Chapter Text
Lance, unlike Keith, would gladly tell you it wasn't his fault.
Okay, maybe (and understand this is a very small maybe that's leaning more towards the no) it was a teensie bit his fault. He hadn't meant to do it. Really, it's unfair that Keith is going to keep him trapped in their bedrooms stupid chest for the next ten years. Well, not their bedrooms chest but, like, it's practically theirs so whatever. Keith has no right shoving him in there. Besides, he's one to talk. He started this stupid thing in the first place.
When it had first started, Lance hadn't of wanted any part. He didn't care if this apartment was-- or used-- to be theirs, he wasn't going to scare innocent people into never moving in. He has some sympathy for the first realtor. That lady kept coming back with new clients despite Keith always playing with the lights and knocking over chairs. It took the poor lady facing a floating knife for her to scram.
That's when Lance had joined in. If he can scare people away faster than Keith, then he doesn't have to put them through whatever trick his roommate had up his sleeve. At least this way the worst people ever see is the stove turning on or hear doors creaking.
Okay and yeah, maybe he liked it. One can hardly blame him. When you're a ghost, your days don't get much better than scaring people. The added bonus of getting to live in his home without other people is a fun bonus. Plus, its nice to have a competition with Keith. Since they died and could no longer channel their rivalry into piloting, it hasn't been the same. The familiar feeling of a challenge is gladly welcomed, even if his Mami would kick his ass if she found out it was at the expense of others.
Keith, on the other hand, does it purely for shits and giggles. Lance likes to think deep down he just wants someone to look into it like the crazy cryptic he was. Is? It's hard to tell these days what can be referred to as past tense or future.
Point is, if anyone's to blame for this, it's Keith and his stupid competition. Lance just wanted to be first to scare this new round of possible renters. How was he supposed to know the scaring would only intrigue them enough to actually fucking renting the place! What kind of psycho rents a haunted apartment?! (Keith does, a part of his brain whispers but he shushes it)
Keith and him had found out the day before that a new group of people would be checking out their apartment (It's not theirs anymore, Lance always tells Keith but the stubborn bastard always disagrees). Normally, a warning like that would mean no one leaves the apartment for the next week, ensuring someone's there to scare people off, but noooo. Keith had to go and watch his brothers stupid tournament.
"He's been working really hard for this," Keith had said.
Lance hadn't want to hear any of it. He needed Keith there. He sucks at scaring people but Keith could do it with his eyes closed. He'd argued, "But these people could be, like, old grannies or something! Grannies aren't scared of anything! I need your knife skills, man!"
His roommate of many years now had rolled his eyes, already putting on his coat and getting ready to leave. "Lance, you'll be fine. It's probably just some random couple looking for a place. I need to be there for Shiro."
"He won't even know you're there!"
That had been the end of that. Keith had left and Lance was left alone in their apartment.
The thing is, Lance has accepted life (or death more like) for what it is. They're ghosts. Sure, they can walk around, and touch things, and smell, and sometimes be seen or heard; but that doesn't mean they're not ghosts in all sense of the word.
Keith, however, is deeply in denial. He doesn't want to believe they're dead, no matter how many time Lance tries to remind him. He still thinks he can live his life like how he used to. He clings to the past, to the connections he used to have. He sees his brother, he studies over other peoples shoulders, he checks up on his dog, he tries to eat. Little things.
It's . . hard. Lance didn't always get along with Keith, but he does care for him, especially since the events of the past dozen months. It hurts to see his friend wear himself down like this; so desperate and hopeful and still coming up with nothing. The whole world thinks they're dead, expect for Keith, and it's killing the only bit of him that truly is still alive.
But it doesn't matter. It's not Lance's problem, as much as he tries to help. Keith will always do what Keith wants to do, and if that's him going to watch his brother's game then Lance can't stop him.
So yeah. Keith's fault. He should be the one getting locked into the chest with his stupid mullet.
Currently, he was trying his very hardest to keep himself out of said chest as Mr-I'm-Not-Dead attempted to force him into it.
