Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lance didn’t expect much out of his twenty-fifth birthday. He didn’t have anything special going on, and he’d taken the day off of work, so the plan was just to lounge around his apartment all day and maybe treat himself to some junk food because birthdays, right? As long as his annoying roommates stayed out of his hair, and Hunk faced-timed him from Seattle, it’d be a good day. Uneventful, but good.

He certainly didn’t think that by the end of the day he’d be sending in two-week-notices and making plans to move all the way across the country.

It all started with a text from Keith.

-

It was ten in the morning, and Lance had gotten to sleep in for what seemed like once in his life. He doesn’t think he’d ever seen the apartment past eight. It was kind of nice, having the midday sun streaming in through the blinds and hitting the worn kitchen table at a different angle. Being able to have the windows open, breezes cooling the place better than the cheap, old AC ever could, without the airborne sounds of rush hour honking floating past the sill as well. Peaceful.

Cons: Bradley. While it was a rarity for Lance to get up late, it was an impossibility for Bradley to get up early, so being in the kitchen at midday meant encountering the least pleasant of Lance’s two roommates, he who smelled of pot, made stomach-churning meals, and didn’t know how to use headphones when listening to music late at night.

Lance, sitting at the table with a mug and his phone, watched Bradley pour out Lance’s still warm pot of coffee he made perhaps five minutes ago, and start to brew a new one, because Bradley was a douche who didn’t pay for the coffee beans and just liked to mooch off everyone else. He produced a joint from who-knows-where- who wanted to know where- and rolled it between his fingers contemplatively. Lance took that as his sign to leave, pushed back from his seat, and retreated to his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He set his mug and phone down on his bedside table, next to a small collection of family photos, then plopped down on his made bed. The mattress bounced slightly.

Hmm. He’d already called his sisters today. His grandma… he’d have to call her soon. Hunk vowed to skype him, but he had work today, and Lance was three hours ahead of Hunk to start with, so he probably wouldn’t have a chance to call until eight or nine at night. The woes of long distance friendships.

This was the first birthday Lance and Hunk wouldn’t spend together- physically together- since, like, forever. Since they met in college freshman year. It’s not like Lance expected Hunk to stay in their little college town forever. Hell, he was thrilled it was going well enough for Hunk and his girlfriend that he could move all the way to Washington to live with her. That didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely.

Oh, and his mom. How could he forget about his mom? She always called him exactly when he was born: 11:37 am. She sent him a gift, too. It was sitting on Lance’s dresser now, a small package, still in the box. Unopened until their phone call, of course. It was nothing big, never was, just something cool and sentimental.

He keeps the previous ones in a small collection on his desk. He swings his legs off the bed, and gets up, meandering over to the corner of his room, where a few library books sit on his desk alongside the small assortment of items.

A mini shark figure. A conch from Varadero. A half-empty bottle of sparkly green kiddy nail polish that he and his sisters used to paint their nails with, the kind that would get everywhere and rinse off after one wash. Sometimes she just sent him a photo, printed out and framed.

His eyes skimmed over the bulletin board. Various polaroids and cheap, one-hour walgreens pictures were tacked to the cork. Childhood pictures of him and his older siblings. Pictures of his nieces and nephews. Photos from high school and college.

Aaand there’s a picture of his ex. Shit. This happened every time.

He seemed to never be able to get rid of them. She popped up everywhere. He tries to get rid of all the pictures with her in them, and then when he thinks she’s finally gone he’ll turn around, and there she is again, smiling tucked between a shot of Lance’s high school graduation and a picture of his long dead pet hamster from grade school. It’s just a small problem with being a photo collector.

It’s not just the photos, either. It’s the park, and the campus where they went on long walks. The train station Lance has to get off at everyday, where they first kissed. It really didn’t hurt that bad. For the most part, for all practical purposes, he was over their breakup.

But it was still a little weird to be followed by the ghost of it.

Let’s be real. Lance’s year has sucked. He wondered what his mom would have to say about it when she called. Because last year, on Lance’s birthday, he’d been engaged and living in a nicer apartment with his now-ex-fiancee, instead of single with two randos named Bradley and Doug. He’d had a healthy social life before Hunk moved away and most of his other friends sided with his ex after the breakup. And he’d had some sort of plan, at least. For his life. Somewhere to build off of, after the wedding that never ended up happening.

He exhales, returns to the bed, and pulls his computer onto his lap. Netflix, his old friend.

What he wouldn’t give for a change.

-

“Love you. Thanks for calling,” Lance said, and then heard the beep as his mom disconnected. He checked the time- twelve forty-five, and his phone battery- thirty. He fiddled his mom’s present between his fingers, running them along the smooth edge. It was a Monopoly piece, the bathtub, the piece he always used. They finally had to throw out their old board, she’d said. He could imagine- years of use, paper money lost, a wine spill over the board and half of community chest. The final straw, his mom said, was one of the nephews dropping the whole thing in the bath, along with salvageable Square-Up.

Aren’t parents supposed to discourage the collection of random objects? Lance set the game piece down next to the shark mini. Not Lance’s mom- she wasn’t a hoarder, per say, but got very attached to things. They had more than a few junk drawers of old toys, books, school notebooks, even baby teeth. When you have five kids, like mama- that’s a lot of teeth.  

Flopping back down onto the bed back first, he pressed the home button on his phone and swiped to the page of pre-downloaded apps, where messages sat at top-left, with a small red notification in the corner.

Lance frowned. He hadn’t noticed any texts, and he’d answered his previous ones before his call with his mom. Although, he supposed,  it was easy to miss texts while on call. Probably just another relative wishing him a happy birthday. Aunt. In-law. Cousin. A teacher friend.

Ah, it was Keith.

Keith- was one of Lance’s friends from high school. Perhaps even his best friend from high school.

It was complicated. They met during a debate in sophomore English class, Romeo and Juliet, and on opposing sides, both very passionate about their argument, unshy arguers perhaps a bit spurred on by the other, and that’s how their relationship started, growing into friendship despite their drastically varying interests and social crowds. In Lance’s high school experience, that shit only happened in the Breakfast Club.

They were good friends, if only to end up going to colleges states away from each other. They kept in touch a lot until Lance met Hunk, and Keith met some friends over in Colorado, and then it trickled off a bit. They still texted for holidays and birthdays. Had the occasional, slightly awkward FaceTime to catch up. Where did Keith even live, now? Arizona?

Happy Birthday, the preview in messages read. Short, simultaneously Keith-like and un Keith-like, familiar in its brevity and quality of being straight to the point, but strange, in the lack of personal touches. Maybe he was in a hurry.

Lance clicked into the conversation to reply. There’s an attachment, which was unexpected. Tap to load, of course, because Keith has a stupid android. Green bubbles, baby. Honestly expecting a funny cat gif, he let it load.

No cats. It was a picture of a piece of paper. Shitty quality. Lance fullscreened the picture, and pinched to zoom while squinting at the first line.

It only took a few sentences for him to stop reading and drop his phone to the bed to stare at the ceiling.

Oh, he knew what this was.

-

In high school, Lance was insecure. Well, that aspect still remained to some degree, but high school was like, peak insecurity. High school was a rat race, and Lance would be lying if he said he sometimes didn’t find himself swept into the middle of it.

Keith, however, did not. Ever. Keith was a bit of a loner, and of course, that carried its respective perks and downsides, but Keith was down to Earth in quite a few ways Lance couldn’t be, and was one of the reasons he made a good confidant.

Point was? This paper, the picture of the one Keith sent Lance, the paper he’d apparently kept all these years? It physically reeks of insecurity. Lance can smell it.

A marriage pact? Who does that?

Junior year Lance, that’s who.

-

Prom night came and went, except it didn’t go, it just kept going on and on and on, and at three am Lance found himself on Keith’s doorstep because he only lived a few blocks away from the afterparty while Lance lived a few miles away and he’d had a few beers. Not to say he was drunk, but it was his first time ever drinking and he was just a little bit too scared to drive back, so Keith’s it was.

He felt bad about it, but let himself in with the spare key the Koganes keep stashed in the maw of the rusty red lion sculpture on their front porch. It’s not like Mr. Kogane would be home, he rarely ever was, so it’d probably just be Keith. He’d either get it or knock Lance’s lights out for waking him up. Win win.

Lance had just been dumped. Dumped hard. Right after prom, too. She wasn’t just his date, either, she was his girlfriend, the one that had lasted the longest in his whole high school career, and she made it through dinner and the dance, only to break up with him at the afterparty for some other dude, he supposed. Never knew what really went down, but she left him, in a house full of people he didn’t know and on the verge of drunk, to walk a few blocks in the dark to his friend’s house and mope about it.

And Lance had thought he would be alone forever. Out of all of it, seven years later, that’s what he remembers of that night, just the crushing doubt that he’d ever be able to find anybody who would stick with him and that he’d end up lonely and alone, watching all his friends move on and get married and have families, and then they’d get together on friday nights without him to drink some wine and laugh at him because he was the unwanted.

Don’t laugh, he’d been drinking and was overdramatic as a virtue.

Keith was surprisingly tolerant of his emotional barf, probably sympathetic to his distress. He supplied slightly awkward shoulder pats and then offered to marry Lance.

Okay, not exactly. It went something like this:

LANCE: “I’m gonna be alone forever!”

KEITH: “Look, that’s not true. Just stop dating douchebags.”

LANCE: “What if I can’t?”

KEITH: “Then I’ll marry you.”

LANCE:

KEITH:

LANCE:

KEITH: “...No homo”

LANCE: “You’re gay”

KEITH: “No homo in this particular situation.”

LANCE: “Like.. getting hitched platonically?”

KEITH: “Like a marriage pact? If we’re both single and unmarried at like, 30 or something we just marry each other. It’s settling for less than true love but more than dying single.”

LANCE: “You’re not just doing this because I’m sad?”

KEITH: “No you’ll always be my friend” (Or something equally sappy and touching.)

LANCE: “Okay.”

KEITH: “Alright. Cool.”

LANCE: “But we need to have an actual pact! Like a contract.”

KEITH: “Dude.. fine, I guess.”

Forgive the paraphrasing. Lance’s memory eludes him. There’s a reason he didn’t remember this earlier, and that reason could be his ex-girlfriend, who he’d dated for five years, or perhaps the Budweiser, but nonetheless, they ended up with a real, honest to god sheet of paper that stated them, Keith Kogane and Lance McClain-Sanchez, hereby agreed to get legally hitched if they’re both still single at twenty-five. Signed at the bottom in terrible cursive.

And, yeah. Keith kept the paper. Lance was a black hole. It ran in the family, for sure. What entered his house may never see the light of day again.

-

In conclusion, only losers made marriage pacts. But it was Keith’s idea, and Keith held onto that goddamn paper for years, and sent it right on cue.

So who was the bigger loser?

-

Okay, but was he serious, though?

-

Nah, probably not.

-

Did he even know Lance broke up with his ex, or did he just send it for like, shits and giggles?

-

Lance pulled up his ghost-town of a facebook. The last update was his relationship status going from “engaged” to “single”. In the comment section, buried amongst other apologetic comments from acquaintances, was a comment from Keith.

Sorry bro.

And yes, according to Keith’s equally-abandoned facebook, he was very much single, too. Oh, and he lived in California, now. That’s cool.

-

He supposed the only way to know was to respond. It’s not like he could just ignore Keith. That’d just be rude.

So he typed out a reply, with about the same amount of stress as emailing a professor or a potential employer. Something open ended, so that Keith would have room to respond. Something that didn’t give his confusion away.

In the end, he settled with: I can’t believe you kept that, OMG.

Safe enough, but not too safe. He was still going to chew off all his nails until Keith responded, mind you.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait too long.

The text back read: It IS a contract.

Uh oh. Less chance of being able to laugh it off and move on.

Yet, he chooses to respond with It sure is. It doesn’t put the idea down. This would be a good time to put it down. If Keith isn’t gonna do it. Lance doesn’t know. It’s hard to read intent over text messages. So he stared at the screen, and agonized over it.

Typing bubble.

Typing bubble disappeared.

Typing bubble.

Gone.

Look.

Then nothing. For a minute. Two.

I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.

And?

Especially not marriage.

Yeah?

But.

It was another image. A screenshot, of one of Lance’s tweets.

Four words.

Sick of this place, It said.

Then Keith’s message.

I’ve got room.

Lance stared at his screen, fingers twiddling over the keyboard, mind drawing a total blank.

Don’t respond yet, unless it’s an easy no. Think about it.

Thanks, Keith.

-

Lance couldn’t just move to California, could he? That was literally all the way across the country. East Coast to West Coast. And for what? To move in with a guy he hadn’t seen in almost a decade? Move away from a place he knows, and is comfortable with? His job? He’s got a good, solid, job.

Well, during the school year, at least. At the school.

His summer job kind of sucks.

He won’t be doing it again.

The more he thinks about it, the more he struggles to come up with too many substantial things he’d be leaving behind.

His friends? No. They’ve turned on him or moved away.

The campus? Littered with ghosts of his failed relationship.

His apartment? God no, he hated it here.

Even things like the diner he and Hunk used to go to, where they could get old fashioned milkshakes and sit in booths. Torn down and turned into an Arby’s, now. He’s aged out of the LGBTQ youth support group he used to be in, and they didn’t need more adult help. Everything’s moving forward… But him.

The school? He guessed he’d be leaving the school behind. He does like the staff, and the curriculum, and he loves his kids every year, but they age up, too. They move on. He has a wide skill set. Credentials. He could find a new job.

Maybe Keith lives by the beach. He’s always wanted to live on the beach.

-

“Hunk? I think I’m moving to San Francisco.”

And that was the start.

-

The last two weeks had been a whirlwind for Lance, but here he was, driving his car across the country with a UHaul containing all of his belongings, packed up neatly.

He barely even said goodbye to anyone before he left. A quick get together with a few other work friends. Coffee with a college friend who still wanted to see him before he left, surprisingly. Actually saying bye to his roommates.

Like that. Just, literally, the word ‘bye’ as he left the place with his last box in his arms, leaving the keys on the front table. Shows to how little he talked to them, for sure.

Now he was moving. His mom had been thrilled he was finally getting out of dodge in VA, and that he was staying with Keith. She’d always loved him, which was unsurprising, because every adult seemed to like Keith.

The only problem was that he hadn’t exactly told her about the marriage thing.

“You didn’t tell her about the marriage thing? Dude…” Hunk reacted as Lance passed on that piece of information, his voice crackling through the speakers of Lance’s bluetooth-enabled car.

“I’m still not sure if that’s happening or not,” Lance replied, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Would you do it?”

“Depends on with who,” said Hunk. “Are you sure you don’t like Keith?”

“I don’t like-like him…”

“Geez, I don’t know,” he mused. “Aren’t you too young to settle down in a loveless marriage?

“I wouldn’t use the term loveless marriage ,” protested Lance. “Maybe bromance?”

“...No?”

“Come on, Hunk. If getting platonically married to your best bro from high school isn’t a perfect example of bromance, what is?”

“Um.” A pause. “...Okay, what the hell is a bromance anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ditto.”

“...Point being,” Lance said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Also, explaining that pact to my mom would be super embarrassing, she’d think I’m crazy for actually considering going through with it, and what if it fell through? Then I would’ve told her I was getting married twice, and lied both times. That shit hurts, man.”

“Aw, bro, don’t angst on me here. I’m not trashing on your decision. Just thought it was weird. You share everything with your mom.”

“...I kinda do.”

“Hey, you know what?” Hunk’s voice perked up.

“What?”

“Seattle is a lot closer to California than Virginia. Maybe I can come down and visit you later this summer If everything goes well!”

Lance perked right up in his seat. “Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“That would be awesome man, seriously.” He grinned. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I came down to see you in May, Lance. That was like three months ago.”

“For-ever!”

“What-ever.” Hunk mimicked, laughing. “Anyway, I gotta go for work. How much more driving do you have today?”

“A few hours. Then I stop for the night and have about three more hours tomorrow.”

“Good luck, man. Text me when you make it to your hotel.”

“Yeah, sure. Have fun at work,” Lance agreed, and then the call ended from the other side.

Eyes scanning across the highway, there wasn’t much to see. He was kind of in the middle of nowhere right now, aka, the Midwest. There’s not much to see, unless you like corn, soybeans, and poorly veiled ads for sex shops. Firework ads. Construction. A truck, passing on his right, carrying some number of incredibly smelly pigs.

Hunk, of course, knew about Keith. Hunk knew much of Lance’s life story from being friends with him for so long, but he probably didn’t take much stock in Lance’s high school friends, which was fair, because Lance didn’t know too much about Hunk’s, either, maybe a passing comment here or there. The whole situation was weird. Moves usually took more than two weeks to plan, even Lance had been working on it full-time. He’d been that ready to leave. Basically, he did his two weeks serving tables at his crappy summer job, and then he was out of there. Hunk, the mom friend, had been a huge help with making sure he was taking care of himself, and then his actual mom, who helped a lot with the technical stuff.

Man. He’d have so much to do. He’d need a new driver’s license, to change his address on all his insurance, probably a million other things he’s not thinking of now, and that’s not even touching on his employment.

So Keith said Lance wouldn’t have to pay rent or anything until he got his feet under him, but as a teacher in mid-august, he’d have to move fast if he wanted to get a job for the upcoming school year. What would he do if he missed it?

He sighed. Too much thinking. Focus on making it through Iowa first.

-

The closer Lance drew to the city, the more nervous he got. Lance had never been to San Francisco before, so he knew next to nothing about the layout, intricicites, features, good neighborhoods, bad neighborhoods… Basically, the Golden Gate Bridge, hippies, and the expensive suburbs where everyone works in tech. That’s all he knows about his future home.

Lance has been on the move for two days. He needs a shower, some health food, and to get out of the car for more than an overnight stop. Yet, he can’t bring himself to anticipate arriving at Keith’s. He’s just so nervous. There’s so much that could go wrong or be awkward. Fortunately, the unfamiliar environment demanded all of his attention, distracting him from a little of the obsessing. The neighborhoods he drove through were older developments, judging on the foliage, old oak trees and palm trees and large flowering bushes. The houses were separated and narrow, with small, old-styled, well maintained fronts.

Turning onto (hopefully) the correct street, he scanned the houses for numbers, eyes flitting between the side of the road and the address plugged into his GPS. Three seven three. Three hundred seventy-three.

He braked sharply at the curb, in front of a small gray house with an huge, yellow flowering bush nearly overtaking the quaint, stooped front patio and a bronze plaque reading that three-seven-three set near the door.

Exhaling, Lance flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Well, this was it. He turned off the ignition, wondering if this was an okay spot for his car. He guessed it would have to be for now. The house’s one-car driveway was already blocked by another car, a gray bug with a humane society sticker on the rear bumper.

He ascended the stairs, and felt his lips curl up into a surprised smile at the sight of that same metal, chipped red painted lion statue sitting guard next to the front door, just like it did at the Kogane’s old place. Yeah. He’d be fine. It was just Keith.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

The door was opened in just a few seconds, but not by Keith. One of his roommates, most likely.

“Oh, you must be Lance,” said the person. The door blocked half of her body, but she was short for sure, with light brown hair and large, circular, thin-rimmed glasses.

“Yep. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” She opened the door wider, so he could step in. “I’m Pidge.”

“Lance. But you knew that, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Is Keith around?”

“For sure. He’s probably out back. Just follow me through here, he’ll probably be mad if I get to give you the grand tour first,” said Pidge.

He couldn’t help but look around, though. The house, while narrow and small looking from the front, was deep, and went far back. The small mudroom up front opened up to a living area with two couches. An open laptop and bag of chips are laying on one. A few closed doors are to his right, and then past the living area on the left, they pass into a kitchen. It’s not open concept, HGTV beauty, but it looks functional, and relatively clean compared to the surfaces in the living room, with dark oak cabinets.

She pulls open a sliding glass door, and he follows her out into the backyard. It’s also small. There’s a small patio, with a few chairs and a table and some macrame plants hanging down.

