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~~~*~~~
April 15, 1912 2:20am
~~~*~~~
When the icy water seeps into Lance’s bones, he knows he’s dead. His fingers are numb and frozen; they’re already turning purple, though he can barely tell in the black water under the night sky. Keith’s presence beside him is as faint as a ghost’s, the hand wrapped around his waist loosening with every passing second. Lance’s hair stiffens, drying into ice shards in the freezing air. His shoulders sag and the ocean water trickles into his mouth. As his teeth continue to chatter, his eyelids lazily droop downwards.
His mind clouds in the misery his body endures.
They’ll both be dead in a few minutes, and all Lance wants to do is kiss Keith’s lips.
So he does.
It sends a burst of fire throughout his body, thawing his insides if only for a quick second. Their lips move against each other in a frenzied fashion as their will to live is revived, though it’s minimal and lasts no longer than a minute at most. Lance’s cold hands weave their way into Keith’s firm hair—Lance remembers what it was like to run his fingers through it when it was smooth and silky and not clogged with salt from the ocean. They part with a pop and Lance’s gaze is crestfallen. For both of them, every inch of their skin is cold and dripping wet as they huddle closer in the water. Lance’s feet accidently kick against Keith’s legs as he silently treads water.
A ripple of waves and shouts of people too far away alert Lance enough to turn his head slightly to witness the impossible.
The Titanic finishes its descent to the ocean floor, and as it disappears below the surface, it sends another batch of tiny waves to splash Lance and Keith in the face. They continue to bob in the water, floating further and further away from the wreck. They hang onto half of a door. It’s not big enough for either of them to find shelter on.
If only he could close his eyes and find solace in the comfort of sleep.
“St-ay a-wake, L-Lance,” Keith chatters, his eyes slits, his breathing labored. There’s a faint droop to his head that wasn’t there earlier, and a faint tremble in his limbs that was never present before.
“Y-you too.” Lance places a numb hand against Keith’s cheek, but he can’t tell if his hand is touching skin or the night’s air. At this moment, they feel the same.
What a cruel fate both of them have been thrown into. Neither of them will reach their twenty-second birthday. Neither of them will ever feel the warm embrace of their family members. All they have is each other and the coldness of the ocean and the darkness that silently chokes them.
“I—I think I love you,” Keith says at last with some reserved bit of strength. The stutter vanishes from his words. He is outlined in a faint glimmer of the silver moonlight, his eyes wide and purple lips parted in a breathtaking smile. Sadness swims through his dark irises, yet happiness lingers somewhere behind it.
I love you; I love you; I’ll love you for all eternity, is how Lance wants to respond, but his vocal cords aren’t able to produce those specific sounds, even though he desperately wants to. Instead, his thoughts stay frozen in his mind, never to be shared out loud. Lance does muster some courage to speak. “T-they’ll save us and then we can run away together.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Lance isn’t sure when it happens, but at some point they both close their eyes and all he sees is darkness. Though at the edge of his consciousness, there is something. A faint sound of splashing waves being beaten against oars?
Or is that too much to pray for?
He hopes not.
~~~*~~~
April 15, 1912 12:38am
~~~*~~~
Keith’s mind still fumes from his argument with Shiro, which happened less than two days ago, but now—as Keith watches the desperate people clamber into the remaining lifeboats and lower them in haste before they’re even full—it feels like a lifetime ago.
The piercing cold air rips through his hair as he clips on his life jacket. The screams and cries and the agony in people’s voices can be heard all around him, swirling around his ears and slapping him in the face. People shove and elbow him out of the way, scurrying to get to the front. He is almost trampled, a sharp elbow having jabbed unexpectedly into his back, but he prevents himself from falling down just in time.
All of this—the utter chaos—is accompanied by the music of the band, a soft melody adding to the terror.
Keith’s only thought right now is to find Shiro.
This shouldn’t be happening to them.
But it is.
This shouldn’t have happened on this ship.
But it has.