"Keith! Christ! Ow!" he cursed, arms flailing and back falling against the hardwood of his new coffin-like cell. "I'm sorry! What do you want me to say?!"
"You were supposed to scare them off!"
"I tried!"
He really did. At first he'd thought a simple light show and maybe a few creaking doors or opening cupboards would do the trick. That was until two college students walked through their door.
The thing about college kids is that they're ruthless. He would know. Most of his (ex)friends are in their second or third year of college now. They brush aside everything and anything. Flicking lights? That's okay, it's just electricity. Weird noises? Result of sleep deprivation. Beyond that, half of them are willing to risk be haunted if the place is dirt cheap, which Keith and his apartment is.
The two people walked in that day and Lance immediately knew he had to pull out the big guns. Literally.
He'd resorted to shooting them with nerf guns but they still didn't care. One of them, a short brown haired kid with circular glasses, had even asked if the place was haunted. When the realtor had responded with a yes, they'd grinned and fist bumped their friend. That's not something you fist bump on!? If Lance had found out something like that when he was alive, he would have ran for the hills screaming (though likely only to end up being dragged back by Keith, him being the weird cryptic he is and Lance being hopelessly in love).
Nothing he did worked. It only intrigued this group more. When they finally left, Lance had to wrestle down the mild nausea building inside of him. They could loose their home. They'd been here for nearly two whole years now and while that wasn't much, it was still enough that Lance had plenty of cherished memories to cling too.
He'd found out his sister was engaged while sitting on the couch in the living area. He'd met Keith and all his friends at the front entrance. He'd spent weeks in his bed after he broke his leg during his first try at skateboarding. There were scoff marks on the floor from dropping pans during late night escapades. Dents in wall from Kieth's knives (often thrown his way when they first became roommates), and traces of adhesive from Lances many posters of past and current obsessions.
It was his home. His essence lived in every nook and cranny of it. He may not have been on board with Keith's crazy idea at first but dammit, he doesn't want someone to take this from him.
It might happen though. He knows it has to happen eventually, he just wanted to cling to it a little longer. A few more months. Neither him nor Keith are ready to loose the only real existing parts of themselves yet.
He understands Keith's anger in the moment as he's shoved into the wooden prison. He'd be mad-- is mad-- at himself for not scaring those guys away too. Next week, their home won't just be theirs anymore if Lance understood the people's conversation with the realtor.
Keith gave him a final shove into the chest before throwing his hands in the air, frustrated and knowing that they both were almost even in strength, even as ghosts. Lance watched as his friend crouched down on the floor rubbing his face with his hands.
"Fuck this," he says. "Why couldn't you just scare them like with everyone else?!"
"I told you! I tried!"
"Clearly not hard enough!"
"Like you could do better!" Lance nearly tipped over the chest as he reached to wag a finger in his face.
"I could too! At least if I'd been here our apartment wouldn't be in the process of being handed over to some rando who'll ruin our lives!"
"Well you weren't here, Keith! You left me to deal with it!"
Keith pulled on his hair, an enraged yell escaping him. His face was red with furry and Lance knew the feeling, his own bundle of rage unfurling in his chest. It reminded him too much of when they first died, or even when they first met. Yelling like every little thing was the others fault. Strong words or weak ones always accompanied by hoarse throats and clenched fists. They never did get fully over that.
There was tension in the room for a moment. Silence and then--
"I'm sorry," Keith apologized suddenly, a defeated sigh following. He shook his head, the black curls at the nape of his neck bouncing with the movement. "I didn't-- you don't deserve to be yelled at."
They'd never gotten over fighting with each other but they had gotten this. The, albeit hesitant, truthful and sometimes forced admissions and apologies after.
Lance pushed himself out of the chest, brushing down his jacket. He shot Keith a look. "No. I don't."
"Oh my god. I'm trying to be nice and apologize, Lance," he groaned. "Look, I don't want people here, taking over our home and acting like we're not here. Like we're. . ."
"Dead."
Keith flinched at the word. He always does.
"Yeah, that. It's not your fault. I know you tried." A bitter laugh left his throat and he wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them into his chest. "I should be mad at them, not you. God, I can't even really be mad at them, can I?"