A German Shepard puppy came sprinting from across the yard to Lance’s legs, and started sniffing at his ankles. Heart. Melt.

“Who’s this?” Lance cooed, crouching down to pet the dog.

“That’s Chocolate,” answered Pidge. “She’s Shiro’s.”  

“Lance!” Called a familiar voice, drawing his eyes up from Chocolate. “You’re here!”

Keith hadn’t changed much. Obviously, he was older. His voice had deepened a little, proportions were just a tad less awkward, teenage acne had cleared up. Just a bit hotter, too, Lance could admit that. Still had that godawful haircut, though, if it hadn’t grown out a little, seeing how it was long enough to wear in a ponytail.

He’d been gardening, and threw down the shovel as Lance’s eyes found and locked in on him. The gloves were the next to go, thrown carelessly next to a flower sitting in the grass, waiting to be planted. Then he rose to his feet and strode over to where Lance waited under the veranda.

They just… Stared, at each other, for a minute. Keith and Lance had done a lot of talking recently- sort of necessary to coordinate a move- but Lance hadn’t seen him in the flesh since they happened to be visiting home at the same time three years ago.  

“Let’s mutually agree not to make this weird,” Keith said, and opened his arms.

Yep, Lance thought. We’re hugging this out.

It was, at first. Weird, that is. Then he relaxed, and Keith relaxed, and the stiffness and uncertainty vanished. It was nice, after that. How it should be- a hug between long-separated, newly-reunited old friends.

Keith released a long breath onto Lance’s shoulder, and tightened his grip. “I missed you.”

Ouch, tight. He’d gotten strong, grip threatening to maybe break a few of Lance’s ribs. Yet, he didn’t want to break it- wanted to wait until it was time to let go, enjoy it while it lasted, so he adjusted his own embrace comfortably tighter, and let out a heightened breath, a fragment of a laugh. He hadn’t had too many comfortable hugs, recently.

“Ew,” said Pidge, and Keith’s arms fell away. Reluctantly, he stepped back.

“Like you don’t cry every time Matt comes up here to visit you,” said Keith, turned to face Pidge with a hand on his hip. “Thanks for showing Lance in.”

“No problemo. I’m gonna get back to work while you weirdos garden.” Pidge threw up a hand in goodbye as she returned to the house, shutting the glass door behind her.

“Sorry about this.” Keith apologized, looking up at Lance with a sheepish expression. “Thought I’d be done by the time you arrived. I’m almost done plating these, and then I can show you around and help you with your stuff?”

“Sounds good,” Lance went along. “I’ll just… Sit in one of these chairs, maybe seduce your puppy…”

His eyes trailed along Keith’s form. Face. Small, familiar, motions. Keith was an adult now.

Same age as you, yeah, he said to himself. What, did you think he was a teenager this whole time?

Because honestly, sort of? Yeah?

Nonetheless, it would take a little getting used to.

“Chocolate! No!” Someone shouted from somewhere on Lance’s left. His eyes moved to find the pup: right in the flowerbeds, throwing dirt up onto the freshly cut grass, a few torn out flowers next to her. Ah, a digger.

His attention was drawn to Keith’s movement, which is how he realized Keith was still standing there, too. He caught the tail-end of Keith’s eyes leaving Lance’s face, a slight flush on his cheeks, and then saw his expression transition from pensive to surprised, before he moved to chase Chocolate. Just in a second.

“Keith, you said you’d watch her!” The unknown voice belonged to a man who was bigger than Keith in stature, asian, with an undercut. He’d appeared from a gate in the side, possibly leading out front or towards the garage. Another roommate?

“Sorry, Shiro. I wasn’t paying attention!” Keith spoke in a groveling sort of tone as he scooped up the pup. “Sorry, sorry.”

Shiro looked towards Lance, sitting idle in the patio chair, still, and made eye contact.

“Hi?” Lance offered, and Shiro simply smiled in response.

“I forgive you,” he said to Keith. “Since your friend’s here.”

“Yeah,” Keith perked up, handing over the squirming puppy to Shiro. “Lance, this is Shiro. Shiro, Lance.”

“I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other quite well,” was all Shiro said, giving Lance another kindly grin, although the rest of his face seemed to be holding back some sort of other mystery emotion. Unnerving.

Lance would be living there, after all. God, what if Keith’s roommates didn’t want him there? What if they hated him? Wasn’t living with awful roommates what Lance wanted to get away from?

He reminded himself that it was a little too early to be thinking negative thoughts- five minutes after arriving at most- and he’d just have to trust that Keith had some cool, non-judgy friends and also that he’d asked their opinion on his living with them.

“Okay, we have to replant that one, too, I guess,” Keith said, assessing the damage.

“Dog person? Cat person?” Shiro asked Lance.

“Both,” he answered, taking it as a good sign they wanted to know more about him, at least.

The older man set Chocolate down so he could go help Keith, so Lance took the opportunity to wiggle out of his porch chair and throw a little ball that’d been sitting on a small glass table. There wasn’t much fetch room in the yard, so he didn’t need to throw it that far, yet she practically barrelled over a laughing Keith in her mad dash to the ball, so he doubted she cared about logistics. Any fetch was a fetch.

Really, cute puppies? Super bonus. That shoulda been the selling point: “Come live with me Lance, I have a dog”. Crazy how that never came up. Poor marketing skills.

“I’m off the hook for now,” Keith announced a few throws later, removing his gloves once more and tossing them on the table, then kicking off his boots next to the door as not to track mud all over. “Wanna come in?”

“After you,” Lance said, and followed him back in.

“Kitchen, obviously,” announced Keith, gesturing at the room they stepped into. It didn’t look any different than before, as one could guess, except perhaps the different angle, but Lance was allowed to check it out now, so he took in the granite countertops, table for four, cluttered side table, half-eaten cake on counter, small things.

There was a dividing wall between the kitchen and the living space, but no doors, the hallway just linked them openly, so when Keith gestured to do so, Lance looked back in there: also the same, except for Pidge on the couch, with the computer on her lap, crunching down on some lays.

“Bathroom,” said Keith, opening one of the closed doors. “Pidge has the master bedroom. They’re all the same size, really, but hers has the ensuite bath, so we let her have it. Perks of being a chick in a house of guys and stuff like that.”

“Fuck yeah,” said Pidge from the couch.

“Course, that means the rest of us share. It’s not too bad,” Keith shrugged. “Bathroom’s big.”

Lance took in the size. “Yeah, I can live with that.”

“Pidge’s room, Shiro’s room,” Keith pointed them out as he continued down the line of doors, but didn’t open them. “Aaand, our room.”

Lance knew living here meant he’d have to share a room with Keith. Outside of the whole marriage thing, small house and all that. Keith’s room was larger than he’d expected, a comfy size, but a little cluttered and crowded. Some obvious reorganization had been done: a queen bed was pushed all the way into the far back corner, a desk shoved up beside it, possibly blocking the entrance to the closet, all so a full air mattress could fit in between a dresser and the bed.

“Sorry, it’s a bit tight,” Keith said, then added on jokingly: “We could get bunk beds?”

“I call top,” said Lance.

“But seriously,” Keith continued. “Between you and me, I think Shiro’s moving out soon. You can just have his room after he does.”

“Sounds cool to me.”

“Want to bring your stuff in?” Keith asked, then examined the state of his room. “Hope you didn’t bring too many big pieces of furniture.”

“None.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Keith and him carried in Lance’s boxes filled with his belongings. There were quite a few of them- it was his life after all, and it was a little weird to have to unpack his life into this space that was cozy and thus far welcoming, but still didn’t feel his.

He helped Keith rearrange the bedroom again so the bed was turned ninety degrees, headboard against the other wall- helped clear up a foot of space between the desk and the closet, so it was workable, and moved the dresser to another more functional spot. Felt a bit like a college dorm with the limited space and new roommates, but Lance thought it would work.

Even if he would be sleeping on an air mattress for a while. He’d just been so ready to get out of there, he might’ve still considered Keith’s proposal (hah) even if he’d had to sleep on the floor.

He unpacked his clothes first, into the drawer and closet space Keith’d made for him. He had a drawer in the bathroom for toiletries, too.

When he got to the box of personal things- photos, his collection of objects from his mother, scrapbooks, other assorted nicknacks he liked to collect in his space- he hesitated.

It just didn’t feel right yet. He didn’t know if Keith wanted those things in his room. This didn’t feel all too permanent, did it? He was sitting on an air mattress. Of course it wasn’t.

Reluctantly, he picked up the box and carried it out of the room. Keith was in the entryway, carrying another box of Lance’s stuff. By the label on the side, it was his nice clothes that he didn’t wear that often- interviews and stuff.

“What are you doing with that?” Keith nodded at the box in Lance’s arms.

“Thought it was something else, but it’s storage,” Lance said. “You mentioned having somewhere?”

“Yeah! Hold on,” Keith agreed, pushing past Lance to set down the box he’d been carrying, then reappearing. “You can put it in the garage. That’s where we store all of our stuff, too.”

Keith led him outside, and up the driveway, past the bug. The garage was single-car, and the back edge of it lined up with the back of the house, but the front was a little further back.

“Welcome to the land of everything we don’t have space for in the house, ” said Keith as he opened up the door on the side and held it open for Lance. The garage only source of light was a small window next to the door until Keith flipped on the light switch, bathing the area in a yellow glow.

Two shelving units sat in the back corner, next to the second door, the one leading to the backyard. They were filled with all different kinds of boxes. Some were on the floor. The shelves were unorganized and lopsided, but the mess was contained to just its space. The rest of the garage was taken up by a large desk with various contraptions, mechanical parts, diagrams, calculators and office supplies.

“Pidge’s,” Keith explained. “We use it as a studio in here, too.”

Lance’s eyes fell to the final corner.

“And that’s where I keep my stuff,” Keith finished, somewhat sheepishly.

Leaning up against the wall were several canvases, some covered, some uncovered, and an easel. Lance moved in closer to see the detailing on one of the uncovered paintings.

“Wow. You’ve gotten better.”

He chuckled lowly. “I.. suppose I have.”

“Doesn’t seem like the best lighting in here, though,” Lance commented.

“Yeah. I do them out in the backyard. This is just storage. All the paints are in my room… Y’know, harder to steal,” Keith explained.

“Yeah.”

Lance dropped his box on the shelf Keith designated for his stuff, and felt regret curling in his stomach as he left it behind, following Keith back into the house. If all goes well, I’ll be back for you, he promised it.

Dinner was a simple affair. Keith offered to take Lance out for dinner- “Romantic,” he’d deadpanned, “but I’m kinda tired?”- so they ended up staying in and ordering pizza.

“Maybe we should all try to get to know each other,” Shiro suggested to Lance. “Monopoly?”

Pidge burst out in loud, ugly laughter, and Keith said, “That’s literally the worst way we could possibly get to know each other.”

“Plus we’d get pizza grease all over the cards,” Shiro ended up agreeing, an all-too-serious look on his face, contemplative.

So they talked. Lance made it out to be a little like a job interview- the atmosphere was kind and friendly, but he had standards for himself to perform well and make good first impressions. It didn’t settle right that he was forcing himself into the house when he couldn’t contribute much of anything, even if he had asked Keith and been reassured that yes, they were fine with him being here, of course he’d asked before extending the offer, he’s got nothing to worry about, etc… He was still nervous. He definitely felt like the odd friend out; The conversation had lulls, where they’d start talking about something and Lance would sit there, confused, until someone would realize they had to backtrack and catch Lance back up to speed. He learned about their jobs- Pidge worked in website development, and was quickly climbing the ranks in her company thanks to being some kind of prodigy, and she would be going even faster, Shiro added sternly, if she would stop getting in trouble for hacking and playing pranks on annoying coworkers.

“Sure, I’ll stop getting in trouble,” she’d said.

“Not what I meant,” sighed Shiro.

Shiro was a pilot, actually, meaning he was away from the house quite a bit. Lance thought he understood what Keith meant when he’d said Shiro might move out soon: Shiro had gone to college here, and gotten his pilot’s license here, but his whole family was on the east coast, as was his best friend, Pidge’s brother, Matt.

Keith, to Lance’s surprise, was still in college. Turned out he’d taken a couple years off and dropped out for a while, but he was back majoring in graphic design, this time. He did a lot of freelance work, and worked at an art supplies store in his free time. Busy guy.  

When they were done eating, a movie was put on in the living room, and Pidge made popcorn, but Lance politely declined, and retreated back to Keith’s room, sitting on the air matress and pulling his laptop onto his lap. With a deep sigh, he opened a google document, complete to a list of things he still had to do. His mom had honestly been an angel. She’d helped him change his mailing addresses and get his insurance information up-to-date. He knew how to register his car, that probably wouldn’t be a big problem, and finding new dentists and doctors wasn’t urgent. That just left finding a job. He sure hoped he wouldn’t be stuck in retail for a whole year until he could find another teaching job, but it was possible.

The door creaked open.

“You okay?” Keith asked. “Any particular reason why you don’t want to watch the Princess Bride with us? I know you like that movie.”

Lance combed a hand through his hair, exhaling, before giving a slight smile. “I’m good. Just got a lot of stuff to work out.”

“Like what?” He asked, shutting the door and creeping forward to crawl onto the mattress with Lance.

“Like jobs?”

“Oh!” Keith perked up a little. “I was going to ask you about that. Pidge and I volunteer at a middle school sometimes. We help run the GSA during the school year and do some camps in the summer. They’ve actually got a Spanish teacher who just left to go to the high school, so there’s a vacancy there, and we said we might know someone. I don’t know if you’re qualified to do that or what, don’t know anything about teaching, really…”

“Well,” Lance considered, perking up a bit. “I’m qualified to teach middle schoolers, and I speak Spanish…”

“So it’s worth a try? We’ve got an application.”

“I just don’t know if I’m qualified to teach in California yet,” Lance finished, bringing up a new internet explorer tab. “I don’t know if my license crosses over.”

“You didn’t look into that before you moved?” Puzzled Keith.

“I was a little busy quitting both my jobs, cancelling my lease on the apartment, and packing,” said Lance as he typed into the search bar does ur teaching license transfer from state to state and clicked the first link on Teaching License Reciprocity. “I sort of assumed I’d have more time.”

“And given school starts in a week and a half…” Trailed Keith. Lance became increasingly aware of how he got closer to Lance to see his computer screen, chin brushing against Lance’s shoulder, and he wasn’t quite sure why he was getting goosebumps from the warm puff of Keith’s breath, but- right, teaching reciprocity.

“The basic requirements for Virginia and California seem to be the same…” Lance noted. “Crap, there’s a specialized test up here.”

“Look, they’ll give you a temporary certificate if you’ve got everything except the testing and you’ve had two years of experience,” Keith noted.

“Oh, that could work! I’ve had two,” Lance grinned. “Hey, this might be doable after all!”

“You’ve just got to figure out who to contact about that,” Keith added.

“I can do it tomorrow,” Lance said, tabbing over to his google doc and making a to-do list for the next day. Return UHaul. Visit DMV. Figure out teaching certificate. Complete application.

“Aw…” grumbled Keith. “I wanted to show you around tomorrow. Don’t you wanna see everything?”

“Can’t say I don’t, but I feel like I should get the jump on some of this stuff,” Lance yawned. “You can show me around the day after?”

“Okay, but only if you watch the rest of the movie with us,” Keith compromised. “It’s really good, you know.”

“Keith, your movie taste sucks, if I didn’t already know it was really good, I wouldn’t trust a word of your opinion.” Lance said, already closing the lid on his computer and pushing it to the side.

“Pidge’s is exactly the same as mine.” Keith grinned, knowing he’d already won. Lance wasn’t completely sure in that moment how he let them grow apart, not when Keith’s happiness was so contagious and when Lance was willing to watch a shitty, old movie just to spend time with him.

Truthfully, he thought as he settled down on the couch, he was already feeling better about the move. There’s a possibility he would be able to snag up a good job, and if he’s super productive tomorrow, the workload should be manageable from then on out. He’s excited to catch up with Keith and hang out with him again. Halfway through the movie he made a dumb joke that had Shiro groaning and started up a playful popcorn fight between him and Pidge, and then he was feeling better about his new roommates, too.

The movie ended with the happily ever after, so they all went their separate ways to get ready for bed. Lance got his pajamas on, then took turns with Keith and Shiro to brush his teeth. He lingered in the bathroom to wash his face, arranging his toiletries in his new drawer in a functional way, enjoying a bit of personal time.

When he got back to his and Keith’s room, he saw something he really should’ve expected- Keith was on the air matress, propped up by some pillows, book in hand.

“I’m not gonna take your bed, man,” He said.

“I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor,” Keith hummed, seemingly prepared for this conversation.

“It’s not like I’m some kind of guest,” Lance pointed out. “I live here now. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed and having you sleep indefinitely on the floor.”

“It’s not indefinite.” Keith yawned. “Lance, you’ve always been picker about your sleep than me. Take the bed.”

“That could’ve changed since high school.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

“Take the bed,” said Keith with finality.

“What if I won’t?” Lance raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms across his chest. He was stubborn, especially when it came to arguing with Keith.

“Then we’ll both sleep on the floor, I guess.”

However, he’s known Keith long enough to know when they’re gonna need to compromise in order to get anything done. “We’ll alternate.”

“That just sounds complicated,” his former rival grumbled. “So much changing sheets.”

“I’ll admit I don’t want to sleep on a pillowcase that’s been anywhere near your greasy mullet,” said Lance, which was sort of a lie, because Keith’s hair was usually pretty soft especially relative to the number of times a week he showered. “We can switch weekly until we get another bed or something.”

“...Okay,” relented Keith. “So long as you take the bed this week.”

“Fine.”

He crawled under the covers of Keith’s bed, bringing the top sheet and duvet all the way up to his chest. He was exhausted from the long day, and had so much to do tomorrow- he hoped Keith wouldn’t keep the booklight on too long, he had trouble sleeping when it wasn’t completely dark. Ugh, Keith was a night owl. They really weren’t compatible roommates.

The sheets smelled like Keith. He wouldn’t say Keith had an identifiable scent, he didn’t use any products or colognes that carried one, but to Lance, at least, beds especially carried the slight nuances of smell that was another person, a slightly different odor when he moved and the covers shifted. It would probably be gone by the week’s end, he’d have gotten used to it.

The booklight remained on, so silently lamenting, Lance turned to face the wall. Honestly, the mattress was so soft and inviting, and he was so tired that perhaps he wouldn’t even have a problem falling asleep.

-

“Hey, you made it back,” said Pidge, sitting on her usual spot on the couch. Lance has only been here two days and he knows it’s her usual. Spread out around it is a messy halo of snack wrappers, cheap flip flops, and plastic cups, suggesting she’s been there all day. Shiro cleaned it up last night after the movie.

Lance kicks off his shoes onto the rack, and exhales. “Yep, busy day.”

“Got everything done you wanted to?”

“I think so,” he was proud to answer. “Or, at least, it’s getting done. Where’s everyone at?”

“Shiro’ll be back in two days. Keith’s out back painting, last I checked.”

“Thanks.”

Chocolate came streaking from the kitchen, nearly tripping over her own feet to bark energetically at Lance’s thighs.

“Yeah, she’s always, like, thirty seconds late whenever someone’s at the door. Weird pup. Anyway, you might as well take her out,” explained Pidge.

“Alright. Mind if I get some food first? Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Man, I don’t care, geez,” said Pidge, so Lance walked to the kitchen, and opened the pantry.

“Anything in here I’m not allowed to eat?” He leaned back to see Pidge.

She side-eyed him and slowly said, “Lots of things. But I suppose I’ll forgive you for eating one of my snacks since you’re still learning.”

He scanned his options. “Jerky?”

“No.”

“Fruit snacks?”

“No.”

“Chocolate pretzels?”

“No.”

“Tagalongs?”

“ Hell no.”

“You do have a lot of untouchables,” Lance commented. “Ritz?”

She seemed to consider it. “I’ll let you have a packet.”

