fuel-up and then headed to the town’s only grocery store, already making a mental list of what he needed to get.

Inside, the AC was on max, making his bare arms break out in gooseflesh. Shivering, he grabbed a basket and started towards one end of the store, focused on his task. He never really liked being here, seeing people he had run into dozens of times and knowing that he was a complete stranger to him. Even now, as he walked into the produce section, he passed a girl he spent a night with last year, closely observing a tomato and not sparing him so much as a glance. It was normal for him now, to be a perpetual stranger. It didn’t mean he liked the feeling, though.

Quickly grabbing what he needed, he moved on to the canned section, then the bread, and then the freezer aisle. It was in the snacks aisle, though, that he ran into a problem. Because there, squinting at a bag of chips, was the guy from the last night.

Ducking behind a display, he cursed under his breath, heart pounding in his chest. It was stupid to hide, he knew, but he hadn’t mentally prepared himself to see him again so soon. After the night they’d had laughing over games and racing through the twilit streets, he wasn’t ready to be a stranger. Not yet. He needed at least a week to prepare himself for that heartbreak.

He was still crouched there, trying not to hyperventilate, when the guy suddenly appeared beside him, leaning around the display to give him a judgmental look.

“Did you drop something, or…?”

Shrieking, Lance scrambled to his feet, basket forgotten on the floor. He spun to face the guy, floundering for what to say, but then stopped when he saw his face. He looked the same as last night — cropped jacket, mullet, and all — but there was an amused smirk on his face, eyes flickering with mirth. He was teasing him. And if he remembered anything about this guy when they first met, sat together in that dark booth, he didn’t seem like the type to tease strangers. Which was weird, because to him Lance was definitely a stranger.

“I, uh— I was just—”

“You know, I never got your name.”

Lance froze, feeling ice begin to crawl through his veins.

“W-what?”

Suddenly, he looked uncertain. “Y’know, last night…? We met at the bar and then went to an arcade together?”

Stammering, Lance nodded hurriedly, heart thundering in his chest. “Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, no, I remember.”

The guy snorted, muttering, “I sure hope so.” Then, with a deep indrawn breath, he stuck out his hand, saying, “My name’s Keith. I really regretted not getting your name last night, so…”

“Oh, uh,” Lance looked down at the proffered hand then hurriedly wiped his now sweaty palm over his jeans before clasping it, shaking once, twice. “I’m Lance. It’s, uh, nice to meet you. Officially.”

Keith nodded, a small smile making its way onto his face. Lance’s heart was like a drum now. He could feel his fingers shaking.

“Lance,” Keith repeated, and he thought he might explode. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then he released his hand, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a decidedly old cellphone, holding it out to him. “So, uh, Lance.” God, he really wasn’t used to hearing someone else say his name. “If it’s cool with you, we could… Exchange numbers? Maybe hang out again sometime?”

Letting out a slow, shaky breath, Lance felt a grin stretch across his face, reaching to grab the proffered cellphone. “Your brother put you up to this?” he asked teasingly.

Flushing a little, Keith huffed out a laugh. “Uh, yeah, kinda. But to be honest I didn’t think I’d run into you again so soon.”

‘Me neither,’ Lance thought, typing his number in. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, and it took him a moment to even remember his number. When he was done he passed it back, hoping Keith wouldn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking. If he did, though, then he didn’t say anything, instead just staring down at the newly entered contact with a smile and, God, wasn’t that adorable?

“Thanks,” he murmured, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Then he awkwardly smiled, flexing his other hand that still held a half-full basket of groceries in a gesture that seemed almost nervous. “Then, I guess I’ll… see you around?”

‘God, I hope so,’ Lance thought, but out loud he just said, “Yeah, I’ll uh— see you around.”

Keith smiled, and then left, carrying on with his shopping. Lance, though, felt on the verge of a breakdown. So abandoning his basket where it still sat beside the display of chips, he hurried out of the store and into the sweltering heat of the parking lot. His truck was still a little cool when he threw himself into it, slamming the door behind him and collapsing back into the driver’s seat with a sob. And there he remained for the better part of an hour, tears streaking down his face and a little stuffed lion smiling away in the passenger seat.

When Lance woke up the next morning he had already half-convinced himself that it was all a dream. Some stranger he’d had a night out with still remembering him the next day? It wasn’t possible. Even his own mother had forgotten him, so why would some guy with lame hair and a cool bike remember him? But then he checked his phone and found the world’s most awkward text from said guy, and right there in his bed he broke into tears again.

They began texting back and forth every day. Each time he sent one out, Lance prepared himself to receive a “Who’s this?” back, but it never happened. Each time Keith still remembered him, and each time it twisted at some hopeful place in his heart that he had long ago forgotten existed. It was frightening, almost, this desperate longing he had for human connection. It had been so, so long since he had had anyone in his life at all. So, admittedly, he became almost obsessed, spending his days loitering around the house, waiting for that next text to come through. The lion plushie watched this all with an amused smile, perched in a place of honor upon his bed.