Lance, well. . . Lance has learned over the years that Keith struggles with emotions just as much as Lance does. He wants to act like a child and ignore Keith after shoving him in a chest (even if it was some-what reasonable) but he knows that's not fair to either of them. They'd agreed long ago that if any of this was going to work, they had to be mature. Instead of a tantrum, he sits down on the floor next to the boy, bumping him with his shoulder.
"Hey," he says, getting him to look his way. "I get it. This sucks for both of us."
A familiar coldness leans against his right side, their arms pressing together. He barely notices it these days. When you're the only two people who can feel each other, the sort of physical comfort they developed is to be expected. It's grounding now. Normal and safe.
"Look on the bright side. We can always haunt the shit out of them when they do move in till they leave," Lance proposes.
Kieth scoffed. "I thought you didn't like haunting."
"What can I say, you're rubbing off on me, Kogane."
"Good. You could do with some improvements."
"Hey!"
And just like that, the evening crumbled into messy rounds of wrestling and teasing jabs. Lance knew they'd be alright, whether they loose their home or not.
-:-
"You've got to be kidding me."
That was the first thing Keith said when he saw the new owners walk in the following week. Lance had expected glares, had prepared for the temper tantrum he'd be sure to throw. However, he had not expected the slacked jaw and shocked words that came out of his mouth.
"What?" Lance asks, glancing between the two owners and Keith. The new guys were brimming with excitement, or at least it looked like it from where Lance and Keith were spying on them from in the kitchen. The one with glasses was bouncing on their-- His? Her?-- feet, hands pressed together in almost an evil manner. Next to them, probably a whole two feet taller than the other, was a boy around their age, hair tied back by a bandanna. He was murmuring about cooking a celebratory dinner.
Keith is tugging on his sleeve. "Oh my god. That's Matt's little sister."
Lance whipped his head to the side, staring at him in bafflement.
"What!?"
"I said, that's Matt's--"
"No, I heard you."
Matt is Keith's brother's best friend of many years. Hence, he was a best friend of Keith's and moreover, a friend of Lance's. Of their group, Lance was the least close with Matt outside of pulling pranks and group gatherings. Everyone else knew his family, his deepest secrets, had known him since elementary. Lance, on the other hand, only met him in their first year at the Garrison not two years ago.
It's to be said that even though Lance is not as well informed about Matt's life, he knows everything there's is to know about his little sister, Katie. Katie, to put it bluntly, is the light of Matt's life. He'd heard story upon story about the girl. Seriously, Matt wouldn't shut up about her. Keith says it's the homesickness getting to Matt.
The girl (who is apparently a girl) before him is not what he expected her to be. This girl wore a grin that rivaled Satan's whereas he'd imagined someone with a smile kind enough to melt even Keith's stone heart. Matt always talked about her like she was an angel but this kid seems more like the devil reincarnated as she dashes forward into their living room and jumps onto the couch.
She let's out a holler mixed with giggles. "We have our own place, Hunk! It's so-- so, massive!"
If Lance wasn't still frozen in surprise, he would have snorted at that. Their apartment could hardly be called anything remotely spacious. It was hard enough living with more than just himself in such a cozy place when he was alive, he can't imagine why this girl would think otherwise. There were twelve too many mornings where he stumbled into Keith just trying to get a bowl of cereal.
The tall boy at the entrance regards the room with a wide grin before saying, "It's definitely bigger than your old room."
Lance raises an eyebrow and turns to Keith, whispering, "Are you sure that's Katie? She's so. . . old? I thought she was supposed to be, like, twelve?"
"That's her alright," Keith confirms. He points to the girl on the couch. "She cut her hair but that sweater she's wearing used to be Matt's. And she's not twelve, she's sixteen. Graduated early probably and is going to start college young. She's a super genius."
Lance regards the girl with a new found respect. He nudges Keith with his elbow. "Looks like she did what you couldn't."
"Shut up."