Over the crowd, as Keith stands on his tiptoes, silently cursing at all the taller passengers around him, he spots a tuft of white hair bobbing up and down as the man helps a woman and her child onto a lifeboat.
“Shiro!“ he yells at the top of his lungs. The name is sharp enough to cut through the noise and reach his brother, who suddenly turns his head. Dark gray eyes flash in surprise and relief.
Keith is immediately pulled through the crowd into Shiro’s embrace. “I’m so happy you’re safe,” his brother says, a sob at the back of his throat. “You should get into this boat and save yourself. There are no more women and children on this side and there’s still room in this one.”
“ Shiro—“
“No arguments, you’re younger than I am and have a full life ahead of you. I’ll find another way off.” Shiro’s grip is uncomfortably tight as he pulls Keith closer to the edge.
“You’re an idiot, Shiro, but I love you.”
“Kei—“ His fist punches Shiro directly in the face. A dazed expression sits on his brother’s features as his eyes close, blacking out as he begins to fall to the ship’s deck.
Quickly catching him, Keith seizes the moment to throw Shiro into one of the remaining lifeboats, hauling him over the edge as the people in the boat scramble to help him down.
Keith gazes directly into one of the woman’s eyes; fresh tear tracks glisten down her cheeks. He wonders where her husband is. “When he wakes up, tell him…“ that I’m sorry for fighting; that you were right. I am too selfish.
“I know,” she whispers softly, even though she can’t possibly know, and pats the head of her child who buries their face in her petticoat.
“He has a family back in England.”
“You did a good thing, dear.”
Keith nods, sending one last glance to his unconscious brother. A few tears slide down his cheeks. As he retreats, the woman’s last words faintly weave their way into Keith’s ears. “May your life be spared.”
There is only one thing he can do now.
He races to find Lance, not wanting to dwell on his actions or how pissed his brother will be upon waking. It’s a half an hour later when Keith has to physically prevent all hope from leaving his mind. His boots continue to slam across the deck until another wayward elbow slams into his back, and he stumbles into the person in front of him. His heart doesn’t settle, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, until he realizes a warm and familiar embrace has prevented his fall.
“Lance.”
“Hey, lover,” Lance whispers, his eyes strikingly blue in the darkness of the night.
Hoards of passengers stream around them, no one sparing them a glance. “No more lifeboats left?“ Keith asks with utter certainty.
“Not for us.”
They maneuver to the far edge of the ship, towards the top. They’re left alone as the noise of the crowd falls silent. Keith can only hear the sound of Lance’s breaths as they pass his lips and form white clouds that disappear without a trace soon after. Precariously, his lover straddles the railing until he’s completely resting on the bar. Keith silently stands behind him, arms wrapped around Lance’s slim waist to prevent a premature fall. Lance’s hands grip onto his.
Burying his nose into Lance’s neck, Keith can already pick up a faint whiff of sea salt that he had never noticed before. His lips trail a few soft kisses onto Lance’s brown skin.
“Do you know how many children are still below deck in third class?“ Lance asks, his tone defeated and grief stricken. It seems to be a rhetorical question but Keith answers it nonetheless.
“I do.” Third class has already been flooded with water; he wonders how many people have already lost their lives. Young souls that didn’t even know the beauty that the world had to offer, only the pain. Keith wonders how many more will lose their lives tonight.
“This is what’s wrong with the world.”
Keith wants to respond, but a large crack threatens the quiet little world they had hastily created for themselves. The bow of the ship begins the angle downward, and the screams of many unfortunate souls echo in Keith’s ears. He almost stumbles out of Lance’s grip, gravity pulling him away from his lover, but Lance anchors them both, one hand wrapped around the ship’s railing and the other hauling Keith back to his side.
As Keith grips onto the railing with all his strength, he glances into the icy water below. It’s dark and foreboding, and Keith pries his gaze away to stare into Lance’s eyes. “Jump with me.”
Lance takes his hand and together they plunge into the ocean.