“Great, thanks,” he deadpanned, took a sleeve, and headed outside. Chocolate slipped out between his legs and out the door, sneaky as a little bitch.

Keith was sitting in the garden, as Pidge had said he’d be, easel out in front of him. The sun was out that day, bright and hot. Lance thought it was sweltering, wasn’t sure why Keith wasn’t sitting in the shade of the old oak or under the porch. Probably messed with his lighting.

“Well, you let the pup out, so you gotta keep an eye on her or she’ll dig up the flowerbeds,” Keith said as soon as Lance shut the door behind him.

“Hello to you too. Glad you’re happy to see me.”

He looks up from over his canvas, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips. “Don’t worry, I am. How were your errands?”

“Git ‘er done,” he replied, in a poor southern accent. “What’re you working on?”

“Just.. a project.”

“Can I see it?”

Keith shook his head sheepishly. “Not yet.”

“Not far enough along, then.” Keith had never liked people seeing his artwork until basic colors were blocked on. He got shy about it beforehand. High school saw him huddled over his sketchbook often, wanting to draw but not wanting to be seen drawing, only to proudly show Lance the finished piece.

Lance threw one of Chocolate’s toys off the table to distract her from the flowers. He watched Keith paint for a moment- the way his face scrunched up ever so slightly, then morphed into an entirely different expression. Lance knew he had to have a person in there with the way he made faces at his canvas, and how he seemed intently focused on one spot, perhaps trying to get a face right. His all-black outfit and hair seemed washed out by the sunlight, muted.

Seeing him painting outside on a bright day in a quaint backyard surrounded by meticulously cared for flower beds, with a puppy running around, seemingly at ease… seemed a far cry from squatting in their high school’s dark, cramped hallways working mechanical-pencil sketches hidden under half-done algebra.

Lance wondered if the passage of time seemed as jarring for Keith, if he’d changed as much from high-school Lance as Keith had. It was going to take a while to get used to adult Keith. Adult Keith who’d matured, and settled himself into a nice house with good friends. Even if he had that brief stint dropping out of school- that Lance hadn’t known about- he seemed to be doing pretty well for himself.

“Oh! Keith!” He said. “I filled out the application you gave me. Can you give it to the school?”

“Already?” Keith looked over his canvas, grinning. “Then you can come with us today and hand it in yourself! We’re going over today.”

“Oh, damn,” he laughed, nervously. “How long? I’m not ready.”

“Emotionally or physically?”

“Both. Nervous. Could probably use a shower,” Lance replied lightly, feeling just a little sticky and gross from a day out.

“Then get going. We’re leaving in about an hour, tops.” Keith said, spinning around on his stool. “Should probably put this away before Pidge comes out and yells at me.”

Lance sighed and pushed himself up, scooping up Chocolate when she returned to him with her toy. A shower sounded good.

-

Pidge’s car was parked further down the street. The gray bug in the driveway, apparently, belonged to Shiro, which was a funny mental image something akin to a clown car. It was gone now. He’d taken it to the airport, presumably.

Lance clutched the backpack containing his application and resume in the backseat, where Keith had also either opted to sit or been expelled to by Pidge so that Chocolate could have the front seat.

The school was quaint, aged red brick and two stories. They weren’t in a super dense area, but the school was still fairly blocked in from a glance, although it boasted a fenced-in blacktop. People were swarming around, traffic was slow, indicating the event going on.

“Employee parking, bitches,” Pidge declared as she pulled into one of the restricted spots. They’re not technically employees, but hey, who’s gonna want to tow her?

They piled out.

“It’s a sort of orientation, right?” Lance asked Keith, observing the hubdub around the entrance.

“I’d say more like an open house,” the other shrugged. “It’s so that the kids can walk their schedules and put stuff in their lockers before school starts, as well as meet a few of their teachers. Pidge and I are here to help new students find things if need be, mostly. Keep order.”

Lance nodded as they walked up the front stairs to the building and filed in along with the kids. Keith and Pidge checked in with the lady sitting in the front office adjacent the entrance.

“When should I hand this in?” Lance jogged up to Keith, waving the resume.

“We’ll run into the principal eventually. You can give it to her.”

Lance stayed quiet after that, dropping behind Keith and Pidge just a pace to look around the school. The lockers were blue, floor tires green and white, and the whole place had a cleanliness to it that would go away as soon school started up again, Lance was sure. Several kids squatted in the hallways, practicing unlocking the lockers or loading them up with locker shelves and impractical decorations.

“I can be on the lookout for confused kids,” Pidge said, stopping at a corner. “Keith, you can show Lance around if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Keith said, turning to Lance. “You wanna see the school?”

“Yeah, show me. You know I haven’t gotten the job yet, though, right?” answered Lance, seeing Keith’s face slowly grow in excitement.

“Yeah, yeah, but you will,” Keith said, closing his grip around Lance’s wrist, and dragging him off speedwalking down the hallway. “We’re in one of the sixth grade hallways right now. There’s another one down that way, and then we go to seventh grade.”

“Alright, they all look the same.” Keith’s hand was still around Lance’s wrist, despite how Lance had sped up his pace to Keith’s liking and they were now walking roughly next to each other. It’s not like Lance minded it, it reminded him of when they were teenagers again, good friends, less awkward…

“The gym,” Keith said, leaning into an entrance. He dropped Lance’s arm, and Lance’s hand moved up the spot where Keith’s fingers had encircled his wrist, frowning at the release of pressure.

The gym was… Well, a middle school gym, for lack of better descriptors. The tiles on the floor changed to hardwood, and school records decorated the walls on themed banners. A few kids meandered around, talking to adults, presumably teachers.

“Follow me, I think she’s meeting people out on the blacktop,” said Keith, and led Lance through the crowd. They exited through double doors to the outside, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming onto the schoolyard. Someone had started a small basketball game, and Chocolate ran around playing with a few kids that looked too young to be middle schoolers. Who’d even brought her out?

Keith led him to a woman holding a clipboard, chatting idly with a parent. She looked to be in her mid forties, with gray roots and a kindly face, although professional. They lingered until the man she was talking to departed, and then Keith moved to grab her attention.

“Lance, this is Mrs. Merrill. She’s the principal here. Julie, this is Lance, my friend I was telling you about,” Keith said, gesturing between them.

“Keith, glad you could make it,” the principal said, then turned her attention to Lance, extending a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Lance. You’re from the east coast?”

“Virginia,” he replied, giving her hand a few firm shakes. He handed over his application and resume, somewhat awkwardly, and she thumbed through the papers, humming.

“Never taught Spanish before?” She asked.

“No, but it’s my first language, and I’m familiar with the curriculum,” he said, trying not to rock nervously.

“Well,” she said. “Nice to meet you. As you know, we’re sort of on short notice here, so you’re definitely a contender. You’ll be hearing from us soon, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she turned away. It was a little abrupt, but not rude, he’d seen some parents shifting for her attention in his peripherals.

He turned back to Keith, who shrugged and said, “That went well.”

“Sure,” Lance said.

Keith showed him a bit more of the school, and then they returned to the schoolyard to linger for a while, dribbling around a basketball with the kids and throwing a chewy toy for Chocolate while waiting for Pidge to be done.

Lance and Keith were sitting on the worn steps, resigned to sweating their asses off as the sun set, when Pidge finally emerged, talking to another young woman with a bright pink, half-shaved hairstyle and a choker.

“Her little gay crush,” Keith whispered. “Secretary.”

“Tell her to hurry up! I’m sweating my face off,” Lance complained.

“Drama queen,” Keith said, smugly, then, “Hey! Katie Holt! Hurry it up!”

“You guys are losers,” said Pidge, but she hustled her way down the stairs. “Let’s get the dog and go, it’s getting dark out and I want dinner.”

Lance leaped up, more than happy to comply. He’d ended up with Chocolate’s leash, so he walked over to where she meandered by the fence and clipped it to her collar.

“What’s for dinner, anyway?” He asked, jogging to rejoin the other two.

“Probably chinese takeout,” Pidge yawned. “Shiro’s the cooker. We’re not cookers.”

“Chefs?” Lance suggested.

“Cookers,” she glared at him.

“It’s true, we’re bad,” said Keith apologetically. “Chinese okay?”

Lance sighed. “I want to say yes, but my body yearns for a vegetable.”

“You can cook?”

“Sort of?” Lance answered. “Nothing fancy, I guess… I wasn’t the chef at my old place, my roommate was- literally, Hunk was a gourmet chef…” he let out a sigh, reflecting on how he’d taken Hunk’s cooking for granted. “But yeah. I can cook. Well enough.”

“Doesn’t change the fact we probably don’t have a vegetable,” said Pidge.

“Yeah, but that’s fixable.” said Keith. “We’ve been needing to make a grocery stop anyway. Target run?”

“Target run!” Hooted Lance. “Vegetables!”

“I’m convinced I don’t know you anymore,” laughed Keith. The sidewalk was turning a hazy orange as the sun dipped lower, and Pidge jogged ahead to unlock the car. “Who’s this strange Lance that likes vegetables?”

“I’ve matured. I’ve grown as a person from my poor high school diet. Don’t you know you need to eat well to keep skin this gorgeous? Keep these guns?” He flexed. “Stay cool for the ladies.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and raised his own arm. They were still similar in build, but Keith’s muscle was definitely more defined.

“I bet you eat your vegetables,” Lance retorted, slightly offended at the edge Keith had on him.

“I really… Don’t.”

“Get in the car! Target run!” yelled Pidge out the window, impatiently, so they broke apart and scrambled in.

-

The next morning, Lance was awoken by Keith’s six-thirty alarm.

“Ugh-hhh,” he complained, burying his face into his pillow as Keith shifted around.

“Oh. Sorry I woke you.” Keith stopped his moving around for a blissful second.

“How could you not,” grumbled Lance. “Going off to work?”

“The gym,” Keith corrected.

Lance made a grumpy noise of compliance. “That’s how you got those muscles.”

Keith’s laugh was the only lovely thing about this morning. “I’m off work today because Pidge and I are showing you around. Be up by the time I’m back at eight, and make sure she is too.”

“Keith, no, she’ll kill me,” Lance said, sitting up in bed, because he was up now, anyway. He’s only lived here for a few days, but he knows Pidge won’t take nicely to being woken up. She somewhat reminds Lance of one of his older sisters, actually.

“You can’t avoid it forever.” Keith slung a gym bag over his shoulder, and made to leave the room. He smiled shyly at Lance from the threshold. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” said Lance as Keith softly shut the door behind him, staring at the door for just a moment after Keith was gone. He waited until he heard the front door slam, then a few lazy seconds after that, before rolling out of bed, stretching each limb languidly. The room was dimly lit, with just a bit of daylight streaming through the window next to the bed. Lance flipped on the lights, only to immediately turn them off again, favoring the soft natural light over the harsh yellow.

He got dressed with a little bit of trial and error pulling open dresser drawers to find his clothes, then went to wash his face.

The kitchen was less dark than the rest of the house but just as quiet. Lance brewed himself some coffee from an unfamiliar brand, wishing he’d bought his own at Target last night. Although, the new stuff wasn’t that bad, so maybe he’d get used to it.

He stepped out onto the front porch for some fresh air, and plopped down onto the porch swing. The summer sun was already up, but dew was still dripping of the flowering bushes in the front yard, and the whole neighborhood was consumed with a slight morning mist. The day was going to be hot, Lance could tell, but there was still a slight chill.

He withdrew his phone from his back pocket. He hadn’t checked it much since yesterday, so he had a few messages, but nothing pressing. There were no calls, and an email refresh yielded nothing, so no word on the job. He had a few notifications from Hunk, texts and tags in memes on Instagram. He responded to them, then tucked it back away, knowing Hunk wouldn’t be awake yet, but soon. He’d ignored the most interesting text, a simple ‘How’s it going?’, unmotivated to type out all the details. He’d have to call him later and catch him up to speed. Perhaps a FaceTime- Hunk would love Chocolate.

Speaking of the dog, Lance wondered where she was. He hadn’t heard any barking.

When his coffee ran out and the dew started to disappear, he figured it was time to go back inside. Perhaps time to stop procrastinating waking up Pidge, as well.

He got up, grumbling as he did so, then meandered back inside, in no hurry. It was still only seven forty according to the wall-clock in the kitchen, so he had a while. Which bedroom was Pidge’s, anyway? Of the four doors on the right side of the hallway, he knew which one was the bathroom and which was Keith’s room but which was Pidge’s?

The first door was cracked open the slightest, which he didn’t think Shiro would do if he was gone, so Lance looked in there first, but apparently it was cracked open for Chocolate, who slept in the corner on a luxurious pad of a bed. The rest of the room was pretty plain and tidy, honestly, with nothing that jumped out to Lance. He was sure there were personal details hidden among the plain black duvet and immaculate desk, but he wasn’t no snoop.

That left the first door as Pidge’s room- and boy, was it a pigsty. Clothes, random junk, and parts of tech were strewn about the floor, covering every inch. He couldn’t even see the hardwood. Even the bed Pidge slept on wasn’t completely free of clutter, with some laundry and a laptop at the foot of the bed.

He maneuvered in, careful to only step on clothes- not machine parts- and to tread gingerly, circumspect of potential dangers, like, he doesn’t know, a machete, hiding under an unwitting NASA sweatshirt. He wouldn’t doubt it, honestly.

“Pidge.” He shook her awake when he reached her bedside, and she began to make the same old grumbly noises, implying she wasn’t graceful when it came to getting up, either. Only freaks like Keith were, anyhow.

Movement at the foot of the bed drew Lance’s attention to it, reacting partially with concern and appall, because holy shit, was there here a racoon in here, or what?

Luckily it was just a cat, small and red-orange in color, who skittered away under the bed before Lance could get a closer look. He didn’t know they had a cat.

“Pidge, get up,” he returned to the task at hand.

She rolled away from him, pulling on another cover. “Go away, I’m indecent.”

Embarrassed and feeling a flush rise to his face, he backed up towards the door too fast and stepped on something dull and blocky in texture that sent pain flaring up his leg.

“Ow, ow…” he said as he continued his path to the door hopping on one foot while rubbing the other. “Hope you’re happy, shit, motherfucker, you need a clear path through here.”

Pidge shrugged, displacing a blanket off her shoulder, to reveal she was clearly wearing a t-shirt. “Pidge!”

“Sue me, I just wanted you to go away. It’s too early.”

Lance glared at the minefield, unenthused to bother her anymore, it was true, so he settled with snapping, “Get up!”

There was still the issue of breakfast to deal with, so he made his way back into the kitchen. He’d noticed some pancake mix sitting at the bottom of the pantry yesterday, and that sounded pretty good, so he got the stuff out and started measuring. Krusteaz made it pretty easy to just add some water and milk, and have a solid breakfast in ten minutes, about the time it took Pidge to get up.

“Pancakes?” She said, mystified, emerging from her lair fully clothed.

“Yeah!” Lance said, flipping the last batch onto his stack. “Hope you like them, I made enough for all three of us.”

“Don’t worry, I like them,” she said, moving closer to investigate the stack. “Wait, holy shit, are these chocolate chip?”

“Some of ‘em. Got a few regulars close to the bottom.”

She looked up at him with a flabbergasted expression that slowly morphed into a smile as he met her gaze. He felt as if he’d just gained a few respect points- score- based on her skeptical reaction. Hunk had always said cooking was the way to people’s hearts, which proved to be especially true in a house of people that were too lazy to make pancake mix.

Pidge and Lance sat down to eat at the table. Pidge swathed her pancakes in peanut butter and whipped cream, which seemed a weird- but tasty sounding- combination to Lance; chocolate and peanut butter and whipped cream. He was a syrup guy himself, but not on the chocolate ones, and there was no syrup to be found, so he’d have to make due with whipped cream, hold the Skippy.

Keith came in around eight, true to his word, and also seemed pleasantly surprised that there were pancakes. Lance was beginning to think he’d made too many- he and Pidge were healthy eaters, but there was still a sizable pile left- when Keith came in and demolished it, eating like a wolf who hadn’t eaten in a week or a Keith who hadn’t eaten since before the gym, take your pick.

“So,” Lance said when they were all gathered around the table, Pidge just about finished, and Keith taking a breather between pancakes five and six. “We have a cat?”

“You met the cat?” Keith said, incredulously.

“He was in my room when he woke me up,” Pidge explained, then focused in on Lance. “He’s shy, that’s all. Apricat is actually Keith’s cat, but he’s been hiding in my room since all the rearranging.”

“Yeah, he’ll probably come back to us once he gets used to you,” said Keith, but wait, interjection.

“Hold up,” asked Lance abruptly. “Apricat? A glorious, glorious pun? Keith?”

Keith gave him a look.

“There’s no way you named that cat,” finished Lance.

“Shiro named him,” answered Pidge. “And Keith listened because he was going to name it something boring, like Red.”

“Red’s not a bad name,” Keith protested.

“Apricat’s just better,” retorted Pidge.

“Shiro?” Lance interjected, still awed. “Like, the professional, adult-adult Shiro I met? Apricat?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a huge nerd,” said Pidge.

“Likes memes and stuff,” agreed Keith. “But he’d never tell you.”

“I can’t believe it,” Lance said. “He likes memes? Dude, like, Shiro dabbing? Is that a blessing or a curse? My impression of the guy has been completely wrong all along.”

“Blessing,” said Pidge, at the same time Keith said, “Curse,” so they had a brief staring contest before Pidge broke away.

“Regardless of what it is, you’ve known him for about a day, so I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Keith said, pushing back out of his chair. “I’m gonna shower and get some stuff I need for today, then we’ll be off.”

-

It was only a few minutes before Keith was ready to go again, a few minutes of letting Chocolate out and feeding her, mostly, and then the rest of the time was consumed with him and Pidge sharing stories of their families. Pidge only had one older brother, but they seemed to be very close.

“Pidge is a little clone of him, that’s all you need to know,” contributed Keith to the conversation from the bathroom.

“Lance, come here,” called Keith a few minutes later. He’d been shuffling around, and ended up back in the bedroom. “Be quiet.”

Wondering what could possible require him to be quiet, he softly made his way over to where Keith sat on the bed, the cat between his legs. He crouched in an apprehensive position upon seeing Lance approach, but stayed still, calmed by Keith’s gentle pets.

“Meet Apricat,” he said.

“Hi, Apricat,” said Lance, sitting on the bed about as gingerly as he ever had, trying not to spook him with the bounce of the mattress. He looked a bit like a cartoon cat, with wide eyes and a sleek muzzle. Well groomed fur. He gave off the air of being, perhaps, not as much shy as he was choosy, for he seemed not to be scared of Lance but rather unsure what to think of him, not trying to avoid him, but perhaps not thinking him deserving of his presence quite yet.

“I thought of you when Shiro suggested his name,” Keith confessed, softly, drawing Lance’s eyes up from the cat to his face. Keith’s gaze, though was still turned downwards. His hair was wet and pressed close to his face with just the volume of the edges beginning to return. With a calm look on his face, he truly did have pretty features. Lance could admit that comfortably.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” continued Keith. “I thought it was like a bad pun you would make. Guess I couldn’t bring myself to say no to it after that, because it reminded me of you. I missed you back then, you know.”

“I missed you too,” said Lance, truthfully, and Keith’s gaze slid up to meet his.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Keith.

“Glad to be here.”

The exchanged twin smiles, but the eye contact- Lance was cursing himself on the inside a bit for making it weird, because it felt raw and crushing, lit a fire on his insides and made the whole thing feel vulnerable. Whatever it was that made him unseemingly nervous around this grown up Keith who thought about Lance and cared about Lance and thought about Lance when he heard a shitty pun- well, the origin of the strange feeling eluded him, and it wasn’t bad, because it made him feel valuable and cared for… it was just new. Something unrecognizable. A flicker of a spark that hadn’t been there before. Apricat blinked up, looking between them with a blank, knowing gaze.

“Show me the city?” Lance finally said.

“Yeah, let’s go!” Keith agreed enthusiastically, sliding off the bed.

