Chapter Text
Just a boy from Cuba, ripped from his mother’s breasts too soon.
Just a boy from Cuba, thrown into a war at the early age of seventeen.
Just a boy from Cuba, a laser gun in his hands, grip on the trigger shaky as he pulled it.
Just a boy from Cuba, hunched over the toilet as watery guilt spilled from his lips.
Just a boy from Cuba, tears in his ocean eyes when he cried himself to sleep.
Just a boy from Cuba, surrounded by enemies as they aimed.
Just a boy from Cuba, surrounded by his friends, too.
“You’re not alone anymore.”
Not good enough to be a leader.
Not good enough to be a fighter.
Not good enough to be a diplomat.
Not good enough to be a mechanic.
Not good enough to be an engineer.
Not good enough to be an inventor.
Not good enough. A seventh wheel.
“You are good enough, and more than that. You’re special.”
He was not worth listening to.
He was not worth talking to.
He was not worth keeping.
He was not worth teaching to.
He was not worth caring for.
He was not worth loving.
He was not worth existing.
“But you are. You are worthy of everything good.”
Someone’s son.
Someone’s brother.
Someone’s student.
Someone’s protégé.
Someone’s friend.
Someone’s lover.
Someone’s enemy.
“You’re Lance. You’re Lance, the one and only.”
Lance was a paladin.
Lance was a warrior.
Lance was a sharpshooter.
Lance was a guardian.
Lance was a peacekeeper.
Lance was a good man.
Lance was Lance.
“And that’s why we need you.”
"And that's why we care about you."
"And that's why we admire you."
"And that's why we will fight for you."
"And that's why we won't leave you."
"And that's why we listen to you."
"And that's why we love you."
fin.