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Lance’s finger hovers over the contact, chapped lips pursed, tongue dry.
He hasn’t talked to him in years, there’s no guarantee he’ll just up and talk to Lance.
Lance broke up with him after all.
He shakes the thought; no, he can do this. His head’s right now, and he knows what he wants. He can own up to it all.
He watches the slow snowfall add to the soft pile outside of his desk window, pressing the ‘create message’ under the contact.
[Hello, this is Lance..
Is that too formal?
[Hey, it’s Lance. I know it’s been a bit since we’ve talked, so I wanted to know if you’d like to possibly catch up sometime?]
..yeah, yeah that’s good.
Man, and he thought making the message would be bad. God— just SEND it!
His orange kitten Pumpkin jumps up onto his desk and rubs against his hand, making his thumb move juuuust right enough to send it, making his heart skip maybe 10 or 20 beats at once.
Holy shit. “Thanks, pumpkin.”
Lance rolls his eyes, turning his phone off and petting his favorite girl.
Will he answer after all this time? Is his number even the same? Pidge said it should be, so it has to be, right..?
Okay, positive thoughts: maybe this will go good. It is almost Christmas after all.
Two days pass before he gets a response, the 23rd of December.
[Sure.]
Holy shit sticks.
Lance almost slides on the poorly salted sidewalk before he catches himself, biting a glove off to text back.
[How about today...
Delete delete delete, he’s not that desperate, come on.
[How about tomorrow evening? You still live by Arus, right? Their main coffee shop’s still open :)]
Smiley face?
Okay okay, smiley face.
It only takes a couple of seconds for Lance’s phone to vibrate, a few more steps down the street now as he reads:
[Sounds good, see u there.]
In short words, Lance may or may not spend most of his day at work smiling more cheerily than his usual.
The next day comes slowly, but it still comes, and it's evening before Lance knows it.
He couldn’t not spiff himself up. Picked out his nicer mountain fleece jacket, distributed a small glob of gel into his stubborn bangs, even threw in a spritz of cologne. That’s just what anyone would do when they go out for a drink with someone, obviously. Not to mention that he’s comfy, and snazzy.
And warm, a patterned scarf protecting his neck as he opens the door ‘n walks into the cafe that smells like cookies and everything nice.
He exhales once inside to get used to the warm temp, only looking around for a few seconds before he spots a booth with a gorgeous mullet that he’d recognize anywhere.
“Hope the drive wasn’t too fa..”
The man looks up; great mother of pearl, were his eyes always this sparkly? This pretty? Oh, and those lashes...
Lance remembers how purple those eyes could be one minute, and how almost violet/black they could be the next. It was his favorite thing about them.
“Oh, it was only a minute or two ride, don’t worry.”
Second strike down be his low voice, holt crow.
Lance remembers how much of a sucker for it he was, probably asked for recordings upon recordings of it, just knows he fell asleep to on calls a million times.
He snaps out of it soon enough and sits down on the opposite side of the booth once he realizes he’s been staring at this guy like a mad man.
“You didn’t wait long for me, did you?”
“Nah, just got here myself.”
Lance smiles and relaxes in the seat, “good, good..” he picks up and scans the menu, peeking over it where his company is doing the same.
Silence.
Yeah, he expected this much. I mean… he didn’t think he’d get this far! That’s fair, right??
“..Sooo...” Lance clears his throat, “how have you been? What’ve you been up to?”
Pretty Eyes looks up, shrugs.
“Dunno, I’ve been hangin’ in there, alright I guess. Shiro helped move me out, so I live in a complex a few blocks down that way..”
Lance notes the new grunge tattoos slithering up the pale wrist pointed behind them out the window, nodding and humming as signal to hear more.
“..I work for the city on the side, um.. I got a dog—“
Lance’s gasp interrupts, face lighting up at ‘dog’.
“Aw, cutee.”
Mr. Stranger smiles a little.
Mark Lance a fool even now for that smile. Memories flood of that smile being because of him just like it is right now, and damn, he sure was an addict to it, no doubt about it.
Is. Is an addict to it.
“Mhm. What about you? I’ve seen your company ads everywhere, must be doing good business?”
Lance snaps himself out of it— “oh— yeah! Yeah, I’m good. It provides a great payroll, and it’s an enjoyable job with really nice people.”