-

They drove around for a while, walked around Union Square, then saw the cute little shop Keith worked at when he had time. On the side of a nearby building was a mural he’d helped paint, that he seemed really proud of. It was space, with Earth in the center and three mechanical lions positioned around it, red, black, and green.

“Oh, hey, it’s the red lion!” Lance said. “And you gave him some friends.”

“Yeah, it’s green for Pidge and black for Shiro. I think it would be cool if I could add some more, maybe a blue one for you or something, but…” He gestured to the other side of the space, where there was another work of art, done much less tastefully that Keith’s, depicting a purple guy with a square jaw, crooked mandible, and glowing pink eyes, donning a crimson war helmet. It was kind of an eyesore, honestly.

“Yeah, ew. You should get the whole space,” Lance agreed, and Pidge nodded, loudly slurping the Icee she’d picked up.

“One of my coworkers, a guy named Zarkon, did it,” explained Keith. “It’s a self-portrait.”

“You work with a guy that looks… Like that?”

“Eh, not exactly like that. He kind of just looks like your average douchebag. It’s like, his sona or something,” Keith waved his hand in dismissal. “Anyway, my supervisor agrees that as soon as the guy quits we can paint over it and I can have the rest of the wall. No one likes him, but she won’t fire him.”

“Ooh, tell him about your supervisor,” begged Pidge, and Keith looked Lance in the eye with a deadpan expression.

“She’s like, the love everybody type, right, and Zarkon bothers everyone, is just plain creepy, and we’re pretty sure his wife steals stuff from us all the time? So we got a few of us together about a month ago to go ask her to fire him, so we confronted her in the breakroom and when we were done talking she just looked at us for a minute and said, ‘Hitler was a failed artist’, and then she walked away,” said Keith.

“No.”

“Yep,” said Keith, looking between him and Pidge. “We’re still not sure exactly what she meant by that, but it sure is funny.”

“Like, does Keith’s supervisor think giving him a low-paying retail job will prevent him from becoming, like, a serial killer or something?” Snorted Pidge.

“Who knows,” Lance shrugged. “Phew, I’m kinda hungry.”

“It’s about noon, and we’ve been doing a lot of walking,” agreed Keith. “Come on, we’ve got a place we want you to try.”

The place Keith spoke of was only a few blocks up, so they walked. Keith told him on the way it was a place he used to walk to after work, but he’d brought his roommates once and it was so good all three of them went on the regular ever since.

The place was a diner-style restaurant that wasn’t particularly extravagant from the outside, wearing just the facade of a normal building and a single neon sign spelling out ‘Coran’s’ rather than metal rudders and red flashing signs, but inside it had all of the vintage charm, from checkered floors to worn booths.

“Three, please,” Keith said to the waitress, and as soon as they were seated, Lance jumped up and made a beeline for the jukebox sitting next to their table.

“They’ve got What’s New, Pussycat, ” Lance said, gleefully, looking to his dining companions. Pidge broke out into laughter, while Keith fixed him with the dirtiest look he’d ever gotten to date.

“If you fucking dare,” he threatened. “I will leave you here. You’ll be out of house and home and stranded with your goddamn Tom Jones. Pidge will tell you. I will leave.”

“He will. I’ve done it before,” Pidge said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes then abruptly sobering up. “For real, though, let me tell you from experience, that joke is way less funny when you’re living it.”

Lance slid back into the booth on Keith’s side, jostling his friend in the process. “Alright, hand me a menu, I’m new here.”

A man came up to take their order who wasn’t the original waitress. He was ginger with an impressive mustache and jolly attitude, but what really drew Lance’s attention were the crescent shaped birthmarks on either side of his face, under the eyes.

“Keith, Pidge, welcome back,” he rumbled. “And you’ve brought a friend.”

“This is Lance,” introduced Keith. “Lance, this is Coran, the owner of this place.”

“Your birthmarks…” trailed off Lance, gesturing to the space on his own face where his would be, rubbing the cheekbone.

“Oh, yes,” said Coran, clearly used to being asked about them. “They run in the family, for whatever reason. We aren’t sure of the science behind it, but well, we all have them.”

“You wouldn’t know an Allura, would you? Lives in Seattle?” He asked. Her skin was darker, so the coloration of the marks was a little different, but it couldn’t be coincidence that they bore them in the same place. Lance remembered Allura talking about them, how her parents had them too and she’d been a bit insecure about them in middle school but grown out of it and now she loved them and even died her hair white to add to her extraterrestrial look. God, Lance missed Allura. He hadn’t seen her for about a year, now.

“She’s my niece! “Do you two know each other? Are you friends?”

It’s a valid question, since Allura had just short of a cult following on social media.

“Yeah!” said Lance. “We went to college together. I’m her boyfriend’s best friend.”

“Hunk,” mused Coran appreciatively (same). “The only boy worthy of my beautiful niece.”

“That’s him.”

“Ah, how strange is it that all my favorite people know each other?” Coran twiddled the edges of his mustache between thumb and forefinger. “Small world.”

“It sure is,” nodded Lance.

“I think I’ll like you, Lance. But I’d like you even better if you’d get her to visit her poor old uncle.” Coran grinned.

“Believe me, I’m trying,” said Lance, then softer: “I miss my friends.”

“I’m sure you do, my boy. Luckily, you’ve got some pretty great ones right here, too.” The older man gestured to Keith and Pidge. The former of the two smiled shyly at Lance, while Pidge just gave an unimpressed stare.

“Let me order my reuben already,” she said, to which Coran laughed.

“Indeed, it’s probably time to get on. Nice to meet you, Lance. Are you three ready to order?”

When they were done eating- yes, the food was good- they departed from the shop only after Coran had said goodbye and Lance had promised to come back.

“So, is the tour over now?” he asked Keith. Boy, it had risen to sweltering outside, the heat waves even distorting the hills.

“Of course not,” said Keith, like it was evident. “What haven’t you seen yet?”

“Jeez, Keith, I don’t know, I don’t live here,” Lance said. “All I know about San Francisco is like, the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz.”

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Wait, I haven’t seen the bridge yet!”

“Yeah, idiot,” said Pidge. “You think you’ve had a tour without driving across the bridge?”

“I dunno, have I? Isn’t that a little touristy?” mused Lance.

“Yeah but like… It’s fun.”

-

It turned out you had to pay to go across the Golden Gate Bridge, which confused Lance to no end.

“ Pidge, Pidge, do you have to pay every day? ” demanded Lance when she informed them crossing the bridge was part of her daily commute.

“Yearly pass. But yeah, I still have to pay. Shut up and look out the window,” Pidge said, so he did. The bay was pretty, and Alcatraz was a gray blob off to his right that he strained his eyes to see better. The bridge’s red tresses were daunting from any angle, but especially so from below.

Once they crossed, they continued driving up to an overview for a better (stationary) look. From where they parked, the bridge was loud and large over the bay.

“What’s all this?” Lance asked, gesturing to the mounds of concrete behind them.

“Oh, you can walk through them,” Pidge said, and so they did. It was a large,damp tunnel with scarce graffiti that opened up into a larger, more circular area on the other side. A small fence separated them from a large, empty- save for puddles- hole in the middle of the room, overlooking the pacific ocean and more concrete.

“It’s part of the old World War II defenses,” Pidge then explained. “Since, you know, Japan is somewhere over that way.”

“That’s cool as shit,” said Lance. “Well, can we go back and make Keith take some pictures of me?”

They found a grassy knoll to pose on, with the sun behind them and a gracious view of the bridge, best for pictures. Keith was easily convinced to take pictures. He was an artist, after all, and appreciated the art of photography, especially with beautiful subject matter (“Oh, shut up, Lance”). Pidge even got in there for a couple silly ones.

“All the of us!” Declared Lance. “Come on, Keith, selfie.”

Keith scowled at him. He’d always had an aversion to them, ever since their first phones in high school. Lance had overcome this in a variety of ways- sneak-attacks- but towards the end of their friendship he’d mysteriously warmed up to them (given up?). Now, he seemed obstinately adverse to the idea again.

“Pff, he’d never,” Pidge snorted. “Keith hates selfies.”

But Lance persisted, shooting Keith his best pleading look, and “Pretty pretty please?”s until he relented, walking over to join the duo on the mound and shoving Lance’s phone back into his hands with a vengeance.

“Wow. Guess he does have a soft spot for you,” Pidge said casually, and Lance flushed, seeing color rise to his cheeks through his front-facing camera. It’d be attributed to the heat, at least.

“Remember to smile, mullethead,” Lance reminded Keith, grumpily pressed to his left shoulder, and started snapping away. He got at least one good one where he and Pidge looked good and Keith, at the very least, demonstrated the beginnings of a close-lipped smile.

By the time they made their way back home, they were all exhausted. Shiro was back, so he made dinner while they told him about their day.

When they got to the part about Coran, Lance leapt up from the table. “Oh, yeah! I’ve got to call them!”

The best place for privacy was the front porch, so Lance returned to the porch swing with his headphones after confirming Hunk could call.

“Lance!” His best friend said after picking up the phone. “You saw the city today, right? I saw your instagram photo.”

“Yeah!” Lance said enthusiastically. “It was really cool. Oh, hey, get this. We went to this old diner and I met Allura’s uncle? Is she around?”

“Babe!” Hunk called off to another room. “Come over here, it’s Lance!”

Just a moment later, Allura appeared in the corner of the screen, looking as radiant as ever, even with no makeup. She wrapped her arms around Hunk’s torso, and it was a good effort, even if they didn’t make it all the way around.

“Hi, Lance. How are you liking San Francisco?”

“It’s good! I met your uncle today. Has a mustache, runs a diner.”

“Oh, Coran.” Her face lit up with recognition. “He’s a good uncle. I remember when I was a child and my father would take me down to that old diner. Been there for years. He’d always give me the biggest, unhealthiest milkshake, and then we’d go back to his apartment. He always had the strangest toys lying about. Kept pet mice, too. I probably have him to thank for my love of them.”

“Coran’s responsible for the mice?” laughed Hunk. Lance knew the backstory there, it’d been a bit of an injoke between the three of them in college, how Allura had kept a pet mouse in her dorm room and had practically given the thing free running of the place, much to the chargain of the RA. Ever since graduating and moving out, the number of mice they owned had gone up steadily. They’d peaked at four- for now- because Hunk thought they had enough, despite how he loved them too.

“He also wants you to come visit,” Lance added.

“Believe me, we’re trying,” Hunk promised. “I miss you, buddy!”

“You better come down by New Year’s or I’ll come up,” threatened Lance, although he was aware that wasn’t, like, an actual consequence.

They chatted for a few minutes about their jobs, or Lance’s lack of a job, before Allura dismissed herself, and it was just Hunk and Lance again.

“So,” Hunk waggled his eyebrows. “As I was saying before, I saw your instagram photo…”

“And?”

“Keith’s cuter than I imagined him being.”

“Ugh, Hunk! Oh, right, you’ve only seen really, really old pictures of Keith,” Lance realized. He’d posted the best selfie of the three of them. While it wasn’t the picture with the best view of the bridge or the most professional looking angle, it seemed wrong to choose one without Keith and Pidge both in it, and also, Lance’s selfies were pretty damn good, if he did say so himself.

“Mhmm.”

“I guess he’s gotten cuter over the years. Maybe letting go of all the teenage angst helped. I mean, he’s still broody, but like… most of the unhealthy stuff seems to be gone.” Lance said, feeling a bit weird talking about it. Keith had always been a bit of a troubled kid in high school, mostly with his anger issues and inability to take care of himself. Don’t get Lance wrong, he had just about as many issues: being a serial flirt unable to keep a girlfriend, covering his insecurities with airy, ostentatious boasts… and they were both guilty of bottling up emotions. No judgement. Just observation. Anyway, Lance’s point was, they were clearly more capable of maintaining a healthy friendship now, and absence made the heart grow fonder, so so what if he found Keith kinda hot? Hype up your friends, man. Ponytail? One step up from mullet. Reduced resting bitch face? Good work. Ripped body? Definitely not a con.

“So you do think he’s cute?” Hunk said in a tone that made Lance raise his eyebrows suspiciously.

“I don’t know why you’re saying it like you’re trying to beat a confession out of me,” he said warily. “But yeah. He’s cute. Have you seen him?”

“Have you talked any more about the marriage pact thing? It just seems like something out of one of those crazy rom-coms you like, Lance. Reunited high school friends get married and fall in love. Get the fairytale ending you always wanted.”

“Eh, I always pictured more of like a… ‘fall in love at first sight’ kind of thing for the fairytale.” Lance shrugged noncommittally. “And no, we haven’t talked about the pact yet.”

“You know you’ll have to eventually,” Hunk said ominously.

“Yeah?” Lance said, a little unsure why he was getting snappy all of a sudden, but suddenly feeling guarded. “It’s not like it’ll be awkward when we do. It’s fine, Hunk.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

-

Three days later, Lance was in the middle of a Star Wars movie marathon with everybody when he got a call from an unknown number and stepped outside to take it.

When he stepped back in, he was smiling profusely, so Shiro grabbed the remote and paused the movie. “So?”

“I got the job!”

“Knew you would,” grumbled Keith as he took the remote from Shiro’s hands and pressed play again. “It’s not like they had anyone else to do it.”

“Keith, show me some love,” Lance complained, walking back over to the couch and flopping horizontally across Keith’s body, because hey, he’d sort of moved into Lance’s space when he was gone, anyway. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

They shifted, and Keith looked down at Lance, whose head was perched in the former’s lap.

“Congratulations,” Keith said, with a fond smile, and wait, no, Keith, don’t be proud of him. His heart couldn’t take it.

-

After the week of relaxation Lance had had, getting back into the swing of things was hard. And boy, was it a swing. Learning the curriculum, getting certified to actually be able to teach in this state, buying stuff for his classroom, meeting the faculty, all while remembering to stay on top of his self-care? By the time school started at the end of August, Lance was feeling like he’d been through hell and back.

The good news was he was starting to feel like he lived here and was moving out of the awkward guest stage. He’d mostly assimilated his stuff into the general clutter, memorized his housemate’s routines, figured out what chores he was responsible for, and worked out how to get away with eating Pidge’s forbidden snacks. He and Keith had switched sleeping situations twice now, with Lance newly back in the bed. Honest to god was that air mattress uncomfortable. It dug into his back, gave him neck cramps, and left him achy in about a dozen other places in the morning, but he bit down on his urge to complain about it because he knew Keith would be back to sleeping on it in a heartbeat if he could. Not that it was likely any more comfortable for Keith, he was just more stoic about this stuff.

Today, at least, Lance was back to doing what he loved: teaching. The school had two spanish teachers to divide up the seventh grade spanish classes and the eighth grade spanish classes, and Lance’s fellow teacher was pretty cool. She was an older woman, latinx, from Cuba just like Lance, second-generation just like Lance, and all and all they got along pretty well and she gave him some pointers, so he was pretty sure he knew what to expect.

They each had a relatively small classroom connected by a shared office area for them both. The french teachers were across the hall with a similar layout, and he could already hear them chattering away at their first classes through his open door, introductions, expectations…

He did a check on his own classroom. It had plenty of stupid spanish posters listing off the colors, giving an inspirational quote, ya ya ya, most of those had been left behind by the previous teacher, so he hadn’t needed to spend any money on that. Mostly tissues. Lance had bought a lot of tissues.

Mrs. Olivia Diaz, his fellow maestra de lengua española, popped her head through the door leading to her classroom. “Como estas? Listo?”

Was he ready? He thought so. “Creo que si, señora.”

“Ay, Lance, no seas nervioso. Estos niños sean idiotas. Enséñalos algunos colores y el resto llega tarde.” She winked.

Lance, don’t be nervous, these kids are idiots. Teach them some colors and the rest will come later. “Gracias.”

Olivia left because they both had a second hour class and the bell was about to ring. Lance seated himself at his desk and brought up the presentation on his computer- a little about the class, a little bit about him, mostly. Not much actual… Spanish-ing.

The bell rung, and about a minute after that the first kids began to file into Lance’s classroom, thus beginning Lance’s career as a middle school Spanish teacher. Invigorating.

-

The tables turned once Lance settled into a routine. Which tables? The morning ones. Keith only went to the gym Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, apparently, leaving every other weekday as a day where Lance woke up before Keith did. It was Lance’s week on the air mattress, so he was right up and out of bed at his alarm, no sense in being uncomfortable any longer. Also a Wednesday, so Keith was buried under a mound of the bed covers, groaning loudly at the incessant beeping of Lance’s phone. Presto, baby.

“Keith, get up, you have school too,” Lance chastised as he rummaged around in his drawer of nice, school appropriate pants.

“I don’t have any eight a.ms for this very reason, Lance!” The grumpy blanket pile said.

“Yeah, but you didn’t finish one of your homeworks, you told me to remind you yesterday. The drawing? The one with the spaceship,” Lance reminded him.

“Damn you for reminding me.” A bedhead-struck mullet arose from the blob.

“Yeah, yeah, you said you’d help me grade the tests I’m giving today tonight? Since you lost the bet about Shiro’s flight being cancelled.”

“The people at the airport are coward babies,” Keith grumbled, sitting up and stretching. “The weather was fine. ”

“Anyway, you helping me or not?”

“Sure, I guess. You do know I barely passed Spanish myself, though, right?”

“Yeah, I was there. Like that time you practiced your presentation in front of me and started of with ‘Tengo quince anos’ because you didn’t know how to do your eñes yet? ‘ Hi, I’m Keith, and I have fifteen assholes?’ ”

Keith threw a pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

-

The tests were on time and date; so like, numbers, months and grammar. It was probably their first real test yet, and they did great on the kahoot he’d given in class yesterday, so he had faith in them, but that being said, it was still painful to grade. Keith sped up the process a bit, and took no mercy on the kids, but still had to ask Lance for answers he was unsure about, so that came to about three interruptions from Keith per test paper Lance managed to grade.

Eventually they got kicked out of the kitchen because Shiro was on a cleaning rampage and wanted to wipe down the whole thing clean, so they returned to Lance and Keith’s room. It was about the same time they finished the seventh grader’s exams, three hours later, so Lance moved onto the eighth grade writing assignments, something Keith couldn’t very well help with.

That just left the argument of who got the desk. Lance couldn’t very well grade papers sitting on the floor or one of the beds, nor could Keith move his whole tablet setup, so they had to make some compromises. They really just needed another desk, but the room was already crowded enough as it was.

“Or,” Keith suggested. “We could just clean it off and get another chair.”

Taking in Keith’s unorganized wires, art markers, binders, folders and assorted knick knacks that were splayed across the surface, it didn’t seem like a bad idea. It was a big desk, after all. They might be a little tight on elbow room, but it would certainly work.

“Okay. Let’s start by taking everything off,” Lance suggested, so they did. Keith’s computer and tablet absolutely had to stay, so they unplugged the whole schematic, untangled the wires, and set it up yet again, which was a pain in the butt but did result in a much more manageable setup. The loose art supplies were a problem temporarily solved by throwing them in some of the smaller containers Lance used to move with, but Keith admitted he just needed more containers. And, possibly, a shelf.

Next, they tackled the books and folders and binders. Turned out Keith did have a system for those.

“I’ll organize the books. For everything else, primary colors are for school. Those stay. The greens and the purples are just old projects and old papers, they can go back in the closet,” said Keith, plopping down on the air mattress, where they’d thrown everything.

“Careful not to break it,” said Lance.

“Big loss if I did. It’s shitty,” Keith countered. The two of them made eye contact, had a brief moment of silence, then started laughing because they’d both slept on that fucking thing.

Keith’s closet was the most organized piece of his life. It was walk in, and half of it was used for his (and now Lance’s) clothes, another good third for his paints and art supplies he didn’t want to leave outside, and the last wall was a sturdy shelving unit lined with books and accordion folders. That’s where Keith took the books while Lance separated the school folders from the other folders, replacing the school ones on the desk. When he’s done, he hands them to Keith so he can assimilate them into his meticulous organization system.

“Is there anything in the desk drawers? We could keep, like, pens and pencils in there and stuff,” Lance suggested, sitting in the desk chair.

