YELLOW [[klance]] [[COMPLETED]]

Lance.

part two: boy loves boy

I meet my dad at the restaurant after taking the MAX to Mississippi and trudging with my oxygen in tow through the damp blue lighting of misty evening. I only have to sit on the curb once to wheeze, ignoring passerby that cast me worried glances as I temporarily cough into my shirt. The second I get inside the place and let the door swing shut, the sky thunders and releases a downpour so intense I wonder if this grungy little Italian place might get washed away.

You might be thinking my dad is an asshole, for having his sick kid lie to the nurse saying his dad's picking him up, and having him trek through the public transportation system and the cold, foggy weather with nothing but his oxygen tank and a phone at 50%, but you're wrong.

He's not. I swear.

He's just busy.

I see him almost immediately. He raises his hand as he sees me, and I walk down to the booth he's claimed at the back. People stare at me, some blatantly, some discreetly, some with pity in their eyes and some just dumb, ignorant intrigue. I ignore them all and hug my dad as he stands up to greet me. He's a big dude, taller than me and whiter than me, with short, reddish hair and a blocky type of face. He's wearing a suit, the tie hanging limply over his shoulders, the bags beneath his glacial blue eyes evident.

"Hey! Nice to see you," I say, like I'm meeting an acquaintance and not my father. He breaks his half-assed hug and we slip into the booth across from one another.

He smiles hesitantly and warily. "It's nice to see you, too, Lance. Did you make it over here okay?"

I pick up the menu and pretend to scan it to avoid his gaze. "Yea, I got over here fine. Starting raining like hell the second I got inside, though."

"I noticed." He takes a small sip of his Coke and clears his throat. "How have you been feeling lately?"

Like shit.

I shrug. "Fine. Rosewell said I had to be careful as of late, due to that whole infection thing, but I've just been feeling normal. Nothing new."

That's kind of sad, because there's a constant, dull burning in my chest and a constant mucky breathlessness to my throat, like I've always been walking up a hill and smoking two packs of cigarettes a day, at the same time, for months.  Yet this is nothing new.

Except just a little worse. I'm not telling him this, though. Just a little is no big deal. Seriously.

He nods blankly. "Yes. That's good."

"Yep," I say.

"You liking the new hospital better than Children's?" he inquires after an awkward moment.

"Yea, it's okay," I reply. "Met some cool people."

My brain goes off like an overexcited puppy; Keith, Keith, Keith, Keith.

My dad nods. "That's nice." He clears his throat again, to the point where it feels like bragging. "People like...you?"

I can't tell if he means sick kids or queer kids. Probably both.

"I guess," I say, running my finger over the noodle options. "No CFers, 'cause, y'know, we can't really be around each other without literally dying, so. My new roommate, though, he's...he's pretty awesome. I really enjoy hanging out with him." I even smile at the thought - the thought of him.

I've begun daydreaming kissing him, which is a problem because this thought arises even when I'm talking to him face-to-face.

What the heck, man. I'm living my life while I've still got it.