Chapter Text
The first time he encountered the other grouchy artist, Lance could only think, man, what the fuck is his problem and who pissed in his Cheerios this morning?
It was a nice day, and Lance McClain was eager to get outside. There was this one particular spot in the park, a place where the creek widened and turned lazily to the south, that he’d been dying to paint for months . Since the weather was finally agreeable, Lance had gathered his sketchbook and a small set of watercolors just so he could map out the area. He’d make a few different mockups and show them to Hunk so he could help decide which view would make it to a canvas.
His energetic Australian Shepherd Blue knew the signs. Whenever he started to gather these small items, she knew he was going out. And she knew that she’d get to go out with him, if the way her tail wagged excitedly when he started to put his shoes on was any indication.
In her enthusiasm, she let out a sharp bark, and Lance dropped to a crouch quickly, shushing her with a grin. Blue immediately nuzzled against his face, and a laugh forced its way out.
“Shhh, girl, you know you’re not supposed to bark in the house!” he scolded gently, scratching behind her ear. She pressed into his touch, urging him to scratch the way she liked best. “I know you just wanna get out and go for a walk, and we will , but you gotta be patient, Blue!”
She blinked her large blue eyes at him dolefully, a whine building in her throat. Lance groaned.
“C’mon, that’s not playing fair!”
He pushed himself up, trying to ignore the way that Blue blinked innocently up at him. Lance was positively weak to those pleading eyes, though, and with a childish whine of his own, he reached for the leash hanging by the door.
Blue made an impatient sound and surged to her feet, lunging to twine around his legs. With another laugh, Lance carefully extricated himself from the excited canine. When he ruffled her fur and sought out her royal blue collar, she stilled. The Aussie managed to calm herself enough to sit and wait for Lance to attach the leash, though the vigorous movements of her tail shook her entire body.
That’s a good girl, Blue,” he chuckled, giving her another scratch behind her ear. “Now give me a few minutes to get everything in my bag and we’ll go, yeah?”
She made a soft noise in her throat, and Lance pushed himself to his feet to shove his sketching supplies into a ratty old blue backpack he kept near the door. A few discarded pens and pencils and candy wrappers littered the bottom, and still inside from one of his other numerous drawing excursions was another sketchbook. He just shifted it to fit his new one in, sliding in the watercolor set and a pouch with pencils and brushes before jogging back to the kitchen and pulling a bottle of water from his refrigerator and another from the pantry.
From the other room, he heard Blue whine and paw at the door impatiently.
“Hang on,” he called, rummaging for a snack in his cabinet behind a few other things on the shelf. His fingertips found some sort of foil packaging and he curled his hand around whatever it was, pulling it out. A candy bar sat in his hand, and Lance grinned triumphantly, tucking it in the pocket of his trusty green jacket before slipping back into the living room.
“You guys make so much noise,” a voice groaned, and Lance jumped a little.
“Pidgisita, don’t just sneak up on me like that!” he nearly squeaked, turning to where one of his roommates was completing her trek up the stairs. “And it was all Blue, I told her to be quiet,” he gave the Aussie a look and she just barked again, turning her nose impatiently towards the door.
“Whatever,” she waved her hand dismissively, turning towards the kitchen. “I don’t ever hear Hunk when he leaves in the mornings, but somehow I always hear you.”
“You’re just extra in tune to me,” he waggled his eyebrows. “I can’t blame you. I just have that animal magnetism!”
With a disgusted look, she muttered, “It’s too early for this. I’m going to make some coffee. You’re going painting?” she eyed the bag sitting open in the recliner by the door.
Lance perked up instantly, his fingers itching to start working already. To hide it, he busied himself with stowing his water in the bag and responded, “Yeah! It’s a nice day, and I thought Blue would enjoy getting out for a while. There’s that spot in the park–”
“Yeah, yeah, the bend in the creek, right?” she stifled her yawn. “You’ve been going on about it for months. I’m glad you’re finally gonna do something about it.”
He zipped his bag with a pout and turned to face her. Lance opened his mouth to speak, and his jaw dropped indignantly when he saw her waving a hand dismissively at him, already entering the kitchen.
“I’ll have you know that I ‘go on ’ about nothing!” he cried. “Talking about the perfect scene for painting isn’t ‘going on ’, it’s artistic contemplation!”
“If you say so,” her voice sounded a little muffled from the kitchen, and even from the living room he could hear the sound of the coffee pot coming to life. Pidge appeared in the doorway then, leaning against it and looking at him with a bored expression. “I’d probably be more inclined to believe you if you didn’t use that excuse so often.”
“It’s not an excuse!”
“Keep telling yourself that, Lance, and maybe one day it will be true,” Pidge retorted dryly, but Lance could see the way one corner of her mouth had quirked up.
“It’s always been true,” Lance sniffed, turning his nose up and his attention back to the blue bag in the recliner. He lifted it onto his shoulders and then knelt to give Blue another firm scratch behind her ears. “It’s always been true and it’s always gonna be true. You just don’t understand because you spend all your time with your computers and robots and whatnot.”
“Building sentient robots is an art of its own, and I’m going to make history. Mark my words, Lance,” she perked up and turned to look behind her, and without another word she reentered the kitchen. She reappeared moments later with a steaming mug cupped in her hands. “When Hunk and I finish the prototype we’re working on, you’re gonna be blown away.”
“I’m sure I will!” he found the end of Blue’s leash and pushed himself to his feet. “You guys are both geniuses. All I’ve got is art, but–”
“–when you finish your painting of the bend in the creek, we’ll be completely blown out of the water, I know.”
“That was my line!”
“You’ve used the pun enough that I can see it coming from a mile away, Lance. Don’t sound so offended when we steal your lines after the hundredth time we’ve heard them. It’s not my fault all of your paintings are watercolor and of water.”
A loud whine punctuated the air even as Lance opened his mouth to speak again, and he bit back whatever he was going to say to pay attention to his antsy canine.
“Yeah, yeah, girl, we’re going!” he soothed her. With a final look at Pidge, who grinned smugly, he pointed and declared, “This isn’t over! But my girl Blue comes first!”
