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Curse

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Lance has a minor problem. Okay. He has a big problem, and it’s all some crummy witch’s fault. A gorgeous witch but crummy nonetheless. His eyes caught someone else’s from across the room. He quickly dropped his gaze, but it was too late. The poor, bewitched man already started making his way towards him through the crowd of party goers. Lance stared hard into the red solo cup he held. He just had to have flirted with the wrong girl.

His blue eyes trailed to said girl who was currently watching from her seat on the edge of the couch with a smirk on her pink glossed lips. The guy soon reached Lance, standing in front of him casually with a large smile, “Hey there. Love the cat costume.”

“Thanks,” is all Lance muttered in response as his gaze returned to his cup. This had been fun at first. People actually showing an interest in him. Realizing that none of their feelings were real, however, tended to put a person down pretty low. He tuned out as the guy rambled and tried to impress him. A hand soon settled on his waist and pulled him close. Lance let it happen. It isn’t real, but that isn’t going to stop him from accepting such affectionate touches. He’d just leave in the morning before he wakes. Like he does every time.

His eyes returned to the witch once more. She waved, crossing her long legs, and tucked a strand of bleached, curled hair behind her ear. The guy’s voice trickled back into his ears, “You friends with Allura?”

Lance shrugged, “You could call it that…”

Soon enough, the guy led him away with the promise of kisses and being held.

The twenty-fourth person in less than a month.

Yet.

It still wasn’t the one person he wanted.