edited— yay 😂

*****

My heart plummets as Coach S takes the time to pull me aside and into his office. I don't even have the time to stammer something quick-witted in my defense, though, because I'm suddenly distracted. Hunk is standing in my peripheral vision, breathless and holding a blank yellow Post-It note loosely in one hand. I turn to stare helplessly at him as Coach S drags me away, trying to catch Hunk's eye and tell him to abort his mission.

But before I do, Coach S pushes the door to his office shut. I swallow hard, facing certain doom. The only way this could possibly get worse is if a rain cloud were to open up right here in the office and begin to deluge.

"You tell me about your performance, McClain," Coach S begins, sitting at his desk and motioning for me to sit.

I let a beat of silence roll by, fidgeting uncomfortably. Coach S just looks at me expectantly, stony-faced and more than a little terrifying. I should say something— anything. I just don't know how to explain myself on the spot like this.

"I— uhm— I got distracted," I admit nervously, only to be interrupted. "I should've—"

"Before you got distracted. Start at the beginning," he prompts.

I blink, eyes daring to drift toward his window facing the locker room— still saturated with a wispy supply of vagabond players. The room is emptying, most either finished dressing or out of view in the showers. It occurs to me that I need to respond to Coach S if I want to live.

"I— well— I was playing the game," I shrug. "I saw chances and I took them. The first half was great, we were 10-10, and we had the ball going into the third quarter. I was really pumped, but..." I try to think. "My focus faltered. There was a lull in the action, on my side, for a minute. The ball was elsewhere and the thick of everything was away from me," I recall distantly.

Coach S nods solemnly. How do I admit that a cheerleader distracted me? Should I lie? There's really no better excuse. Maybe I can just sugarcoat it.

"Whatever chant the cheerleaders did grappled my attention," I say carefully, blushing hard.

Coach S cracks a smirk under the layers of unimpressed frowning, apparently understanding words I didn't say. He allows me to continue, although I really don't want to anymore.

"When the ball came back, I wasn't mentally prepared," I admit. "I ran blindly, right into somebody. The rest of the game was like that, for me. Running, and throwing, blindly and right into the other team's waiting hands."

"Mm," Coach S hums, assessing both my honesty and my potential to do better next time.

"Lance, I appreciate your acknowledgment that the cheerleaders caught your eye," he nods. "But it's been more than that, lately. Something is distracting you. Your head just isn't in the game."

I don't like where he's taking this. I know I've been distracted, but I've only just recently accepted that I'm bisexual. I think I have the right to lose myself in thought while I adapt to this revelation, but there's no way I'm gonna let Coach S know that's what on my mind. When I look up again— fresh out of excuses— my stomach plummets into my thighs. The impending sense of doom and the gaping feeling where my stomach should be leaves an icy cavern beneath my chest.

"You're a freshman," Coach S gives me. "So maybe it hasn't been drilled into your head enough times yet, but, this isn't high school football anymore."

"I-I know—"

His face hardens. He lifts a hand to silence me and continues, jumping into a lecture.

"You may have been a big fish in a small pond at your old high school—"

"But now I'm a whale in an ocean," I mumble, distracted again by the window, watching Hunk look around for me. I've heard this lecture before. Coach S has already pulled me aside for being distracted by the cheerleaders once this season. I've heard it said that bad things come in three's, so I find myself beginning to accept this lecture is going to reiterate itself until I get a grip on myself and reality.

Coach S frowns and redirects his argument. I'm not really listening though. I've finally caught Hunk's attention. He blinks at me, clearly alarmed. With a quick flick of my chin, I motion for him to come rescue me, or at least distract Coach S long enough for me to make my own escape. Hunk seems to understand.

"McClain, are you listening? You don't want to lose your scholarship and get kicked off the team, do you?"

"Nossir," I say quickly, snapping back to face him.

He brushes a silver stripe of hair out of his eyes, flustered. When he looks up again, he sees Hunk standing hesitantly at the door. Coach S eyes me suspiciously before rising to address Hunk.

"Can it wait, Garett?" Coach S lifts an eyebrow.

"Uh—" Hunk falters. "I just need to give Lance this Post-It note."

I leap on the opportunity.

"Is that about my medication!?" I exclaim.

Hunk looks confused for a moment. He knows very well that it has nothing to do with medication but I need him to understand I want to make an escape before I lose my scholarship. I try to indictate for Hunk to do anything but tell the truth. Coach S frowns, looking between us.

Hunk folds the Post-It and shrugs.

"Oh, I don't know," he pulls it off genuinely. "They said you'd know what to do with it," Hunk ceremoniously places the paper in my outstretched palm.

He quickly backs away, toward safety. I don't blame him.

"Oh, gee, Coach." I pocket the paper. "I better go see about this. Continue this conversation later?" But I'm already halfway out the door.

Coach S rolls his eyes and grudgingly waves me off. Wow, that was close. I gather myself and chase down Hunk. He's left the locker room, already walking with Pidge, our small friend in the marching band. She's already dumped her giant bass drum in the band room, looks like.

"Hey, guys, wait up!" I call after them, jogging to meet them on the sidewalk.

Distracted, I'm almost run over as I cross the street. A loud horn jolts me out of my skin. To my horror, the driver rolls down her window.

"Lance?"

Shit, is that the cheer captain? I put on my coolest face and turn to face the car that almost killed me.

"Oh my goodness, Lance," she huffs, accent adding to her haughty scoff. "You should really watch where you're going," she warns me, pulling up her window.

"Will do, Princess," I wink.

My best efforts don't seem to go over well. She flips me off without looking in my direction again before driving on. Hunk and Pidge, meanwhile, are laughing their asses off. Face hot, I finish the trek, coming to stand between them.

"Having a bad night?" Pidge sympathizes.

"Not necessarily," Hunk jumps in before I can respond. "He got a cheerleader's number."

The Post-It. I didn't even look at it. He really got Keith's number for me?

"Oh, that's exciting," Pidge snickers. "Who'd you have to pay?"

Panick-stricken, I search my pockets to make sure I still have it after running into the road and almost dying.

"Keith was actually very willing to comply," Hunk answers for me again.

For several seconds, my heart slows to a screeching halt. I can't find the note— I didn't realize how important it actually was to me. But then my fingers brush against it at the very depth of my right-hand pocket. I audibly sigh in relief, pulling it out. Wow, I am actually glad to have this slip of paper I didn't want.

"Oh, Keith Kogane?" Pidge nods in approval. "He's cute. Since when are you bi, Lance?"

"Since... uh-always," I stutter stupidly, unfolding the small paper.

The royal blue, lavender, and magenta jelly bands on my wrist only prove my point as they slide with the motion of my arms. I may have only just let myself accept my sexuality, but that's how it's been since I met both Hunk and Pidge. I don't even need to look up to know Pidge is face-palming.

"Of course," she mutters.

"Fuck!" I let slip, reading the note.

"What? What's the matter?" Hunk frowns.

"The i in Keith is dotted with a heart. And his handwriting is beautiful," I whisper. "I'm fucking calling him tonight."