“Go,” Pidge made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go out with the only girl who can stand your company.”
“You’re a girl, too!” he shot over his shoulder as he unlocked the door. “Don’t pretend you aren’t flattered by my charm!”
“Lance, I’ve known you too long to even be surprised by anything you say or do,” her tone was flat. “Whatever charms you think you have were lost on me even before you threw up all over my shoes in eighth grade.”
His jaw dropped and he longed to bite out some sort of response, but Blue was eager with the door open already and she pulled him through it. Lance let himself be pulled as he scrambled to make sure the door slammed shut behind him.
He would never admit that he failed and the definitive snap of the door closing was pathetic compared to the satisfying thump he’d been aiming for.
Lance talked to Blue on the short trek to the park, just a few blocks over. She pranced excitedly ahead of him, pulling when he paused to gawk at a pretty blonde laughing through a coffee shop window. And again when he waved at a brunette carrying a chihuahua on the opposite sidewalk and stopped in offense when she turned her nose up and didn’t even give him a second glance. He complained to Blue then about how he couldn’t get close enough to the girls to use his charm, and Blue listened while impatiently pulling at the leash some more.
And then suddenly, as they crossed the street to the park, Blue’s impatient tugging turned sharp, and with a yelp, the leash was yanked from Lance’s grasp.
“Wha–no–Blue!”
With a playful bark, she charged forward, and Lance broke into a sprint after her. She had a head start, though, and to his dismay, she barreled straight for a guy in red plaid. He’d just pushed himself up from a spot by the small fish pond, shoved a book or something into his bag, and started walking towards them when the excitable canine pounced.
Lance heard a garbled, “Fuck!” as the guy went down.
“Shit,” he breathed under his breath, slowing to a halt as the guy sat up, Blue happily nuzzling his face.
“What the fuck?!” the dude in red raised a hand to fend off her tongue, and Lance hurriedly reached forward to snatch her collar, pulling her gently back and wrapping his arms around her. A quick glance showed a beanie knocked askew, in a red that matched his plaid shirt, what must have been a mullet peeking out from beneath, and if it wasn’t for needing to apologize and a pair of piercing, angry violet eyes, Lance probably would have remarked on it right then and there. Instead, Lance quickly turned his attention back to the Aussie in his arms.
“Blue, what’s gotten into you?!” He scolded her as she wriggled in his grasp, trying to lick his face like she’d done to the stranger in front of them. “Dude, I’m so sorry, I don’t know–”
The guy pushed away Blue’s inquisitive snout and demanded, sharply, “Is this your dog?”
Lance immediately tensed at his tone, but forced an outward calm. “Yeah, man, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s usually really well-behaved–”
“You should control it better, then,” the mystery douche snapped, climbing to his feet and wiping his palms angrily on his black jeans. He snatched the book that had fallen and returned it to his bag, readjusting the straps on his shoulder, and sent a scathing look at Lance before turning to leave.
“Her,” Lance called to his back, indignant. “And you could be a bit nicer, dude, I said I was fuckin’ sorry!”
Okay, so maybe he’d lost control of his temper. But the mystery mullet man in red plaid just raised a hand over his shoulder in a one finger salute and Lance, Blue’s leash in hand, spun on his heel furiously to stalk in the opposite direction, towards the creek and his long-coveted sketching location.
“Blue, why did you do that? I know you like making new friends, girl, but a random stranger? And not only that, but to one that’s such a–such an asshole !” he huffed, crossing his arms but maintaining a strong grip on Blue’s leash. As the memory of those sharp violet eyes resurfaced, he cursed, a vehement, “ Vete pa la pinga !” directed at the absent grouchy stranger.
A soft whine sounded, and Lance immediately turned to drop to Blue’s level.
“Girl, don’t be like that! I’m not really mad at you! I’m just mad at that sapingo–how could he not love you instantly?” he pressed his lips to her forehead, and she let out a soft sound before quickly licking his chin. Lance laughed, pulling away and wiping his chin with his sleeve. “See, that’s my happy girl! Now let’s go find the perfect spot for painting and try to get that rudeass off our minds, yeah?”
She barked softly, excitedly, and Lance took it as agreement.
Unfortunately, despite finding the perfect spot and having the perfect day, Lance was dissatisfied with everything that his hands produced. He tried six or seven different compositions, different angles, different color combinations, but nothing was right. Somehow, his work wasn’t nearly as fluid as he was accustomed to.
He should have known it would turn out that way. He always had problems focusing and producing art when he started in a foul mood, and the encounter with Douchebag McMullet had definitely soured his enthusiasm.
With one final frustrated groan, Lance tossed his sketchbook to the ground and flopped backwards, his arms spread out. Blue whined softly, immediately pawing around the sketchbook to drop her front legs and her head on his chest. Her cool, wet nose nudged his chin, and Lance knew she was trying her best to comfort him. It brought a smile to his face, and he brought his right hand in to ruffle her fur.
“At least I’ve got you, huh, girl?” he said, staring up through the leaves above him. “Art is a fickle mistress, but Blue is loyal and true, ain’t that right, corazón ?”
A soft noise of assent, and Lance laughed, reaching up with his other arm to give his furry friend a squeeze.
Adopting her from Balmera was the best decision Lance had made in the last several months.
“Te amo,” he murmured into her fur, closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax a little, basking in the gentle warmth of the sun.
Hunk had been home by the time Lance and Blue returned, and at Lance’s slouched figure he’d promptly declared that dinner would be all of the artist’s favorites. And he offered to talk about whatever had him down in the dumps, but Lance had refused. The offer was enough to fill him with warmth, and one encounter with a grouchy asshole shouldn’t be enough to ruin everyone’s day, right?
Pidge even gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, “You’ll get it next time, Picasso,” even before he’d admitted that his sketches hadn’t turned out. She’d grinned and then slipped into her chair at the dinner table, acting as if nothing had happened.
The fact that she had noticed and tried to comfort him too was touching enough, so Lance didn’t want to dwell on his slump.
