"Hey, dude?" I randomly said. Lance hummed but his eyes remained fixed on my television. His hands were wrapped around my PlayStation controller as he swung around New York as Spider-Man. Lance had always been more of an Xbox guy but then I gave him the opportunity to play Spider-Man and a PS4 had found its way on top of his Christmas list. It was just that good of a game and anyone who said otherwise was a liar or had terrible taste. "Are you good at reading people?" I turn my head so, rather than staring at him, I was staring at the TV too.

"What?" He obviously wasn't paying much attention to me. He- or, well, Spider-Man- swung around the side of a building and flew into the air. He swung off of the walls, grazing the road with the character's body.

"Are you good at reading people? That's what psychologists are good for, right?" Lance laughed and I wasn't 100% sure whether it was at me or the game. Probably me because Spider-Man was just running up the side of the building at lightning speed.

"I'm shit at reading people."

"Does that mean you won't make a very good psychologist?"

"Sure," Lance guided Spider-Man to the top of the building before leaping off of it. Just as he was about to hit the ground, webs shot out of his hands and swung him back up. He went silent as he concentrated on getting to the next mission. "But practice makes perfect."

"You're right."

"I'm always right," Lance placed the controller down on the bed to his side and shuffled towards me so we were much closer. I could almost feel his breath against my face and, instead of creeping me out, it just made me feel giddy. My stomach was doing another one of its famous gymnastics routines and, honestly, I felt like I was going to puke. I swallowed as my attempt to keep my lunch inside my stomach. "Hey, you remember what we talked about the other day?"

"Uh... no?" Or maybe I just didn't want to remember. In my head, I begged him not to say what I thought he was going to say but, of course, he couldn't read my mind.

"I need you to come to mine on Friday. My mum's throwing a party and I think it would be a good time to come out to her and dad about us."

"Us but... it doesn't mean anything, right? It's fake?" Part of me wished he'd say it wasn't fake and he'd just come out with feelings for me but that was highly unlikely. Maybe even impossible. Lance probably liked other people who were much better than me. I was just boring, moody Keith; nobody special.

"Yeah, yeah," I hated that my heart broke a little. "Of course. You need to be at mine for seven and... wear something nice."

"Isn't everything I wear nice?" He glanced down at my jacket with one eyebrow raised. Fair enough.

-

I knew Friday wasn't a real date but it sure felt like one. I had put on some skinny jeans and a smart, button-up shirt that I had bought specifically for that night. My hair was flat against my face and, although it made me look a little emo, I thought it was cool. I stood in front of the mirror for about half an hour, just turning and checking that everything was as perfect as it could possibly be. My parents asked why I was running around the house with so much nervous energy but I just mentioned a party and left it at that.

I shifted my weight from one foot to another, trying to mentally give myself a pep talk before I knocked on the door. I just kept telling myself; repeating over and over, 'it's not a real date, it's not a real date,' but my body just refused to believe it. My hands were clammy, no matter how many times I wiped them against my jeans and my head was spinning like crazy. It was actually surprising me that I hadn't made myself dizzy. Finally, I knocked.

Seconds felt like hours before the door was flung open. Lance's mum was standing in front of me with a gigantic grin on her face. She was caked in makeup and was wearing a posh dress. I suddenly felt like I should have worn a suit or at least a slightly more expensive shirt than one from Primark. "Lance! Keith's here!" She yelled before waving me in. I thanked her and watched as Lance came running down the stairs.

He looked amazing, to say the least. It was almost like time had frozen as I stared at him. He was also wearing skinny jeans, along with a shirt that was much smarter than mine. He had gone a bit overboard with the gel in his hair but it was hard to deny how perfect he looked. I forgot about the existence of time until someone punched my arm. "You alright?" Lance mumbled, obviously concerned. My hands were trembling (and still pretty sweaty) but I slipped one into his, for my own comfort rather than to fuel the act (he didn't need to know that though).

"Yeah, I'm amazing." I had a dazed smile on my face and probably looked like I was high or something but I really did feel amazing. If I ignored the nerves bubbling in my chest and just enjoyed being with Lance, I was excited. I was finally going to be able to know what it felt like to have Lance as a boyfriend; even if it was only pretend.

The party wasn't small but it wasn't exactly big either. There were about twenty people, all shoved into their tiny living room. Cans of beer and a bottle of coke sat on the coffee table, along with a stack of red solo cups and some regular party snacks: knock-off Doritos, cheese balls (the best crisps on the planet) and a couple of tubs Pringles. I leant down to grab a cup for the coke but Lance nudged me. "It's cool if you have beer you know?" He muttered but I still poured myself some coke. Lance picked up a can of beer and cracked it open.

What I thought would be an awkward event was actually really enjoyable. Most of the people there were just Lance's mum's colleagues but that didn't mean that they were boring people. Someone Lance and I spoke to had been on the X-Factor which I thought was pretty cool, not that I watched the show or anything. He hadn't made it past the auditions but at least he tried, right? Lance had once told me to enter the X-Factor because of the singing I did in the shower but I refused and said I was going to keep my talent exclusive to my best friend and the people I lived with. That was mainly because my singing could easily be mistaken for a cat on its death bed.

At one point- I had completely lost track of time so I couldn't tell you how far into the night it was- Lance leaned closer to me and whispered, "Dad's watching me," One millisecond of a glance told me that Lance was right. He was standing about a metre and a half away, sipping a can of beer and talking to a friend but his eyes were on us. "We need to act more couple-y."

"That isn't a word." I responded, mainly to avoid what I knew was coming next. Any touch would probably make me melt into a puddle on the floor and I couldn't exactly do that in front of Lance's mum's colleagues. What a fantastic impression I'd make.

"I don't give a fuck right now." He reached out and wrapped an arm around me. I cursed the slow song playing. When he grabbed my hand, I knew I was screwed. I could feel my face heating up but, luckily, the room was too dark for Lance to see. We moved slowly, in time with the song, our hips swaying. I did a twirl and we both laughed softly at how ridiculous we must have looked. I glanced behind us to see his dad wasn't watching us anymore. Whilst I knew no one was watching, I still felt like they were.

He pulled me even closer and I glanced up into his sparkling eyes. His arms were wrapped around my neck and I had mine balanced at the bottom of his back. He probably knew we were no longer being watched but, still, we continued to dance until the song came to an end. It was replaced with an Ed Sheeran song that was much more upbeat. We started to belt out the lyrics to Galway Girl, jumping up and down like we were on our own in the world. We weren't even trying to look like a couple but I'm sure we were succeeding. I hadn't been this happy in a while and, honestly, I never wanted it to end.