~~~*~~~
April 14, 1912 11:40pm
~~~*~~~
Lance had been meandering through the halls, lost in his thoughts and hands stuffed into his pockets, when he is thrown without warning into the nearest wall. His head slams against the metal, and stars dance in front of his eyes for what seems like hours, though Lance is pretty sure it has only been minutes.
It’s not hard to disguise the noise of durable metal being sliced through by something on the outside floating harmlessly in the water. If the tear in the side of the boat is minimal, they’ll stay afloat; after all, this is the ship of dreams. Nothing will happen to them.
Though, the grating noise continues to echo in his ears long after the sound had finished ringing throughout the halls.
Even so, Lance walks on for a few more minutes, hands back in his pockets. This time his heart beats faster, his thoughts more erratic. What if the ship sinks? What if water is already rushing in? It’s hard to untangle his mind, still numb and muddled from the hit on the head. Yet, he can tell that his brain urges him to get above deck to see what’s the matter.
Unfortunately his suspicions are confirmed when people race past him. Lance can’t tell what class they’re from, but why should he care?
He lays a hand on a person’s arm, stopping the stranger in his hurried tracks as he brushes by Lance and the man’s feet practically screech to a halt. The other people must not have been part of the older man’s family as they race ahead, never looking back. Lance spies a life jacket clutched tightly in the man’s whitening knuckles. He swallows his worry.
“What’s going on?“
Lance almost believes the man won’t answer. He can see the shudder in the man’s legs, the way he slowly inches away from Lance though his fingers continue to tightly grasp his arm. But there seems to be some sense left in the man. “She’s going down. Sinking. You better get to a lifeboat, mister.”
At last, Lance releases the stranger, who takes no time to race down the hall. Lance watches as the man disappears from view. He almost wants to call out and tell the man there’s no need to rush. After all, the likelihood of them getting a place on a lifeboat when there are so many women and children traveling on this ship is slim. Not to mention all the poor souls below deck.
Have compartments already started to flood? The ship seems to be creaking more, moaning and groaning as it begins to lose its will to stay afloat.
Slowly, Lance follows the man’s path. His feet slide across the floor, his hands finding their comfortable position in his pants’ pockets. He wonders if he will be able to find Keith in this frenzy that will crash into him like a wave once he walks out of this deserted hallway.
His movements are slow; he knows he will die tonight, so he becomes trapped in his thoughts once again.
As if nothing has changed.
~~~*~~~
April 13, 1912 10:26am
~~~*~~~
Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t feel sore in the morning. As he walks out from his bedroom, a slight limp to his step, he is met with the curious face of Shiro. A raised eyebrow, wide eyes, and a small, wondering smile.
“Meet someone last night?“
Keith glares, carding a hand through his tangled hair. Subconsciously, he tugs the collar of his shirt up higher, hiding the red marks that pepper his pale skin. “Shut up.”
“I’m not saying I approve of what you’re doing,” Shiro begins, suddenly quite serious and Keith finds himself straightening his posture, readying his defense. “But if you need to find some happiness before you’re chained to a life you don’t want, then I guess it’s okay.”
“How long have you known?“ Keith asks, walking closer and closer to Shiro. His heart jumps a beat with every step.
“Keith, you’re not the most subtle person I’ve ever met. You’re lucky father doesn’t pay much attention to you.” Shiro’s eyes are sad but accepting, and that’s all Keith truly cares about.
“Then why won’t you let me run away?“
Shiro shakes his head, his gaze solely directed on Keith as he speaks. “And let you surround our family in scandal? An earl’s son runs away with another man to live in America; no one would accept us. Sometimes you can’t be selfish, Keith; think of others around you. It would ruin both of your lives—yours and your lover’s—as well as our family’s.”
“They wouldn’t find out that’s the reason why I left,” Keith responds with certainty, arms crossed over his chest, wrinkling the silk of his shirt.
“They would, Keith, nothing stays a secret forever.”
