soft whispers || a highschool klance fic

2

3:35 p.m.
Message from: absolute dumbfucks
Members: green kool-aid, Cowardly Bastard™, fucking arsenic, enthusiast thot

green kool-aid Said: y'all. you guys know about that party?

fucking arsenic Said: Yeah.

enthusiast thot Said: yea

Lance stared down blankly at his phone for a moment, sitting within the confines of his home. He was sprawled upon a couch that had been far too small for his lanky body, considering the fact that he was at least 6". His phone vibrated within his hand.

fucking arsenic Said: Don't you dare drag me along.

Cowardly Bastard™ Said: of course we're gonna drag you along. you need to get out of the house sometimes, you absolute sack of potatoes.

enthusiast thot Said: keith u gotta liven up sometimes buddy

fucking arsenic Said: Go suck a dick.

enthusiast thot Said: ur the gay one here

green kool-aid: yeah sure but you're both the idiots.

It took at least 5 minutes for anyone in the chat to bother with responding, and in the meantime, Lance quietly thought about the kids who were included.

Green kool-aid was Pidge, their name taking after their weird obsession with kool-aid, and the fact that they had simply liked the color green. Pidge was an interesting kid, who went by they/them pronouns and didn't fit the gender binary, whatever that meant. Their hair was easily cut short and a light ginger-brown and on most occasions outside of school they wore a green/orange/white sweater with a large turtleneck, with a small zipper. For pants, they simply wore dark gray sweatpants, in order to be nice and comfortable. They also had odd circular glasses that constantly needed to be readjusted.

Cowardly Bastard™ was a kid by the name of Hunk, who was soft and gentle. He also was, most of the time, an anxious mess that partly hid behind a mask. Hunk normally wore a bright yellow shirt line with black, with the sleeves cut to his forearms. Over his shirt, he wears a green/orange/gray vest with a tall collar, too. He also wore a gray and orange utility belt with a pouch on either hip. For pants, it was simply khakis, accented with a light brown. He also had what looked like a grown out, split in the middle bowl cut that was separated from his face by an orange headband that he wore.

Fucking arsenic was Keith, who had gotten his name because he was so toxic and poisonous. Metaphorically, of course. Outside of school, he wore a simple grey tee, some black skinny jeans, and a simple crop-top red/white/yellow jacket. He had a black mullet, which is why everyone said he looked like an emo kid. It was always messy and in his face, never tied back unless someone did it themselves.

And, of course, enthusiast thot was Lance. He didn't need much explanation, but he wore a blue-grey long-sleeved tee and simple jeans. Sometimes his outfit was accompanied by green/orange/white jacket. His hair was always somewhat bed-head, somewhat casual, but always a decently-sized curly mess.

green kool-aid Said: so, friday, right?

enthusiast thot: yea

Cowardly Bastard™: 8:00. runs till midnight probably, considering the weekend

fucking arsenic: God, who would want to deal with people for that fucking long?

enthusiast thot: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The group chat was silent for the rest of the day after that, other than a few snarky comments about drama exchanged between the teenagers.

Lance still sat on the couch, now accompanied by his little siblings, who were surprisingly quiet. All of them crowded him a bit while he was idle and they had convinced him go watch one older Disney movie.

Within 45 minutes they were silently asleep, in which Lance's mamá called out;

"Put 'em to bed, mijo!" And, of course, the son had obliged and carried all of them, one by one, to their rooms. Lance didn't mind, the little restless rascals needed to sleep sometimes anyways.

After carrying them to their rooms, Lance came back downstairs and met his mamá in the kitchen, where she had regularly stayed. Lance sat on a stool, leaning up against the counter, phone in hand. He wasn't really looking at it, though.

"How was today, mijo?"

"Like any other day. Boring." Lance halfheartedly lied, considering the unfolding rumors of the party. His mamá couldn't really tell, anyways.

"Have you had anything to eat since you've gotten home, Lance?" The look in his mamá's eyes was, well.. Motherly. She definitely wanted to make sure that Lance got what he needed, as it was her maternal instinct, having raised 7 older children. Now she was taking care of Lance, and two of his younger 'siblings'. Lance and his mamá, too, had a bond unique to the other children. The two were fairly close and talked about most anything. Kids in his school would make fun of him for being a mama's boy, when he was open about it, of course.

"No. Just leftovers," the boy softly mumbled.

"I could cook you someth-"

"Tortilla española," Lance quickly said, smirk now spreading across his face.

The Cuban boy simply got a smile back from his mamá, knowing that the food held close memories between the two. His mamá had made it whenever Lance was upset, or at least when she could tell, and even then she would still do it to make her son cheerful again.

Tortilla española is an omelette his mamá made with eggs, potatoes and garlic, and she fried it in oil. The food was meant to be served cold but Lance liked it better lukewarm, and his mamá was always willing to comply. Anything for her children, middle or not.

Mamá always claimed that she had no favorites, but sometimes it was obvious that it was Lance. None of her other children were as close with her as she was with her middle son, the rest being far more rebellious, almost as if it were teenage nature. But, Lance was different; he spoke of most things to his mother, knowing she had a sense of protection, knowing that she was willing to listen, knowing that she would support him no matter the circumstances.

Lance slowly reached over and turned the old radio on, predominantly playing older music. It had a mixtape of his mamá's favorite music, as it was always stuck in there. Nobody took it out. Nobody dared.

Mamá would sway her hips to the beat while she cooked, seemingly by instinct. And if she wasn't already multitasking enough, she debated with her son over school, his siblings, the music, love trouble.. Really anything you could think of.

After mamá was done with cooking, she taken the Spanish omelet and tucked it onto a plate, grabbed a fork, and handed it all over to Lance. Lance took his time with eating, but he wasn't particularly slow. He talked in-between bites to his mother.

When Lance was finished, he hopped off the stool and stepped over to the sink, where he slided in his plate and fork. The sink was completely empty other than what Lance had put in, which wasn't really surprising, since his mamá was constantly in the kitchen.

Lance awkwardly stumbled upstairs, exchanging waves and smiles to his mamá. The Cuban boy basically tip-toed into his room and plopped face-first onto his bed.

His room was messily decorated with all sorts of space related things, especially ones that were glow in the dark. He had stars all across the ceiling, posters of space, and one with the simple logo, NASA. There were only two things that didn't quite fit in with space; he had a rainbow flag that was average sized, and the other flag next to that was larger. It was, of course, a bisexual flag.

His family didn't really mind it and still cared about him and treated him the same way they normally would have if he weren't bisexual, other than his abuela, who was strictly traditional and was honestly clueless on the subject.

Lance was dead asleep by the time he had counted all of the stars on his ceiling, which added up to a total of 30.