Chapter Text
The cafe walls were infused with the rich smells of tea leaves and coffee beans; if Lance had to label its style in any way he would have to call it shabby chic. It had a worn down charm to it, pastel blue cupboards filled with an eclectic mix of teacups and plates. Tables were clean yet had a rugged age to them, harsh lines broken into the white paint after years of use.
A girl was arranging a display of flowers near the entrance. Her ethereal white hair slicked back into a delicate fishtail braid; it framed her warm brown features. Lance assumed that she was the Allura person Keith had mentioned earlier.
As Lance approached the counter she jolted upwards, overtaking him to stand behind the till.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting!” She sighed, removing gloves from her delicate hands.
Lance put one hand on the wooden counter “no trouble.” He paused. “Is Shiro here? I was told he could help me with something.”
‘Allura’ smiled “He's right there” gesturing at a small table in the corner.
From across the room lance could see, The man’s, Shiro’s shoulders hulking over the peak of his chair, dwarfing the furniture. Lance wasn't sure what he had been expecting but Shiro looked more like he belonged in a Roman gladiator arena than the confinement of the small gallery. The table in front of him was covered in an array of trinkets: even while on break it seemed that shiro was glued to his work, holding each item with an inhuman delicacy whilst writing the price labels.
Even approaching the man whilst he sat down was intimidating, yet he believed Keith when he said that his brother was soft.
“Hey uhh, Mr Shiro?”
The Larger man looked quizzically with eyes unfittingly knowing embedded in young flesh. There was a certain disappointed dad look to him, despite his age. “You shouldn’t have left your bed, we still have no idea how serious your injuries are.”
Lance shuffled closer, looking at the laminate floor. “I just wanted to say I really appreciate you saving my life and stuff.” he blushed a little, uncomfortable: Shiro was really intimidating no matter his good intentions. “If there’s anyway I can help you?... I owe you one.” He grazed his cheek with bony hands.
As Shiro opened his mouth to argue, the thin scar resting in his nose moved intently. He gave sad glance towards his cluttered table. “The only thing on the pier that night was you and the clothes on your back. We still don’t know who you are.” He brought his gaze back to Lance. “The best thing you can do for both of us is get some rest, we’ll sort this mess out when you’re doing better.”
Silence
Lance was defeated. So much for repaying the debt of staying in Shiro’s home. “Thank you Mr Shiro.”
“Just Shiro is fine.”
“Then thank you Shiro.”
Before Shiro could return to his military style labelling mission, he gave lance a final warm gaze. “Do you remember your name yet?”
Lance paused, shaken by familiarity.
“Yes sir, uhh I mean Shiro.” He reached for the comfort of unruly hair. “The names Lance”.
Shiro threw him a smile that must have come from the brightest corners of the universe itself. “Don’t push yourself Lance. Patience yields focus: you need to find yourself before you can move on.” He paused, seemingly understanding of Lance’s pain. “Let me know if you ever need to talk, you're always welcome here in our gallery.”
All lance could bring himself to do was nod.
The hissing of the coffee machines brought him back from the glow. He sulked towards allura.
She was leaning against the counter
“What can I get you?” She smiled.
“One espresso with two extra shots.”
“Wow someone must be tired! Is that all?”
“Yeah.” Suddenly something came across him. “Wait’ actually can I also get a green tea to go?”
“Of course!” She turned to the whirring coffee maker, hands reaching tentatively for tea leaves. The speed in which she finished the drinks was inhuman.
She handed two takeaway cups, one coated in the rich image of something reminiscent of Van Gough’s ‘Starry Night’, the other wrapped in cool vines.
Allura watched his reaction to the cups. “Ah! The plants are so you can tell its green tea!”
Lance nodded. “So what's with the stars?”
Allura flushed a little. “I figured after drinking that coffee you wouldn't be missing the night sky anytime soon.”
“I see…”
Allura read his disdainful expression. “Lance, you mustn't worry about Shiro. Even if you were fully healed he wouldn't allow you to work. I understand it must be difficult for you right now…” She held up a torn shred of paper. “Please try to relax, explore the town as you wish. Here’s Shiro’s contact if you need him.”
Lance snatched the number. Allura’s handwriting was typewriter perfection, each letter so neatly written so that he would be able to easily read it. “Good thing I have mullet head to keep me company until Shiro gets back.”
“Oh do you mean Keith?” Allura’s expression fell. “We haven't seen him around for ages. Shiro’s been really worried about him.”
Lance wasn't exactly surprised about that, Keith definitely struck him as that one rebellious emo art kid who would pull crazy stunts to prove a point.
No wonder he didn't want to visit Shiro with him.
He sighed, “Well I guess the rest of the day is operation find the lighthouse.”
The worried expression hadn't left Allura’s face. “Lance, if you see him again please tell him how worried Shiro is. Wait, don't tell me he drove you here?” She indicated at the red helmet tucked under Lance’s arm.
Lance gulped, Keith was done for. Turning him in would be the ultimate betrayal of his new friend. “I’ll umm, let you know if I see him later. He's dead in my eyes, leaving me in the middle of town to rot…”
Bright blue eyes shot him a deadpan look. “Lance, you're a terrible liar: I can tell you wouldn't hand him over even if you did find him.”
Lance shot a bright red. He readied himself to craft another bullshit excuse.
Allura saw through him. “Please just promise me if you see him you will tell him how much Shiro wants him to be ok?.”
“So you're not going to beat the shit out of him?”
Allura shrugged, “Of course I am. He doesn't need to be told that.”
Contrary to her pastel appearance, the barista looked like she meant business.
