His life was going great, until he turned 22, now he’s been working to pay off his father’s debts, they all were.
Lance turned off the shower, stepping out as he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to the sink.
He brushed his teeth while checking for Stubble, they weren’t many but he’d have to shave soon.
Having a beard was a hassle and he’d never been a fan of it.
And it wasn’t because he was gay or that he was on the receiving end.
After rinsing his mouth, he strolled to his wardrobe.
He brought out a black barrel cut jeans, a grey shirt and a brown jacket, he got his black shoes as well.
Though when he got to work, he usually wore slides.
They were easy to more around.
He got ready in time, combed his hair back, grabbed his phone from the counter, his wallet and turned off the light.
He didn’t want his electricity bills going out of budget next month.
With that he left the house, while shoving the keys in his back pocket.
He had less than 15 minutes to get to work.
Lance brought out his airpods, nothing like running to the bus stop with some music on.
There was just something about Chris Brown that he related to as he played ’Residuals’
He steps quickened and soon he had broken into a sprint.
He reached the bus stop just as the bus turned the corner. Perfect timing, though his lungs burned a little from the sprint. He tapped his card, muttered a quick greeting to the driver, and slipped into an empty seat near the middle.
The bus smelled faintly of coffee and cheap perfume. Morning crowds always carried their own mix of exhaustion and determination.
Lance leaned his head back against the window and let the music fill the background, not loud enough to drown out his thoughts, but enough to soften them.
Work wasn’t terrible. It was just... work. Something he tolerated because he had to. Something that paid enough to keep him afloat if he budgeted like his life depended on it—which it kind of did.
As the bus rolled through the city, he mentally listed the tasks waiting for him.
Stocking the back shelves.
Sorting through the delivery that always came two hours later than scheduled.
Dealing with customers who asked questions Google could have answered.
At least his coworkers weren’t bad. Henry especially. Loud, chaotic, overly friendly Henry, who somehow managed to make even the slowest shifts feel less miserable.
They had been friends for years so he always found his presence welcoming.
Lance’s phone buzzed. A text from Henry flashed on the screen.
’Bring your damn ID today. If we end up drinking after shift you’re not doing that "I forgot it at home" crap again.’
Lance huffed something that was kind of a laugh. He typed back quickly.
’I have it. Chill.’
Another text came in almost instantly.
’Good. Also stop looking like a zombie by the time you get here. Customers hate it.’
Lance rolled his eyes and slipped his phone into his pocket. The bus slowed to a stop, and people shuffled off. His stop was next.
He sat up straighter, ran a hand through his still-damp hair, and tried to shake off the echo of his mother’s voice. Work first. That was all he needed to focus on for now.
The bus pulled up to the next stop. He stood, adjusted his jacket, and stepped off into the cool air.
’Mivon bakery and Latte’
The cafe was directly after the bus stop.
He took a deep breath and check his phone, it was 11:55, he still had 5 minutes left.
He placed his phone back in pocket and walked into the cafe, the bell ring softly.
Heads turned to him when he entered, these weren’t fleeting glances, their stars were long, that he had no choice but to smile at them as he walked to the employees section.
He waved at Mariah who was manning the counter. "Morning Riah, how’s your morning going?"
Mariah sighed, looking like she was already done with the day.
"Lance, get changed and come out quickly. Your fan girls won’t leave unless you serve them.."
’...’
Lance stared at her, his brow raised up. What was she talking about?
Mariah hissed as she pointed at the group of girls at the widow seat, who were all staring at Lance.
Lance nearly eye rolled but he had to maintain his composure.
He really disliked afternoon shifts.
"I’ll get them out of your hair soon.."
Mariah nodded as she turned to answer the next customer.
Lance pushed open the employees’ door and stepped inside the locker room. The familiar smell of detergent and cheap deodorant greeted him, along with Henry’s voice from across the room.
"Finally," Henry said, tugging his shirt over his head. "I swear if you walked in one minute later, Mariah was about to drag you out by your ear."
Lance snorted under his breath and opened his locker. He hung his jacket neatly, then kicked off his shoes and pulled on his slides.
The cool floor felt good under his feet.
Henry kept talking, barely taking a breath.
"Did you see those girls by the window? They got here before opening. I think they’re here more for you than the pastries. I mean, damn—if they stared any harder, your clothes would’ve peeled off."
Lance clipped his hair back, one side first, then the other.
"They’re just bored. Or hungry."
"Yeah, hungry for some Lance," Henry shot back. "Don’t act clueless."
Lance shut his locker with a soft click. "If they cause trouble, you’re dealing with it."
"Oh please," Henry said, rolling his eyes. "If I go near them, they’ll just ask where you are. You’re the one with the ’quiet boy who might ruin my life’ face."
Lance paused mid-tie of his apron. "That’s not a thing."
"It is absolutely a thing," Henry insisted, pulling on his own apron. "Also, did you bring your ID like I told you? Because I’m not sneaking you into a bar again. I’m done risking my dignity."