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Their Grandfather’s funeral was not what Lance’s family thought it would be. But as Lance grew to understand the man was full of surprises. Lance always loved visiting his grandfather’s farm as a child, during the thick of summer. It was spent mostly out in the field playing in the dirt and learning a thing or two about farming because as his grandfather said, “You might be from the city but it’d be a shame if anyone in our family never experienced the pleasure of farm life.” Lance hated leaving Papa at the end of the summer, but he always enjoyed the basket of sweet strawberries he’d bring home.
In Papa’s last year of life, Lance’s mother had moved full time out to his farm, which lay at the edge of the small town Altea, to take care of him. Lance and his siblings would alternate schedules to keep the pair company and spend as much time with Papa as possible. Even in his fragile state, Papa and Lance still grew and enjoyed one last bunch of strawberries. In the winter Papa confided with Lance that he’d been more than happy he lived to see another full change of the seasons but he’d be thrilled if he got to see one more spring day. Though Lance’s heart was heavy with grief he smiled knowing that his Papa got to see the first day of spring and then some.
Though Rachel’s eyes were currently dry her face was tracked from salted tears and her cheeks were red and puffy. Lance imagined he looked no better. She sat next to him in one of the funeral parlour chairs, nursing a tea. The service was beautiful but there were far more people in attendance than Lance thought there would be. Rachel and Lance opted to take a break from the condolences. They surveyed the full room, making comments every once in a while. “It’s like there’s a small town here.” Rachel remarked.
Lance studied the room a bit more, catching some vaguely familiar faces. Through Lance’s visits to the farm were only for a few days at a time, without fail someone from Altea had some for a cup of tea or delivered some goods. He couldn’t recall all their names but he couldn’t forget the faces of those who were so generous.
“That’s because there is a small town present,” Lance adjusted his itchy jacket, “Papa was a popular man.”
A week after the funeral service Lance and his family returned home in the city, grieving in their own separate ways. They had closed the tailor shop, for the time being, their regular clientele were more than understanding. Lance’s mother had gathered the family to share Papa’s will. It was easier now to discuss after some time had passed, but Mama could only bear to do so much at a time.
“That’s all there is,” Mama let out a shaky breath, “Except for one last thing.” Lance handed his mother a handkerchief from his pocket anticipating some tears by the wobble in her voice. Veronica held her hand steadily. “Papa’s farm.”
Lance really shouldn’t have been caught off guard considering that the farm and house were the biggest possessions his grandfather owned, yet he hadn’t considered what would happen to the land when Papa passed.
“He left the deed to the family including whatever remaining un-appointed possessions are on the property.” Mama frowned and sniffed, “I’m not sure what to do with it.”
Rachel rubbed her eyes of fresh tears, “I don’t have the heart to go back there so soon.”
“Myself included,” Veronica added. She wrapped an arm around her mother in comfort, “Or Mama for that matter.”
Mama sighed, “Land like that needs to be taken care of. It’s already in a poor state after years of neglect.”
Rachel gasped, “We’re not selling the farm, are we?”
“Of course not, Rachel,” Veronica soothed the younger sister, “We just have to find a way to maintain the property.”
Mama nodded, “Maybe Marco and his family could spend the summer there. If Luis doesn’t mind coming home from abroad for the fall season…”
Lance traced the deed with a gloved fingertip. The paper, though thick and sturdy like any certificate or bill, was worn and faded. The words were legible, stiff, and formal, unlink the handwritten note Papa had left with the will and deed.
I leave this farm and home with my only daughter’s family. The love and care I put toward this farm were almost as measurable as the love and care I put toward my family. My hope is this farm will continue to bring my daughter, her children and their families, the love I taught them to share.
Lance cleared his throat of the familiar tightness that had begun growing once again.
“I could go.” His sister’s and mother’s faces turned puzzled. “I could move.”
“Oh Lance, do not push yourself so soon, we can all take the burden once we’ve healed.” Rachel rubbed Lance’s shoulder.
“I feel as much grief and sorrow as you all do,” Lance grabbed Rachel’s hand from his shoulder and held it in his own.