Lance’s mouth may be somewhat in the conversation, but his mind is elsewhere, watching the other’s lips move without any noise following as he just thinks and thinks. Don’t even get him started on those lips.
Why did they break up again?
God, he hopes he didn’t hurt him.
And if he did, how? How badly? Was he sober? Is it forgivable? Did he forgive Lance already if he showed up today?
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Yeah that— nope, not what was supposed to come out of his mouth. Of course— leave it to his mouth to mess this up first.
Those dark, sparkly eyes widen, taken by surprise, but... not uncomfortable by any means.
Actually, he just shakes his head and glances away. “No, I um.. I haven’t seen anyone after you.”
Fuck.
Real smooth, Lance. Why don’t you ask him if he’s slept with anyone else while you’re at it, too?
He hasn’t had anything serious after either, but still...
“Oh.” You started this, now get your head in the game. “Right, yeah no uh.. me either— sorry, I didn’t—“
“It’s okay,” that smile widens to let out an assuring chuckle, Lance thinks it might have sent his heart into an eternal 200 bpm loop.
they stay like this for a while, looking into each other’s eyes with a found connection; it’s tender. Understanding.
Home. It’s home.
“...Keith, I’m-“
A waitress with a Christmas-puked apron stops by taking their orders, Lance ordering a pumpkin spice chai latte, the other just a straight black.
Lance re-route’s his mind forcing a soft laugh, “your order’s still the same, huh? Straight black.”
“Mhm,” Keith nods, picking at his fingernail.
More silence. Keith breaks it this time.
“Is that hair gel?”
Lance frowns.
“Yeah? What’s wrong with a little hair gel?” pouting per usual.
The waitress comes back around, dropping off their drinks.
Keith takes his with a shake of his head, smiling around the rim of a sip of the scolding coffee right away like a heathen, Lance used to say. “Oh, nothing, nothing. I’ve just never seen you use any before.”
Double fuck, he’s really digging himself a hole here, isn’t he?
Lance brushes it off quick with a nod to Keith’s hair, “well, I’ve never seen your hair that long before.”
Keith’s expression turns exposed, taking a look down at it.
Lance always liked his hair longer, and he would always tell Keith that.
Keith must have remembered that the same time Lance did as he consciously tucks some behind his ear, finishing his sip before looking away fully and clearing his throat.
Is he... Is he blushing?
Lance isn’t one to talk, only now aware of how hot his cheeks and the tips of his ears are, shit shit shit—
This is not how he intended this to go!!
He subtly digs his fingers into his nape with a frustrated huff, finding a distraction in reaching over in the glass container for some of the creamer in the middle of the table.
He grabs two for him, always liking his chai’s with a heaping amount of sweetness, and three for Keith.
Keith clears his throat, eventually bringing his attention back. He opens a creamer up and pours it into the black abyss, “so you remembered.”
“‘Course,” Lance nods, stirring before taking a big gulp of the pumpkin yumminess. “Just like how I remember that you’d have at least three straws in your lap to pelt their wrappers at me with.” He snorts.
Keith looks down, three straws in his lap.
It’s just…... because of reflexes. Yeah.
Why did Lance contact him, again? Why near Christmas? Just to get his hopes up or something?
No, he knows Lance isn’t like that. He hopes so, at least.
Does he even remember why they broke up..?
A clump of energetic, babbling children bash through the door of the cafe, making the greeting bell go crazy behind them at the entrance.
“They should really make a time limit—“
“—for those little fuckers.”
Both look at each other after the synchronized insult with a solid beat of nothing, before the burst of chaos and belly-giggles come barreling out of both.
“Nope, then they’d lose their number one buyers for their secret ingredient to their hot chocolate: coke.”
Lance snorts, bumping some of the nutmeg-garnished foam on his upper lip.
He swallows, nodding, “oh, absolutely. You think they get all that holly jolly energy on their own?”
More and more teeters go back and forth between them, and they keep adding more onto the joke until laughing becomes physically painful in the groin; the good kind of laughing that neither has had in a while.
Once their guffaws simmer down to quiet between them again, they both gulp at their drinks. Lance peeking up at Keith when he’s not looking, Keith gazing at Lance when he has absolutely no clue.
Keith counts those freckles that’ve always warmed his heart, watches the tips of Lance’s fingers doing happy little tippy taps on the handle of the mug like they always did.
Keith decides that he likes the gel in Lance’s hair, and wants to run his fingers through it like he used to.
Like he used to be allowed to.