They’d ended the night with all three of them in a heap on the lumpy basement sofa, cursing at each other and playing a few very intense cups in Mario Kart, as Blue watched drowsily from beside Lance’s end of the couch.
Pidge, the little gremlin, crowed her victory on Rainbow Road while Lance cursed the numerous times he’d fallen from the edge of the track, and all was well.
The morning had been much better than the one before.
He woke up, pulled himself out of bed, and actually managed to catch some of Hunk’s marvelous breakfast before they both had to leave to go to work. They bickered playfully, both damned Pidge’s uncanny ability to not fall on Rainbow Road, and laughed when Blue tangled between their legs under the table in a plea to be let out into the back yard.
And then Lance prepared for work, pulling on clothes and rolling his shoulders and beating Hunk out the door with a wave and a, “See ya later!” that his best bro returned easily as he pulled on his own shoes.
At Balmera, he had the opportunity to play with other excited pups and Blue got to frolic to some degree, though she could only go as far as her leash would allow while he was manning the register. She had been mostly content to curl up in the pet bed below the counter and chew on a squeaky toy, occasionally nudging at his ankle for attention.
After a while, the manager of the pet store half, Shay, kindly brought a bowl of water and tucked it out of Lance’s way in the little nook, as per usual, and greeted Blue with a few loving scratches behind her ear.
“It is good to see you looking well,” she smiled. It was almost tentative, but radiated warmth and sincerity.
Shay was a sturdy sort of woman. She was built broad, particularly in the shoulders, and her hands were far from delicate, but somehow she was still one of the most careful, gentle people that Lance had ever met. Shay was all that was kind and good, and Lance really liked her–though not as much as Hunk, if the number of times he came by to keep Lance company and ended up simply asking Shay if there was anything he could do to help or just staring at her instead of actually speaking to his best friend was any indication.
“You’re looking just as lovely as ever,” he winked, offering her his trademark finger guns and grinning widely at her. She sighed, but the tender smile never fell from her face.
“Oh, hush, you,” she giggled softly instead, flapping her fingers at him girlishly.
“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, Shay-bae!” Lance quipped back, flouncing to arrange the selection of treats and toys by his register. “And besides, I know someone who would definitely agree!”
He used his very versatile eyebrows and was pleased to see a light dusting of pink across her tan cheeks.
“I-I am sure I do not know who you m-mean,” she managed, averting her gaze.
“Uh huh,” Lance smirked, more to himself than at her. “Sure you don’t.”
She was stammering adorably, and Lance wished Hunk was here to see it–or even that it was acceptable for him to film his manager at work–but if her brother Rax, who was in charge of shelter half of Balmera, caught him again? Lance would be out faster than you could say quiznak, whatever that meant. The quirky co-owner of a gallery he really admired said it a lot, though.
He decided to spare her, though, and changed the subject. Fumbling a little as she tidied up around the other register, she slowly relaxed and engaged in idle conversation between helping customers and work.
It was nearly the end of his shift, and everything had been going great. He’d hit on at least three babes–no numbers yet, but he wouldn’t let that get him down–and he’d managed not to piss Rax off. Somehow. Lance had been able to help all the customers that came and asked him to help, and he felt very satisfied with that.
Blue had been very well-behaved and friendly with a few small children that wanted to pet her. She was always good with kids, which is part of what Lance had loved about her from the start. He had siblings and nieces and nephews and little cousins, and a family friendly dog always made things better. So, if she perked up as the bell chimed, Lance didn’t think too much of it. It wasn’t uncommon, and he was busy with another customer so he didn’t look up until it was too late for him to catch the newcomer.
“Thanks for shopping at Balmera!” he waved farewell at the man and his daughter with a grin. The six year old giggled and waggled her chubby fingers in return, and Lance’s grin grew wider.
Apparently, she’d just been given two guinea pigs for her birthday, and she was excited to be picking up all of the stuff for their cage. The abundance of pink items that had been on the belt and were now in the environmentally friendly reusable bags that they’d brought in–with the Balmera logo, so Lance had a feeling he knew where her parents had bought the guinea pigs in the first place–was enough bring an even wider grin to the little girl’s face as she grasped her father’s hand and babbled excitedly until the door fell closed behind them.
Those were Lance’s favorite kinds of customers, and he hoped that her parents taught her to love and care for her furry friends like his mother had taught him with Pedro, the yellow lab his family had had for most of his childhood.
Blue sprang to her feet, jolting him out of his reverie.
“What is it, girl?” he asked, brows furrowed, as she sniffed the air.
Before he could kneel and try to soothe her, she darted out from the little cashier’s nook. He wanted to call out to her, warn her that she couldn’t go far because of her leash, but then she jumped and in one fell swoop, he recognized the red beanie and messy dark mullet of the man that had been about to step up to the other register behind him as he fell to the floor with a curse, Blue nearly sitting on his stomach.
“Not again,” Lance muttered under his breath, but being the good associate that he was, he rushed forward to dissuade his excited overgrown pup. “Blue! Get back here!”
She stiffened and pulled back from trying to lick the grumpy man’s chin for the second day in a row, whining softly in the back of her throat. At Lance’s stern look, she stepped back with her tail drooping and her nose dipped in shame. Lance felt a lurch of guilt, but he stepped forward to the other man and started to gather the few things he’d dropped when Blue had bowled him over.
Again.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Lance offered once he’d helped gather everything. “She’s usually not like this.”
In the midst of muttering profanities under his breath, Douchebag McMullet looked up. His eyes widened when he spotted Lance, and then he groaned.
“You? Again? Jesus, control your dog! This is the second day in a row!”
“Hey!” Lance started sharply, and then remembered that, first of all, he was supposed to be working and couldn’t exactly offend a valued customer and, secondly, he didn’t want to get in a fight with this dude, no matter how much of an asshole he was being. So he sucked in a breath, and instead of swearing at the other man like he desperately wanted to, he managed, “Blue’s just really friendly. I have no idea why she decided she wanted to be friends with you, but once she gets the idea in her head it’s hard to get her to stop.”
