#on the drive home lance pretends like their car broke down in the middle of the woods

[justaz]

lance and keith are both horror junkies but on opposite ends of the spectrum. keith loves horror movies while lance loves true crime. lance forces himself to sit with keith and watch scary movies bc he like spending time with his bf. he spends the entire movie clinging to him, his arms so tight around keith’s ribs that he can barely breathe. keith returns the favor by watching true crime documentaries with lance. he is horrified at all of it bc y’know. its real. and thats scary. he insists on going with lance everywhere when he has to leave (ie to the store or a friends house or even the mailbox) and repeatedly checks their houses locks on all the doors and windows.

[667-darkavenue]

young legends die all the time (part one.)

i havent shared any of my writing in a while so in my traditional style, i’ll share a WIP in the middle of the night. this is an allurance gang au. despite the title, no one actually dies.

The royal families were something of a myth for Lance when he was growing up.

“Never cross that street,” his mom hissed, squeezing the wrist she’d just yanked him back by.

“Why?” he whined, from both pain and petulance.

“If the Witch sees little boys from our side of town, she steals them and eats them.” She said it like a matter of fact. “Our side is safe.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause the King watches over us, papi.”

The parents of this torn city desperately needed some way to hammer in hard lessons to their children without breaking their innocence. When he was older, Lance would wonder if that’s the reason why everything to do with the royal families was given such whimsical language. But while he was a kid, it totally worked.

“Wanna play Druids and Paladins?” His friends would ask in the schoolyard.

The children flipped a penny to decide who would play the leaders, then the pretend-Witch and pretend-King would choose their teams. Sometimes the weapons were water balloons, or nerf guns, or just two fingers pointed at their opponents with a ‘Bang!’

This had an unintended consequence their parents didn’t account for. As far back as Lance could remember, he always wanted to be a paladin.

Fresh out of high school, he got a job at the same restaurant as his best friend. Unfortunately, they never saw each other. Hunk worked all the way at the back of the kitchen and Lance didn’t even work inside the place. He stood out front, opened doors to cars that pulled in, and took them to valet parking.

That’s how he became friends with the finest girl in the world.

Within his first few days on the job, a white Bentley pulled into the driveway. An older man sat in the driver’s seat and a cascade of thick hair bent down in the passenger side, probably fishing a purse out from around her feet. Lance opened the door from her side first, offering a hand to help the lady out. She took it with barely glance at him, sweeping a bit of silvery hair out of the way as she slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped out of the car. It was a fancy restaurant with fancy clientele, but something about the casual way people interacted with Lance as if valets weren’t anything out of the ordinary for them never stopped catching him off guard. This girl though. She paused once she was on her feet and got a proper look at him. And he got a good look at her too. Oh shit, she’s gorgeous.

She pulled her hand away from his. “You’re new.”

She’s got an accent!!!!

“You can tell?” Lance’s chest pounded. “What’d I do?”

The smile she gave him was a small one, but it still crinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes. “Nothing.”

Her father, who was also striking to look at, came around from the other side of the car. Side by side, the pair smelled like money and oozed sophistication.

He passed Lance the keys and noted, “You’re new.”

“Yeah,” Lance answered, voice devastated at how obvious it apparently was.

Father and daughter shared an amused look, a silent inside joke, between each other. They didn’t bother to fill Lance in, either. Without a word, they entered the restaurant.

It didn’t take long to get somewhat familiar with them. Her father was a regular there and tipped a ten every time. Naturally, Lance adored him. The dad had to like him back, right?

The restaurant had a round table that was never given to customers under any circumstances, no matter how packed the night was. It was always left open so that just in case that father or his daughter walked in, they could be seated right away. Even if they didn’t show up for ten nights in a row, the table would stay empty. Like they were phantoms of the freaking opera.

They used it now and then for private father-daughter dinners. More often, it was used to hold meetings with all manner of people. People in suits, people in sweats, local government officials, guys with face tattoos. Lance got a signal from the hostess whenever the round table’s dinner was drawing to a close, so that their Bentley would be ready and waiting the moment they stepped outside. All the other normal customers needed to hand Lance a ticket and stand outside while he fetched their car.

One night, the finest girl in the world stepped out early. The swoosh of the front door brought the chatter of the restaurant outside. Lance’s heart jumped into his throat when he realized it was her.

“Oh! Sorry, I don’t have your car ready,” He blurted, a little flustered. “Romelle usually gives me a sign to get ready for you guys.”

The door swung closed behind her, muffling the din inside and leaving them alone in the dim stillness of the driveway. “It’s alright. We aren’t leaving.”

She walked a few steps closer to the edge of the driveway, looking out at the road. Lance had no idea what she was doing or what he was supposed to be doing. A silent pause stretched between them.

She looked back toward him. “What is the sign?”

“The wha?” “You said you get a signal when she knows we’re finishing up.”

“Oh. It’s—Uh—Kind of a joke.”

She raised her eyebrows, urging him on without a word.

“She says,” Lance reluctantly admitted, “The british are coming.”

He laughed halfway through, ‘cause it was so dumb.

It got a chuckle out of the finest girl in the world, as well. “But she’s British as well.”

“I know,” Lance snorted.

He could see the round table through the restaurant’s front window if he stood in the right spot. Lance craned his neck to scope out the situation. Her dad was still sitting down over coffee with three old white guys.