“We know,” Mama gave Lance a comforting, watery, smile.
“As much sadness as I feel, my grief doesn’t compel me to keep my distance. If anything at all, being kept from the home by my grief would make the pain grow worse.” Lance licked his dried lips. “I’d like to move there.”
Though Veronica and Rachel’s faces grew weary Mama’s smile only grew wider.
“I understand, my love.”
Lance returned her smile, “Rachel, it appears you’ll have to take up suit alterations in my absence.”
“These aren’t my clothes, Mama,” Lance neatly folded his shirts Rachel handed him and tightly into his suitcase. He only had two cases and had to make do. Mama and Rachel were sifting through what clothes Lance would be taking with him, his closet was long overdue for clean out. Lance picked up a loose, worn, cotton blouse and suspenders, “Are these Pa’s?”
Mama moved a pile of hangers from the closet to a box, “Your father has proper working clothes, more so than you do.”
“He sells shoes Mama, not farm work,” Lance folded another one of the blouses his mother decided he was taking.
“We never used to own the shop, Lance. Your father used to travel for work, how do you think we met?”
“High waisted trousers and lacy cravats are not cut for working on the field,” Rachel teased. Lance snatched said lacey cravat from her hand and smoothed the creases from it.
The days passed by, each one drearier and greyer than the last. Each day Lance packed another piece of his life away in a suitcase biding his time, riddled with anxiety. Marco and his family visited to wish Lance well and Luis had a telegram delivered having already gone abroad since the funeral. Lance anticipated his mother being more tearful but hardly any were shed.
However when the day of Lance’s move came the sun was beaming and Lance was serene. He kissed his family goodbye and promised to return frequently. Rachel embraced Lance and sobbed.
“I’ll come down and visit you soon,” She sniffed.
Lance hugged her tighter, “As soon as you’re ready.”
The ride was shorter than Lance remembered, however, he was hardly paying attention during the journey. Lance paid his coachman the 20 gold pieces he owed and departed the cabin. There he stood at the entrance of the farm, he knew so fondly, with two suitcases of all his belongings and a trunk of necessities. He looked up at the tattered sign hanging above the gate that read “Little Patch of Pleasance”.
Despite everything, the house felt the same. The kitchen had been emptied of anything perishable but all the utensils and tools were neatly aligned. The bookshelf was still full, save for the photo albums Mama took. Papa’s bedroom had also been emptied, mostly, but the bed was still fully made. Anything meaningful had been taken piece by piece, leaving non-sentimental items that were somehow still painful to throw away. Scraps of paper that had scribbled shopping lists, incense that was half burnt, a ruined pair of workboots in the back and the limited wardrobe (Lance certainly did not receive his fashion brush from him).
The entire first afternoon Lance spent in his new home was spent cleaning and dusting, not entirely sure what to do or where to put his items. Lance carried his suitcases into the guest bedroom, finding comfort in the emptier space. Brushing out the seafoam green quilt folded atop the bed, Lance figured Mama left it behind.
The serenity of unpacking made Lance startle when someone knocked at the front door. Lance was not expecting any visitors, at least upon his first arrival. He peered out the living room window. Blocked by the porch’s supporting beams was a person that Lance did not know. They were tall and had long, starlight hair, which Lance envied. Another knock came to the door, this time louder. Lance unbolted the door and cracked the door open.
“Hello, new neighbour,” A warm voice greeted him. The woman before him was beautiful if Lance was being candid, though dressed atypical, and oddly familiar. She carried a large woven basket covered by a cloth in both arms. “You may recognize me from this previous year, as my family frequently visited your Grandfather,” she curtsied, “Allura. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Lance gave a small bow, “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Allura. Lance McClain, though you seem to know as much already.”
Allura loosened a hand to wave it flippantly, “No need for formalities. Any inch of Land I own is my family’s.” She nodded her head towards the entrance of the farm, “The Castille’s Poultry Farm is just a touch North of Pleasance. My uncle owns the neighbouring ranch.”
