Dutch Youngster Cup, Round 1

“Do you know how hard it is to find a man with both a bed frame and human decency?” 

“I’m right here!”

“You don’t count. I mean a man actually into me.”

“I am into you.”

“Very funny.”

A grey ceiling blinked back at Lance as tired hands slapped around the bedcovers to silence the phone alarm, all too loud and jarring in the early morning darkness. It wasn’t needed, either - Lance had barely slept the whole night as his mind cartwheeled in the darkness, thoughts looping over each other and braiding themselves into a tightly woven rope around his neck that increased the pressure with every passing minute. 

Since the Mushroom Derby, Lance could not get the after party out of his head. The entire scene chased him down with bared teeth, the stinging bite of humiliation rising in his throat every time he replayed what he’d said. Lance Visser had finally confessed his feelings and bared his windpipe just to get it ripped out, and she hadn’t even realised she’d done it, which only poured a slurry of lemon water and salt into the fresh wound. 

She’d laughed. 

Of course she had. It was a hilarious concept, really - notorious playboy Lance Visser confessing his undying love to something that wasn’t the holy trinity of sex, drugs and rock’n’roll - an entirely in character and not confusing sentiment to anyone who knew him. After all, Lance Visser did not want love, or a family, or the stability of the mornings he and Alana shared. He didn’t deserve it, either - and this was all the result of him forgetting that for a moment.

He needed the humbling, really, as a reminder of what happens when he gets ahead of himself. Ever since, he’d had the same mantra in his head:

Remember everything you’ve done? 

It had been eating him up inside, some fucked up tapeworm thriving on bile and stomach acid, and his therapist’s assurances didn’t help the way he needed them to: all you can change is how you treat people in the future, there’s no changing the past, focus on your actions going forward. But he couldn’t go forward. He’d tried, and Alana had turned him down, and he was bringing her on this stupid fucking tour because they’d planned it before Lance had confessed and he couldn’t just change the plans with no reason and they were flying out tonight. She was acting fine, after all, as though nothing happened - and to her maybe nothing did. 

So, if his past self was stopping him from going forward, there was only one other option - going backwards, and trying to fix at least one thing. One heartbreak. One relationship.

---------------

Kai watched the raindrop fall with vague interest, his eyes trailing downwards as it followed its course, weaving and braiding with others until he couldn't put a finger on where it had gone, now only aware of the amalgamation of the droplets at the bottom. The day had been dismal, raining from the second he got up to the second he sat down at the bar, and the looming grey skies gave no indication that they were going to ease up on the rain. Dreich, Laura would describe it as - a thought that immediately made him recoil thinking of the name alone. The grey London buildings stood unfazed outside the window, the occasional person hurrying by with an umbrella clearly straining to turn inside out from the wind.

Faint footsteps and the sound of the bar door opening signalled that somebody else had come to join Kai and the other guests of The Gilded Leaf in their separate pity parties, and he could faintly hear muffled chatter between the woman at the bar and the new patron. Something about the silvery tone was almost familiar to him, but he put it down to the alcohol in his system - nobody he knew lived in London, and even if they did, a downtrodden cocktail bar visited mostly by regulars, tucked away in the alcove of a side street, isn't where they'd come. After all, it certainly wasn’t in any aesthetic tourist Tiktoks. He could hear the newcomer coming closer, he presumed to sit in the empty booth adjacent to him, but the voice cut him off before he could speculate further.

"You're still a cosmo guy?"

Kai had to do a double take, firstly to check the man was talking to him, and secondly to confirm that the panic he felt at first glance was rightly placed.

It was.

The other man gestured vaguely to the empty seat across from him and Kai nodded without another word. His brain couldn't quite comprehend what was going on, and part of him wondered if the bartender had drugged his drink, but she seemed nice enough. Maybe he was developing hallucinations, that would also explain it. Or maybe-

"I'm sorry to impose on you. Cas mentioned you were in London, I asked him for your usual haunts, he gave me this address." Lance said, a matter-of-fact tone contradicting the carefully placed words. 

Cas. That traitorous bastard.

"... Yeah. I don't like the mainstream places. Too expensive," Kai responded quietly, unsure of his footing in the conversation. This was entirely unexpected - he simply came to get a little tipsy, drown out the world, and mourn his dead showjumping career.

"It’s London. Everywhere is expensive." Lance retorted from across the table. Kai let out a breathy laugh, after all he did have a point, and the corner of Lance's mouth twitched upwards a little, just enough that it could be mistaken for a smile. To an onlooker, this could have passed as a friendly conversation between friends, coworkers, maybe even a first date. The tension was palpable, but at least they were treating the other with civility.

"I suppose you're right. Also, at your first comment, why fix it if it isn't broken? I love a good Cosmo. And you've graduated from a black to a white russian, apparently?"