The waitress comes by for the check.
“Separate or one?” She asks.
They both say “one” without a second thought, oops.
It creates a.. weird pause, making the waitress flicker her eyes between them in short patience of an answer.
“Uh.. Separate, please.” Keith corrects, softly.
They then cough up their cards, the waitress taking both and tracking back to the register.
That’s right, they’re separate now. Have been.
For a while.
How long? God...
Too long. That’s the answer.
God, Lance cannot take this awkwardness anymore. He has to say something. He HAS to.
He takes a big breath first, sighing it out and putting his mug down. “So, listen—“
Keith pipes up at the same time. “Oh, sorry- I’ve just gotta go to the bathroom real quick.”
Lance’s face falls after that, watching Keith scooch out of the booth and stand and letting his mind jump to the only conclusion possible.
He’s gonna leave, isn’t he?
He doesn’t blame him. He can’t blame him if Keith just held out on him for tonight if it was too painful for him, and he really, really can’t blame him if Lance majorly fucked what should have just been a civil catching-up coffee date and gave him the wrong idea or, something…
Lance eventually nods, dejected but acceptful expression clear. “Okay.”
Keith notices the dissatisfaction smeared over Lance’s face, and honestly didn’t even need to turn around to feel the sad vibe because he.. still knows Lance that well.
He knows that he’s overthinking something out of reach, at least.
So, he takes his phone out and leaves it on the table. Makes sure Lance catches the corner of his lips curling up just the tiniest bit with a quick “you’ve got a little something here, by the way,” pointing to his lip before heading towards the mens room.
Lance smiles to himself after Keith walks off, blinking and wiping the foam off his lip— asshole for not telling him sooner.
The overhead carols on the radio quietly replace the air from the heavy awkwardness, and he can breathe properly again assuming that okay, so maybe he didn’t fuck this up completely. Cool. Cool.
His fingers drum a thought-up-on-a-whim beat on the table, foot tapping below.
He eyes down Keith’s phone. Still the same cheap, black case with the same cracks and scratches on the back.
...He wouldn’t still have Lance’s fingerprint, would he?
Jesus— who says that? Everyone deletes their exes’!
I mean, he didn’t delete Keith’s, but that’s not the point.
Lance takes two very, very long gulps of his latte.
When Keith returns, it isn’t as awkward as five minutes ago. Still beating around the painfully obvious bush that neither wants to hop into first, yes, but it’s… comfier, at least. They end up discussing things like Shiro’s whereabouts, Lance’s family and how old his nieces must be by now, new favorite bands, hobbies.
Lance describes his kitten and shows pictures of her from a baby to now all grown up and polite as she is, and Keith does the same with his dog, Kosmo. Lance has to keep himself from squealing like a toddler when he sees how big the fluffy baby is in the pictures, declaring that Keith is now obligated to send him pictures of Kosmo whenever he does something cute like existing.
Keith ends up using the ammo that is that of the straw wrappers, blowing them all at Lance’s face like the good old times, and Lance kicking under the table to attack Keith’s ankles in play defense, also, like good old times.
Neither of them know if what they’re doing is solely for the sake of the past or not anymore, but from the looks of Lance’s toothy smile, Keith’s smile dimples— they don’t care.
They’re just being for now.
Lance twirls around the last few drops of his pumpkin spice happiness in the bottom of the mug, lips pulled to the side as he jokes with a raised brow, “think if I chat up the waitress good enough that she’ll give us free refills?”
Keith finishes the last sip of his, sliding it aside with a humored roll of his eyes. Ah, so that never changed either.
“Maybe,” he shrugs, tilting his head and locking eyes with the ones parallel him. “I can’t resist your charm, so. I doubt she’d be able to.”
Lance gives a lighthearted snicker at first, before the cue is picked up; this is a mood change, isn’t it? So his face loses the traces of jokes.
Oh. That wasn’t... that wasn’t a joke, was it? God, he really hopes it wasn’t for what he’s about to reach deep into his gut and say.
“Can we meet again?”
Nope, don’t stop there.
“I want- can I take you out? For a real dinner next time?”
Keith swallows.
He knows his body temperature has warmed up ever since he got here, and any other excuse for how red his face feels like it’s getting would be nothing to dismiss how his belly flips hearing the offer of seeing Lance another time after today.
Please?
“Oh, and I won’t do the walrus thing this time.”
“What?”
