flower boy - klance

two

lance mcclain was born with a small lilac on his wrist. throughout his toddler years, he cherished the tiny purple flower on the inside of his left arm, playing with the petals when he was bored or scared.

as he got older, small tulips would appear here and there on his legs and arms, but nothing that lance worried about. the tiny roses and tulips that would appear and disappear on his skin would cause him to smile, the constant reminder that he wasn't alone comforted him.

when lance was twelve, large red carnations bloomed on his chest, as well as a small jimmy weed behind his ear. the growth scared lance, sending him into a flying panic.

"mamá!" he had wailed, running into the kitchen where his padres were sitting. "¡mi alma gemela!" he said, gesturing to the large red flowers on his chest. "¿qué hago?" he said, his voice pained as tears welled up in his eyes.

his mother had stood up from the table, a look of pity on her face. "mi hijo," she said kindly. "your alma gemela will be fine, lance." she had reassured him, wiping his tears. but there was a trace of nervousness in her voice; she'd never seen carnations that large, even when her husband had broken his leg.

his soulmate had turned out to be fine, the petals from the carnations slowly shed from lance's chest as he got older. but to this day, there was still one large carnation that sat in the middle of lance's chest, never quite wilting away. the weight of the large flower on his chest felt comforting, like the lilac on his wrist.

lance was seventeen now, and he hasn't gotten a flower since the carnations. not one single flower had popped up on his body, the only growth was the jimmy weed behind his left ear that seemed to grow every single day. that worried lance; he hated seeing his soulmate in pain, especially when it was something like a jimmy weed.

jimmy weeds grew exclusively on the temples or behind the ears of people who's soulmates had mental illnesses. lance hated his jimmy weed; he hated knowing his soulmate was suffering like that and he couldn't help at all. his mamá explained to him when he was fifteen that there was nothing he could do but wait, but he didn't want to wait. he wanted to help.

and even now, two years later, his jimmy weed continued to grow. it reached to his middle back now, lance often having to knot it behind his ear or tuck it into a hat. whenever lance would break down, he would hold the long weed in his hands, the weed giving him reassurance that he wasn't the only one. lance wondered how long the jimmy weed on his soulmate has gotten.

it was around four in the morning, and the city outside lance's apartment was just starting to come back to life. lance had been crying, his face wet with tears. he held the jimmy weed in his hands, stroking the small leaves that sprouted off the ivy-like stem. lance sighed, tucking the flower behind his ear and walking across his tiny apartment to the fire escape that faced the street. he opened the window just enough for him to slip out onto the metal overhang.

he inhaled the city air as he overlooked the movement fifteen stories below him. the air was comforting, the smell of gas was familiar to him. lance took comfort in things that he knew; the city air, the carnation on his chest, the lilac on his wrist. his flowers made him feel wanted, like he wasn't alone.

lots of people hated their flowers, some people even cut off the precious petals that lance cherishes so much. to hate your love's pain is normal, but to hate it on your own body just doesn't make sense to lance.

lots of things don't make sense to lance, but that's okay. at least the flowers do.