“Well, try harder,” he sassed Lance as he picked himself up.
Blue whined sadly, nudging against the grouchy guy’s knee. Lance gently pushed her away with a soft, “No, Blue,” before he stood up as well and helped place the man’s items on Brenda’s conveyor belt. She was staring with wide brown eyes, and he just smiled at her in a way that was meant to assure her that he had things under control.
In his own mind, he was scrambling to come up with a solution that would appease Blue’s latest...victim. And then an idea hit.
It was stupid. It was far-fetched. But it was the best he had.
Lance rummaged in his pocket and then rifled through his wallet for a moment before handing Brenda his discount card while the other man finished placing items on the belt. Without even meaning to, he noticed a bag of cat food. All at once, with the realization that all of his items were cat-related, it became apparent why Blue’s enthusiasm conflicted with his personality. Of course he was a cat person.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Lance leaned forward to speak to Brenda.
“Give him my discount, ‘kay?” he murmured, and then with a quick glance at the man in the red beanie, he took a deep breath and he lied, “He’s my boyfriend, but we’re kind of fighting right now and I feel bad. It was my turn to get the stuff for the cat, but...well...”
Her eyes widened, then she looked concerned and almost pitying, and then finally she smiled and nodded.
“I’ve got your back, Lance,” she whispered while she winked, and he pulled back quickly, ushering Blue into his cashier’s cubby as Brenda started ringing the mystery dude’s purchases through.
Lance decided that apologizing verbally again wouldn’t do shit, if it hadn’t the first however many times he’d done so. He only hoped that, when Douchebag McMullet realized what he’d done, if he did, he’d appreciate it. If Rax found out about the technical misuse of his discount, Lance would be out of a job in a heartbeat.
There wasn’t really anything Rax wouldn’t fire him for, if he was honest with himself.
I hope this works, he thought, and I hope that Rax never finds out.
And then, as he turned to the next customer in his own line, he was struck with all the implications of his actions.
First, it meant that Brenda, the chattiest of his coworkers, might tell others that he finally had a boyfriend, which would severely ruin his flirting game. Shit .
Second, it meant that he would be expected to give a name for Douchebag McMullet, and he still didn’t have a clue. Considering that their first two encounters, including this one, had been filled with bitterness, shouting, and excessive swearing, there hadn’t been much time for names.
Third, it meant that he was claiming Douchebag McMullet , the man in the red beanie with the most outdated hairstyle ever, as someone he’d date.
He had to glance over his shoulder as Brenda gave the other man his total, just to remind himself that he wasn’t crazy. The mullet was still there, in disarray under the beanie that was still slightly lopsided, and Lance couldn’t really see the other man’s face, but something lurched awkwardly in the pit of his stomach.
He remembered the flash of violet eyes yesterday, when he’d first seen him, and the slight attraction he’d felt before Blue had been insulted. He remembered the firm jaw, set in a scowl, and the way black strands of hair carefully framed the other man’s face. And most of all, Lance remembered the way the red plaid he’d worn had shown the broad shoulders and trim waist, and it was in that instant Lance knew he was screwed.
Oh, no, he whined internally, as if he’d only just realized it–and maybe he had.
He’s hot.
For a day that had started out incredibly well, it was spiralling into no man’s land pretty quickly.
As if the day hadn’t been bad enough.
Hell, not even just the day. The entire week had been rough.
It had started with a leaky pipe in the apartment above the one he shared with his brother Shiro, which had resulted in a ridiculous amount of water damage that their insurance wasn’t going to completely cover. Those bastards . He and Shiro had stayed with Allura for the three days it took to dry out the apartment and had both spoken to their respective bosses to get more hours at work. Keith had managed his usual forty hour work week in only four days.
He was only thankful that the third bedroom, which Shiro graciously granted as Keith’s studio, had been spared from any significant damages.
After the apartment fiasco, he’d gone to the park on his one day off. He was going to sketch a few scenes and isolate the one he’d turn into his next painting, but even with two coffees, staying awake was hard. All of his lines were wobbly and imperfect at best. He’d never been so dissatisfied with his own work until that moment–or at least not in the last few years, since he’d come into his own as an artist.
And then, to top it all off, he’d been toppled by someone’s dog . Not even once, but twice.
It wasn’t that the dog was a giant, but she–as her owner had insisted–was energetic. Friendly, the man had said. Keith didn’t understand how a dog that would tackle random passersby to the ground was just being friendly with them, but dog people were just like that where their fur children were concerned, he supposed.
He didn’t quite understand it. He made no excuses for Red when she was in a foul mood. There was no excusing the claw marks that were still on the back of his hand from just that morning, when he’d apparently been too slow to give her food.
Cats.
But...no, Blue, he thought the dog’s name was, hadn’t even been the worst part about the week. The worst part was that this week was always, always a bad week. And today was the worst day, ever since the accident five years ago.
When all of those factors combined, it made Keith irrational. He didn’t want to think about it, so he did anything to keep himself from doing so. It usually led him to taking long walks, shoulders hunched and hood up to escape the stares of anyone he might pass, and this year seemed like it would be no different.
Keith didn’t know when he’d actually left the apartment, or how he’d made his way to the park. He couldn’t remember making his way to the creek, to the point where it gently curved and the water rippled prettily. Keith didn’t recall finding the little stone bench with ivy crawling up one side and he certainly didn’t know why he’d chosen to sit on the ground and lean against the bench instead of sitting on top of it. He just had.
He also hadn’t noticed when it started to rain.
The water had already soaked through his clothes and he felt a dull chill settling in his bones, but Keith only leaned his head back against the bench and closed his eyes against the falling rain. Maybe the drops could cleanse him of the memories that plagued him. They teemed beneath his eyelids, flashes of a time he never wanted to remember, and Keith grit his teeth and ignored the burning sensation that tingled at the corners of his eyes.
Images of the flashing lights danced across his mind, and Keith forced himself to sit up abruptly, with an angry tug, he pulled his hood down lower over his face and curled in on himself, burying his face in his already damp knees and locking his hands around his wrists.
