chapter 8

Lance Ivory flopped face-first onto his bed like a man who had given up on gravity entirely, one arm dangling off the edge of the mattress, the other still clutching his phone.

*What's up? You look tired,* came the message from Van Hert, his best friend since childhood, always annoyingly perceptive even through a screen.

*...nothing,* Lance typed back, though even he could tell how unconvincing it looked.

*Lan.*

Just his name. One word, and somehow it carried the full weight of Van's disbelief.

Lance sighed, long and heavy, the kind of exhale that seemed to drag something loose in his chest along with it. *I'm getting married,* he finally admitted.

*what's new in tha- WHAT??*

*ahh don't shout,* Lance typed quickly, wincing even though there was no actual sound involved.

*wait, for real?*

*but what if...* Lance started, the sentence trailing off before he could even finish forming the thought.

*don't think too much,* Van replied gently. *Your family and I are here. Don't be scared.*

Lance closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words settle over him like a blanket. *calms down,* he typed, though it took considerably more effort than the two words suggested.

*anyways, let's talk about your marriage. Do you want me to talk to your par-*

*no actually,* Lance cut in.

*huh?*

*you remember Floris?*

There was a pause on the other end—long enough that Lance could practically hear Van sitting up straighter, phone gripped tighter.

*of course, I do,* Van finally answered.

*I'm marrying into their family.*

*OMG THAT'S GOOD NEWS. UNCLE AND AUNTY LOVES YOU.*

Lance allowed himself the smallest smile at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. *yeah, so I don't have any objection.* Then, after a beat, fingers already moving before he could stop them: *EXCEPT.*

*oh my ears! what?*

*he should be handsome,* Lance typed, utterly serious. *Look at me, I'm so beautiful, my husband should be handsome too. I can't let my beauty go to waste.*

There was no immediate reply, and Lance could easily imagine Van rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

*so, have you seen uncle?* Lance asked, deciding to press his luck.

*yes.*

*he looks like him, aunt said.*

*OMG* — the response came fast this time, practically vibrating with energy — *gets up* HE MUST BE REALLY HANDSOME.

Lance sent back a flat, unimpressed emoji, entirely done with his friend's antics. Then, unable to resist, he typed in all capitals just to watch the chaos unfold: *VAN THAT'S YOUR BEST FRIEND'S FUTURE HUSBAND.*

*oops... do you have pics?*

*VANN,* Lance groaned aloud even as he typed it, dragging a hand down his face.

There was a brief silence in the conversation—not from lack of things to say, but because Lance's fingers had gone still over the keyboard, his mind drifting somewhere darker, somewhere he usually kept locked away during daylight hours.

A moment later, a new message arrived, softer this time. *lays next to Lance* what's wrong, don't want to get married?

*no...* Lance typed, though the word felt hollow even to himself.

*then tell your parents, they will listen.*

*they are not listening...* Lance began, and then, almost against his own will, the words kept coming, unraveling faster than he could stop them. *after that* — he could feel his hands trembling slightly as he typed, the old memory surfacing uninvited — *they are being very protective.*

He didn't need to explain further. Van already knew. Van had always known, had been there through all of it, through every sleepless night and every flinch at raised voices that had nothing to do with him.

*hugs* it's ok. It was 6 years ago. You are safe. *console him*

Lance sat with that for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the old fear ebb back down to wherever it usually lived, coiled and quiet, waiting.

*here we go again,* Van finally added, a touch of dry humor slipping back into his tone, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

*but you know what. I'm not worried about it,* Lance typed, and strangely enough, in that moment, he actually meant it.

*huh? you are really going through mood swings rn.*

Lance frowned at his screen.

*you sure, you are not pregnant,* Van added, entirely too pleased with himself.

Lance sent back another flat emoji, this one somehow conveying even more exhaustion than the last.

*do you want me to kick you?* he typed.

*no, go ahead what you about to say.*

Lance took a breath, steadying himself, the earlier tremor in his hands finally settling. Whatever fear had crept up on him minutes ago had receded again, tucked neatly back where it belonged, and in its place was something almost like curiosity—about the family he was marrying into, about the strange, sharp-edged world of the Florises that he'd only ever heard about in passing, secondhand stories filtered through his mother's careful diplomacy and his aunt's not-so-subtle enthusiasm.

He didn't get the chance to finish the thought.

*sorry,* Van's next message came a moment later, uncharacteristically clipped.

*In office,* the system note read beneath it, marking Van's sudden departure from the conversation, off to deal with whatever his actual job required of him.

Lance stared at his phone for a second, debating whether to send something else, when a stray notification blinked across the top of his screen—an unfamiliar name he didn't immediately place, a stray thread crossed over from some group chat he'd been added to weeks ago and mostly ignored.

*Elison Floris: achuu~*

Lance blinked at the name. Floris. His soon-to-be husband's family, apparently already sneezing somewhere across the city, entirely unaware that he was being quietly, thoroughly discussed by two strangers who would very soon no longer be strangers at all.

He set the phone down against his chest and stared up at the ceiling again, the fading evening light catching against the rose still tucked into his other hand—the same one he always kept close, an old habit no one had ever managed to break him of.

Married. Into the Floris family, of all families. A man he'd never met, handsome or not, waiting somewhere on the other side of a decision that had never really been his to make.

And yet, for the first time in longer than he could remember, the fear didn't come rushing back the way it usually did.

Instead, there was only a strange, quiet stillness—curiosity dressed up as calm, or maybe calm finally earning the right to exist without permission.

Lance closed his eyes, phone still resting against his chest, and let himself drift, wondering despite every effort not to—what Elison Floris might actually look like up close.