“Things get awkward at the table or what?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just so boring I wanted to fall asleep on the tablecloth. I think some fresh air will wake me up.” Her heels clacked on the pavement as she paced in small circles.

“Yeah, I feel that. You have no idea how much time I spend just waiting out here by myself.”

“At least it’s not stressful.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s fine. I think I’d rather be doing something stressful, but c’est la vie.” “You should’ve been a waiter, then.”

“I tried, but I had no serving experience. So they turned me down and offered this instead.”

She crossed her arms and stepped a little closer. “What experience do you have?”

Lance started listing them with his fingers. “I’m a good driver, good talker—”

“Oh, are you?” “You’re still here, so better than those guys.” With a jerk of his chin, Lance pointed with his lips to the inside of the restaurant.

She looked at her father’s table with the smallest curl lingering at the corner of her lips. She looked back at Lance. “I’m Allura, by the way.”

“I’m Lance.”

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“You didn’t get very far in listing your skills.”

“Oh, right.” Lance lifted a third finger and continued, “Good kisser...”

She rolled her eyes and raised a hand over her mouth to cover another laugh.

The sound emboldened Lance. “Any chance I could get your number, Allura?”

“Oh, of course.”

His entire face lit up.

She reached into her purse, but did not pull out her phone. In her hand was the valet slip, held between two fingers.

“We’re number twenty five.” She grinned, a little bit playful and a little bit wicked.

Lance’s favorite nights were when Allura came in. If work slowed down, he’d slink over to the window and watch her sip illegal champagne from her flute. Not in, like, a creepy way. There was just something nice about getting to see the finest girl in the world on a somewhat regular basis. This kind of serene, sighing, ‘ahhhhh’ feeling behind his ribs. Not unlike the way it feels to get a nice long look at the ocean on a clear day.

On a good night, Allura would come outside while her dad was still wrapping up conversation at the table or having long, drawn-out goodbyes at the entrance. She’d lean against the car and talk to Lance until it was time to go.

He asked her out once. She said no. He asked her if she was sure the next night. She said yes. But she still liked to come out and talk to him for a few minutes after dinner, so no harm done.

Sometimes she came in without her dad at all, to have some drinks with her friends around the end of Lance’s shift. She’d beckon him inside to join them when closing time was near and her table was the only one still occupied. He had to drive her back home once. Of course, that meant he needed to leave her car there and walk forty minutes back to his own home at midnight. But that was fine. Lance lived on the nice side of town. The side where crime just didn’t happen. Parents could let their children play outside while they cleaned inside. Girls could walk home alone at night. People who tried to start shit mysteriously disappeared. And the victims who got messed with were always paid back for their losses in mysterious ways.

When he was thirteen, someone broke into Lance’s home. After a sweep of the house, his mom’s jewelry box and his dad’s one nice watch were the only things missing. There wasn’t much else worth taking. His parents blamed themselves for thinking they didn’t need better security than a lock on the door. A few days after they filed the police report, his mom got a call directly from the local pawn shop. They had all her missing jewelry and the watch and wanted to return it to her, free of charge. She had to go pick it up directly from the shop. Not the police station.

Anyway, everyone’s tragic stories took place far from the restaurant’s neighborhood. The muggings, the assaults, the missing persons—All of it happened beyond the streets his mother had told him never to cross.

But after a year of working there, something happened.

That one familiar Bentley pulled up to the restaurant in something of a hurry. Lance had never seen Allura’s dad brake hard before. He opened the passenger door for her, as always. He offered his gloved hand to help her step out of the car, then closed it behind her and went around the hood to take the keys from her father.

Alfor gripped Lance’s arm when he passed the keys. “Don’t take any cars you don’t recognize tonight. Tell them we are closed for a private event.”

“Sure. You got it.”

“There’s something for you in the glove compartment. I want you to take it and hold onto it.”

He nodded and tried not to look as puzzled as he felt. Alfor gave him a pat on the back and finally released Lance’s arm. A little frazzled, Lance hopped into the driver’s seat and immediately reached for the glove compartment.

The passenger door flung open and Allura dove into the seat. “Wait!”

She slammed both hands over Lance’s, shoving the compartment shut before he could take a look inside. She kept one hand there while the other scrambled to clumsily shut the door behind her.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” Lance was getting nervous and his voice was rising.

“You don’t need to get involved.” Allura gently pried his fingers away from the glove compartment handle. She shifted to sit sideways so that her body could face him. She clutched his hand in both of hers. “You can walk away. Nothing will happen to you.”

“Walk away from...? What is in there?”

Her eyes were so bright and they gave Lance an intense look that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of at all. “Allura. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“I know. It’s not fair.”

“But I wanna be involved.” God, his palm was probably getting sweaty between her soft hands. “I wanna be your friend. I want to be here when something’s wrong.”

She shook her head. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Look, there’s literally nothing that would make me walk away from you right now. Or ever.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope.”

“Lance, that is…” Allura released his hand. “Just… So unwise.”

“No, it isn’t!”

She scoffed, a helpless little huff of breath through her nostrils.

“What’s in there?” He asked again.

Slowly, Allura reached out and pulled the glove compartment open. It was empty except for a swathe of blue velvet cloth wrapped around something. Lance leaned over and reached across Allura, into the compartment. He unfolded the cloth in his lap, revealing a gorgeous, ornate pistol. The kind known members of the royal family’s paladins were rumored to carry around. The King’s crest was gilded into the handle. It might as well have been a legend to Lance.

part two ==>