Chapter Text
[17:23] shiro
Have you thought about it?
Keith pressed the power button and tucked his phone back into his pocket. It wasn’t the first text along those lines that he’d gotten since that day Shiro had shown up at his apartment, and it wasn’t his first time purposefully ignoring it, either. Kosmo pulled on his leash and Keith let him lead them through the crowd on the sidewalk, figuring he probably had a better idea of where they should take their walk than he did anyway.
Or maybe Kosmo was just a traitorous bastard.
Keith didn’t hear the music until it was already too late. Maybe this was because he hadn’t been actively listening for it this time, but all at once it washed over him, and he almost stumbled to a stop in his surprise. Kosmo didn’t, though. He plowed forward, weaving through people in the expertly careless way only a dog could, and then Keith was upon him.
Lance.
Except this was nowhere near his Tuesday corner. Keith knew this because he’d been avoiding it — ever since his disastrous conversation with Lance followed by Keith’s embarrassing stalking of him on social media.
“I wonder why I feel emptiness when I sing these blues…”
Keith contemplated just continuing to walk — continuing on his way and avoiding whatever confrontation would surely come from this — but even as he thought this his feet slowed to a stop. Kosmo stopped with him, which was surprising, because usually Kosmo was hauling him all over the place. It wasn’t long before Lance caught sight of him.
“I wonder why I feel hopelessness when I watch the news…”
His eyes lit up, his lips curling up into a smirk. Keith just raised his eyebrows at him.
“I wonder why I can’t find my voice in my dreams…”
Keith stayed for the rest of the song. Because he was gay, and hopeless, and he really did love Lance’s singing.
So he waited. Lance thanked the small audience that had gathered during his performance, and once everyone had dispersed, he approached Keith.
“I should probably just print off my schedule for you, huh?” Lance said, but even though he was talking to Keith, he was facing Kosmo. Like, he’d dropped to his knees and was holding Kosmo’s face back as he bombarded Lance with kisses.
“That won’t be necessary,” Keith said coldly. Lance ignored him.
“Who’s this?” he said instead.
“His name’s Kosmo. With a K. Like mine,” Keith said, which was definitely too much information. No need for Lance to know he was that lame.
“Kosmo?” Lance said, his voice immediately having taken on that baby-talk voice that everyone fell prey to when it came to talking to animals. “Aren’t you a good boy! Huh? Did you help your daddy find ol’ Lancey Lance?” He got back to his feet, sending a cocky grin Keith’s way. Keith scoffed.
“You’re so full of yourself,” he said.
“And you’re drooling.”
Keith was red. He almost lifted a hand to wipe at his mouth before thinking better of it. He’d never been… teased like this before. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to feel more flustered or angry after all of this.
“Goodbye, Lance,” he finally said, managing to keep the tone of his voice flat.
“Hurry back,” Lance practically sang as Keith turned around. “I sing better when I’m looking at something pretty!”
--
The thing was, despite his efforts not to, Keith was accidentally memorizing Lance’s schedule. Tuesdays he was on 31st street. Fridays he was on that street corner near the park. On Mondays he performed in the subway station a stop before Keith’s, which he’d found out when he accidentally got off early, having been distracted on his phone.
And soon, he would discover where Lance was on Thursdays.
It’d been a crappy day at work. His boss had yelled at him for a reason Keith still couldn’t quite understand. He’d just watched as his face had grown more and more red, spittle flying from his mouth, and thought, I hate this fucking job.
On top of that, Shiro still hadn’t stopped bothering Keith. They hadn’t texted this often since Keith was actually in college, but now it seemed like they were talking every day. Shiro liked to pretend that he was really smooth about it all, hiding his prying questions amongst everyday chit-chat, but Keith saw right through him.
So he figured he deserved a break. A chance to really wind down and let loose after a stupidly stressful day. That was why he could be found at Lady A’s Tap and Bar, waving down the bartender to start off with a shot and a beer.
“Thanks,” he said, when Lady A herself set the drinks down before him. She shot him a smile and he raised his glass to her before throwing it back. He just needed to get his mind off things. Needed a distraction.
That distraction came in the form of someone tall and handsome. Keith leaned against the bar-top and tried to look as open to his advances as possible. He swirled his drink around so that the ice cubes within clattered loudly.
“But enough about me,” the near-stranger laughed. He’d introduced himself at the beginning of the conversation, but Keith hadn’t heard him too well. His name was like, Joe, or something. Maybe John. “What about you? How was your day?”
“Shitty,” Keith said plainly. “I just want to forget about it.” He raised his eyebrows as he said this, and the man before him smirked.
“Think I could help take your mind off things,” he said, and nodded his head toward the back of the bar. Keith knew there were bathrooms back there — had had a few quickies in their vicinity before — and he wasn’t exactly opposed to doing so now.
Keith grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled him towards the back of the bar, giving him no time to dawdle. Keith wasn’t really one for relationships, but he couldn’t deny that being in a relationship made… this… a whole lot easier. Instead, he ended up pressed against the wall, the man’s lips hot on his neck as Keith debated how far to let this go, how much to tell him, and when.