His eyes narrow, and he harshly pokes his brother in the chest, his blunt fingernail digging into the material of Shiro’s shirt. “Sometimes I really don’t like you, Shiro, with your attitude about the greater good. It’s my life, and I will decide what I want to do. To hell with this family!“
“Keith—“
“Just watch me,” and he slams the door to their room shut. It rattles the framework. The vibrations stay in Keith’s head for the rest of the day.
~~~*~~~
April 12, 1912 9:28pm
~~~*~~~
Lance taps the space on his wrist where a watch could go if he had the money to buy one. He’s not sure how late Keith is— though he’s pretty sure that it’s by more than five minutes—so he sighs, leaning up against one of the lifeboats fastened to the deck. A blanket of food is spread before him and the sea breeze occasionally blows the aroma from it and the coffee in Lance’s direction.
His stomach grumbles in time to a pair of boots walking across the deck. Lance arches his head up to find Keith’s gray eyes peering down at him. His irises almost reflect a purple light in the warm yellow glow of the ship’s electricity and the darkness of the night.
“’ello,” Keith begins plainly, and Lance could almost fall in love with that accent alone.
“You’re late,” is how he responds, patting the ground next to him and watching Keith’s body move as he walks closer to sit down.
Keith nods in confirmation of Lance’s statement. “I should apologize for that. I had to come up with a good excuse to avoid my brother’s suspicions.”
With Keith this close, Lance finds himself studying the man beside him, humming as a substitute for a response. His eyes, even without the lights shining directly on them, still hold a few shades of lavender in the gray seas. His long black hair is once again obscuring the view of his face; it looks soft though. Lance itches to brush his hand through it, to brush Keith’s bangs away from his handsome face.
“What are these?“ Keith asks, causing Lance’s gaze to dart from him to the blanket below.
“Miniature sandwiches.”
One dark eyebrow raises, disappearing behind his hair. “How—“
“I took them from the kitchen when no one was looking.”
“You s—stole them?“ Keith chokes out; his tone one of disbelief and shock.
Lance smirks, holding out a sandwich for Keith to try. “Only the best for you, darling.”
Without hesitation, the food is snatched from his hands, and Keith’s lips make a satisfying pop as the sandwich is stuffed into his mouth. He soon reaches for seconds and thirds, while Lance begins to reach for a fourth. The bitterness of the coffee washes down the remaining taste the sandwiches had left behind. Keith releases a content sigh, partially leaning against Lance and partially leaning against the lifeboat behind them.
“What other talents does Lance Ramirez possess? Any more I should be worried about?“ Keith’s eyes are bright and curious. Two more stars in the black sky.
“Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know,” Lance says slyly.
“I would.”
“I’m not about spilling all my secrets on the first date.”
Keith smiles at his words, and even in the darkness Lance can easily tell that Keith’s alabaster skin burns a violent crimson. He’s not sure why he thought it was a smart idea to take an earl’s son out on a forbidden date. Nothing is to come of it anyways. This fling will be forgotten between the two of them the minute their feet leave this boat and step onto American soil. Yet, Lance is also happy that, for once, he has allowed his emotions to rule his actions and not common sense.
They fall into a comforting silence, each continuing to eat their prefered sandwiches, before Lance speaks up again. “Yeun isn’t an English surname.”
“My father has an unorthodox taste in woman, I guess you could say. His first wife was Japanese and his second wife, my mother, was Korean. I took her family name instead of my father’s.”
A slight smile winds its way onto Lance’s lips, his blue eyes flashing in amusement. “A big 'fuck you' to your father?“
“Exactly.”
Lance suddenly reaches forward, digging further into the basket he had left to the side, to pull out a full sparkling bottle of champagne. Two glasses sit in front of them as the amber liquid pools into the crystal glass.
“I really like you, Keith Yeun, and even if we only met two days ago, I’m glad we did.”
“I’d toast to that,” Keith says, lifting his glass of champagne. Lance follows suit, and their glasses clink against each others. Smiling into the rim as he arches the glass back, the cold liquid coats his tongue and back of his throat.