He heard the sound of rain pattering all around him, but it was accentuated by the echoing memory of crunching metal. No matter how hard his fingers dug into his own skin, Keith couldn’t shake the wailing sirens or the agonized scream. The images and sounds were all jumbled together, but he knew the order they belonged in. He knew the way that the headlights flared suddenly to the right side, the way the other car flew past their stop sign and directly into the passenger door of Keith’s car.
Keith remembered the sticky feel of blood on his temple as he blearily blinked, trying to understand how his car had ended up on its side.
He remembered looking above him and seeing how his brother’s arm was pinched in the crumpled mess of the passenger side door, how Shiro had moaned in pain and grit his teeth against it as the emergency responders had carefully extracted him from the wreckage.
“Stop,” he choked weakly into his knees, as if pleading for his memories to cease playback.
The flashing lights. The sirens. The way that Shiro’s blood had soaked through the temporary bandages on the way to the hospital. The sound of Shiro’s mother–their mother, through Keith’s adoption–crying into his arms when they wouldn’t let them in to see Shiro while the operation was in progress. The way that the doctor blanched when he announced that they had been unable to save the arm, and suggested they start thinking about a prosthetic alternative.
The way that Shiro had never blamed him, even for a second, while Keith felt guilt eating away at him from the inside out.
Keith tried to ignore the tears that leaked from his eyes. He tried to take steady breaths instead, breathing deeply to get rid of the guilt he’d always ignored, always forced down. He knew that Shiro didn’t blame him, he knew that Shiro’s parents didn’t blame him, and he himself knew that it wasn’t his fault. A drunk man had run the stop sign as Keith and Shiro were passing the road, and it was too late for Keith to react.
But that didn’t change the fact that he had been driving. He would always wonder if there had been something he could have done to stop it.
What if–
Keith thoughts were abruptly ended by a loud snuffling sound and a wet something pressing against his ear. He jerked upright with a nearly horrified yelp and slammed his shoulders painfully against the stone bench behind him before he registered the wide-eyed, whining canine sitting before him, wagging her tail gleefully.
The dog leaned forward again, nudging her wet nose against his cheek, letting another soft huff near his ear. Keith tried to protect it by hunching his shoulder, turning his head, but the canine continued to press forward insistently.
“What do you want?” he finally asked, his voice feeble as he reached up to fend her off. In response, she barked. It was soft, as if she knew she was too close to him to bark loudly, and then leaned forward into his hands, nuzzling against his fingers. Keith, almost without meaning to, uncurled his fingers and scratched below the dog’s ear. She made a pleased noise, pushing against his hand excitedly, and something about her attitude was familiar. He couldn’t quite place it, and was too weary to try.
With a sigh, Keith gave in to her cheer and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the dog’s. She remained there, just letting him, and he wondered why this felt so comfortable. He wondered where she’d come from, briefly, before he let the thought slip away. She offered him a sort of solace he’d needed without knowing he needed it, and he was going to be selfish.
For a moment, he could let his memories was away with the presence of another living creature at his side.
For a moment, he could be calm.
But only for a moment.
“Blue! Girl, where did you go?! ” he heard, some small distance away. He lifted his head and the dog in front of him perked up, looking in the direction of the voice. “Blue, you know you’re not supposed to run off! Blue! ”
“Of course you’d be his dog,” Keith murmured, pulling away from the canine to look down at her. He didn’t retract his hand, though, and Blue wagged her tail and leaned into his touch. He gave another gentle scratch behind her ear as he reached up with his other hand to tug his hood down lower.
To say that her snarky owner was the last person Keith wanted to witness him in his this state wasn’t exactly true. That person was Shiro. But if anyone had to see Keith now, he would have preferred someone else. Maybe someone even more of a stranger than the mildly attractive man whose dog had assaulted him a few times.
“Blue! There you are!” the voice was nearer now, and Blue lifted her head and barked at the approaching man.
Instead of going to her owner, like Keith had expected, she turned and nuzzled against his cheek. And then she licked him .
Blinking at her in a daze, as her owner gasped and started scolding her, Keith couldn’t help but laugh. She was so innocent, so bright, and she was trying to cheer him in her own way, even if she didn’t know what was wrong. It was endearing, and even considering she’d knocked him to the ground two days in a row–the previous two days of his hellish week–he couldn’t find it in him to be upset with her.
“I thought you didn’t like Blue!” hands slowly descended into his line of sight, and the other man crouched to coax his dog away from Keith.
“I never said that,” Keith defended, dropping his hand. Blue whined, and her owner reached up to scratch between her ears affectionately, narrowing his eyes at Keith. “I definitely didn’t like her knocking me over, though.”
“Yeah, well–”
“–she was just being friendly?”
Keith snorted and looked at Blue’s owner again, really looked at him, as his mouth moved up and down, as if he was trying to find the words for a retort. But his expression changed as Keith watched, his brow furrowing. It wasn’t anger, or frustration, but Keith couldn’t place it.
“Dude, you’re soaked,” were the next words out of his mouth, and Keith’s eyes widened in surprise. “How long have you been out here?”
Concern . That’s what the expression had been, and that’s what tone the man was using. It didn’t fit the cocky man that argued with strangers in defense of his dog’s affectionate tendencies. Concern, especially for the stranger that had at first had such an angry attitude towards Blue, didn’t seem like him.
Keith shrugged and asked instead, “What time is it?”
“It’s like, ten in the morning,” the other man responded, tone turning incredulous. And then he reached forward, touching Keith’s forehead without asking. Keith jerked away, opening his mouth to say something, but Blue’s owner nearly screeched, “ Dios , you’re freezing cold, man! I don’t even care how long you’ve been out here, but you’ve got to warm up.”
He shoved himself to his feet and, again without asking, grabbed Keith beneath his armpit and heaved him to his feet. Two things became apparent at that moment, and he wasn’t sure how to address either one.
The first was that Blue’s owner was really stubborn, as was proven in the last few days by his firm insistence that Blue’s greetings were all friendly and his frustration at the coarse way Keith treated her. The second was that he was serious about Keith getting warmer, if he was willing to manhandle him, which meant that he was actually concerned about Keith. It was strange to him, that someone who didn’t know him at all could still treat him with this kind of care and worry. Keith wasn’t used to it.