It was probably a little too late for when, honestly. Keith knew that much. Sometimes he didn’t even manage to get any sort of explanation out of his mouth. It was exhausting, for one thing, feeling like he had to give a warning anytime he wanted this. And — quite honestly — sometimes he just forgot. There’d be alcohol flowing through his veins and some hot guy grinding against his hip and Keith could blessedly forget that some people wouldn’t want to fuck him simply because he was trans.
“Fuck,” Keith gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as the man’s mouth traveled from behind his ear to underneath his jaw. He had a hand fisted in the back of his hair, keeping him close, and Keith’s eyes were only opened in slits as he let this man work his magic.
And then his eyes were open wide when someone passing by suddenly stopped to look at him. White teeth, cocky grin, guitar in hand…
Keith’s mouth fell open — half because Lance was standing before him and half because this vampire attached to his neck could do magic with his mouth. Lance, standing over the stranger’s shoulder, smirked at him. His head flopped to the side a bit as he observed Keith, teasing him with his gaze as Keith shuddered under the stranger’s touch, the smallest of moans slipping out of him.
Have fun, Lance mouthed, giving him a thumbs up, and Keith just gaped as he watched him go.
And then he couldn’t stop thinking about him. The man’s mouth on him was suddenly Lance’s mouth, his hands suddenly Lance’s hands, but then Keith heard music — because obviously Lance was here to perform — and he ended up pushing the guy away.
“Wha— are you okay?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing together, and Keith nodded distractedly.
“Yeah, I just remembered I have to… do something,” he said, and then he was turning and hurrying out of the tiny back hallway and into the main room of the bar. It was probably thanks to the alcohol in his system that he didn’t even argue with himself before finding a seat and settling in to watch, Lance standing up on a stage where he belonged.
He sounded as great as he always did. The stage lights gleamed off the surface of his guitar as he sang, his voice wrapping around Keith like a blanket, and — fuck, I am so gay.
Lance had a whole set. Keith had never listened to him for longer than a song before, but this time he did. He sat and drank beer and listened and Lance’s eyes continually strayed towards him, twinkling every time they did. Keith hoped he couldn’t see his flush from up there.
By the time he was done playing, he thanked the crowd — which cheered and applauded — before jumping off the stage and retreating down the hallway that he’d originally caught Keith in, probably to store his guitar in a back room or something. Keith gained a sudden, intense interest in his glass. At the condensation dripping down it and gathering as a ring on the table. Nothing could possibly be more interesting than this glass, which was why Keith didn’t look around, didn’t anticipate Lance’s return, didn’t try to figure out if he was even going to come back.
He jolted when someone plopped into the seat beside him. “Hey man,” said Lance.
“I swear I’m not stalking you,” Keith said, bolstered by the alcohol, which made Lance laugh.
“You sure? ‘Cause you’ve found almost all of my spots now, even without my schedule,” he teased. “Next thing I know you’ll be at my front door, demanding an encore.”
Keith reached out and shoved his shoulder, which definitely felt too familiar, but Lance was still grinning, so Keith didn’t think he’d overstepped.
“So, how’d you like the show?”
And Keith felt warm from the inside out because of the buzz in his veins, and right then and there he decided that it was exhausting trying to hate Lance — gorgeous, wonderful, soft-as-honey-voiced Lance — even though he was always teasing Keith. So, “you were amazing,” Keith said truthfully, watching as Lance’s eyes widened.
“Wow, who would’ve thought you were a lightweight?” he joked, but all the teasing seemed to have slipped out of his voice.
“Stop,” Keith said. “I’m not, I swear. You’re just too sober right now.”
So Lance waved down a server and ordered a beer, which he then raised towards Keith when it arrived.
After taking a sip, Lance said, “You know, I kind of thought you were straight.” It was the first time either of them had acknowledge the fact that Lance had come across Keith pressed up against a wall.
“Really?” Keith said.
“I mean, you kind of glared at me a lot when I called you pretty,” Lance pointed out. “You’re doing it again!”
“I’m not!” Keith protested. “I’m just… flustered,” he said finally, shrugging. He never would’ve admitted that sober.
“Well you didn’t seem very flustered with that guy,” Lance said, and then, as if to prove his point, he reached out. His finger pressed against what must’ve been a bruise on Keith’s neck, making Keith aware of the ache. When Lance retracted his hand, Keith tilted his head back down, feeling about a thousand degrees warmer.
“I wasn’t,” Keith said.
Lance’s eyebrows bounced on his head. Twice. Three times. Suggestive. “How was it?” he asked.
Keith buried his face in his hands. “It wasn’t,” he admitted.
“What? Why not!” Lance demanded, kicking out at Keith. And he kept playing with Keith’s feet as he responded.
“Just… got distracted,” Keith said, and he realized it was true. He’d come here looking for a distraction, and he’d really, really gotten one.
God, Lance was going to be the death of him.