“Thank you for giving me a night to remember,” Keith speaks up suddenly, his words twinged with sadness as his eyes darken and lips begin to slip downwards.
“No problem. But I didn’t do this only for you, you know. I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t like you.”
“Is that so?“ Keith smirks, nearly knocking the glass over as he scoots closer to Lance.
“Don’t go getting full of yourself, Mr. Yeun, but you are a very handsome man and great company.”
“I would say that’s the champagne talking but I don’t believe it is.” They are a hair’s breath away, lips aching to be pressed together into a sweet kiss. “So I will respond with this, you are the most interesting, beautiful, funny man I have ever laid eyes on.”
Lance wants to respond with words of how if this was a different era where two men could marry and live together, he would propose to Keith right here and right now—even if Lance has only known this English man for a few days, he doesn’t care. Instead, he crashes his mouth into Keith’s. His lips taste like candy, sticky and wet from the champagne. Keith’s hand immediately finds purchase in Lance’s brown locks. He smiles into Keith’s lips, moaning slightly as their bodies press together.
It’s as if Keith steals Lance’s soul as his warm lips continue to move against his own.
Suddenly, Lance stands with Keith’s hand locked in his grasp and he guides him down below.
Lance isn’t sure why he brought Keith back to his cabin. Both of them are jittery; Lance’s hand can’t seem to stop shaking as he grips the door handle. Eagerness and nervousness battle across Keith’s handsome features; a smile easily stretches across his lips but his eyes skirt around the hallway with an abundance of worry.
As Lance holds out a hand, the shuddering ceases as he stares directly at Keith. “When we step off this boat, we’ll be going our separate ways and living two completely different lives. So let’s be selfish and enjoy tonight.”
“All right.”
~~~*~~~
April 11, 1912 1:16pm
~~~*~~~
He has been on this boat for a day, and yet he still can’t believe where he is.
Lance’s room is small, one bed and a sink basin to wash up with at night. His luggage lives in one corner of the room, unpacked and likely to stay that way for the rest of the journey. The room is small but it’s not cramped. Lance lays on the bed, his body slightly sinking into the mattress, his limbs curled in the bed linen. It’s a tangled web of two legs and a few blankets.
Yes, he’ll have to write to thank Allura again when he gets to America. She had splurged for a second class ticket for his journey home, and as a relatively poor immigrant living in New York—who had saved up enough money to visit London for his sister’s birthday—Lance couldn’t even dream of a chance of stepping onto the Titanic.
Yet, here he is, a wide smile on his face, relaxed and at peace. He had already met a cute man too—a cute, rich man at that, not that money means anything to Lance.
A knock on his door breaks his thoughts, shattering them to be swept away from his mind, and a steward stands before him as he opens his door.
“Mr. Yeun has asked to speak with you on the ship’s promenade deck.”
“Thank you,” Lance replies smoothly; a few coins, that serve as a tip, drop into the man’s outstretched hand before he leaves his cabin.
The walk is long and boring, but Lance’s mind is engaged with reasons as to why Keith Yeun would call on him at this time of day. Because if this man is trying to be subtle in any way, this is not the way to go about it, but any amount of worry is soon replaced with a different emotion as his heart begins to beat faster with anticipation. No one has ever really paid attention to Lance; he’s ordinary and average. Not worth a passing thought.
But apparently he’s worth something to an earl’s son, and it has him glowing in response. A goofy smile curls its way onto his face as he makes his way to the deck.
“I knew I was unforgettable,” Lance announces his presence the moment he spies Keith, body hunched forward as he rests his arms on the railing. Seawater peppers Lance’s face as he walks closer to the edge.
He receives a scowl in response. “You’re full of yourself, aren’t you?“
“If you must know, not usually, but I do enjoy to tease.”
Pleased, Keith returns his gaze to the water. His brow is pinched forward, though his gaze is not unkind. It’s one masked in confusion and troublesome thoughts that eat away at one’s mind until they are spoken aloud.