“It’s mostly a junk drawer. You can try to clean it out if you’d like,” Keith responded from the closet.

“You sure there’s not gonna be anything incriminating in here?” Lance joked, pulling out one of the smaller drawers. Not much in there but a few paintbrushes, a tablet instruction manual, and a bunch of lint. He threw the paintbrushes on the pile of ‘Keith’s art supplies to be better organized’ and left the manual in the drawer. Hey, Keith might need it. Both him and Lance were keepers of instructions and spare parts, it seemed.

“Oh, shit, Keith,” Lance said, sliding open another drawer.

Keith almost immediately popped out of the closet, face red. Seeing the crumpled up paper in Lance’s hand, he let out a breath of air and said, “Oh, the pact. That’s not bad at all.”

Lance looked up to give Keith a suspicious once-over. “What did you think I found?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Whatever.” He turned his attention back to the paper. At the bottom was a yellow post-it note with “Lance’s birthday: July 28th” written on it in red pen and a little cartoon character Lance giving the thumbs up. He realized it matched the pencil one in the pact’s bottom right corner, similar stylistically but much, much better, with cleaner lines and a more dynamic posture. Thumbing over the set of drawings, Lance said, “Your art has improved a lot.”

“Oh. Since high school? Yeah.”

“It’s strange you managed to keep this all these years if it was just crumpled in a drawer the whole time,” Lance pointed out, fixing Keith with an amused look.

“It wasn’t always in there! I probably just threw it in there when I was cleaning up before you arrived,” Keith grumped, crossing his arms across his chest.

They both stared for a moment, silently, at the piece of paper that bound them together. Hunk said it would be weird, but Hunk was apparently full of shit, because it wasn’t weird, not really, but Lance wanted to make it weird… well, not to make it weird, but he wanted to ask. Would you do it?

“Would you do it?” He asked, because dammit, he wasn’t very good at keeping his thoughts inside his head sometimes.

Lance was still sitting on the desk chair, paper in hand, and Keith was still behind him, a hand resting on the back of the chair, fingers curled into Lance’s back. No eye contact, but he could just about envision the look on Keith’s face from the small contemplative noise that escaped his mouth. Probably wouldn’t even look at Lance if they were facing each other, off-colored eyes turned off to the distance, jaw set hard.

“I guess I would. But I wouldn’t want you to,” Keith eventually said, which didn’t exactly compute it Lance’s mind. He would… but he wouldn’t?

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, like…” Keith walked around him and settled down on the bed, so Lance pushed back the chair and got up to join him. Outside the window, the sun was just starting to set, obscured by gray clouds. Shiro was still banging around in the kitchen. “I didn’t exactly make that because I was scared of dying alone. I made that because I wanted you to feel better and I wanted the best for you, and I don’t really think the best for you is marrying me? I’ve never taken as much stock in love as you have. I’ve got all I need here and I’m happy, and I’m happier with you here, so yeah, I guess I’d marry you. But I know you, Lance, and that’s not what you’d want, is it? Twenty-five’s too young to give up on love. There’s still someone out there for you. You’re not required to settle down with a high school friend you don’t love because a piece of paper says so, yeah?”

“There’s probably someone out there for you, too,” Lance pointed out.

“I’m not really looking,” said Keith with a shrug. “I’ve tried dating and I just don’t think it’s for me. I’m okay without it.”

“Aromantic?” Asked Lance, surprised, but Keith shook his head, softly.

“Demi, maybe. Or just uninclined.”

“Well, that’s okay, too. Different strokes for different folks.”

“Lance, that sounds so dirty. It’s like a bad masturbation metaphor,” groaned Keith.

“Well, we are talking about love…”

“Lance!”

“I know, I know! It’s just I can’t remember any similar expressions, go easy on me.”

“Ugh, guess I can’t tell you not to favor innuendo…”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Keith,” said Lance playfully. “We’re not in high school anymore.”

“We sure aren’t.”

They sat on the bed in silence for a second, alone with the dull thrumming of Lance’s rhythmic kicks delivered swiftly to the framing of the bed from where he sat on the side, swinging out his legs.

“So why’d your last girlfriend break up with you anyway?” wondered Keith. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Wow, Keith,” Lance rolled his eyes. “Way to assume. I broke up with her.”

“You did? Really?” Keith looked surprised, the bastard. “That’s just so unlike you. Why?”

Okay, fair point, Lance supposed. Especially since they’d been engaged- Lance was normally the type to see things through to the end, even where others may quit.

“So she cheated on me in the past, right?” Lance started, tapping his fingers on his knees. “And we worked through it, she said she was sorry, she learned her lesson and stuff. Well, I got the sense she may be doing it again, and she’s a good person, I swear, but I just started feeling really awful about it and dreading being around her. I told my mom about it all and she told me I was treating my ex like a problem for me to fix and I guess I kind of was? And it was almost what you said earlier, too. About not settling. Since we were set to be married, I started thinking a lot about whether I wanted to spend my whole life with her when I couldn’t trust her anymore and she wouldn’t make any effort to regain my trust when I talked to her about it. She just wasn’t willing to give back the effort I put into us.”

“Sounds like it was a hard choice,” Keith commented.

“Yeah. And the aftermath was even worse. We had the same friends because we’d met that way, through mutual friends in college, and we’d all gotten tight, but after we broke up, she still maintained she wasn’t cheating and I’d broken her heart and I was fine, so all of our friends but Hunk and Allura sided with her, really. I guess I don’t blame them, either. I didn’t have definitive proof she was cheating. She might not have been. But the issues would’ve still been there, you know?”

“You said you were fine after the breakup?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say fine… But definitely less torn up about it than she was.” He smiled sadly. “I think I’d had a lot of the heartbreak before I’d even broken up with her, and It’d been such a long thought process that by the time I actually did it, all I felt was relief.”

“That sucks.”

“Kind of.”

“Well,” said Keith. “Someone’s gonna be really lucky to have you someday. You know that?”

“I dunno…”

“They are.” Keith slid off the bed, grabbing the pact off the desk to go store it. “You gotta get back out there. Download Tinder or something.”

“I am NOT meeting the love of my life through Tinder, Keith!”

-

“Happy six months living here, Lance,” said Shiro, setting down a home-baked, sloppily frosted cake on the kitchen table once the dinner plates were cleared.

“Wait, shit, really?” Lance said disbelievingly, but no, he was right, it was mid-February already, roughly six months since he’d come to San Francisco in August. Where had all the time gone? It seemed like just yesterday that it was New Years and they’d been out at the diner, Coran passing out noise-makers in preparation for the countdown. Halloween was still fresh in his mind- him, Keith and Pidge, sitting in the living room and eating discount candy until they were sick watching scary movies without any costumes because they’d been so busy planning the middle school’s Spooky Bash. Months.

“Time flies,” said Pidge as she cut into the cake. Into, what Lance realized, was a very poor icing rendition of his own face. He was then given a plate and a slice of cake adorned with roughly an eighth of his own face. Thank you, Pidge.

In the last few months, he can come to say he’s become fast friends with his housemates, at least. He and Pidge started getting along very well after she stopped being so intimidating and they discovered their shared love for crappy retro video games. Shiro was still a little more distant, because he was gone most of the time and older than the others, but they still got along well together. Chocolate had started growing at an alarmingly fast pace, too.

He really settled in.

“So…” Lance asked. “How do you guys feel about going to Vegas during my school’s spring break?”

“Where’s that coming from?” asked Shiro, moving the remains of his cake around his plate with the back of his fork.

“Well, Allura’s got to be there for work, and it lines up roughly with the spring break. She says she and Hunk’ll come up here for a few days afterwards to see Coran, but I was welcome to come down to Vegas with them and bring my housemates, too.”

“What does Allura do again?” Pidge questioned with her mouth full.

“I’m not sure, exactly. Helps run some company her father founded. Future CEO. Hunk married rich as hell. But the company pays for the hotel rooms, so we could go stay in a five star hotel for free. Us! All we’d need to do is get down there.”

“Oh, I’m sold,” said Keith. “Five star hotel? Vegas? Sounds like a bad idea in a good, good way.”

“Right?” Agreed Lance.

“Okay, I’m in,” said Pidge.

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Shiro answered. “But if I’m available I’d love to go.”

“Great!”

-

God damn, if there’s one thing Lance thought would be fixed in six months, it was the air mattress. But no, it still remained, and it was Lance’s week on it. The only problem was a hole they’d noticed- small enough that the air mattress would stay inflated, large enough that it would completely release all its air by morning. Lance was a restless sleeper, and shifting and turning on the hardwood floor of Keith’s bedroom was absolutely terrible for the quality of his sleep.

Sighing, he flipped to the other side, again. The mattress wheezed out air due to the new distribution of weight, and Lance felt himself sink a good four inches into the mattress. He already had a crook in his neck from last night, and a sore back. He’d had enough of it, and it was only Tuesday night, meaning he had at least three more nights until they could fix this thing or get a new one.

He’d had enough. He was done being awkward around Keith- in fact, they were closer friends than ever, and if the guy couldn’t tolerate Lance sleeping in his bed, then he could hurt his back instead. Lance wasn’t sleeping on this thing anymore.

Grunting, he lifted himself out of bed, picked up his pillow and got in Keith’s bed, tucking himself under the covers. Thankfully, Keith wasn’t curled around them, so he didn’t have to yank them back, but the movement did cause his friend to stir a little bit. Apricat, positioned at the foot of the bed, lifted her head from her sleeping position to blink at Lance scorningly with reflective eyes.

“...Lance?” said Keith drowsily, blinking at him with sleep-heavy lidded eyes.

“Sorry, mullet. I can’t sleep on the floor anymore. If you’ve got a problem with platonic bed-sharing between bros you’re welcome to the whoopie cushion over there,” explained Lance, resting his head on his pillow and immediately feeling better on a solid mattress.

“Oh, I don’t care,” said Keith, turning back over so he had his back to Lance. “Sleep well.”

Thus a pattern started. The weekend came and went, and they didn’t go get a new air mattress- forgot, they supposed. Keith’s week on the floor arrived and he still slept in the bed. The bed was always going to be comfier than any air mattress, they both agreed. Plus, Keith’s bed was big, giving them plenty of space. Even if they did happen to brush up against each other, so what? Touching feet didn’t mean they had to fuck, or anything. They were gay and bi for God’s sake, unaffected by Straight Man Fear Of Sleeping In A Bed With Another Man. After two weeks, they just deflated the mattress entirely and put it back into storage, clearing up the space to put in a second desk they’d thrifted.

When they’d been forced to explain to Pidge what’d happened to the air mattress and their current sleeping arrangement, she’d given Lance a long, confused look, and Keith a slightly different but equally baffled variation. Which was ridiculous, because it was fine, and functional.

Okay, maybe it was a little weird, but Lance had always been a cuddler. He was the kid that snuck into his parents bed as long as possible, and into his older sibling’s beds all the way though middle school. He was the clingiest boyfriend. A hug person, all the way. Physical contact, all the time. They weren’t cuddling in bed, or really touching at all, but the heat of another person was something.

Lance wasn’t sure what Keith thought of it. Keith was… normal? With touching. He didn’t initiate it much himself, but seemed to enjoy it when Lance and Pidge curled up on either side of him during movie nights, or when Lance would jokingly try to use him as an armrest despite their miniscule height difference, inevitably ending up laughing with Lance’s arm around Keith’s shoulders…

It certainly wasn’t traditional, sleeping in a bed long-term with someone you weren’t romantically involved with, and Lance had all these excuses cooked up, about why it was practical, why it was functional, why it wasn’t weird, and why Lance’s liking it did absolutely not , 100%, no way no how, no dice, no way jose, mean he had a crush on Keith. Mm-m. Crazy talk.

-

Except he sort of did. Have a crush on Keith.

-

Let him explain. Keith was his type, right? Like, not obviously, he wasn’t a girl, and Lance usually went for girls, but Keith had a temper, for sure. Lance liked that. Someone he could playfully banter with. Someone without too much drama. Keith had none. Zip, zil. Someone he was comfortable with, and he was definitely comfortable with Keith, having known him for about a decade, right? Someone he liked being around. Craved touches from. And, perhaps most incriminatingly, Keith put all his effort into anything he did. Lance had never seen him in a relationship, but he had full reason to believe that quality transferred over, and that’s what he wanted, yeah? Commitment. Someone willing to work it out. That’s what went wrong in his last relationship.

Oh and also: Keith was hot? Lance had said this. He’s probably already said this. Keith grew up nicely. Pretty, rare smile. Good facial structure, fairly clear skin for the minimal amount of effort he puts into taking care of it. He rocked a man-bun.

All in all, while Lance was finally forced to admit the crush existed, he wasn’t terribly worried about it. After all, if you didn’t want to snog your friends just a little, what kind of friends were you really? You chose them as your friends because they’re great human beings. Nothing wrong with appreciating that.

The whole bed-sharing situation made things just a tad more complicated, but out of sight, out of mind, right? At least, that’s how it was until Lance started having thoughts of pulling Keith flush against him and burying his nose in his neck. Sleeping with his head on Keith’s chest, his arms under Lance’s shoulder, his chest rising and falling with every breath, breathing into Lance’s hair. Yeah, those were weird.

And he could. Because Keith’s a heavy sleeper, and currently very much asleep, turned away from Lance on the right side of the bed as usual, unaware of Lance’s eyes on his back.

Just a little bit, he thought, inching closer to Keith’s sleeping form, and throwing an arm around his waist. Keith didn’t automatically shy away or anything- in fact, he leaned into it a little bit, which was mostly, like, gravity, but it felt nice. Reluctantly, feeling himself starting to grow tired, he released his hold on Keith and rolled over, in case Keith woke up before him and was weirded out by the fact Lance was spooning him. Didn’t want that. At all.

Shit, what kind of a weirdo was he, trying to cuddle his sleeping friend? Even if he was sure Keith would laugh it off had he been awake, that’s creepy as hell. The crush was probably getting worse and now Lance was having a moral dilemma. Was it even okay to keep sharing a bed with Keith? He sure as hell didn’t want to stop, but while he was harboring these feelings… isn’t that super creepy? Sleeping with your friend, who, unbeknownst to you, has romantic feelings for you?

Things during the daytime were changing, too. Lance could’ve sworn Keith was touching him more… or maybe nothing had changed, Lance was just more hyper-aware of the small touches on his shoulders and arms to get his attention, the way they stood just a little closer than necessary and Keith would lean into Lance’s shoulder when they were both just on the couch chilling.

Shit, this was bad.

-

Luckily, the Vegas trip was quickly upon them, giving Lance a brief reprise from having to think about his changing relationship with Keith. They weren’t even set to share a bed together. The group had two hotel rooms: Shiro, Pidge, and Keith would share one, and Hunk, Allura and Lance would take the other. His first time in seven months not sharing a room with Keith, or even a bathroom. Geez, that might be weird.

“I am so excited to see my bro,” singsonged Lance as the four of them walked out of the plane, greeted with the chaos of McCarran International Airport. “You guys don’t even know.”

“We know, Lance. It’s all you talked about on the way here,” said Pidge.

“You don’t even know!” Lance insisted. “My excitement can’t be put into words.”

“Let’s just find our way out of here,” Shiro suggested, and they all nodded.

“I can get on board with that,” said Keith. “I hate airports.”

“Oh my God, they’re outside.” Hunk’s texts were coming in, since Lance had turned off his airplane mode. “Guys. Guys. I am less than five minutes away from seeing Hunk.”

“Let’s see if we can get out faster than that.” Shiro pressed a reassuring hand to the small of Lance’s back, respecting his excitement- unlike Pidge- then forged his way ahead, cutting a line through the crowd and leaving everyone else to follow.

“It’s happening,” murmured Lance to himself as they finally found the exit doors for the pick-up lines, and they emerged into broad daylight. Where did Hunk say he was again?

“Lance!” Called a familiar voice from a ways behind him, and there Hunk was, standing on the middle island with his arms extended.

“Hunk!” He broke into a sprint across the road as soon as it was safe and practically rammed into Hunk, but hey, the guy could take it.

“I missed you, buddy!”

“I missed you, too. It’s been too long.” He stepped back from the hug. “And Allura! Did you know my love for you is like dividing by zero? It’s undefinable.”

Allura stepped forward to pull him in for a hug too, and Hunk playfully hit his shoulder, nearly knocking the both of them over. “Don’t flirt with my girlfriend, bro!”

“Aw, you know he has to keep up tradition,” said Allura, giving Hunk a sympathetic kiss on the cheek.

The three reunited friends turned back to Lance’s friends, who were waiting a respectable distance away. They exchanged brief introductions- Lance didn’t miss the subtle once-over Hunk gave Keith upon meeting him in person- and then began to load their bags into the Hunk and Allura’s rental minivan. They’d get to know each other later, and they didn’t want to hold up the line, after all.

Hunk was driving, but Allura volunteered to take one of the middle seats so Lance and Hunk could catch up, bless her soul. By the sounds of it, she was hitting it off pretty well with the others, especially Shiro. Allura was the best fit for Shiro’s higher degree of maturity, and to some degree, who doesn’t look up to Shiro? He also noticed Pidge and Keith were sitting in the far back and playing the license plate game, but all the observations were fleeting because he was too busy talking to Hunk.

The hotel, as expected, was absolutely magnificent. The suite Lance was to share with Hunk and Allura even had divided bedrooms, albeit only one bathroom. Lance got a whole bed to himself. A magnificent, manicured king-sized white bed, that flOOMphEd! when he fell back on it. The views from the twenty-third floor were magnificent city skyline, too. They even had a balcony.

“So what’s on the agenda?” Lance asked Hunk when he was finished exploring the simple pleasures the room had to offer. Complimentary fruit snacks. Ice machine. Sitting down on every plush, sittable surface in the whole damn place. “Did you make an agenda, or are we just playing it by ear?”

“Yeah, we’re going with the flow, mostly, especially around Allura’s schedule,” Hunk told him. “I think we might just stay in tonight? The day’s already mostly done and she’s gotta run into the office. Maybe we can get everyone together for dinner then chill a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. Everyone else got a room close by, right?” Lance confirmed. They’d definitely gotten off on the same floor, he recalls that much.

“Yeah! I think it’s just right around the corner. Should we go find them?”

The room was, in fact, pretty close. Upon being let in by Keith, they were greeted by the sight of Pidge at the kitchen table tearing through the complimentary gifts.

“Did you finish all your fruit snacks?” She asked Lance, gruffly.

“Sorry. I did. They were kind of nasty, but strangely addicting, though,” he responded.

“I know, right?”

It was easy to get dinner at the sit-down restaurant inside the hotel, and the food was good, but really, Lance was just hyped to go swimming with Hunk afterwards. The pool here was supposedly really nice, and they hadn’t invited the others- no offense to them, but some quality time between bros was needed. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he could tune out of the conversation at the dinner table, though, because Keith and Hunk had learned quickly they could exchange embarrassing high school Lance material and embarrassing college Lance material and have not only double the content but also someone to endearingly make fun of him with, so they seemed to bond over that. Pidge and Shiro listened attentively, contributing what they could, and they certainly did have some good ones, but seven months compared to the three years Lance and Keith both had didn’t yield quite the same potency of funny stories.

“Thank god that’s over,” said Lance when dinner was done, after them waiting a short eternity for the check. Hey, they were understaffed, he’d been there before, and it certainly didn’t affect their tip, but it was still annoying. They’d returned to the room to grab their trunks. “Okay, I’m ready, let’s go.”

“Already? Wait thirty minutes after eating before swimming, Lance.”

“Aw, that’s a myth.”

The pool was pretty big, and most importantly, pretty empty, which was sort of surprising but in a good way?  After a bit of splashing around in the main pool and tossing around the beachball someone had left, they retreated to the also-larger-than-life jacuzzi.

Lance sighed, sinking down into the bubbles. Hunk was sort of slow getting into the warm water, so he sat on the first step for now.

“So, I liked Keith,” said Hunk.

Lance sighed. “I expected this’d be the first thing we talked about, and you did not disappoint, my good buddy.”

