Imaginary Friend (Klance)

Dagger

He was greeted with streets painted in reds and browns, coated in what made fall the most beautiful time of year. Okay, second most beautiful. It would be a lie to say Lance didn't have a special place for summer with its warm sun and ocean trips.

Though the crunchy leaves all around cast a spell over him, captivating him. A cold wind blew through the branches above, chilling his already red nose and cheeks. His hands felt stiff and numb from the cold, cramped around his boxes as if it were a lifeline amidst a raging ocean.

"How much more?" his mother asked, her hair a disheveled mess of locks, ruffled by the breeze and the excitement of finally reuniting with her son. There was something unique about his mother's beauty. It radiated a calm he's never seen in anything, not even in the deepest nooks of the forest.

"Just these boxes and my bag and we're done." He answered, smile not wavering.

"Okay. Come in when you're done, food is ready." She said and took his bag inside, leaving the door open behind her.

Their house was nothing special, a typical brick house with a wooden porch. It was old— incredibly old— and huge compared to most houses on their block. Built sometime in the 18-hundreds, it holds stories of old, most untold. He vaguely remembers his gran telling him something about it being an old orphanage, long forgotten and rebuilt to fit a big Cuban family. Anytime he tried to ask more he never got an answer.

He threw his box and jacket on the seat by the front door and stepped inside, taking his shoes off in the process and nearly tripping on his own feet trying to enter their kitchen. The entire house smelled of delicious Cuban specialties.

The kitchen swarmed with children and adults of all ages. Everyone decided to come over for dinner upon hearing the news of his arrival. There was his gran: slouched on the chair closest to the window, her favorite. There was his grandfather: as animated and rough as ever, patting his mother on the back so aggressively it sent her into a coughing fit. There was his father, too: sitting stiffly by his gran with little Leo in his lap, Lance's cousin. His mother stood by Lance's, helping prepare the food. There were his brothers: Marco and Luis, chatting excitedly and asking questions upon questions about his studies and future. They wanted to know everything there is to know about Delaware. And lastly, there were his sisters: Veronica and Rachel. They were sat next to Marco and Luis, listening to their conversation and occasionally throwing in a comment or question of their own.

All in all, things were good. This was good. If there was one thing Lance adored above everything else it was his family, and now here they were, all of them, together— for him!

They ate their food in lively chatter and laughter, speaking with mouths full and devouring whatever was reachable in front of them. Darkness fell outside the window and so candles were lit, adding to the calm, the happiness he felt. It was all like a sappy Christmas movie, except it was nowhere near time for Christmas just yet. His tiredness from earlier vanished amidst the commotion, and the empty hole he'd felt in his heart for years was finally being filled, slow and steady but to the brim with love and delight.

As the evening came to an end, his cousin and his aunt left, together with his grandpa. Once everyone was settled down in the living room, and the excitement of his arrival had died down somewhat, Lance decided to carry some boxes and the Christmas gifts he'd bought in Delaware to the basement to store them for the approaching holiday.

Except, one of the roughly packed gifts were gone.

It was a delicate, silver bracelet he'd bought for his mother— left in its original box and wrapped in red and white Christmas paper.