Lance dragged his thumb across the rim of the glass gently, and in the silence, Kai could remember why he was drawn to Lance in the first place. All sharp angles cut at just the right places, dark eyelashes, and god, those eyes, a larimar blue that he remembers once comparing to the skies in California as a lovesick kid. Kai couldn’t even act like his thirties were treating him badly - if anything, he looked far better now than he had back when his weekend companions were still Ciroc and cocaine. As long as he didn’t open his mouth, Kai could remember why his twenty year old self was so desperate for Lance's attention. That was always people's thing with Lance, easily enticed by a pretty face and a low voice, a filthy mouth and a readiness for anything remotely non-PG that Kai hadn't seen in anybody since, but the second they got to know him, they were gone. He said he liked it that way. Kai never believed him. Maybe that was why he'd spent those months trying to change him into boyfriend material, make a diamond out of coal, but it never worked.

"Still bitter, I don't need it in my drinks."

The voice caused the anger to claw and burn at Kai's throat again, and not even that face could soften it. He closed his eyes, bit the end of his tongue, and tried not to think back to 2016. If he did, he'd either get angry, upset, or a cursed combination of the two that left Lance awkwardly looking at him as if he was a child throwing a tantrum because he didn't get exactly what he wanted. Well, shit. Looks like he was thinking about it even if he didn't want to. 

Kai had loved him, he supposed. Or at least he thought he had at the time. Every time Lance looked at him he'd felt like he was on fire, every touch left a burn and every kiss made him want more. He was willing to risk it all for that feeling to continue, for the burn marks to never heal and instead tattoo themselves on his face, his neck, his thighs. It was all eros, passionate desire without anything holding it up. They would never have worked in an actual relationship, but God did he try everything he could. That summer was the first time he truly felt alive, the first breath into the bad decisions of adulthood, so when Lance had turned on him it was the worst pain he knew, even if everybody told him it was coming. 

Laura had been the first one to mention it, after all she'd known Lance longer than he had. He still remembers sitting in her bedroom, tea in his left hand and his right in the soft fur of Dreamer, the border collie. She'd approached the subject cautiously, the same tone of voice she'd used to try and calm her mustang, but Kai already knew what she was going to say.

"Look, Kai. I know both of you well. I'm telling you here and now that if you keep pushing this it's going to go wrong. It won't be your fault, but it will inevitably go wrong."

"Laura-"

"No, listen. You're soft. You're malleable. You don't break, you just change yourself to fit whatever people want you to be. Lance is the furthest you can get from that. He's brittle. Once he breaks.... he shatters, I guess. And trust me, he isn't hard to break. You don't want to be there."

And then Laura had fucked him. The cousin he thought of as a sister, who he’d cried to about boys and parents and horses, turned on him and her own girlfriend to fuck her old friend. Lance had always maintained he and Kai were never dating, and Kai guessed it was never a conversation, but that didn’t mean Lance had dissuaded his attachment or implied they weren’t exclusive. He’d dragged Kai along for the whole summer, all sweet words and soft kisses and walks across the beach, and then had sex with Kai’s fucking cousin.

Kai thought he was a good person. He tried to love, understand, and forgive. But that… he’d barely spoken to Laura after finding out it had been her. A stranger he could maybe have forgiven and marked down as a communication, but her? No way. It was intentional, and it burned like whiskey the first time he’d drank it in some trailer at sixteen. 

“Kai?” Lance asked, eyebrows furrowed. “You sort of… drifted, for a second.”

“Sorry. Why are you here?”

“Alright, enough small talk, I get the hint-” Lance started, and Kai could only trace the man’s features with a cold gaze. There was something… different, about him, and Kai couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t the faint wrinkles that had started to last a little longer every time he frowned, or the darker hair, but something deeper. Softer, even. His hands tapped a nervous rhythm on the rocks glass in his hand, a nervous tick Kai knew he hadn’t had before. His nails were bitten to the bed, something he’d avidly complained about as a nasty habit before, and despite how healthy he looked, there was an unsettled layer of anxiety under the surface. 

“I wanted to apologise.”

“Wait, what?”

---------------

Lance used to really love Amsterdam, because well, frankly, of course he did. Coming sober really killed the vibe, but not as much as Alana’s presence did. For the past months her company was a blessing he’d always welcomed, but now every moment of eye contact sent embarrassment jolting through his nervous system, a reminder of exactly what he’d ruined by confessing. Still, on an objective level, she was the best person to bring to an eventing tour - compared to his showjumping expertise, Alana was a labyrinth of knowledge on eventing. After his brief cross country stint with Hyde she’d seemed even more enthusiastic to continue his eventing education, and that was a goldmine he couldn’t turn down despite his own dread every time he looked at her.