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“Do I need to remind you you’re talking about a situation that will literally never happen?”

“Well, you like him now, right?”

“... Dude. ”

“What? I can just tell when you have a crush on people.”

Another sigh. “Do you think he can tell?”

Hunk considers it. “Not really. He seems kind of emotionally stunted. Or at least, like, oblivious.”

“...I guess in a way.” Lance allowed it, and decided to change the subject before Hunk could ask any more about Keith. “How’s your own relationship? Any proposal plans?”

Hunk looked at Lance and laughed a little at the cartoonish, awkward way he was wiggling his eyebrows, then sobered up. “Should I have some?”

“I mean, it’s not up to me, obviously, but it kind of seems like it? You two just bought a house together, you’ve been together for years. Might as well ask when the baby’s due.”

“Actually… We’ve been talking about having kids. Wait, does that mean I should be proposing soon? Shit, fuck, we’re all about taking our time but you’re right, we’ve had time…”

“Hunk! Back up! That’s so exciting! You might be having a baby soon? I get to be a godfather?”

“How are you so sure you’re the godfather?”

“You wouldn’t make me the godfather? Of course I’d be the godfather,” Lance said, confidently.

“Yeah, you probably would be, man.” Hunk splashed his way fully into the hot tub and lunged for Lance, putting him in a playful headlock. “Best bros for life.”

“Best bros for life!”

-

See, Lance didn’t exactly want to talk about Keith, so it was annoying that Hunk kept bringing him up. Well, that’s a lie. Lance was just a boy with a crush. He loved talking about Keith. It’s just that recently he’s been all up in his feelings, unsure how to act, and he wanted a bit of a break from that. From debating how to manage the strange situation he was in. Having feelings for someone he lived with, very closely with, someone who was very important to him, and knowing that they were maybe, just maybe, starting to spiral out of control. If it boiled down to a confession, and Keith didn’t feel the same way, it would be a shitshow. He might even find himself out of house and home. Okay, that’s dramatic, Keith wouldn’t be that cruel, but everything would be different. Guaranteed.

Plus, there was no way Keith felt the same way. Lance remembered their conversation about the pact that one day, such a long time ago. Keith wasn’t looking for love. He was happy without it.

Lance couldn’t afford to mess up his own, finally stable life for this, but he knew what painful crushes felt like. And, oh God, wouldn’t that be awful, too? Pining for someone who slept less than three feet away from him, who he spent a good part of every day in close proximity to?

The worst part was that those were his options. Stay quiet and suffer through it, or risk changing everything. Why, oh why, did he have to catch feelings?

-

About two days into the trip it occured to Lance that he’d sort of been ignoring Keith. Sure, they were very busy days, and all of his housemates understood that Lance’s time with Hunk and Allura came first, but he knew there’d been a few times when Keith had approached him and Lance had brushed him off, so he felt guilty about that. Ignoring the guy definitely wasn’t the right way to go about this and Lance recognized that, so when the group announced their plans to go out for dinner and Keith passed, Lance volunteered to stay at the hotel as well.

“Are you sure?” Hunk asked. “We’ve only got one more full day here.”

“Positive,” Lance replied, flashing his signature grin. “I’m really tired. Besides, Keith and I can keep each other company, right, bud?”

“...Sure,” said Keith, unusually warily. Crap, had he picked up on the fact that Lance had been avoiding him?

They were still in Keith’s room, so once everybody left, Lance flopped back onto Keith and Shiro’s bed and flipped on the television. Keith pulled a sketchbook out of his bag and sat at the room’s desk, and started sketching intently, eyes going back and forth between the city skyline and his paper. The sun had been setting for a while now, and was in its final stages. The orange and pink colors had nearly vanished beneath the buildings obscuring the horizon-line, and most of the sky overhead was a deep, darkening purple.

Keith turned on the desk lamp, drawing Lance’s attention away from the mindless TV he’d been watching. It was the only light in the room, and with natural daylight fading, it cast strange shadows across the parts of Keith’s face that were visible from Lance’s angle.

“Hey, can I see your drawing?” he said, knowing well enough to ask first.

“I guess.”

He got off the bed, shutting off the television with a click of the remote, and made his way over to the desk. It was a simple pencil sketch with minimal shading, but the perspective was accurate and visually appealing.

“It’s good,” he said, smiling.

“It’s alright.”

Well, Keith clearly wasn’t feeling outspoken today. “How are you liking Vegas?”

“It’s fine,” he replied curtly. “Kind of loud. A lot going on.”

“True. We’ve been pretty busy,” Lance acknowledged. He was sure he’d have to ask another question after that to keep the conversation going, but Keith spoke again.

“You seem to be liking it,” he said, his voice lined with hints of… bitterness? “You been having fun with Hunk?”

“Aw, Keith, are you jealous? You know I like you just as much.”

“I’m not jealous!” Keith snapped, a traditional bite to his voice, that indicated… yeah, he was. Shit, angry Keith was kind of cute.

“Are you sure? Kind of sounds like you are.”

“I’m not! Fuck off back to your own room and leave me alone!” Keith replied. Well, it looked like he was actually, genuinely getting mad now, so Lance knew it was time to quit it. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. You’re not,” he gave in, although Keith didn’t appear to be any less pissed at him. “Look, I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Hunk because I haven’t seen him in forever but I feel kind of bad we haven’t done anything together? I stayed back so we could do something fun, not fight.”

Keith’s face softened. “That’s nice of you, but I am really tired.”

“That’s fine! I vote we order room service and then we can see if you’re up for anything else after that.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

They moved to the room’s kitchen, which was supposed to be a kitchenette but was, in reality, about the same size as their kitchen at home, because fancy hotel room, and all. Probably small to the rich people with rich people kitchens, absolutely luxurious for a college student majoring in graphic design and a middle school teacher. There, they found the room service menu and sat down to look it over.

“...I don’t know what half of things are,” confessed Keith. “And they’re all super expensive.”

“Well, Allura’s company pays for this too, so don’t worry about the price tag, mullet,” said Lance. “I honestly think I’ll just get a pizza.”

“There’s pizza on here?”

“Yeah? I think it’s this,” Lance said, point to an entry. “The one with the ‘italian gourmet open-faced pie’ topped with ‘a tomato spread and exquisite four cheeses’ and ‘a tasteful assortment of spices and meats’? Sounds like pizza to me.”

“Sounds like pretentious pizza,” muttered Keith. “I’ll take this.”

Lance checked out the dish he indicated. “Do you even no what that is?”

“Nope, all I can see is that it mentions chicken. But I’m not paying for it, so… Anyway, make your pizza a large in case this thing doesn’t work out.”

“I guess you’re right. Plus, it’s expensive, so that means it has to be good.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, Keith, it’s you who wants to order it, not me.”

“Just get on the damn phone already.”

-

Their food came within the hour, and they ate it on the bed while watching HGTV’s Love It or List It because that’s the whole hotel experience. Keith’s chicken thing was actually not bad, but it had some strange spices on parts of it that needed to be pushed to the side. They tried making bets on whether the homeowners would Love It or List It, but it was pointless, because they always loved it.

Nine o’clock came around and the others still weren’t back- apparently they’d gone to play cards at Allura’s office because her dad had flew into town. Keith and Lance were welcome to uber up, Hunk had added, but Lance knew they weren’t going to. Alfor and Allura both cheated at poker, anyway. It ran in the family.

“Hey Keith, you wanna go grab a drink?”

“Well, I don’t wanna get drunk… ”

“Aw, we don’t have to. Just buzzed. You know, have some fun.”

“Okay, I guess. Let me change my shirt, I got sauce all over it,” Keith said, sliding off the bed. “Figure out where we’re going?”

“Alright. I think Allura had a place she thought she might take us.”

-

That’s how they ended up at a bar that seemed to have a casino aspect to it, too, with slot machines in the back corner and a good number of pool tables. It was dimly lit in the room, only sort of crowded, but pretty clean and free of obviously sketchy characters, which was probably why Allura liked it.

Keith and Lance had chosen a booth towards the back. Their first drinks sat empty on the table, along with a good assortment of curly fries and mozzarella sticks Lance was snacking on, scrolling through his Instagram and feeling just a slight tingle from the alcohol.

Keith returned with round two, a glass in each hand. “Pick your poison,” he told Lance.

They both looked about the same, so he chose the right glass, and slid it towards him, unsure of the contents, since he’d told Keith to surprise him. Keith raised his own glass to his lips and took a sip, deviously looking over the rim.

Lance took a sip from his own glass. Phew, strong, but not bad.

“Hey, I was meaning to ask, but have you ever been to Vegas before? You looked like you knew what Allura was talking about when we were down at the Strip,” asked Keith, taking a mozzarella stick.

“Oh. No,” Lance replied. “We- my ex and I- were gonna come here as part of our honeymoon, so I was doing all the research and stuff, but since the wedding never happened… Never been.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess you would’ve been doing all that wedding planning stuff,” said Keith, distantly.

“Hey, did you hear Hunk and Allura are thinking about having a baby?” Lance said, spur of the moment. He didn’t even know why it popped into his head.

“Oh, good for them,” said Keith, continuing to drink nonchalantly. “Why were you thinking about that?”

“Eh... just thinking about, like… marriage, and stuff, I guess. They’re probably gonna get married soon. Lucky Hunk.”

“So you’re jealous of Hunk, too?”

“What, no- Hold up, you admit you were jealous, Keith?”

“No, fuck off,” said Keith. “I’m gonna get us some more drinks, wait just a minute.”

“I thought I’d be married at twenty-five,” Lance said when Keith returned, sliding him another, which he took graciously. “Even my best bro’s married. Maybe love is fake.”

“You’re fine,” sighed Keith. “You could’ve been married. With your ex and all.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Wait, shit, not what I meant. Forget it. Just, she wasted a lot of your time that could’ve been spent in the dating pool, finding someone right for you, right?”

“I guess. But I haven’t gone on a single date since I moved to San Francisco, so that’s gotta mean something, right?” Lance said, wondering if the huge crush he had on a particular roommate of his had anything to do with that.

“It’s because you don’t go out,” said Keith decisively. “I told you downloading Tinder was the best way to go about it.”

“Jesus fuck, what’s your obsession with Tinder, Keith? You’ve told me to get it at least five times. I’m not getting Tinder.”

Keith shrugged. “I hear it works.”

“Works for finding creepos .”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“No. Have you?”

“...No. But that’s irrelevant to the point, really. I think I’m still on top.”

“Think what you want,” grumbled Lance, sloshing the few remaining ounces of liquid around his cup. “But it’s not happening.”

“Alright, whatever, die alone, then. Wanna get us the next round?” Keith said, and Lance agreed, so he went to the bar with Keith’s order.

Honestly, at this point they were a few glasses in, and Lance was starting to feel just a little bit more than pleasantly buzzed, but hey, it had been Keith who had wanted to curb their drinking, not him, and Keith didn’t show any signs of wanting to stop just yet. Lance hadn’t had a good night out drinking in a long time.

At the table they ordered even more appetizers, and Lance had a slight intrusive thought at the monstrosity their tab was probably evolving into, but hey, that was a problem for future Lance and Keith. Speaking of Keith, even he was starting to show signs of drunkenness- a slight smile pulled persistently up on his lips, and he laughed at what Lance said even if it wasn’t that funny, hands drumming hyperactively against the table.

“Phew, what is this?” Lance asked after his first sip of the drink Keith had brought him- the ‘surprise me’ drink, the latest addition to their collection of empty glasses. It was strong, not a bad taste, probably some shots in there, honestly.

“I dunno,” Keith said, airily. “It was on the special menu. The Sharpshooter. I thought of you so I got it. Remember archery unit?”

Yeah, he did, but he was having a hard time keeping his brain on it. High school, high school gym, they brought in targets and shit, the injury count was high as hell but they didn’t cancel it for some reason and so Lance declared he was gonna hit the bullseye by the end of the unit despite the fact he couldn’t even hit the target for the first three days. He did it, of course, and so maybe the sharpshooter nickname had never really caught on but it was accurate as hell and hey, Keith remembered it, so.

“Sharpshooter. That’s me.”

“Sure, Lance.”

“It is!” He stood up. “Look, I’ll find a way to prove it. Are there darts over here?”

“Lance, drunken darts? You’ll poke someone’s eye out.”

“The target’s eye, maybe- wait, shit, don’t think that works. Come on, Keith, don’t be a baby.”

“Okay, I guess.” Keith said, sliding out of the booth alongside Lance and crossing the room to the game part of the space to find an open dartboard.

“Alright. Ten darts for me, ten for you,” Lance said, counting them out, uncaring of whatever the actual rules of darts were. “Whoever gets the closest to the target wins. Loser has to do three shots.”

“Three?” Keith questioned. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough? Ugh, shit, I’m already really drunk, Lance… I suppose more won’t hurt.”

How could Lance forget what kind of drunk he was? An affectionate drunk, and damn, was pouty Keith looking cute. He looked looser than usual, hovering at Lance’s side, just a little closer than usual. Definitely looking like he wanted to loll his head on Lance’s shoulder. Shit, was Keith a cuddly drunk? Lance didn’t know if he could take that.

Lance’s first dart hit the target, but it was the outer edge. Shit, warmup, Keith’s landed in roughly the same place, telling him they were both good enough at darts at least to get on the target. Then he completely missed with his second throw, causing Keith to tip his head back in laughter and an embarrassed blush to rise to Lance’s cheeks.

In the end of the first game Keith had seven on the board and Lance had five, but Lance had the dart closest to the target, so Keith was the loser. Shots, shots, baby,

“That’s not fair,” he bemoaned when he was done serving his punishment. “Best two out of three.”

“You wanna lose again? Be my guest.”

“I’ll win this time.”

True to his word, Keith did win round two, requiring a third game to settle the score. But damn, was it hard. Hand-eye-coordination was just about out the window with those last three shots Lance had to do, and he only landed a measly three darts on the target to Keith’s four.

“Who won?” Slurred Keith.

“I think it’s a tie, honestly.”

He was pretty sure they were getting weird looks from the bros playing pool next to them. They were literally pressed together now, Keith’s arms coming up to pull Lance in for a hug around his side, head falling against his shoulder, while Lance’s arm was wrapped around Keith’s back. He was a cuddler.

“What do we do, then?”

“Ugh. I don't know. I don’t think I should drink any more, Keith.” He wasn’t gonna remember this at all, was he? What a shame that was… He’d drunk just about every feeling out of him, leaving just Keith’s warmth up against his side and a buzz around him, and a mildly concerning blurring in his peripherals, but it was ignorable.

“I think we should get out of here,” Keith said. “Let’s pay the tab and go. I need some fresh air.”

Lance was pretty tired of the bar’s heat and distinctive onion-scent, too.

-

The tab was a disaster.

“Shit, Keith, that’s a big number,” said Lance as he handed over his credit card. Did he even have that much money in his bank account? Well, yeah, of course he did, because he was pretty financially responsible most of the time and didn’t do this often, but he’d just maybe have to lay low on expenses for like, the next three months.

Keith just mumbled into his chest. He’d not loosened his grip on Lance as they made their way up to the counter, just hung onto him like a little koala. “Maybe Allura’s company can pay for it.”

Lance laughed, knowing full well this one was all his. “Maybe they could.”

-

The fresh air outside was a relief. The breeze rang cool on Lance’s skin for a blissful moment before returning to the stuffy, warm night humidity. The sky was clear, but starless. They weren’t in star territory, now. They were in Sin City.

Keith was at his side, satisfied with having his shoulder brushing up against Lance’s as they sat on the park bench they’d found. Traffic noises came from the road in front of them.

“I know I said we weren’t ‘onna get fucked up. Sorry we’re fucked up,” Lance said to Keith, who shrugged.

“T’is alright. I had fun.”

Lance pulled out his phone with a fleeting thought he should probably tell Hunk where they were because he hadn’t even mentioned they’d left, figured- god, shit, his thumbs were like, huge. How hard is it to type a single word, goshdamn… Typos? Typos….

Keith laughed. “Haven’t seen you drunk much.”

“Mmm… idn’t drink much in high school. Don’t drink much at all, ‘tcually.”

“Haven’t seen you drunk since we made the pact,” Keith said.He had an intense, focused look on his face that completely didn’t match his open posture and the way he leaned towards Lance. His hair was all falling out of his ponytail. God, they probably both looked like shit. He was still… beautiful, though. Lance wanted this. Maybe not, like, the drunk part, because the blurring was getting worse and it was kind of starting to suck, but Keith, relaxed at his side? Freely touching? Unveiled affection?

“We should do it,” Lance blurted out. “Get married.”

Damn, he didn’t even know what he was thinking. And everything was starting to get fuzzy, like he was already losing parts of his memories of the night, and it wasn’t even hangover time, yet. What was Keith thinking about, right now, looking like that? Did he even hear Lance?

“It is a contract…” He eventually said, wistfully.

“It is…”

“I’ll do it.”

Surprised, but not really, Lance said, “We won’t remember this in the morning.”

“We don’t need to,” Keith grinned, smile as bright as the city lights overhead. “We’re in Sin City.”

-

Lance didn’t remember shit about what happened next. Hailing the uber? Not even a vague memory, just another charge to his bank account. Finding a place that would take walk ins? Open internet tab, with ‘gt marrid gast’ in the search tab.

-

Kissing Keith? Yeah, he remembered that. The guy who did the ceremony had no face to Lance, only tired features, clearly hesitant to wed two drunks at three a.m but uncaring enough to do anything about it. Lance just remembered his voice, a dreary, half-joking “you may now kiss the bride” (he couldn’t possibly have thought Keith was a girl?) and then? All Keith’s lips on his. Him, kissing back. Smiling into the kiss, both of them. Keith’s hands on Lance’s waist, running just under his shirt, Lance’s on the small of Keith’s back. Dipping Keith and kissing harder.

“Please leave,” said the tired man.

-

Getting back to the hotel? Yep. Keith announced he lost his wallet somewhere, so it wasn’t as if he was gonna get back into his room, anyway. Honestly, Lance wasn’t sure if that would’ve been the outcome even if he hadn’t lost his room key.

Fumbling to unlock Lance’s room- It was a card scanner, for god’s sake, how hard could it be- then sneaking through the kitchen like they were Mission Impossible as not to wake up Hunk and Allura, barely holding in their laughter until they got into Lance’s bedroom and they threw off their jeans, leaving everything else on, falling back onto the bed and laughing, then kissing again, until Keith promptly passed the fuck out, which they really should’ve seen coming, and Lance wasn’t far behind. They fell asleep cuddling for once, and that was the end of that.

-

Except for the really, really, really bad hangover. Also to be expected. Lance felt like his head was being split open with an axe, the mother of all headaches, 11 on the pain scale, all that. He sat up, taking in the sight of Keith sleeping next to him, bedhead mussed and a bit of drool running out of the corner of his mouth. He was used to it, of course, wasn’t the first time, but damn, it felt different, because he’d kissed those lips, now. So maybe his memory of it wasn’t picture perfect, felt a little like third person watching himself kiss Keith from a hovering, F5 minecraft angle, but it had happened. He had kissed Keith.

He took a minute to evaluate that.

He didn’t really think Keith meant it, and he sure wasn’t going to ask, especially not if he may not remember it. They were both drunk as hell, Keith was an affectionate drunk, and so was Lance… He may not have agreed to marry a random stranger that he’d been drinking with, but snog? Definitely. It didn’t matter that it was Lance. Lance was just the nearest pair of lips. Well, nearest willing pair of lips, because he supposed Tired Guy was there too.

Keith groaned as he woke up, hands immediately going to his head.

“Me too, buddy,” said Lance. “How much do you remember?”

“Jackshit,” said Keith, letting his hands run down his face. “Just a vague sense that, shit-”

He reached over to the side table, hand groping around until he found it. The marriage certificate. “Ugh, Lance, where’d we even get this? Doesn’t it require more work than this to get married? Even in Vegas?”

“I couldn’t tell you, buddy.”