“Ah,” Lance realized, “I recognize you from the funeral service. Your family was extremely kind.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Allura gave a sympathetic smile, “You have probably a lifetime of condolences by now, my apologies.
“Please, you are forgiven,” Lance rocked on his feet, now feeling off-balanced standing in the doorway. “I would invite you inside, be warned though, I am still unpacking.”
“I figured as much,” Allura shook her head, “I won’t keep you for much longer. Here,” she extended the basket towards Lance, who took it graciously. “The town put together a care package once we learned you were moving in. Some bread, oil, a town map, some seeds from the general store.”
“Seeds. Suppose I’ll need those soon.”
Allura laughed, “Ever since your Grandfather retired years ago the town has been missing local produce. Paying extra for crops from farms miles away has been a pain, we’re all very excited, to say the least.”
“Low stakes, I see.”
“I heard you are a fantastic farmer!”
“Papa seemed to think so. Truthfully, I’m better with a sewing machine.”
Allura nodded, “A family of Tailors if I recall correctly. Well, I’m sure you’ll do fantastic things in your endeavours.”
The field was overgrown and filled with debris from the course of untended years. It took two full days for Lance to clear it enough to begin his first crops. Much like the field, the years of not being used dulled all of Papa’s equipment and tools. Lance packed them up and lugged them one by one to the local blacksmith, who did great work but did cost Lance a pretty penny. Lance was tired and spending more money than he’d like.
Truth be told Lance was nervous about his finances. Though he had his savings, it would only last so long and without a stable income that money would dwindle away after necessary expenses, not even considering any emergencies if they ever came up. In his best efforts to cut down on weekly spending, Lance took to foraging in the forest behind the farm.
He unlatched the rear gate behind his yard, draped in a light cloak to keep on a drizzle of morning rain. He followed the tracked path, carved out by being walked through many times. He took his usual route by heading south and stuck to the town assigned trails, never venturing off the map Allura had given him and sticking to the thinner edges of the forest.
Lance cleared some dirt off the ground before kneeling in front of a honeyberry bush. They had just ripened and were prime for picking. Lance began clipping off small sections of branches, excitedly contemplating what he could make with his find. I could make a nice juice or tea with these… or maybe I can preserve this to make jam-
A twig snapped not too far from Lance. He snapped his head up. Footsteps crunched forward and for a brief moment Lance felt his anxiety bubble in his gut… or maybe that was his hunger. From the treeline a man appeared, lugging a wheelbarrow filled with wood along with him. He stomped his way onto the path then briefly paused as he caught sight of Lance. His dark, thick, brows furrowed but continued heading down the path, finally stopping in front of Lance.
The man pushed his dark shaggy hair out of his face, “Huh.”
That wasn’t what Lance was anticipating, “Uh… hello?” Lance was still perched on the ground looking up at the man. “I’m Lance.”
“I figured as much.” The other man offered his hand which Lance took hesitantly. Lance let himself be helped up by the stranger, wincing from the discomfort in his shoulder.
“I am Keith,” Keith looked Lance over with what Lance assumed looked like boredom. “You’re that new farmer and the person plucking the bushes out here.”
Lance looked puzzled, “Are we not allowed to be collecting in these woods?”
Keith shook his head, “It’s fine. When you live out here you notice when people have been poking around.”
“I didn’t realize anyone was out here at all,” Lance was surprised. He pulled out the folded map from his cloak pocket and followed where he was on the path. “I thought most everyone lived in town.”
Keith reached over and pointed to a small cottage in the southwest labelled Carpenter’s, “There.”
Today was full of surprises, “You’re the carpenter?” Lance’s father, having been a shoemaker himself, came from a family of makers, so Lance had met his fair share of carpenters. Most were older, grizzled, having practiced and perfected the craft after years. Lance didn’t peg Keith, as young as he looked, as the type, but he also knew better than to make assumptions like that.
“Honest work,” Lance smiled.
Keith shrugged indifferently, “Not much of it.”
“Really?”
“Most people in this town have what they need. Besides the odd repairs, I never get more than one project a year,” Keith nodded at Lance’s basket, filled with berries, on the ground, “I suppose we both live off the land, or however it goes.”