“Did you just ask me up here to stand in silence with you or…?“
“Sorry, I’m really bad at this. I just never—“ Keith quickly whips his head around, breathing a visible sigh of relief when he realizes no one is around. “—just never met anyone who was like me. Ah, I mean to say, had the same interest in a lover as me.”
“I’m not completely like you; I appreciate both sexes.”
Keith nods, biting his lip at the new piece of information. “Can I talk to you; is that all right?“
“Hmm, of course.”
“Do you ever realize that you’re going to have to live a lie for the rest of your life? Well, I guess you won’t have to because you like women as well, but just listen, please. I need to speak my mind for once.” Keith barely pauses, not allowing Lance enough time to respond before he continues. “My father wants me to find a wife, a rich American heiress if possible, and I want no part in it. I don’t want to lie to some sweet girl and make her life hell because I have no interest in her. I want to be with a man who loves me back, not some woman who I could never love romantically,” Keith rambles on. Lance watches as he cards a hand through his slicked back hair, pulling at a hair tie at the base of his neck and allowing his long black locks to brush his neck and jawline. His bangs obscure the view of his face as they fall from the gel that had been holding them at bay.
Keith looks younger, Lance realizes as he curiously watches the man who’s a little scared and a little broken. “You know that won’t be possible,” Lance sadly replies as Keith’s voice finally fades across the ocean, his words swallowed up, never to be spoken again.
His gaze pierces Lance’s heart, shattering it into a million pieces, scattering them into the wind or to be lost at the bottom of the ocean. Keith’s voice is soft. “I know.”
Something sparks inside Lance as he rests his calloused hand over Keith’s smooth skin. His thumb subconsciously rubs soothing circles onto the back of Keith’s hand and the man relaxes his body, leaning into Lance. He doesn’t pull away when their shoulders brush and he can feel Keith’s hair blowing in the wind. “Why don’t we have some fun before then, okay?“
“I’d love that.”
Their bodies continue to lean against each other as they both turn their gaze to the sparkling ocean and the white clouds and the bright sun.
Once in awhile, Lance will cast secret glances at his companion, his cheeks heating slightly each time.
Once in awhile, Lance will catch Keith doing the exact same.
~~~*~~~
April 10, 1912 8:00pm
~~~*~~~
“Were you lost?“ Shiro asks cheekily, as Keith walks up to him on their way to dinner.
The collar of his dress shirt chokes him, and he has to physically prevent himself from ripping the bow tie away from his neck. “Shut up.”
Their voices are spoken in whispers as they flow around the crowds of people notorious for their gossip and nosy tendencies. Keith scowls as his eyes flicker over the heads of the upper class. As they walk through the doors, a gasp of awe is whisked away from Keith’s lips. It’s pure and beautiful, untouched by the harshness of age. This is the first time that passengers have stepped foot in this place. Keith smiles at that fact. He’s one of the first to experience this.
Shiro’s eyes seem to say ‘I told you this trip would be good for you’ or maybe even a simpler ‘I told you so.’ Keith simply scoffs, holding out a chair for his brother to easily slide into.
They don’t even have their food yet, but today seems to be the day Shiro decides to pester his younger brother. “You should smile, make friends. You need to find a wife, Keith.”
Keith grips the menu in his hand, ducking his gaze to read the dishes. “I’m not interested,” he mumbles, jaw tight.
“I know you don’t want to be tied down to a wife and children yet, but it will be good for you.”
It’s not that, Keith replies in his mind, I’m interested in men. Unfortunately, this is neither the time nor the place for that type of confession. Yet, Keith has always wondered what Shiro’s reaction would be. He knows his father would immediately disown him, but Shiro? That reaction is a difficult one to imagine. “I don’t care about father’s money,” is what Keith says out loud.
Shiro disregards his statement. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even find someone on this ship.”