“Lance!” Hunk called through the wall. “Do we have Keith? Shiro’s at the door.”

“Yes!” Lance screamed back, then sighed. “Maybe we should get up and get some breakfast and aspirin. Then we can work out all this shit.”

“Good plan.”

Keith was forced to put on his jeans from last night because he didn’t have any other clothes, so Lance followed suite in solidarity, even if he had a perfectly good pair of more comfortable pajama pants laying within reach.

Hunk and Allura were in the kitchen, with an assortment of boxed items stolen from the buffet breakfast downstairs laid out in the middle of the table to pick and choose from. They both raised their heads as Keith and Lance entered the space.

“So,” Lance began. “We got really fucking hammered last night and apparently we got married?”

Keith held up the marriage certificate for emphasis. “We still don’t actually know if this is legally binding or not?” He said, looking at it. “Guess we’ll need to figure that out?”

Hunk and Allura were quiet for a moment, until Allura said, “I’m sorry, but that’s funny as hell.”

“You must’ve been trashed,” added Hunk. “Need any meds?”

“I’ve got the stuff,” Allura said, bless her beautiful soul, and pushed back from the table to get it while Keith and Lance sat down to eat.

After breakfast, order of operations were: Recover from hangover first, then find out whether the certificate was legally binding or not (“You know, he could’ve just taken our money and scammed us. We wouldn’t have known the difference.”) and then, finally, recover Keith’s wallet, if possible, even if it didn’t sound like there was anything too important in there (“No credit cards? Drivers License?” “Nope, different wallet. This one has my school ID, room key, and maybe forty dollars and some odd cents”). So, by the books, they took a good four hours to let the headache dwindle down to only slightly excruciating, and then set out to the place where they thought they might’ve gone.

-

When they returned to the hotel room, everyone was in Keith, Pidge and Shiro’s room, apparently playing more poker. Caught the gambling fever, Lance supposed. Famished and not having eaten since breakfast, Lance crunched on some baked lays sitting on the counter, waiting for them to finish their hand. Keith hovered, nearby.

“Hey, you’re back,” said Shiro when they finished. “We were waiting, so we could order a pizza.”

“Hell yeah,” Lance agreed.

“Weren’t you guys supposed to be packing?” Keith questioned. “You know, since it’s like seven p.m and we leave early tomorrow morning?”

“...Procrastination?” Justified Pidge. “Plus, I’m making the big bucks here.”

“How big are the big bucks?”

“Considering we’re using nickels, she’s won about three dollars,” answered Shiro.

“Six figures,” deadpanned Keith.

“I just have to make sure to sit far away from that cheater.” Pidge pointed an accusing finger at Allura.

“I did tell you she cheated,” Lance reminded her.

“The real cheating’s in the shuffling,” said Allura nonchalantly. “You sitting far away from me does nothing.”

“Okay, quiet, quiet,” interjected Hunk. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough. Is it real?”

Lance looked at Keith, allowing him to be the one to speak.

“Well,” Keith said. “By all accounts it shouldn’t be possible… but somehow it is, and it’s legal. So, in the eyes of the law, we’re married now.”

“Fuck you, Tired Guy,” said Lance, solemnly.

After a brief moment of silence, Pidge said, “Well, congrats on your union.” in a tone that may or may not have been sarcastic, but either way, everyone started clapping.

Keith, embarrassed, buried his head in his hands, so Lance patted his back. “It’s okay, husband, it’s okay.”

-

Allura and Hunk were staying at their house back in San Francisco for the first night, and then they were going to stay with Coran for another day before heading back up to Seattle. Lance wished they could stay longer and knew he’d be missing his friends again within the month, but the house was sure crowded with all six of them, and then Coran came over for dinner, drinks, and even more poker, making it even more crowded.

Chocolate was ecstatic to see them after a good four days she’d spent at the neighbors, bouncing around their legs and barking for attention while they were standing up in the kitchen, and laying her head on their laps when they were sitting down. As Lance had predicted, Hunk was weak for the dog.

Coran brought some ‘special’ fine wine he called nunvil. Keith and Lance both passed, the memory of yesterday’s hangover vivid enough to dissuade them from any further drinking. At least it didn’t seem as if they were missing out on much: Shiro, Pidge and Hunk clearly found it disagreeable and were trying not to show it, although Allura seemed to like it fine. It must’ve ran in the family.

Lance really should’ve seen it coming, but Coran was an even bigger cheater than Allura, and grandiloquent about it too, shuffling the cards in grandiose, theoretical ways that somehow always put him out on top. Pidge rage-quit at least three times, angrily throwing her hand everywhere and stomping in a loop around the house before angrily throwing herself back in her chair and demanding another go at it.

They’d all been up since early, catching a flight, which was an exhaustive process to start with, so bedtime came equally early. Coran seemed to have no complaints about this, and departed cheerfully at nine o’clock promising to have his apartment ready for them to stay in by tomorrow (apparently, its state of array was the reason they were staying here tonight, and Allura vouched for it, saying it had always been quite messy in her memory). Then came the process of figuring out where everyone would sleep. The couch didn’t pull out, so for Hunk, at least, it was out of the question. Pidge’s room was a complete danger zone, and Shiro would have the same problems as Hunk would with the couch, and Lance and Keith shared the same bed, so doing a swap wouldn’t be any good in any of those areas. They’d discussed this earlier in the day, which was when Hunk learned about the bedsharing. Lance had never intended for Hunk to find out about it, obviously, so Hunk had sort of been teasing him incessantly about it for the whole day whenever they were alone.

Thus, it was with a sort of gleeful pride Lance got to tell them he had an air mattress they could borrow. He felt sort of bad for Allura, but figured she’d prefer the couch anyway.

-

“I guess we need to talk about the whole marriage thing,” Keith said, and Lance looked up from his phone. Keith wasn’t making eye contact with him. He had his gaze trained down at the table while he stirred the remains of his milkshake with his straw.

Looking around the rest of the vicinity, he and Keith were still the only ones left at the table. They were at Coran’s diner for lunch, and everyone else had gotten up to crowd around the bar and watch Hunk and Coran in a contest to make the best grilled cheese, or something equally silly like that. The table was littered with empty plates, signs of a well-enjoyed meal by half a dozen people.

“I guess,” Lance shrugged.

“I can’t afford to get a divorce.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Lance said. “Well, I’m not lawyer, but I think it’s cheaper when both parties agree and we have no shared stuff to split?”

“Either way, it’s wasted money.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

“Doesn’t getting married make your taxes cheaper, too?”

“I already said I’m no lawyer,” said Lance, playfully. “Yes? I think so?”

“So you’re okay staying married for now?” Keith verified.

“Yeah.”

“I guess we’re basically married already,” Keith pointed out. “We literally live in the same room and share a bed. Might as well file our taxes together.”

Lance laughed his approval and suggested they go watch the rest of the grilled cheese contest, and so they did, squeezing in to fit with Keith pressed comfortably against his side, but a dread-filled feeling that had started to grow in his stomach was getting heavier. It followed him around for the rest of the day, and into the next day, when they spent their last few hours with Allura and Hunk before Coran drove them back up to the airport. Lance got the distinct feeling Hunk wanted to talk to him more about Keith, but it seemed he knew Lance was already thinking about it enough on his own, especially in light of the recent predicament he’d gotten himself into. With the whole marriage thing, and all.

As soon as Allura and Hunk were gone, it was like everything was back to normal. School started again tomorrow. Shit, Lance needed to get his shit in order. Lesson plans and all that. He was really counting on Olivia to come through with this one- he’d learned that she didn’t mind him stealing her powerpoints. It was just more efficient that way, to not have two copies of the same thing. He had to personalize them, obviously, and occasionally he found himself doing weird errands and favors for her in exchange, but it was more than worth it.

There he was- going back to thinking about school. He wondered if he was falling into a rut, because he’d been distinctly unexcited these past few days. Heavy. Almost guilty.

Sighing, he got up off the couch, shut off the TV, and made his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Going to sleep early was always a good way to feel better and wake up refreshed.

He knew this was about Keith. God, how could one person make him feel so awful yet so good? Walking back into their shared bedroom and seeing Keith sitting on the bed, wearing a loose shirt and reclining on the headboard, propped up with a book brought the feelings back in waves alongside a more pleasant rush of happiness up to his chest.

Their relationship was in a strange place right now, he acknowledged as he turned off the lights. The hard part was that this was what Lance wanted with Keith- which was also weird and new, yeah, because Lance didn’t want to marry people he had crushes on. Like, take him out for dinner, first?- but what they had now was unsustainable. Sleeping together. Being married. Without ever being in a relationship? It was untraditional, to say the least. It couldn’t last. Keith would start dating someone, or he’d just plain-old get tired of being with Lance like this. It was like he had a good thing, something he didn’t want to end, but also something he needed more of. Hanging right on the balance of too much and not enough, and tipping the scales would mean the whole thing came crashing down. It was a very… uncomfortable limbo to be in. Almost enough to overpower his feelings for Keith.

Almost. He still really liked Keith, dammit.

-

“It’s so cold out! What are you doing outside?” Shiro stuck his head out the back door to call to Keith, who was set up with all his painting things.

Lance yawned, slumping into a chair with the eggs he’d made himself. It had been a long first week of school- probably longer for the kids, yeah, but long for him too. He was used to sleeping in, not following anyone else’s schedule… Getting back on track was difficult.

And, yeah, it was cold as shit out. Unusually cold for California in March. Cold enough that Lance, who lived in Virginia a year ago, could call it cold. Yet, there Keith was, sitting bundled up on his little stool with his easel in front of him, blocking in paint with a steely concentration.

Shiro shut the door behind him as he pulled himself back in side the house, and shrugged to Lance. “Whatever suits him, yeah?”

“I guess,” Lance replied, yawning again. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”  

“I’m flying out later. Should probably take a shower while you two aren’t using the bathroom.”

“Yeah, go ahead, I’ll be in there after I wake up in like, a half-hour.”

-

One time, when Keith and Lance were in high school, Lance had taken an art class- he’d kind of had to, for graduation requirements and all that jazz. He’d taken choir up until second semester of ninth grade when he decided he’d had enough of that shit and he wasn’t doing it anymore, no way, no how. He forgot about that remaining semester of art credit he needed right up until registration for senior year, so he took Painting I, same thing Keith was doing; Keith, inexplicably (at the time) still needed his full art credit. Hadn’t taken a single class all through high school. Completely self-taught. Apparently had no plans to ever take an art class until Lance asked him for recommendations and he’d said he’d never taken one, letting out a small “oh” when Lance had told him he needed a set of them to graduate.

They were sorted into the same class, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Their high school was small, the art department was small, and the percentage of people who wanted to take Painting I was yet even smaller . Most people got that credit from music, anyway. Lance had tried to, but goddamn did choir suck. That class had made him want to smash his head in. He’d rather embarrass himself by turning in a shitty painting evidently bearing no artistic talent than sing Hallelujah for warm-up one more time.

Turned out, though, that art class preyed on every single one of Keith’s art insecurities. Showing things to the teacher before they were completely finished was a big one, as was the graded peer feedback that was required- Keith’s art was undoubtedly some of the best in the class, but approaching criticism was hard for him, even if externally he’d appear as angrily uncaring as ever. Due dates sucked, too. Lance understood the purpose of them, especially when a good chunk of people in the class- he included- were just there for an art credit and not necessarily on task all the time, but for an artist, for Keith, they just meant he was on a timer and if the time ran out he’d have to turn in something done with. Something he wasn’t proud of.

Their teacher was a final obstacle. She was young, not particularly mean or cruel, fairly easy grader- at least for Lance. You didn’t fail people for art classes, obviously, and they’d have to be a total slacker to ever deserve a C, really. However, she was a stalker. Prowling around the classroom behind unsuspecting student’s backs, watching them work and offering feedback. Keith hated it. He’d always look over his shoulder, angling his canvas away from the side of the room she was on, seeming to silently plead please, please, please don’t come over here. Honestly, it bothered Lance too, but nowhere to the same degree it bothered Keith.

Thus, they came up with a system, or at least, Lance did. Lance and Keith would sit in their corner, Keith working on whatever beauty he’d come up with, and Lance actively trying to create the shittiest painting possible, almost exclusively with reference photos of stupid-looking dogs he found on the internet. Whenever Teach came over Lance would hog her attention and demand pointers on his painting- she’d always be there for a while because, once again, there was nothing masterful about the way Lance painted his funny dogs. She’d finally have to leave to go help someone with someone else, and she’d be out of Keith’s hair, at least for a while. Keith never said much about it, but Lance knew he appreciated it.

Then came time to start on the final project, and Lance already knew what he was going to paint (take a guess). Keith took a bit longer, but eventually settled on an idea. Lance figured it was going to be masterpiece, since they had nearly double the time to work on it. In the end, it was, holy shit. He bet Keith still had it laying around here somewhere, because it was pretty damn good. It was just Keith’s house- Keith did a lot of drawings of his house, for some reason, with the lion sculpture supersized and sitting guard out front- Keith also did a lot of drawings of mechanical lions, for some reason- but the detailing was great, down to the flowers in their neighbor’s front yard, the tacky wallpaper just visible through the kitchen window, the glint on the lion… He could go on. Lance was honestly pretty proud of his own painting too, in an oh my god, it’s fucking awful and I love it, kind of way. He made sure to use just enough painting techniques to get a good grade, and from there on out it was all contrasting colors, overexaggerated expression on the face of the dog, and a sort of choppy rendering reminiscent of m.s paint. It was a masterpiece. Even Keith agreed so.

Obviously, Keith’s painting’s superiority was why he won that class’s nomination for the art showcase, which was conveniently presented during the Senior Awards, a gigantic assembly of the whole class. Naturally, Keith flipped his shit when he found this out, especially because the whole process involved him walking up on stage to collect a certificate, and them showing the whole auditorium of four-hundred his painting. Administration were sort of jerks about it too, because school officials back in Lance’s high school days didn’t understand anxiety at all and thought Keith was undermining his own ability, which he wasn’t, because he knew that painting fucking rocked. Anyway, Lance was a good friend and a little salty about the school telling Keith off like that, so he’d taken the keys to the backstage he had from drama and swapped out the paintings right before the whole shebang was due to start. He and Keith had ditched the assembly, and, actually, school, cutting with Keith’s painting and returning to the Kogane’s house to eat junk food and play video games.

Therefore he hadn’t actually been there to see what happened, but they didn’t catch the switch in time and their teacher, presenting the award, had gushed about Keith’s painting so much everyone had been dying to see it, so when they’d finally unveiled it and called up his name, projecting the canvas onto the screens flanking the side, only to find… Lance’s ugly dog painting, a sort of beagle with a square face and a gape-like expression, unfocused eyes, all against a technicolor background- everyone had immediately known there was some sort of mix-up, but still, it was funny as shit.

He wasn’t sure why he was remembering it now, but it was definitely one of his best memories. Of course, he got in trouble. Had to own up to the whole thing, they woulda caught him on the cameras anyway, he got his drama keys confiscated and a letter grade markdown on his final project, but hey, who needed an A in art, anyway?

-

“What’re you thinking about?” Asked Pidge, then she held up the coffee pot. “Refill?”

“Sure,” he said, holding his mug out to her. “I’m thinking about an ugly dog painting I did in high school?”

The sliding glass door slid open and Chocolate came running in, just as Pidge said, perplexed, “An ugly dog painting you did in high school?”

“The beagle?” Keith asked, stepping inside.

“Yeah, the beagle,” confirmed Lance. “That thing was funny as hell.”

“What did you end up doing with that painting? Still have it around?”

“I think it’s at my mom’s house. She thought it was funny, too,” answered Lance.

“She didn’t think the ‘c’ on your report card in painting was funny,” Keith recalled. “Or the call from administration.”

“The joke has aged like fine wine, Keith. We can call her up, bet she thinks it’s fucking hilarious, now.”

“Yeah, probably. Do you have a picture, at least. I think we have to show Pidge ugly beagle.”

“True, I’m curious, now,” Pidge contributed.

“I think I’ve got a picture of it out in the garage,” Lance replied. “A lot of my pictures ended up out there.”

“I was wondering about that,” said Keith, taking a seat at the table. “If you just grew out of hanging them up or what.”

“Nah.”

“Well.” He smiled, softly. “You should bring them in.”

“Maybe I should,” said Lance, remembering why he left them out initially. An uncertain sense of belonging, for sure. Well, that was sure gone, now.

Perhaps it was about time.

-

Pulling them from the box one-by-one, he carefully arranged the pictures and polaroids from his collection above the desk he’d claimed as his own. His small collection of items from his mother sat in the corner, just like they had in Virginia. It was starting to feel more and more like his space- a mixture of his and Keith’s spaces, actually, Lance’s personal touch smoothing out the edges of Keith’s hard, practical sense of style.

He took in the rest of the room: Keith’s desk, still fairly organized, pushed up against the same short wall the bed’s headboard rested against, his own desk, near the foot of the bed, with his collection of photos seeming to climb the wall like thriving ivy.

Pidge sat on the made bed, kicking up her feet on their pillows, which, rude. She handed Lance the final picture, seeing he had none left to hang- ugly beagle, as promised.

He tacked it into place just as Keith reentered the room, carrying a canvas maybe a foot by two. “Found it. I was thinking above the dresser.”

It was the original painting. He took a minute to hang it up next to the vintage Star Wars poster that currently hung above the dresser, then turned around to check for Lance and Pidge’s approval. They both nodded assentingly.

“Looks good in here,” Keith said, giving Lance’s completed space a quick once over.  

“It would look better if you had the other painting to go with that one,” said Pidge. “It seems like they’re a set.”

“The beagle? Yeah.”

“So maybe Lance can’t paint, but those were some good composition skills. Pop art. Watch out, Keith, you’ve got yourself a rival.”

Keith laughed. “Who?”

Gasping dramatically, fake scandalized, Lance put both hands over his heart. “Uh, the name’s Lance? ”

Keith scrunched up his face endearingly at Lance’s reaction, lips rising for another short laugh.

“But seriously, though,” Lance said, straightening out. “If my mom ever comes to visit, I can have her bring the painting. I agree, it’s too iconic to collect dust.”

“Speaking of your mom,” said Pidge. “Did you ever tell her that you two…”

She gestured between Keith and Lance tellingly. Lance looked at Keith, who made an Oh face.

“Honestly, forgot you had parents to tell about us getting married,” Keith said, rubbing the back of his neck, humor falling a little bit short.

“I kind of did too,” frowned Lance. “No, I haven’t… But yeah, I probably should. Shit, she’s gonna be so mad. Wait, shit, Keith, don’t look so scared, it won’t be that bad.”

His mom had been the last thing on his mind lately, which he felt guilty about. Geez, he’d have so much to tell her. Right… He’d almost forgotten Keith didn’t have anyone. Keith’s mother had never been in the equation, having left shortly after his birth, and Mr. Kogane had always been so perpetually absent that even after he died it didn’t feel like much changed for Keith.

“Hey, if we’re married now, technically they’re your in-laws, Keith. Maybe you should tell them,” Lance suggested, half-jokingly.

“Stop trying to pin your problems on me.” Keith playfully shoved him.

-

Lance’s phone screen was kind of small, so Keith was pressed up against his side, head on his shoulder, both of their eyes fixed on the cartoon playing on Lance’s phone. Casual. A childhood favorite for both of them. Remade into a Netflix original series. It wasn’t bad.

“One more?” Keith whispered when the episode ended.

Lance tapped the screen to see the time. “Keith, it’s like one in the morning, you get up for the gym tomorrow.”

“What’s one more? They’re only a half hour and then we’ll be done with season 2,” Keith argued, so Lance silently let the next video autoplay.

As he suspected, Keith was yawning by halfway through the episode.

“You tired?” He asked.

“‘M not tired,” said Keith, yawning again. “You’re tired.”

By the time the end credits were rolling, Keith was fast asleep, lolling on Lance’s chest. Lance threw an arm around Keith’s shoulders to rub circles on his back.

