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The shock was impossible to shake off, having him paralyzed in front of the board with his name written in big curvy letters, in the middle of a bunch of other scattered names in smaller letters.
He didn’t want it. He knew he should want it because everyone else did, but he didn’t want that lead.
And it was strange —he didn’t audition to be the protagonist; there was a character in the play to which he identified much more, one that he had learnt to love and to understand with the pass of time when reading and rereading the book. Thanks to them he had found peace within himself and to accept his being. When the play was announced in the drama class, he couldn’t help but be excited to interpret and be on his favorite character’s shoes.
He auditioned with a couple of other candidates, and he was so proud of how he had interpreted the character. He was sure he was going to get it.
Nonetheless, he didn’t take into account the intervention of that person he had been avoiding all year ever since the homecoming dance. That person that had been trying to establish a relationship with him, the person that he had kissed under the effects of the alcohol-induced fruit punch and had ended with an obsession to convince him that what he felt on that kiss was mutual.
It was ridiculous. He didn’t know him and he was sure he didn’t even know his name until that fatal moment when their lips touched. But the insistence didn’t stop as much as he rejected it. And it got worse when he assured that kissing again will remind him that what he felt was real.
Of course, the only thing he gained was a stink glare from his best friend, Hunk, and a black eye from his other best friend, Pidge.
“Congrats,” he said behind him, obviously aware of what had him baffled, “Looks like we will work together.”
He blinked, his eyes falling to where the name of the love interest of the character he was supposedly going to play was, reading below it Lotor Galrea .
“I didn’t want it,” he murmured, his gaze drifting to the name of his favorite character, the pain from deception in his chest making him gasp, “I didn’t want this.”
He heard him huff, provoking something horrible to bubble in his stomach.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his steps getting closer and stopping right behind his shoulder, “Everyone wanted the lead.”
He blinked again, trying to erase his name below the protagonist’s just with mere willpower, his frown going deeper.
“I didn’t,” he insisted honestly, “I didn’t even audition for it. I don’t...”
He heard him sigh, the air around them starting to turn into something weird.
“I know.”
He was feeling his heart up his throat, in his ears, in his chest creating a hole inside his ribs.
“There must be a mistake,” he tried to reason, and hearing him hum contemplative made him doubt.
“There’s not, Lance,” he contradicted simply, his voice light and soft, “Just accept it, you’re better than the ones that auditioned for the protagonist .”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes glued to the board.
“No, it doesn’t work like that,” he tried to convince himself, turning in his heel and starting for the door in a rushed walk, “The teacher must have made an error.”
“She didn’t.”
“I’ll talk to her and-”
“I bribed her, Lance.”
He halted to a stop, processing the words, and he heard him sigh heavily. He knew he was shaking his head without seeing him, his eyes were plastered to the door.
“I know you didn’t want it,” he said, voice too calm and cool.
And slowly everything started to make sense, ending abruptly in the last scene of the play where a kiss was shared between his character and Lotor’s.
“But you left me no choice.”
Really? Was he blaming Lance for the stupid decisions he committed? Was he really holding Lance accountable for the constant harassment by him?
“How dare you,” he whispered, the ire drowning him like burning lava, “You sabotaged my audition.”
“I made it better, in any case,” he affirmed with a know-it-all, good-for-nothing tone. Lance wanted to break his face, “Or did you want to play such a dull character?”
It was the drop that spilled the glass.
He doesn’t know how he crossed the room so quickly, but his hands were fisting Lotor’s neck shirt, pulling him down to make him bend to his height.
He wanted to kill him. To break into pieces his pretty-boy face and vanish that petulant glint on his eyes.
“You want to kiss me that much?” he asked through his teeth, words scratching his throat, “To the point of committing a fucking crime?”
He hated the smirk that curved his lips.
“Yes.”
He hated him. He despised him.
“Fine.”
He pulled him down a bit more and their lips grazed, feeling his breath hitch with a sigh at the touch.
“Lance...”
“After this,” he growled against mouth, feeling his hands find place on his waist and his eyelashes flutter on his cheek, “You’ll give me back my character.”
He felt him smile before kissing him.
And he regretted falling down to his trap after so long, his heartbeat racing up despite the hate for him didn’t dissipate and with the pass of time transformed into something equally profound and immortal.