“Or the Dracula thing. Or the duck thing. Or the spoon thing—“
“Oh my god..” Keith let’s his head throw back, giggles bubbling up his chest, bouncing up his shoulders. He saw this coming, how could he not?
Lance feeds off of Keith’s giddiness, the same joy that he’d always, God always be trying to get out of Keith because happiness looks so good on him. “Silverware stays OFF of my nose, yep. No serenading napkin swans either! And the olives? Blueberries? Banned from my nostrils just for you, mhm. You have my word!”
“Lance!” Keith chuckles, finally bringing his head down to properly speak. “You really never change, do you?”
“Says you—“ Lance reaches to grab at Keith’s leather-covered forearm, Keith startling a bit but not moving from the familiar touch. “Still as emo as ever, I see. Pack it up Jonas brother number four.”
Keith deadpans, blinking. “I changed my answer.”
Lance’s jaw drops in unfairness, “what! You didn’t even say anythi-”
“Yep, Jonas brother number four’s schedule is filled forever.”
Lance’s eyes almost pop out of his head hearing ‘forever’, hands up in surrender.“Alright alright, no need to take extremes. Zipped.” Even ‘zips’ his lips to show it.
Keith snickers, shaking his head.
Lance takes this chance to scoop up one of Keith’s hands into his own, of course they’re freezing. Always have been the worst with maintaining circulation, tsk tsk.
“So, will the ever so splendid Keith Kogane be as gracious as to go to a fancy dinner with me?”
Keith glances down to their hands, the urge to pull away the most distant thought of any others that are mixing his brain right now. All he can do is take his time to look Lance’s face over, making up for the lost time. Longingly, that is; this face has given him so much, taught him so much about himself that he never knew he’d be able to know on his own, and given him a chance to believe in love again. Before everything happened, of course, but... he’s still missed him for years. He’s missed this.
Lance’s expression is goofy, but his eyes say something else.
Please, give me another chance?
I’ve missed you so much.
Keith finally nods, cheeks all rosy. His hand curls into Lance’s palm. “Yeah,” nodding, “I’d like that.”
The snow starts picking up speed, sticking like pure syrup, making foot after foot build up against the side of the cafe. A train passes above the cafe, tuning out all murmurs to just a pleasant rumbling, a ringing. The wall decorations and table trinkets jingle and shake until it passes through, until Keith’s hand warms up to the presence of Lance’s soft hands, his body heat.
To the presence of Lance.
They both go to open their mouths, the words being so predictable that they could spill and heal what else needs mended between them right away at the snap of fingers.
But Keith’s phone vibrating in his pocket puts those words on hold, saved for another day.
Another day, for sure.
“Oh, um..” Keith takes his hand out from Lance’s with obvious reluctance, “one second.” Then using said hand to answer the call, mumbling a simple ‘yeah?’.
With a few head nods, a soft huff and a little crinkle between his brows that usually means an inconvenience whether big or small has arrived, he hangs up.
Lance is confused, based off of the apology in that porcelain face that comes before Keith’s next sentence.
“I have a, uh.. I got called out to go plow some roads, it’s getting pretty bad out there.”
“Ah,” Lance nods, peeking out the window to confirm that yes, it is getting bad out. He shoves his hands in his pockets as the waitress comes back around one last time with their cards, wishing them to get home safe and to have a Merry Christmas.
Both stand after that, zipping their jackets up and getting ready to leave.
Neither actually go towards the door yet.
Lance shifts in his spot, “I’ll text you, then? About dinner?”
Keith hums, “it doesn’t have to be about dinner, but sure.”
Oh, score.
Lance’s eyes survey the other, very much aware that this is where a couple would kiss and say their goodbyes then go home together and live happily ever after— together.
But he has hope that he can wait to do that again.
He has even more hope that Keith will wait for him to, too.
Keith peeks up at the clock above the kitchen, shocked at how much time passed, but using it as the perfect closing that he knew both of them were avoiding saying anything close to a goodbye for.
“Merry Christmas, Lance.”
Lance looks at the clock second, just as surprised, grinning gently. “Merry Christmas, Keith.”
There’s a silent agreement made for them to then walk out together, to split at the fork in the sidewalk.
Lance pulls out his phone while his breath clouds in front of him, his finger hovering over the contact and changing the name from numbers back to his favorite name in his phone.
Then swipes to Amazon, searching for stylish dinner suits and ties.