Suddenly Keith can no longer hold Shiro’s gaze, directing his eyes away to study the occupants of the room; everyone, dressed in their fancy apparel and draped in jewels, is a mirror image to Keith. Their lives are all the same: born into wealth and will most likely to stay there for as long as they live.
Where the hell is the waiter?
“Yeah,” Keith ends up responding to Shiro’s statement. I already have.
~~~*~~~
April 10, 1912 10:30am
~~~*~~~
The Titanic, the ship of dreams. Keith’s nightmare. Why did he agree to be dragged on this trip again? He had been meaning to run away to America on his own, but no. That no longer seems possible.
Someone brushes the sleeve of his coat, and Keith turns his head to the side, briefly catching a glimpse of Shiro struggling to hand over their bags to a worker with his one hand. Keith cuts through the sea of other aristocrats that make up first class.
“Let me do that,” he says to his brother, immediately grabbing the luggage from Shiro and handing them over to the man with a fake smile.
“You don’t have to help me, Keith. I may have one arm, but I can manage on my own.”
Ignoring Shiro’s protests, Keith quickly guides them back into the sea of passengers eagerly awaiting to step aboard. “You didn’t have to come,” Keith replies back instead.
Shiro sends him a sideways glance. “We both know I did.”
“Just because father sai—“
“Keith, it’s for your own good. We can discuss it later.”
The tickets Shiro hands over as they pass into the ship are a little crumpled and a little worn. The minute they leave Shiro’s open hand and drop into the waiting palm of an officer, Keith’s heart sinks deeper into his stomach. There’s no turning back now.
Focusing on staring at his feet, he almost misses Shiro nudging his arm to acquire his attention. Keith’s head jerks up sharply to find his brother supporting a wide grin, his eyes completely covered in awe.
“Just look at this ship, Keith.”
“Yeah, it’s all right,” he mumbles, eyes skirting over every possible detail. He knows his sour attitude is ruining this wonderful trip for Shiro, but a major part of Keith can’t drag himself out of his own despair to care. He continues to scowl.
“We should find our rooms, unpack…“ Shiro comments as they finally make their way below deck. Keith’s ears continue to pick up the noise from the crowd of people outside, wishing their loved one’s good bye. No one came to see them off, but Keith doesn’t dwell on that.
It takes him a few seconds to realize he never answered his brother. “Go on ahead, Shiro. I can find my own way.”
“You sure?“ Shiro asks in disbelief.
“Yeah, I need to clear my head. Walk around for a little bit. Explore.”
No more than two minutes later does Keith realize he’s lost, having lost track of how many stairwells he was or wasn’t supposed to use or what corridors lead the way to their suite. Too shy to ask any of the other passengers he walks by in the halls for help, he simply lowers his head, hoping that it appears to any outsider that Keith isn’t actually lost.
By watching his shoes, the black leather glistening slightly even though there are a few patches of dirt on the material, he is no longer aware of his surroundings.
Keith bumps into the prettiest man he has ever seen; a startled “oof“ is released from both oblivious parties involved. Keith’s eyes flicker upward absorbing the stranger’s brown skin, blue eyes, slightly curly brown hair near the nape of his neck and on his temple, and a dash of freckles across his nose. Keith quickly ducks his head again, mumbling an apology, praying a betraying blush hasn’t popped up on his ivory skin.
A warm hand latches onto his upper arm as the stranger prevents him from walking away. Excitement swims into the man’s eyes as he quirks his lips, his velvety voice encasing the empty hallway.
“Ah, so you’re that type.”
Keith bristles, but the man in front of him doesn’t seem disgusted, amused maybe, curious even, but not disgusted and ready to call one of the stewards to throw him overboard. The truth easily slides off Keith’s tongue. “How did you know?“
“You have to learn to read people, watch where their eyes land. It’s how we survive.”
Startled, Keith whispers “May I assume—“
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” The brown skinned man bows, head dipping low as his soft lips brush Keith’s knuckles.
“And your name is?“ he asks, the blush on his face deepening to a crimson red.
“Lance. Call me Lance.”