Lance picked up the basket off the ground, wincing from the pain once again shooting through his shoulder. He didn’t realize how badly he hurt it yesterday until that very moment.
Lance gave him a sympathetic smile, “I'll be sure only to take what I need.” Lance reached over to his shoulder and massaged the sore spot.
“Just don’t take any of the short, wide, brown mushrooms in the fall. You’ll be out quicker than you can call for a doctor…” Keith's attention was drawn to Lance’s shoulder, which he was still rubbing. “Speaking of that, is your shoulder bothering you?”
“I must have pulled it yesterday, I was tilling all day.”
“You should go see the doctor.”
“The doctor?” Lance gawked, “It isn’t that serious.”
Keith’s scowl somehow made Lance feel small, like a child. “You shouldn’t neglect your health.”
Lance coughed into his fist, “I’ll get on that right away then…”
Keith gave a half eye roll.
If Keith’s cold glare wasn’t enough to send Lance to the Doctor, the sheer amount of pain he was in when he woke up certainly was. Lance wasn’t able to lift or move his arm in any direction without causing pain. Dressing was painstaking and took far longer than typical. He grunted, face hot, as he finally managed to leave the farmhouse.
The Doctor’s office was a brief walk north of the farm, past the general store and town square. It was a small two-story building, made of weathered white wood and stone similar to the town’s architecture.
Lance lifted the lion head knocker and rapped on the door.
Lance was frankly pissed no one informed him that the doctor was attractive as high hell.
"Hello?" The door was pulled open promptly. The man inside staggered above Lance. His dark thick hair formed a white forelock that was swept backwards away from his face and small round glasses. Like most people in town, he dressed simply, however, professional.
"Good day," Lance greeted. "I'm here to see the doctor if they're available."
The man stepped aside, arms motioning him in. "Of course, come right in."
Lance stepped in, mindful of his shoes and what dirt he was dragging in. The foyer was lined with paintings, most were scenic and within the same collection. The large secretary desk was the same dark brown as the interior walls and floors. The desk however was vacant, with no chair behind it or documents on it.
“Allow me,” the gentleman offered to take Lance’s spring coat. Flattered, Lance mumbled his graciousness and shrugged himself out of the coat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McClain.”
Lance chuckled, “It seems most people seem to know me before I’ve met them.”
“You have been the talk of the town for the last month,” he hung Lance’s coat on a nearby iron coat rack. He offered Lance his hand to shake, “I’m doctor Shirogane.” Shirogane ushered Lance into the only other space off to the right. "Shiro is fine, however."
“Talk of the town, huh?”
“Probably one of the more exciting things to happen in the last few years.” Lance filed into what he assumed was the practicing office. "Have a seat," Dr. Shirogane gestured Lance to an open seat across from his own. “What do I owe the pleasure? A regular checkup?”
“Not exactly,” Lance settled in the leather seat across from Shiro’s desk, taking in the office. “My shoulder has been bothering me.”
After asking Lance a few questions about his medical history Dr. Shirogane began Lance’s physical exam. Being careful with Lance’s injured arm and paying close attention to any of Lance’s discomfort. It took all of Lance’s discipline to focus on everything but the Doctor’s wide palm’s across his chest and back. Instead, he focused on walls and what was affixed to them. A majority of the walls were jam-packed bookcases, which were more than likely medical journals or documents. Lance spotted the doctor’s degree, framed and hung up on the wall, among other licenses, diplomas, and certificates. A few pictures were also hung, Shiro at his graduation, Shiro in a military uniform, and another which was taken outside the building. Shiro of course was stood, with his arm across the shoulders of a man with spectacles.
Shiro moved away from Lance and to his desk, “Other than your shoulder Lance, you seem to be in good health.”
Lance blinked back into focus, “That’s good news.”
Shiro sat down at his desk, “You seem to have a significantly torn rotator cuff.” Lance winced minutely because that didn’t seem good at all. “Have you been heavy lifting recently?”