“What are you doing ?” he asked after a few stunned moments, as Blue’s owner pulled him along by the arm. “Let go , man!”
“Nope,” the lanky man popped the ‘p’, glancing over at Keith. “I mean it. You’ve got to get warmed up. I don’t care how long you’ve been out here, and I’m pretty sure you don’t even know and that just makes it worse, so I’m gonna buy you a coffee. Or a tea. Or a hot chocolate. Dude, I don’t know what you drink, but I’m gonna buy you one when we get to the Castle of Lions.”
The Castle of Lions? Isn’t that...Coran’s cat café?
“Will they let Blue in…?” he mused aloud instead. The dog owner glanced at him, as if surprised that he seemed to know what the Castle of Lions was, before laughing. He removed his hand from Keith’s arm and slipped it around his shoulder, leaning over in a friendly manner.
“Of course! Coran loves her, and so do the cats!”
As if in agreement and to reassure him, Blue lifted her head, nudged Keith’s hand, and barked.
He’s on first name basis with Coran, too? Keith wondered, surprised. He knew Coran because he was one of the co-owners of Juniberries , the art gallery that Shiro used to show work in and now helped curate with his girlfriend Allura, the other owner. Coran had, in fact, helped Keith land a small gallery showing there just a couple of months ago, after he had done a joint show with Shiro at Allura’s insistence.
“Anyway,” Blue’s owner continued flippantly, gesticulating wildly with the hand that held her leash, which was slack because she was staying at their sides, “don’t be too disappointed if the cats don’t like you. Some of them are pretty standoffish, and they all prefer Blue to people, can you believe it?”
“I’m sure,” Keith answered drily, not really focused on his words. He watched his feet as he walked, thinking about how Red would turn her nose up at him if he came home smelling like other cats and a dog. Or rather, when he came home smelling like that, as it seemed inevitable.
“Here we are!” a bell chimed, and Keith jerked his head up as the cheerful man pulled him through the door he’d opened. “C’mon, c’mon, it’s still raining, and I know you’ve gotta be freezing, man. Blue, get out of his way, don’t trip him!”
She whined a little, but moved back so her owner could continue pulling Keith through the door. Keith finally pulled himself from his daze and stepped forward, away from the arm that was still around his shoulders, and the door closed behind them.
Keith nearly stumbled anyway, and a glance at his feet showed a plump tabby weaving his–her?–way between his legs. She paused and looked up at him with wide green eyes, and then meowed at him, turning her head to rub against his leg, despite the fact that he was soaked through. The man at his side made a garbled sound of disbelief and let out a strangled, “How?”
“Welcome to the Castle of Lions!” a familiar voice chimed, muffled, and then a head of orange hair popped out from behind a coffee machine. “Oh, Lance, m’boy, it’s been a while! And Blue! Welcome, welcome. You brought a friend, I see–oh? Is that Keith?”
Blue’s owner–Lance, it seemed–turned to Keith, and he shrugged a little in response.
“What happened to you?” Coran blinked at Keith, looking him up and down. “Why, you look even more drenched than I was after I spent three hours wrestling with a mandeluvian flying eel! Come, come, m’boy! I have a few spare t-shirts in the back, and I insist change into one of them. It’s better than staying completely drenched, after all!” he motioned Keith to come behind the counter. Almost as an afterthought, he called, “Lance, if you and Blue just want to take a seat at your usual table, I’ll send Keith back out to you in a few moments!”
“Sure thing, Coran!” Lance chirped cheerfully, then whispered to Keith, “You have got to tell me how you know Coran because I’m sure there’s a story. There always is with Coran.”
Keith just shrugged and received an exaggerated frown in response as Coran called again, beckoning him to follow to the back room. Smiling to himself, he ducked behind the counter and followed the tutting older gentleman as he made his way down a short hall to a small locker room at the end.
“I didn’t know you were friends with Lance,” Coran started, reaching for a box on top of a row of lockers. “He’s a good sort of kid, and does a lot to make everyone around him happy. He’s a good person to have around you. How long have you known him?”
With a little hesitation, Keith admitted, “We’re not exactly, uh, friends. We met two days ago when I cussed at him after Blue knocked me down in the park.”
Coran paused and then slowly turned to look at Keith, one eyebrow quirked almost comically high and a horrendously pink shirt with the cat café’s logo on the front in hand. His mustache twitched, and Keith shrank away a little as Coran finally found his voice.
“You mean to tell me that on your first meeting with my favorite customers, you cussed at them? All because Blue was being friendly?” he demanded. Keith nodded, and Coran shoved the hot pink shirt at him. “Well, then, pink it is. I was going to have pity on you, but after hearing that I’m afraid I just can’t let you off the hook. Now go change and get out there and make it up to Lance and Blue.”
On reflex, Keith had taken the shirt shoved at him, and as soon as Coran had said his piece, he stalked away and greeted a customer in the other room in the loud, boisterous way that only he could manage. After a bit of shuffling, Coran ducked back into the room for a second and tossed something else in Keith’s face, calling, “Dry off a little, too, lest you catch a cold!”
He disappeared again, and Keith was left staring at a violet towel and a hot pink monstrosity of a t-shirt, completely different from the various other Castle of Lions shirts he’d seen Coran wear before. He’d seen the orange that perfectly matched the eccentric’s hair, a blue or two that nicely complimented his hair, and even a red that clashed horribly that Keith was rather hoping for when he’d been offered a shirt.
He didn’t even really know this Lance character, aside from the fact that he was pushy, stubborn, and that Coran seemed to really like him, but he had a feeling that this pink shirt was going to be a terrible decision.
Even so, it was better than staying completely drenched, so he groaned and peeled his jacket away from his skin, wincing at the sensation. His shirt followed, and he shuddered when the cool air of the locker room washed across his bare skin. Keith cursed under his breath, a string of swears at both the chill and his own stupidity. This continued as he dried himself, turning to his hair last and then, for the first time since he’d seen Blue, the realization of why flooded back.