“How’s he feeling?” Alana asked, standing back to stare at Furby - looking away not a second later, clearly a little creeped out by the horse’s vibes. That was impressive, frankly - Lance had seen Alana dote on the ugliest of cobs, and yet the sheer haunted energy of Furby had managed to unsettle her. Still, the care the horse received under her was top standard, and his dappled bay coat was shimmering under the Dutch sun. The stallion stood stock still, completely unmoving, following Alana only with his gaze. “... He is so weird.”

“I know. But I think he freaked out other competitors in the warm up, so a win is a win. And he’s feeling pretty good, honestly.”

“A win is only a win if you have earned it through honest means.” Alana lectured, rolling her eyes with a smile. 

“It’s not his fault he’s cursed.” Lance quipped, patting the horse on the neck and receiving an unusually loud snort as a response.

“Fine, but let me point out a few things-” she began, rattling off a list of tiny things Lance hadn’t even considered.

“Alright, alright, I think I have everything.” Lance murmured, the tips folding into one of their weekly grocery lists in his mind.

“Yeah? Awesome. Just take it easy, he’s young. Plus, you missed that last ride on him back in England. Where did you go, by the way?”

Lance’s posture stiffened, leading to Furby’s doing the exact same. Snitch.

“I was speaking to the new rider I got for Vince.” Lance murmured, referencing the stout grey appaloosa stallion he’d owned for a few years. Lance had won a few Grand Prix with him, but the pair had never really clicked, and frankly since buying his son Roman Lance always chose to compete the latter given the choice. So, he and Alana had agreed it made sense to give the ride to someone else. She’d actually given him a list, but that was one he’d disregarded.

“Oh, who?”

“Uh, Kai. Evans. I’m giving the ride back to Kai Evans.”

Alana’s eyes widened, and her hand dropped to her side from where it had been patting Furby’s neck.

“What?”

“Yeah, uh… I thought it was best. They did well together.”

“I mean, I’m not denying that, but this has came out of nowhere - what about the Amallium riders we talked about?”

“I am never showing my face there again. Plus, the only reason Kai sold Vince to us was money problems. It wasn’t anything against the horse, and I don’t know. I felt like being nice, Als.”

Alana seemed to toss it up in her head for a moment before shrugging.

“Alright. He’s your horse, do whatever you feel is best. I don’t like how he rides, but he loves the horse at least. He’ll do what’s best by him. Are you going to be okay, though? Being in constant contact with him after… all of that?”

Alana didn’t even know ‘all’ of it, Lance had tried to hide the blemishes of the story when he’d told her - framed it more as a miscommunication and the effect of his twenties angst rather than an awful decision designed to hurt Kai. Still, she knew enough to regard Kai as an ex-boyfriend. 

“I apologised. We - we sat for a few hours. Ironed things out. I don’t think he quite forgives me even if he says he does, but… I feel better. Maybe we can be friends one day.”

Alana raised a single eyebrow.

“You’re not…”

“No! God, no!” Lance scowled, shaking his head so furiously Furby turned to glance at him with a confused expression.

“Sorry! Just asking! Anyway, Jesus - go finish your warm up and remember everything I told you. We can talk more about Vince later.” Alana said, shooing the pair away and Lance tried not to focus on how she looked leaving. 

Furby was, thankfully, a fairly straight forward ride, and he wasn’t overly worried about how the round would go. He tried to focus on her advice for the remainder of the warm up, and frankly, Furby did actually feel better. Plus, other riders and horses tended to move out of their way before Lance did theirs, so having a haunted horse sure had its benefits. Time seemed to slip away as he focused on the words Alana had said, the shape of her red lips as she’d spoken about rein lengths and outside leg support, and before he knew it he and Furby were saluting the judges to start their round. 

In all the chaos, the noise, the bustle, some of the other horses had been having some real issues, something Lance couldn’t slander considering it was a young horse tour. Furby though, was surprisingly calm for his entire ride, his thoughts seeming distant and far away as he stepped through the simple dressage test movements. Lance, someone who had a habit of feeling out of place in a dressage arena, actually found himself enjoying the ride even through his cluttered thoughts. That was until he realised Alana was nowhere to be found, of course - then his day was absolutely ruined. His eyes scanned the crowd and the exit to the warm up as Furby trotted down the centre line to end their test, anxiety hitching in his test that she’d finally realised some horrible, deep secret about Lance and had booked the next flight home. Realised the inherent disgusting parts of him that he couldn't dig out, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many apologies and reparations he made.

Furby, utilising Lance’s moment of weakness, took the opportunity to bronc down the centreline towards the judges, writhing his back upwards and taking Lance completely by surprise as his hands jolted back on the reins. Satisfied with the loose stirrup and the way Lance clutched at his mane, he came to a polite (and perfect) square halt, with his dishevelled rider awkwardly laughing it off as he finished his test, acting like his future children didn’t just get bucked into oblivion. And yet, Lance was still scanning the crowd as they left, the bile returning - just to find Alana crouched down petting a sweet calico cat. She looked up and her expression dropped, mouth agape.