Lance stopped worrying his lip, “Cleaning up the farm, weeding, tilling, planting… that’s not including moving the house around.”
“I see,” Shiro pulled open a drawer and produced a card and pen. He began writing, “The torn cuff can take a while to heal, yours could take months.” Lance inhaled sharply through his teeth, dreading the pain. “I’m going to prescribe you a herbal tea. You can brew a cup in the evening to help relieve the pain.”
“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Lance wrinkled his nose playfully.
Shiro chuckled, “Better than being kept up all night.” Lance nodded remorsefully. “If you’re experiencing immediate discomfort apply a warm rag to the area,” Shiro handed Lance the neatly printed card detailing the instructions he had just gone over. Shiro left the desk and headed towards a large cabinet across the room. “You’ll also have to wear a sling.”
“A sling?” Lance gaped, staring down at the doctor's note he was given which read exactly that.
“A sling will be essential in the healing process,” Shiro rifled through the organized cabinet with care. “Along with negligible use of that arm beside the basic necessities and physical therapy exercises.”
Shiro returned to Lance, cotton sling and a glass jar filled with tea leaf mixtures in hand. “That means no working with that arm.”
Lance visibly deflated, “There’s no way I can complete the upcoming season’s crops with one arm.”
“I think you should seriously consider reducing your workload.”
Lance’s pout was clearly evident.
Shiro sighed, “Your first year isn’t going to be perfect.”
“I can’t not work.”
“You don’t have to stop altogether. Just reduce the strain on your shoulder.” Lance nodded dumbly. “In the meantime, I will see you weekly for physical checkups”
Veronica would tease Lance that he was a big baby. Any minor ‘inconvenience’ could have him ‘shut down’. Lance was always quick to snub her jabs and conclude that he went through a reasonable amount of time to process what he needed to. Which was exactly what Lance was going through.
He spent two whole days griping about the pain in his shoulder and his annoyance trying to put on his sling. The whole while mulling over what exactly he was going to do on the farm with one arm. Feeling miserable, however, made Lance try and mentally avoid those thoughts for as long as possible. Instead, in the late evening, as he was sipping on his recommended herbal tea, he cracked open his icebox and pulled out the berries he had picked a few days earlier.
Jam was something he knew how to make like the back of his hand. Tossing his berries of choice, lemon juice, and a spoonful of sugar into a saucepan over his fireplace. Stirring it when necessary and waiting for the mixture to reduce and become the correct consistency. Lance proudly poured his final mix into a few glass jars, sealed them, and set it to cool.
He still had it. Moreover, he still had it with a single hand.
Lance cracked a jar open, despite it not being entirely cool, to sample on the last bit of bread he had. Lance scooped, spread, and melted with each bite. It tasted as good as he remembered. But not quite as good as the strawberry jam his Papa and himself made some summers ago.
Lance leaned up against the kitchen counter, his nightgown riding up though he couldn't be bothered to care, and gazed out on the bare field. He chewed and thought some things over.
Everything outside was lit under the high sun and Lance absolutely couldn’t resist a rosy spring day. Lance was determined to shake his funk off. With a spring in his step and a sling on his arm, he ventured off through the woods with a very particular cabin in mind.
Lance didn’t bother bringing his map, figuring the pathing would be enough. Sure enough, the carpenter’s cabin came into view. Lance knocked on the door and waited in slight anticipation. Lance wasn’t sure what Keith did during the day but he never saw the man in town so he assumed Keith must be home.
It was soundless inside the cabin, from what Lance could tell. Maybe he has gone out.
Keith yanked open the front door unceremoniously. He took Lance in briefly, as if confused by his presence
“You are home!” Lance smiled.
“I am…?” Keith quirked an eyebrow that bordered on annoyance.
“Of course- you are,” Lance waved his free hand, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be home at this time.”
“Usually am,” Keith nodded toward Lance’s sling. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Torn rotator cuff,” Lance sighed. “I will be out of commission mostly.”
Keith kissed his teeth, “That’d do you in. Are you still in pain?”