Moments later Lance found himself in the centre of town once more. Keith’s helmet had become a makeshift drink holder, leaving one of Lance’s hands free to push through dense crowds of holidaymakers. His time in Black Lion Arts felt like an eternity but the sky was still deceptively bright.
The friendliness of the buildings was claustrophobic; Lance had to tear his eyes away from their foreboding smiles.
Without Keith the small town became a labyrinth of confusion: loud voices, the whirring of boats, the glare of an emotionless white sun. Everything about his surroundings felt unnatural despite the thrill he found in his motorbike ride earlier that day.
Out of nowhere he was hit with a twinge of nostalgia, bringing him to wince. He could remember longing, an unwanted loneliness, the openness of sea; strong emotions amplified by the chaos around him yet they still felt residual and incomplete. As he navigated the cobbled roads he could feel his heart pounding in his throat.
After hours on end of pushing through the masses of tourists Lance came face to face with his tower of salvation; the light itself not yet corporal but still there to gift him back sanity. Lights through the windows fade into golden disks, breathing life as though they were the sun itself.
But this wasn’t his home. It was Shiro’s.
“Que bola asere?” No response to his shout. “Keith, buddy? You home?”
There was an unfamiliar silence in the lighthouse, even when he had woken up alone Keith’s downstairs presence had made things more alive- even if he was a bit of a dick.
So he wasn’t home. Great.
He didn’t feel intrusive putting Keith’s green tea in the fridge for later, nor did he when he purged Shiro’s cupboard for snacks.
Intrusive wasn’t the word for it, Lance would have placed the feeling somewhere between welcomed and uncomfortable.
Upstairs, the dishevelled path he’d formed with blankets had been folded neatly into a pile; he'd have to thank Keith for that later, Shiro’s writing desk now seemed to be carrying a tray. A towel had been left for him, as well as a toothbrush and a small bowl of soup; underneath the china dish lay a crumpled note:
Hey Lance,
Sorry for leaving you in the middle of town, something came up. I made soup as a peace offering.
See you around,
K x
That explained the cold liquid left for him. So the asshat knew he would get lost?
Defeated, he threw his body onto the now arranged blankets; so much for the tidy up. He sighed before allowing his eyes to fall into sleep.
Tapping at his window.
Lance sat up, judging from the darkness in his room he'd slept for a while.
More tapping.
Great, the devil had come for his soul.
“Seaweed for brains, get up we’re gonna go and scream at the ocean.”
That was Keith.
On second thought he would rather face the devil than this douche.
Moments later he found himself running behind Keith, his body screaming after being rudely awakened. The town at night was quiet, giving off the vibe that this was its natural state, not the tourist corrupted madhouse that formed the streets in the day.
Keith had brought him to a small rock covered beach, shrouded in the lustre of the lighthouse.
The rocks were doused in a thin layer of saltwater. Lance mounted them carefully, gentle footwork scrambling to catch up with Keith. Under the light of the tower he felt indestructible. The glow on the water below, despite its ghostly aura, kept him sane.
Keith held out his hand to pull his companion onto a small ledge overlooking the water, he moved his body into a gazing position which seemed so carefully crafted, as though being on this unstable ground was second nature. He observed how his lanky companion’s blue eyes reflected the ripples of the water; he watched the smile grow on Lance’s face as he pointed at the sailing boats pulling into the harbour.
“I used to come here to sketch the waves…” he began, revealing the sentiment of the ledge was almost embarrassing.
“Its beautiful.” Lance replied in awe. “I wish I could sit here forever, just watching the sea.”
“So its too beautiful to yell at?”
“Dude, nothing is ever too beautiful to yell at, i’m hungry for that catharsis.” Lance shrugged, tugging at the tangled laces of his boots.
The dark haired boy chuckled, shuffling. “I'm glad to hear that.”
Lance examined Keith’s sharp jawline, how his eyebrows furrowed as he focussed on movements below. He was surprised when Keith pulled out a small, leather bound notebook and began to scrawl.
He didn't want to lose the moment, so he gently poked Keith’s arm to distract him from
“You can't just ignore a guy for the sake of your artwork on the first date.” He winked, raising a jaunty eyebrow.
It sent keith into a deep shade of cherry red. “Lance this isn't a date?”
“You mean two guys just watching the ocean on a beautiful ledge at night? Sounds a lot like my first date with a girl i met way back in my first year of college.”
“Wow so it's not even an original date?
“So it IS a date!
Keith shone a deep burgundy. “That's not what I meant!”
Keith looked down, avoiding eye contact, twisting his pencil around in his calloused hands. “You mentioned a girl from your college? Does that mean you can remember how you got here?”
DIstance grew in Lance’s eyes. “Not exactly, I can still remember some things?”. He moved his feet closer to his body. “It's the hippocampus that's responsible for forming new memories, I guess rather than being unable to recall old memories I took some damage which meant I couldn't store that night in my long term memory?”
Keith nodded, “So some kind of traumatic amnesia?”
“I guess so?” He paused, trying to think of an easier way to describe his situation. “I suppose the best way I could explain this feeling is ummm like if you’ve ever had a relative with Alzheimer's, they can’t make the memories so I suppose it’s that but downplayed by loadsssss”
“I’m an orphan, Lance. I have no relatives”
“Oh shit.”
Instant regret
“Dude oh my god I’m so sorry, that was super insensitive of me.”
Purple eyes met the reflection of the dark abyss below. “You wouldn’t have known, we only formally met this morning.”
Something about those words seemed forced. Lance decided not to question any further. He’d rather bask in the bliss of ignorance for at least this one night.
His lungs dug out a cathartic scream:
“FUCK YOU OCEAN!”.
With Keith, he felt indestructible. It felt as though he could be a key in finding himself once more.