Keith slowly lowered the towel, draping it around his neck.
The appearance of Blue, and her owner soon after, had completely wiped his mind of the memories. It was the first time in the five years since the accident had happened that anyone had been able to pull him from stewing in his guilt.
Groaning, Keith slumped onto the single bench in the small room and pressed his face into his hands. Of all the people–it couldn’t have been Allura, who would have placed her hands on her hips and glared at him until he could actually admit out loud that it hadn’t been his fault? Or even Shiro, who would just look at him with a soft look he couldn’t quite decipher and then tell him that everything was okay, and that it wasn’t his fault? It couldn’t have been Coran, who was so much more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, who would have just given him silly errands to do as a challenge just to get him in motion?
No. It had to be Lance.
Lance, whose name Keith only knew because Coran knew him.
Lance, the owner of the energetic dog that had knocked him over two days in a row when Keith had been in a bad mood.
Lance, who had immediately ushered Keith to the Castle of Lions when he had noticed how cold and how thoroughly soaked he was from sitting out in the pouring rain for who knew how long, had outright said he’d buy Keith a coffee or something warm to drink, and had left absolutely no chance for Keith to argue on any of those points.
He was starting to see why Coran liked the other man.
They were pretty similar, if Keith took the time to compare what he knew about the two. Lance, for all that bravado and how big he talked, was actually a really perceptive person. It was something Keith had overlooked after their first two encounters, unwilling to see past the jerk who couldn’t accept that his dog was out of control. In that respect, Lance really was just like Coran, because most people couldn’t see the odd man’s cleverness and kindness underneath all of his eccentricities. And it took a lot for Coran to praise you the way he praised Lance, so Keith knew that there had to be something more than what was on the surface.
That kindness, though. It was the biggest trait they shared. Coran’s was open and friendly, though somewhat strange, but Lance’s was subtle, hidden by verbal comebacks and sass. Now that he was calm, Keith could realize that the first two times they’d met, Lance had been apologizing in his own sincere but awkward way.
Keith didn’t know how to deal with people like that. He wasn’t used to kindness, even kindness that was hidden beneath other actions.
“Keith, m’boy! Are you almost done?” Coran’s voice rang, and Keith dragged his hands wearily down his face before sitting up and pulling the violet towel from his shoulders, setting it aside before reaching for the pink shirt beside him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he called back, pulling the shirt over his head. “Gimme a minute!”
There was no response, and Keith took that as a good sign. Or a sign that Coran was busy with a customer or a cat. Either way, he tugged the pink shirt town and grimaced when he caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. The shirt was a little too big and fell a bit too long, but at least it was dry.
He told himself it was better than nothing even as he gathered his wet shirt and jacket and exited the room.
“There you are!” Coran’s mustache twitched when he spotted Keith, his eyes twinkling in amusement. Keith arched one eyebrow, daring Coran to say something, but he just grinned and pushed a small tray with two cups and saucers into Keith’s hands. “Mind the cats on your way to the table. Plain black, just like you prefer, and then there are creamers and sugars for Lance. He likes two of each.”
Coran winked, and Keith blinked at him in astonishment before the former ushered him away, off to the table near the door, where Blue lay basking in the sun on her side with...four cats laying on her? No, five. Lance was preoccupied, offering his hand to a pretty Russian blue in the window. The cat turned its head away from his hand and he sighed, pulling his hand back.
“Still no luck with Coran’s cats?” Keith asked, amused by the way Lance’s head jerked up when he neared. Keith slid the tray carefully onto the small table and took the seat across from Lance, reaching out to offer the cat on the back of his bench a hand. It was the same tabby that had nearly tripped him at the door, and it immediately leaned into him with a soft meow. He heard Lance spluttering indignantly, and then another sigh.
“What are you, a cat whisperer?” he grumbled, reaching for the sugar and creamer on the tray.
Keith watched as Coran’s words came true right before his eyes. Two sugars, two creamers.
“I like cats,” Keith shrugged as the tabby lifted itself and came to nuzzle against the side of his head. He snorted and reached up to scratch behind its ear. “I have one at home, but she’s not much of a social cat.”
“I like cats, too,” Lance actually pouted and Keith wondered how this was a grown man sitting in front of him. “They just don’t like me. I think it’s because I come from a long line of dog people and they can just smell it on me. Their spider-cat senses are tingling, or some shit.”
“Spider-cat senses?” he repeated the words slowly, wondering if he’d heard Lance wrong.
He hadn’t.
“Yeah, man! They have like, super powers. They have to. Maybe they can see back through my family history and find some ancestor that wrestled a tiger in the Coliseum or something, or God forbid that time abuela accidentally hit a cat with her car. I was seven and I was traumatized. What if they think I inherited the gene? What if they can just...sense it on me? That most of my family doesn’t like them?”
Lance seemed so sincere that Keith didn’t know how to respond. He just watched as Lance stopped stirring his coffee, sighed again, and lifted his cup to take a sip. With a hum of approval, he wrapped both hands around the cup for warmth and looked back, imploringly, at Keith.
“Do you think cats will ever like me?”
“I–what?” Keith lowered his own drink before continuing. “How should I know?”
“You’re the cat whisperer! You understand the way they think. You’ve gotta know if one of them will like me someday, man!”
Keith took a slow sip, lowered his coffee, and then spoke drily, “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
The man across the table huffed and released his cup, crossing his arms and looking out the window. Keith couldn’t help wondering, yet again, how Lance was an actual adult when he acted so childish. And that pout again, that slight pucker in his lips and the pinch between his brows. The way he scrunched up his nose when he did it.
A grown man shouldn’t look cute, and Keith wanted to forget that Lance did.
The tabby at Keith’s ear slowly transferred its weight to his shoulder and lightly hopped onto the table. It sniffed at the cup in his hands and shook its head, backing away with the most offended look Keith had ever seen a cat muster–and Red had given him a lot of disappointed and offended cat glares before. Keith snorted at that reaction, and watched as Lance’s blue eyes turned to watch her. The tabby padded its way over to Lance’s side of the table, pawing gently at the handle of his cup before sniffing his drink as well. It shook its head again, but with less disgust than it had at Keith’s plain coffee, and then it turned to look up at Lance.