One day, as he was leaning against his counter and chuckling at a text Keith had sent him earlier that morning, he watched a new text appear which nearly stopped his heart.

hey, would you wanna hang out tonight?

Heart slamming against his ribs, Lance scrambled to reply.

ye! *yeah!

He only had to wait maybe half a minute for a response, but it felt like forever.

lol great. theres a chickin spot i like if thats cool?

Another came a moment later.

maybe we can walk around the park after?

Date. That sounded an awful lot like a date. Which, by the way, Lance was entirely fine with, but he wasn’t going to ask if it was a date because he really didn’t want to mess this up, no matter what it was.

yea sounds awsome!! Cantt wait!!

He cursed, fingers already flying to try and correct his spelling mistakes, but then Keith’s text of “cool” came through and he realized he was probably over thinking it. So, with a heavy sigh, he put his phone down, taking a moment to decompress, and then headed over to his dresser to find something to wear.

He showed up to the chicken place at seven and found Keith already waiting outside, bike parked in front of him and gloved hands casually shoved in his pockets. He was so cool it was almost lame, but Lance found himself grinning anyways, jogging over with a wave. For one horrible, horrible moment he feared that maybe Keith wouldn’t recognize him in person. That maybe it had all been a fluke, and when they saw each other in real life he would suddenly forget it all. But when Keith turned to look at him a smirk spread across his face, and he raised a hand to wave back. In that moment Lance practically melted, heart soaring at the familiar gesture.

“Hey, hope I’m not late,” he said, coming to a stop beside him, but Keith just shook his head.

“Nah, I just got here too. Come on.”

They headed in and got a seat, ordering drinks while they looked over the menu. Keith insisted on ordering for them both, saying he knew what the best things were. Lance agreed, but only so long as he got the spiciest version of whatever he picked. That quickly turned into a competition for who could eat the most spicy wings, and by the time they left an hour later they were both red-faced, teary eyed, and had swollen lips that felt numb to the touch. The chicken was delicious, though, and Lance had successfully eaten more wings, so it was totally worth it.

The park was only a short walk away, and when they got there they found it empty, lit only by the last dregs of fading sun and a handful of sparsely placed lamps. Keith led the way, pointing out his favorite spots as they went, and Lance quietly followed, content to listen. As a kid he had never stopped talking, always the loudest person in every room he entered, but now as an adult he found that he often didn’t know what to say. Isolation had become so much of who he was that having a real connection with another person was foreign to him now. He liked it, though. A lot.

So, hey,” he asked, next time there was a moment of silence between them, “why did you invite me out tonight?”

Blinking, Keith looked away, clearly trying to hide his flustered expression. With a shrug, he murmured, “I don’t know, I guess… I just kinda missed you.”

That made Lance stop dead in his tracks, startling Keith enough that he, too, stopped.

“Lance?” he asked cautiously, turning to look back at him. Then alarm crossed his face when he saw his expression, twisted in pain with tears welling in his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” Lance managed before he absolutely lost it, a sob heaving its way out of his chest as the tears broke loose. Keith rushed to his side, grabbing one shoulder and bending his head a bit to get a better look at Lance’s face. This only made Lance cry harder, breaths coming in short and fast.

“Hey, hey, you’re fine!” Keith said, clearly panicking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come on too strong. Seriously, you’re good, I’m sorry!”

Lance was shaking his head, unable to get the words out to tell him he’d done nothing wrong. Everything was a blur and he just couldn’t stop the sobs that were wracking his chest, making his head feel dizzy. Keith was terrified, he knew, and he wanted to calm him, but he was unable to even calm himself. All he could think were Keith’s words, repeating over and over in his head.

‘I missed you.’

Sighing, Keith grabbed his other shoulder, pulling him firmly against his chest and wrapping both hands around his bent head, fingers weaving through his hair. This only made Lance cry harder, dropping his face into the other man’s shoulder. Keith’s voice was low and soft as he murmured hushed words into his ear.

“You’re fine, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

Everything was okay. Finally. Someone remembered him. Someone missed him. For the first time in a long time, Lance actually did feel okay.

“You’re okay,” Keith continued, moving one hand down to rub soothingly over his back. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t know how long they stood there like that, Keith comforting him in the low light of the park. But eventually Lance’s body ran dry of tears, and his breathing calmed to something resembling normal. But still, Keith didn’t let him go, and Lance made no move to pull away either. They just stood there, embracing, breathing slowly together.

At last Lance opened his mouth, feeling his lips stick together from the dried tears.

“Thank you,” he croaked, “for missing me.”

Keith’s hold on him tightened, and he pulled him just a bit closer. “Yeah, no problem.”

And Lance knew he meant it, too, but for him… It meant the whole world.

#voltron #lance mcclain #vld #TGIS IS S GOOD????#IM FUCJIN TS UP DAWG🤤🤤🤤