Chapter Text
When he got the call slip in first period, Lance knew that he was screwed.
Lance McClain. Room 312. End of period. Counselor’s Office.
Shit.
He had messed up bad last night. So, so bad. He knew he shouldn’t have reached out to anyone, even his best friend Hunk. Hunk was a good person, but Lance wasn’t. He knew he wasn't. He was a dirty rag with frayed edges. Useless. He had no idea how Hunk was even friends with him; he should have known that Hunk was too good for him.
You never should have reached out to him. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idot.
What a fucking idiot.
His footsteps echoed down the empty hall. It was always slightly creepy, being out of class while the rest of the school was learning. Or something close to learning, anyway. As close as the American public school system could get.
Each step triggered a little spasm in his heart. Desperately, he was forming a story in his head. Something close enough to the truth to be plausible, but far enough to draw attention away from himself. He didn’t need attention, he didn’t need help. Other people needed help and attention, but other people were more deserving.
Lance was just...Lance.
Lance rounded the corner, glancing up. COUNSELOR’S OFFICE. He had probably walked under this sign a million times in his years at Garrison High, but for the first time, he felt something potent as he saw the red letters. It stirred up in his gut, wanting him to run but also pleading him to stay still.
Dread.
Lance passed the threshold and arrived in another hallway. Inside were more doors leading to four different counselors assigned to each student based on last name. He found where his last name fell and sat outside the corresponding door, waiting to be called.
Anxiety clawed at his insides, desperately trying to set itself free. Lance controlled it the best he could, neatly folding his green call slip. A plan. All he needed was a plan.
He snorted a little. Lance always seemed to need a plan. But he usually was rendered planless, relying on his intuition to play it by ear. Hunk always was the one to keep him in check, to bring some caution in his life.
Hunk.
Hunk, the one person that had gotten him into this mess. Hunk, who had-
Lance stopped himself right there. Blaming Hunk was not the path he should go down. Hunk was good, Hunk was kind. Hunk wanted the best for him, even if Lance couldn’t be helped.
He took a breath, directing his thoughts back to the current situation. He didn’t have much information to know how the conversation with the counselor would go, but he could still have a rough idea on what he could do. His go-to plan, his catch all safety net. Distract and disarm.
Lance quietly unfolded his call slip and prepared himself.
A moment or two passed until a woman with Kleenex hair came out of her office. Despite her hair color, she looked young and fresh out of college. After spotting Lance, she greeted him with a smile.
“Hello. You must be Lance. Come in.” She beckoned him inside her office with a minimalistic but commanding gesture. After stepping aside to let him enter first, she then closed the door with a small noise. The click was barely audible, but sounded like executions bells to Lance.
“That’s me, Lance. You’re Ms….uh.” Lance suddenly drew a blank. This counselor was new this year, and he had had no reason to contact her before. He let his “uh” elongate, praying the counselor would save him and give him her name.
“Just call me Allura.” She said with a diplomatic smile.
“Allura. That’s an interesting name. Where does it come from?” Lance asked, casually taking a seat on the couch. Carefully, he watched his body language. No crossed legs or arms, slightly leaned towards Allura’s seat. Not knowing the counselor’s name had thrown him off his game for a split second, but he was determined to get back on the horse. Distract and disarm.
“I’m named after my grandmother on my mother’s side,” Allura explained. “I don’t know where she got the name from, but it is unique.”
Quickly, Lance jumped into the conversation.
“Yeah, it kinda sounds like an alien name, in the best way possible,” He flashed a smile. “I like to think my name comes from Lancelot, but one of my friends insists that is comes from ‘petulance’.”
“Petulance?” Allura asked. Lance did an internal fistbump. She’d taken the conversation bait.
“Yeah, petulance,”Lance smoothly responded, “Its definition is the quality of being childishly sulky or bad-tempered. Like, ‘a slight degree of petulance had crept into his voice’ "
Allura cocked a eyebrow. “Did you, by chance, memorize the dictionary entry for that word?”
“Yes,” Lance said, looking at the clock out of the corner of his eye, “Yes I did. You have to do stuff like that when you have super smart friends.”
As Allura chuckled, Lance processed his situation. Only five minutes of first period left. When the bell rang, hopefully Allura would let him go and not call him back, considering how fine he seemed. Never before had Lance been so eager to get to second period math.
But, just as he opened his mouth to speak algain. It seemed that Allura wasn’t so easy to distract.
“On the subject of friends,” she started, “we should probably talk about why I called you here. Though I do admit it’s nice to have an easy conversation with a student.”
Lance struggled for a neutral face. As Allura said the dreaded words, Lance kept his body loose, choking away any tension.
“Last night, the school received a call from a concerned student regarding you,” She paused. Allura had been making eye contact with Lance before, but now her eyes seemed to be looking through him. “Lance, they were afraid that you were going to seriously injure yourself.”
Lance forced his eyebrows upward, praying that his attempt at surprise would get past Allura. He hadn’t expected such a direct question, and yet again he felt planless.
He would have to bullshit hard to get himself out of this one.