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“You can’t quit two days before the biggest show of our entire lives!”
James casually taps his cigarette off in the tray sat in the middle of Lance’s dining table, as if they’re discussing the weather rather than the catastrophic implosion of their band.
“O-kay,” he says slowly, “well, I am, so…?”
“No the fuck you are not.” Lance grits, knuckles turning white where he grips the edge of the table. He’s seriously considering flipping the entire thing over.
“Guys,” Hunk cuts in quickly, both hands raised in a peacekeeping gesture, “I know everybody’s stressed right now, but maybe we should all just calm down and—”
Pidge's chair screeches violently across the floor.
“I’m gonna kill him,” they announce, already halfway over the table. “I am going to fucking kill him!”
Or: James quits the band at the worst possible moment and offers up his famous guitarist ex, Keith Kogane, to take his place. But if there's one thing Lance McClain truly hates, it's eyeliner-wearing, mullet-having, nepo baby bastards.
Bookmarked by mAG4sure
22 Jun 2026