Lance shrugged loosely, “Not exactly. Not using the arm helps and the doctor gave me herbal tea that helps when it’s unbearable.” Lance snorted, “Next time warn a guy when the doctor you’re sending them to is unfairly handsome.”
Keith’s smile was downright devilish, “Handsome? Him?”
“He’s not bad on the eyes, not what I was expecting.”
Keith downright laughed, from his belly. He calmed down to say, “I can see what you’re saying,” Keith gave another chuckle, “So what brings you here?”
“Right,” Lance recalled. He lifted his wicker basket to his slung hand and reached in to grab a sealed jar of jam, paying extra mind to not move the injured arm at the shoulder. “I’m looking to sell some jam but I need a sampler.”
“Me?”
“I figured you’d have a taste for these flavours and it’s the least I can do after picking your berries.”
Keith reached over and carefully took the jar from Lance’s fingers. He inspected the jar, “You made this all yourself?”
“I can even do it with an arm tied around my back.”
“Right,” Keith barely laughed. “Well, I suppose I have to try this.” Keith’s grin split across his face once again as he snickered to himself. Then, as if looking for someone, Keith looked back into the home and called out, “Shiro! The new farmer brought us some jam!”
Lance could feel the mental buffer that hit him at that moment.
“Come in,” Keith stepped aside to welcome Lance inside. Lance must have done that because the door promptly shut behind him before he had finished processing what Keith had just done.
“Lance,” Then the cherry on top of it all waltzed around the corner, teacup in hand, “It’s nice to see you and your arm taking care.”
Lance could only nod dumbly.
Keith spoke up, “Lance brought us some jam,” Lance wanted to wipe that sly grin off his face, “Asked us to test it before he hits the market.”
“Jam and bread sound delicious,” Shiro smiled, “Perfect for brunch. Would you like a cup of tea, Lance?”
“I’d love some,” Lance swallowed, “Thank you.”
“Right this way,” Keith led Lance through the house and to the kitchen. “How should I prepare this?”
“I can help if you can open the jar,” Lance placed his basket down and waited for Keith to begin pointing at different items in the kitchen. Lance tried his best to fumble around too much.
“So jam, Lance?” Shiro questioned.
“After thinking it over, I’m certain I can manage spring and summer jams. Berry bushes are not as high maintenance as other ground fruits and veggies,” Lance began slicing the baguette Keith had handed to him as he searched for any appropriate teacups. “The cooking process is long but not strenuous at all.”
“I think that’s a fantastic plan Lance,” Shiro commented. He had fetched the hot kettle from the fireplace and began pouring them all a cup. He slowly started moving the pieces to the dining table.
Lance started to spread the jam across the cut bread, “Now to see if people enjoy it.”
Keith, who still had an air of arrogance permeating from him leaned up back against the counter, “I’m sure it’ll taste great.”
Lance wanted nothing more than to shove a piece of bread down his throat and watch the smugness drip off his face. Instead, he lifted a slice covered with the jam towards Keith and simply said, “Here try it.”
Lance anticipated Keith grabbing the piece with little to no grace and maybe popping it into his mouth and swallowing it back whole. What Lance did not anticipate was Keith leaning forward and, rather than using his hand, wrapping his lips around the baguette slice. Keith bit into the bread and ever so slowly dragged the slice toward himself, his lip brushing the tip of Lance’s finger.
Shiro sputtered a cough, “Keith- manners.”
Lance’s weekly physical appointment crept up on Lance quicker than he anticipated. Though he was preoccupied this week, planting berry bushes slowly but surely and foraging. He spent his evenings slowly simmering his preserves and his days scouring for glass jars during the day.
“Beautiful day,” Shiro welcomed Lance into his office, “Isn’t it?”
“I’d say so,” Lance settled into the examination chair.
The appointment itself consisted of Shiro asking Lance questions which he found redundant, but he is no doctor.
“You should be alright to remove your sling during most of the day,” Shiro concluded, “You aren’t at risk for causing any irreparable damage.”
Shiro moved onto the physical exercise he expected Lance to practice every day. Several shoulder rotations, cross body extensions, and one that included raising a wooden spoon above his head at arm’s length.