He loved Keith. He knew he did. It explained why he wanted more and more of him, how he felt just being together. Even if they weren’t in a relationship, Lance knew Keith the way he’d come to know any of his other partners, and vice versa. Keith was someone who’d seen him at his worst and at his best, someone he was comfortable with and enjoyed the presence of, and someone who was always, always there for him. Someone who was exactly what he wanted in a partner and in a friend. Someone who his heart had chosen- there didn’t have to be any rhyme or reason for it, maybe there was no explanation at all, but he knew this feeling. Keith’s warm breath fanning out over his chest, the warmth of his skin where they touched. The clenching in Lance’s chest.

He loved this boy.

-

And that was a problem, wasn’t it? Having a crush on Keith was one thing, but loving him was another. Especially with their situation, Keith deserved to know that Lance loved him. It wasn’t fair to keep it a secret and expect to keep doing this. He was beginning to feel more and more like a fraud.

He’d have to tell him.

-

The revelation was a hard one, and Lance was ashamed to say he put it off for about as long as possible (four days) before confronting the issue again. He’d give himself a week to think about it, then something had to give. Tell Keith how he felt or distance himself. Sleep on the couch for a while, maybe even move out, suck up the money for a divorce.

Lance had lost an entire friend group before, over the breakup with his ex. He understood why they did it, but he still hadn’t seen it coming. His friends here were nothing like his old ones, that’s what he told himself, but a persistent, nagging voice in his head reminded him that he’d never thought his old friends would leave him, either. He was nervous about it. There was no telling how Keith would react to Lance’s confession. How much it would change what they had going now. The worst case scenario was certainly bad- a near repeat of Virginia, with the key difference being Lance had never got to be with Keith in the first place.

He didn’t know if he could take it, metaphorically going back to where we was half a year ago. Like, travelling in circles, finding somewhere he felt happy and like he belonged, only to end up in the ditch again. The voice became so bad he considered suppressing, suppressing, suppressing the feelings. Getting a girlfriend or boyfriend, maybe. Changing everything by changing nothing. Alternative answers. He came up with so, so many, but always ended up circling back to the start because that’s what was right.

Keith deserved to know.

Lance just needed to man up and deal with whatever faced him on the other side of that confession.

-

“¿Que estàs haciendo? Really, Lance?” Olivia popped into their shared office.

Lance- and he was not proud of himself for this- was sitting at his desk, a pile of to-be-graded test papers in front of him, on the verbos de bota and los irregulares , sipping directly from a bottle of cheap Target wine. “Please don’t get me fired. I don’t have any more classes for today, they’re all at assembly.”

A smile quirked her face. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone has their drinking wine at work days here.”

“Really? Even you?”

“No. Not me. By everyone I mean the white people. White women. Having their midlife crisis. You are acting like a white woman having a midlife crisis, Lance.”

“Sorry. I’ve just been… thinking,” Lance sighed.

“About what?”

“...My life, I guess?”

“What’s the problem?” She crossed her arms.  

“I love my husband.”

She looked at him for a second without saying anything. He took another sip of the bottle. “You are a white woman having a midlife crisis.”

-

It was time to call his mom. He felt it in his bones, the instinctual pulling of a boy who was close to his mother and had a problem. He waited until the house was completely empty, everyone was out doing something or other, to call her, because he knew it’d be a long talk.

She picked up the phone and they exchanged pleasantries. Lance asked about his nieces and nephews. She asked him about work. Soon enough, though, she seemed to pick up on the tone of his voice.

“¿Algo pasa, mijo? You sound so down.”

He took a deep breath. Best start from the top. “I’ve got a story to tell you.”

So he told her just about everything. About the marriage pact. What had happened that night. Moving to San Francisco, all the details he’d left out. Catching feelings for Keith. The trip to Vegas. How the pact came to be fulfilled, unintentionally. Everything that had happened since then.

It was a lot to take in, so he understood her silence at first.

“Ay, pendejo. No puedo creer que fuiste y casaste sin decirme,” she said, eventually.

I can’t believe you went and got married without telling me. Lance laughed, slightly. “Anything else to say?”

“You are right. He deserves to know.”

So that was his mom’s opinion.

Also, his mom:

“Keith will make a good husband. Hurry up and tell him already so we can have a proper wedding.”

He bid her goodbye after that, too emotionally exhausted to tell her that Keith probably didn’t feel the same way about him. Keith didn’t need love, he’d said it himself. He tried dating. It wasn’t for him. Despite this, he was glad he talked to her. She shared his opinion, too, that telling him was the right thing to do- wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion, though.

-

Hunk’s was as good as any, and Hunk had been there for all the twists and turns on the Wild Keith Ride, so Lance skyped him later in the day.

“You’re finally willing to talk about him again? Wow.”

“I literally called you to talk about him,” Lance pointed out. “Look. I’ve been thinking about telling him I like him.”

“Go for it.”

“Really? You think it’s that simple?” Lance said, wryly.

“Yeah, buddy. He likes you back.”

“Hunk, he doesn’t.”

“Sure he does. You don’t just marry people you don’t like. Also, he just gets happier when you paid attention to him. I saw it myself. I’m the love connoisseur,” said Hunk.

“Is that how you bagged yourself such a beautiful girlfriend?” joked Lance.

“It sure is. I learned my skill from the best: you. You just get weird when you really, really like someone. That’s how I know it’s real.”

“Okay, Hunk,” said Lance. “I’m still not convinced Keith likes me too, but thanks for contributing. My mind’s pretty much set.”

“No problem, bro.”

-

He ended up talking to Coran serendipitously. He’d agreed to pick up Keith from work, but Keith had to stay a little while longer, so he meandered down to Coran’s for a milkshake. The restaurant was empty, a slow time of day, with not even the waitresses out front- they must all be in the back room.

Lance say at the bar, sipped his vanilla twist from a straw and watched Coran clean out the glasses in perfect silence.

“Do you think I should tell Keith I love him?” Lance asked. The question would normally be a wait, hold up, thing, but it wasn’t for Coran, somewhat unsurprisingly.

The man just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sure, my boy. Chase your own happiness.”

“Even if it’s risky?”

“It’s not risky. Keith is a lovely young man. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, it won’t be the end of your friendship.”

Actually reassured about that one, because Coran seemed so sure of it, and he was trustworthy, Lance smiled. His phone buzzed in his pocket- probably Keith, letting Lance know he was done.

“Thanks, Coran.”

-

The final day of Lance’s week of thought, the night he had resigned himself to confess, was a warm Saturday with scattered showers early in the day, leaving the fresh smell of rain outside and bringing the not-as-pleasant smell of wet dog inside the house.

Lance had debated on the best way to confess to Keith. A big, dramatic affair was out of the question, but it also didn’t feel right to underestimate what a big deal it was to confess. He couldn’t just mention it offhand, as if “Keith, I love you” carried the same weight as “Keith, remember to get milk at the store” did. So he settled on what he considered a happy medium- he’d take Keith out to dinner, find a nice, quiet spot to talk, and tell him. To preserve his own sanity, he pushed any thoughts of what would happen afterwards out of his headspace. Regardless of whether or not Keith reciprocated, he had to confess to clear his own conscious. It was about time, too. He’d have to ask or he’d chicken out, for sure.

“You wanna go out to eat tonight?” He asked Keith, who was hunched over at his desk, tablet out, working on a sort of project. “We can get whatever you want.”

“Fine, I guess,” he exhaled, heavily. “Guess I need to take a break from this, anyway.”

“Great. Let me know when you reach a good stopping point and we can go.”

The sun was starting to dip in the sky when they finally got into Lance’s car, Lance behind the wheel, and Keith riding shotgun. Lance pulled out of the neighborhood, turning onto the nearest road without a clue where they were going.

“What are you feeling like?” He asked Keith.

“Nothing in particular. We can just go to the diner, I suppose,” Keith responded, looking out the front of the window. He looked tired. Lance wondered if this was a bad time.

“Alright, the diner it is,” Lance said, turning right at the light to get himself going in the right direction. The diner was fine, and he knew the surroundings pretty well. Maybe he could walk Keith down to his mural or something.

However, when they got to the building, the windows were dark, which was strange, because Lance knew Coran stayed open longer than seven-thirty at night.

“You think he’s here?”

“Guess not,” Keith said. “Oh, right, he’s getting the walls repainted.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, he did mention that. Just a touch up, right?”

“Yeah. I was kind of hoping he’d let me paint something right near the entrance,” Keith said.

“I bet he would.” Lance flexed his hands on the steering wheel, then shifted back into drive. “What’s plan b?”

“Honestly, I’m sort of feeling McDonalds,” Keith responded sheepishly, and Lance nearly laughed out loud. McDonalds? It was almost like Keith didn’t understand how serious this was, and he didn’t, of course, had no idea what Lance was planning to say, but it was still laughable.

“Okay, fine, we’ll go to McDonalds.”

-

Keith seemed to perk up, and shake off whatever funk he was in after he got some food in him. The food was forty chicken nuggets they’d ordered between the two of them, with an impressive array of dipping sauces laid out on the table. Large soft drinks of impressive, nearly bottomless size, a sugar rush compacted in a 32 oz cup.

Their table was a little sticky- neither of them would expect otherwise from the inside of a McDonalds, but otherwise nice, a booth tucked away into the corner with a tacky design on the table. They were the only ones eating in. The staff behind the counter were either staffing the drive-through or standing at the register looking bored, just within Lance vision over Keith’s head.

Keith was talking about his classes while voraciously going through his nuggets. He must’ve been hungry as hell. He finished his own box and began to steal from Lance’s, which, no fair. Still looked cute, even with a little bit of ketchup smeared on his left cheek. Lance surrendered his remaining nuggs to Keith and snacked on his box of fries, holding them close to his chest so Keith couldn’t steal those, too.

“If you could see one of the Seven Wonders of the World tomorrow for free, which would it be?” Lance asked.

“You sound like you googled ‘conversation starters’ and just said the first result,” critiqued Keith.

“Okay, first of all, I did not, I came up on it completely on my own. Second, you can’t expect me to know what you’re saying if you start talking about photoshop, I’m only masterful in m.s paint,” Lance shot back.

“And even that’s a stretch.”

“Rude as fuck, Kogane.”

“The colosseum.”

“Mm?” Lance hummed. “What?”

“In Rome. The colosseum. We’re doing the new Seven Wonders of the World, right? I only know those ones, not the old ones.”

“Oh! Yeah, the colosseum. That would be cool. Visiting Italy or Greece in general would be cool, honestly.”

“How about you?”

“I think I’d like to see Christ the Redeemer,” decided Lance. “How cool is that shit? A giant ass man, towering over Rio. I’ve always wanted to go to Rio.”

“I don’t know if Rio’s really that nice, Lance. Looked pretty nasty when they hosted the Olympics there.”

“Eh, that’s not the whole city. Besides, Rio’s pretty in the movies.”

“...What movies?”

“Rio.”

“...Rio?” said Keith, incredulously. “As in, like, the animated movie with the blue macaws?”

“Yeah, Rio!”

“You’re shitting me.” He grinned at Lance mockingly. “You’re a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” said Lance, teasingly.

“Guess I do,” Keith responded in all seriousness, with a slight smile. “Besides, if you go to Rio, you already speak Spanish, so…”

Lance only got a second to bask in Keith’s shy smile before he said that second stupid thing, distracting him. “Keith, they don’t speak Spanish in Brazil…”

“What? It’s in South America?”

“They speak portuguese, buddy.”

“Oh… Portuguese… I knew I was forgetting something…” Keith said. “Ouch.”

“Room for desert?” Asked Lance when Keith finished the last of the fries.

“Always,” said Keith, and Lance felt his heart beating a little faster, because it was almost time. He didn’t even know how he would approach the conversation, because they weren’t talking about themselves, tonight.

Lance ordered two McFlurries from the tired cashier, m&m for Keith and Oreo for himself. They lingered until they were done, then headed outside.

It’s not like there was anywhere to go. The McDonalds was just barely off the freeway, close enough to hear the engines of the cars travelling past and the whistling of the artificial wind they left behind. The stores around the McDonalds looked even sketchier, with no bench to be found, so they just sat on the curb next to the car. It was warm out, not too humid, with a slight chilling breeze, and the sun had fully set, leaving the sky city-dark, a smoggy, deep purple.

“I wish there were more stars,” said Keith, wistfully. “I don’t like that about living here.”

“Yeah, stars would be nice,” Lance agreed. “Do you think you’ll live in the city forever? I don’t think I will. I might want to move somewhere quiet. Less busy.”

“Me too,” assented Keith. “Maybe a less busy city. Living in Arizona or Colorado would be cool.”

“420 blaze it,” said Lance, then: “I’m sorry I said that, instinct, I’ve never smoked a weed in my life.”

“A weed.”

“Chris, is that a weed?” Lance recited, also on instinct, and Keith laughed a little at that one.

“We should,” Keith said. “Move somewhere, that is. When I’m done with college. Explore the world and stuff.”

“I think I’d like that,” said Lance, knowing full well he’d follow Keith just about everywhere if Keith would have him. “Oh, wait, you’ve still got ketchup on your face. Hold on.”

The smear he noticed earlier still traced Keith’s cheek, so he wiped it off with his thumb, steadying Keith’s face with the rest of his hand under his chin. Keith didn’t flinch, and brought his eyes up to Lance’s.

McDonald’s lighting was bad, and they were both bathed in an ugly yellow color, but it didn’t obscure Keith’s face from Lance. His expression was shifting into something strange, wanting, vulnerable…

Lance wasn’t stupid. He knew it was the kiss me face. He just didn’t know what to make of it, maybe he was reading the situation wrong…- but he wanted to. Oh, did he want to. Kissing Keith would be so easy- make it clear how he felt. Especially when Keith looked like he wanted it, too.

Oh God, oh God.

It was now or never for the talking. He hadn’t moved his hand, and their legs were angled together, faces inches apart… He started talking, and any semblance of preparation he’d had went flying out the window. Words too fast. Words too jumbled together.

“Keith, Ilikeyou a lot- not in the friend way in the romance way, no, no I like you in the friend way too it’s just that I also think I love you?” He stuttered out. “Wait, shit, that’s a lie, I know I love you I’ve spent so much time thinking about it I just-”

He was persistently avoiding making eye contact with Keith, so he was taken off guard when a hand looped around his neck and pulled him down.

Lance hardly remembered kissing Keith drunk in Vegas, but he’d remember in sharp detail kissing Keith in a McDonald’s parking lot.

Keith wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t drunk.

Keith was kissing him after he confessed. A response to his confession of their lips sliding softly together, hangs tangling in clothes and hair, pulling each other closer.

He’d told himself that it didn’t matter whether or not Keith liked him back, but it felt so, so good that he did. No more anxiety to suppress the whole, full-body rush, the way his heart felt so full it might burst. Love. Requited love.

They separated hesitantly, hands still on each other, keeping their faces close together, audibly breathing.

“So does this mean you like me back?” Lance murmured.

“Lance, Lance…” Keith said incredulously, with just a hint of amusement in his voice. Lance could feel his breath fanning over his cheeks. “I’ve had a crush on you since high school. Of course I like you back.”

“Wait, shit, since high school? Keith, what the hell?”

“Don’t give me that! I can’t believe you’d think for a second I didn’t love you back? I let you marry me drunk! You sleep in my bed every night!” Keith protested.

“...We’re good friends?”

“I wouldn’t let Shiro or Pidge marry me drunk! You’re such an idiot,” Keith huffed, squeezing Lance in a tight embrace.

“But I’m your idiot,” Lance said, quite possibly a few more Keith touches of dying from happiness.

“Yeah… I guess you are.”

“Seriously, though, Keith.” Lance sat up a bit. “If you’ve liked me for so long, why didn’t you say anything?”

“It just didn’t seem like you’d ever like me back,” Keith admitted. “I’m not exactly your type.”

Lance wanted to laugh at that one because he’d come to realize that Keith was exactly his type, in a strange, backwards, undermining, subversive Keith way.

“And I thought that sleeping with you was bad as soon as I realized my feelings. Keith, how are you not dead if you’re felt this way all along?”

“Lots of masochism,” deadpanned Keith gravely. “This is all so messed up. We did this all in the wrong order.”

“We sure did, didn’t we?” Lance laughed. “I love you. You love me back. Can we be together, now?”

“Is it really getting together if we’re already married?” Mused Keith. “Yes. I’ll be with you. For real. I’ll be your boyfriend or your husband or whatever you want me to be.”

“Guess, you’re stuck with me now.” Lance smiled slyly.

“Well, after all,” said Keith, taking Lance by the hand and pulling him up to his feet. “Isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

-

EPILOGUE

“Happy birthday,” Keith greeted Lance when he walked into the kitchen. It was well past ten, and both Shiro and Pidge were gone. Chocolate slept on her new doggy-bed in the living room. The windows were open to let in the breeze.

Lance insisted he didn’t need anything for his birthday this year- waking up to Keith, wearing boxers and one of Lance’s shirts, trying to cook and boasting a mediocre standard of success, was birthday present enough.

He wrapped his arms around his husband from behind, eliciting a small burst of laughter from Keith. “Hi, babe,” Lance said.

“Good morning. How does being twenty-six feel?” Keith teased, flipping a pancake the best he could around Lance’s encompassing embrace.

“No different. Can I get a proper kiss now?” He requested, and waited for Keith’s lips to be on his. It had been a few months, and he knew his affection for the other man had only grown. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that he hadn’t always felt this way when he looked at Keith, hadn’t always been able to touch him freely, hadn’t always had chaste morning kisses from someone he loved. Someone right there.

Hard to believe that just last year, he could go days without thinking about Keith, and now here he was, happily in love, happily married, waking up to breakfast Keith made because it was Lance’s birthday and he loved Lance back. Here he was, living with Keith and getting to spend every night with him and a good part of every day. Here he was, with amazing friends and an amazing job. Here he was, unafraid of the future, because he knew Keith would be with him every step of the way.

“Don’t be mad, but I bought you something for our birthday,” Keith said.

“Ke-eith,” Lance sighed. “Okay, what is it.”

“Okay,” Keith exhaled. “So, I’ve got this idea. We should renew our vows. Have that big wedding you always wanted with all your family.”

“You know I’d love to, and you know my mother would love to even more,” yawned Lance. “I’d love to marry you a second time, babe. Is that all? That’s not exactly buying me something.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” teased Keith. “Of course it’s not all. Can you let go of me.”

Grumbly, Lance let go of his hold on Keith. “This better be good.”

Keith turned around to face Lance, reaching into his pockets. He withdrew a small, velvet box. “Oh, it’s good.”

“Are those…”

“Rings,” Keith confirmed. “Since we never had any. And just for the effect…”

He dropped down onto one knee, holding the box in front of him, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he opened it to reveal the simple band. “Lance McClain-Sanchez, will you marry me again?”

“Of course I’ll marry you again,” Lance said, almost starting to feel himself tear up a bit. “Ugh, Keith, I’m gonna cry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional, I just- I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Keith smiled, gently guiding Lance to slip his ring on, slipping his own hands into Lance’s, afterwards, and they began a slow dance across the kitchen floor, just lazy turns and side-steps, Keith’s head pressed to Lance’s chest. “I thought it would be a good day to ‘propose’... Since it’s been a year since you decided to move here with me.”

“It sure has been.”

“Was it a good year?”

“A good year?” Lance laughed, and flung Keith out away from his body again, grandly swinging him around. “Keith, it was a great year.”

“Glad to hear it,”

“And you know what?” They came back together, hands entwined with matching gold rings on their right hands, faces close together.

“What?” Keith asked, breathlessly, unabashedly studying Lance’s features.

“This year’s gonna be even better, Keith. Because this year I’m gonna marry you, we’re going to get to meet Hunk and Allura’s baby, you’re gonna finally have a college degree, and we’re gonna start looking at houses somewhere where we can see the stars,” Lance said, just listing off the top of his head.

“Yeah,” said Keith, breathlessly. “I guess we do have a lot to look forward to.”

-

So, there it was: the story of the time Lance moved to San Francisco.