Cocking its head to the side slightly, it mewed.
“I think you’ve got a chance,” Keith drawled, amused, once he had found his voice.
Lance nearly squeaked when the tabby lifted itself onto its hind legs and rested its paws on his chest, pressing forward to judge at his chin with another meow. Keith lifted his coffee to avoid laughing at him, and the cat insistently nudged at Lance’s jaw.
“Oh, cat whisperer,” Lance murmured, a broken sound. And then his voice bordered on hysteria when he asked, “What do I do?!”
Keith snorted into his coffee.
“Maybe pet the cat?”
With shaking hands, the other man reached down to lightly pat the tabby on the head. He pulled them back quickly, though, as if worried that he’d offend the cat. When it pawed at his hand, other forepaw still firmly planted on Lance’s chest, he moved his hand back to carefully scratched behind its ears. As his confidence grew, he reached his other hand out to rest next to the tabby. The cat flopped down on the table and nuzzled against the hand he’d just put down, and a smile crept across his face.
Keith watched with amusement, sipping at his coffee and absentmindedly petting any of the cats that wandered over to him. The way that Lance’s eyes lit up was, admittedly, cute, and Keith kind of hated himself for thinking it. He barely knew the guy, but he couldn’t deny it.
Lance was an attractive man. His personality was far more exuberant than Keith could usually handle, but it worked for him. He was an open book. When Lance’s emotions diffused across his features, from his facial expressions to his body language, Keith could feel them. And right now, the joy that was radiating off of him made Keith smile softly behind his coffee cup. When Lance was happy, it made Keith want to be happy, too.
No...it actually made Keith happy.
Sitting here in the Castle of Lions with Lance, watching as he interacted with the tabby cat by tickling its– her , it seemed–stomach, Keith was happy.
Keith enjoyed the snatches of happiness he managed to find, but happiness was fickle and fleeting at best, and annoyance liked to pry at the cracks.
Today was one such day, two days after the incident with the rain and the Castle of Lions and Lance and Blue. He’d woken with a sniffle and a bit of a headache but had at least six hours to laze around and try to nip whatever it was in the bud before work...or he was supposed to have those six hours.
Instead, his boss had called, tone strained, and asked if he could come in early because Nyma had called in.
Again.
Keith had agreed, and now that he was on his lunch break and feeling suitably miserable, he had found time to regret his decision. No matter how badly he needed the money, working when he should have been resting to get rid of the ill feeling in his chest had only served to exacerbate it even more. He was now almost positive he had a cold, and though his boss had graciously granted him an extra long lunch because of how many hours he’d be working, Keith suspected that it still wouldn’t be enough.
He wasn’t even sure he had the energy to eat . Maybe he’d just go home and take a nap and pray that he made it back to work in two hours, like he was supposed to.
Keith groaned, and when even that came out nasally, he huffed in annoyance. He didn’t hear the shout around the corner, and he only caught a glimpse of a speckled white blur before he nearly fell at the force that barreled into his legs.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, flailing until his hand caught on the building beside him and he was able to stabilize himself. Only then did Keith glance down to find a somewhat familiar canine looking up at him, looking incredibly pleased with herself and wagging her tail so hard it shook the rest of her body. “What the hell–you again, Blue?”
She made a soft bark that he took to be agreement.
“Blue, not again!” the familiar voice groaned, and the quick footsteps slowed as the owner stooped to pick up the end of the Aussie’s leash. Lance looked up and opened his mouth to speak, but his expression pinched after a moment and it looked like he was trying to find something else to say.
He was probably going to remark on how Keith looked like shit, so Keith spoke first, quirking an eyebrow as he asked, “I thought you were going to keep a better eye on her?”
The statement lacked some of the bite it would have had just a few days earlier. Keith wanted to blame it entirely on the cold he was sure he’d caught, but he knew that part of it was definitely in the kind, caring side of Lance he’d been able to glimpse that day. He’d probably never say it out loud, though.
Blue’s owner groaned at his words, and then shot back, “You try holding onto the leash of a sixty pound dog when she decides she wants to say hi to some grouchy dude in red.”
Lance dropped to scratch behind Blue’s ears, and Keith couldn’t help himself.
“Keith.”
“What?” man and dog both looked up at him, Lance with an eyebrow quirked in confusion.
“I’m not ‘some grouchy dude in red’. My name’s Keith ,” he emphasized, dropping his hand from the wall and crossing his arms. It wasn’t out of frustration, but he was too exhausted to really correct the appearance of it. “And yours is Lance.”
“Keith, buddy, relax,” Lance grinned at him, an easygoing smile that lifted his spirits, just a little. “I didn’t forget about it, my mulleted acquaintance. I was making a joke–all in good fun! But I’m flattered you remembered me,” he ended with a wink and a light laugh.
Keith rolled his eyes and muttered a soft, “Asshole.”
“I am offended ,” Lance declared dramatically, lifting a hand over his heart. “I thought we had bonded over coffee and cats and Blue, but I see I may have been mistaken! And I would love to stay and tell you all the things that make me great, but I’m afraid I’m actually running late for something–but mark my words, Keithy-boy, we will continue this conversation!”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Keith responded, deadpan, as Lance tugged Blue away. The other man stuck his tongue out at him in an immature gesture, and then almost as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Keith let out a sigh he hadn’t been aware of holding back, and then continued on his way.
When he glanced at his watch, he realized that he’d wasted at least five minutes of his two hour lunch–nap–and huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing the trek back to the apartment.
He sneezed no less than three times in the rest of the eight minute walk, maybe more, and nearly stepped out in front of a car, but in the end he made it back to the apartment and fumbled with his phone to set at least four alarms that would give him time to grab an energy bar before heading back to work, and then he collapsed face first on the couch.
Sleep was swift, and it overtook him in moments.