Lance held the spoon horizontally then raised and lowered it in ten-second intervals as Shiro instructed. Lance relished in the stretch on the unused arm.
Shiro placed a firm hand on Lance’s back and chest and adjusted his posture carefully, “Be sure to keep your back straight.”
Lance ignored the flush on his face, “Right.”
“Brunch was fantastic, by the way,” Shiro commented, hands unmoving from their place on Lance. “We’d love to have you for dinner sometime.”
Lance’s Mama had always said he took after her. They were creatures of habit by nature. Daily routines became ritualistic whether he was aware of them or not. Consistency was Lance’s key. Weekly Lance pitched a stall in the town square and sold his handmade ‘Wild Berry’ jams. They were a hit among the townspeople, regulars returned cleaned used jars for a reduced price, and Lance delivered on time.
He was a creature of habit. Drinking a cup of tea before bed, he adopted quickly. Lifting from his knees, he introduced even quicker. Stocking his jam became a daily practice. Dinner at Keith’s home became a regular weekend occurrence…
After Lance managed to crawl out of the hole he dug after openly hitting on Shiro in front of Keith's face, he mustered up enough courage to join them for dinner. Then the following week at his physical checkup Shiro would always kindly invite him back for another dinner and a glass of wine.
Lance was very much wrapped up with the two men. What started as Shiro’s kind invitations and Keith’s snarky comments slowly evolved into something Lance found indescribable. Keith’s teasing was drifted antagonistic to lilted invites and Shiro’s kindness extended into something more than hospitality. Lance hadn’t noticed the change, hell he hardly noticed how the hot summer nights faded into cooler fall evenings until his mother sent him a letter asking when he would be coming home for the holidays.
One particular evening, while Lance laid across their lounge seat in front of the fire after he had complained of being tired, he listened as the two men chatted amongst themselves. Shiro and Keith had taken to the floor, sitting on floor cushions and blankets, warming up in front of the dancing flames. Lance watched as the shadows licked across their features, dreamily.
“I told the Holt’s they could store their book collection in the upper office,” Shiro said, not prompted, just simply saying what came to his mind.
“It’s not like Adam can protest,” Keith commented.
Lance wasn’t entirely what caused him to blurt out what he did, but regardless he asked, “Is that the nurse who left Shiro?”
Lance was no dummy. He had seen the photos scattered throughout the office or the hidden ones in Keith’s cabin. Shiro had been a practicing physician who had travelled here for work with a nurse, some tall bronzed man with thin glasses, some years ago. Clearly, this nurse wasn’t around.
Lance had caught himself off guard, sitting up he quickly muttered, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
Shiro caught Lance’s arm in a gentle hold, “It’s alright. Here,” Shiro pulled Lance down to the floor. Lance followed without a single hesitation, then settled his legs onto Shiro’s lap.
Keith broke the silence, “They were married.” Lance’s brows furrowed. “Shiro and Adam.”
“Oh…”
Shiro hummed to himself, “We had two different life goals. I’m not sure when they changed but they did. I wanted to stay and he needed to go.”
“So you married Keith?” Both Shiro and Keith laughed at that.
Shiro shook his head, “Maybe I’ll never be married again.”
Keith shrugged, “My dad always told me stories about marriage customs from where my mom was from. Sounds better than what we have here…”
Lance hummed and placed his temple to Shiro’s shoulder in thought. Lance figured he would most certainly get married one day. Not that he dreamt of it, but rather he expected it, the same way he expected rain after a drought or lightning after thunder.
Keith placed his drink on the nearby coffee table before turning to Lance. He wrapped his arms around Lance’s lithe waist and nuzzled into Lance’s neck. “Why? Going to ask for my hand?”
Lance chuckled lightly. “No,” He answered simply. He wanted to elaborate but instead allowed Shiro to rearrange themselves so they were all lying down comfortably, wrapped in one another.
Lance had not a single clue why he was there or when he had decided that he could comfortably cuddle with these two men. However, Lance would wager that they hardly had a clue either.
What Lance did know was this was familiar and that’s all that he needed.