Choosing to ignore his broody roommate, Lance moves over to Katie and stares down at her, hands on his hips. He frowns. He guesses she does look a little like Matt. Same eye's and humor twisted grin. Her glasses are what his used to look like too.
"Do you know what this means," Lance shouts across the room to Keith, his voice carrying over top of the conversation Katie and the other boy start. Keith makes an indignant noise in answer. "It means Matt might visit."
It's not hard to see the gears turning his friend's head, the slow realization of what a visit from Matt implies, who else could visit with him. It far too easy to put together the pieces and know the only thought running through Keith's mind. Shiro.
There are tears forming in Keith's eyes and Lance wastes no time in rushing over and pulling the boy into a hug. There's no hesitance when Keith wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him closer.
"Shiro-- he could be here," Keith murmurs into his shoulder. His voice wavers but Lance has yet to feel the noticeable wetness of tears on his shoulder. "I could see my brother more. He could- he could be here all the time. I could get a message to him."
There, holding Keith with both their minds running through all the possibilities, they decide these new people won't be so bad.
-:-
"LANCE!"
The boy in question winced as his name was called from across the apartment in Keith's scratchy voice. That's never good.
The past week had gone by harmlessly but not without annoyance. It felt like moving in with Keith all over again except this time he physically couldn't complain and try to negotiate with the newcomers because he's a mother fucking ghost. Sometimes he wonders how he screwed up so badly that fate chose to punish him this way.
Hunk-- who's name Lance had learned from reading the boys suitcase tag-- had chosen to occupy Lance's old room (he says old but technically he still lives, or rather exists, there). The boy was nice enough from what he gathered, but he had a bigger tendency for clutter than anyone he'd ever met. There were bits of metal and wires scattered across his desk and Lance couldn't make it two feet without nearly tripping over different devices, his ability to pass through things being his only savor.
Katie, so he heard, was even worse. Luckily, Lance only shares the kitchen and living room with her. Doesn't make him any less subject to Keith's non stop complaining about his/her own room. Lance is perfectly happy just spending time on the couch watching her play video games. That is until he ventures into the washrooms to find hair clogged in the drains. She's worse than Keith was before they stopped having to shower.
Also, Lance swears that if it weren't for him locking the doors every night, their apartment would've been broken into by now. They have no sense for safety. He nearly had a heart attack when he caught Katie playing the knife game idly on the counter the other day.
Worst of all, he and Keith kept attributing to ghostly occurrences. Apparently closing cabinets and locking doors isn't something normal apartments do on their own and it doesn't go unnoticed. Katie is especially skeptical, always watching the blinds like she thinks a ghost is going to jump out from behind them when in reality if she looked behind her she'd find a set of headphones floating in the kitchen. Lance is willing to bet Keith is going to reveal them one day just because he wears his stupid headphones everywhere even though he knows he didn't die wearing them so anyone can see them.
Current situation taken into account, Lance was trying to enjoy watching the birds outside (being dead only leaves so many hobbies) when Keith called for him. He sighed and stood up, praying he wasn't making him go all the way to his room just so he can complain about Katie again.
Once inside Keith's room (Katie's room?) he finds Keith hunched over on his (her?) bed, hands in his hair. Katie and Hunk are crowding the girls computer, faces way too close to the screen. Lance tilts his head in question.
"What's going on?"
Keith gives him no verbal response, just gestures frantically at the computer. Wary, Lance leans over the two college students to get a look and his eyes widen when he see's what's on the browser.
Young Pilots in Training Die from Flight Test.
Fire-- Hands grasping at each other. Screaming. So much blood. He can't-- They're not going to make it. They have to make it. They have to--
Lance shakes his head and forces himself not to go down that road. He breathes in deeply, air not quite reaching his nonexistent lungs.
"Oh," is all he can manage to say, eyes wandering back to Keith. The other is staring at him with mirrored emotions to the ones that are causing Lance's chest to tighten and hands to clench at his side.
"I'm telling you," said Katie, her voice cutting through whatever was happening between the two dead boys. "Something isn't right. What if the place really is haunted?"
"One misplaced toothbrush and your first conclusion is ghosts?" Hunks asks and Lance is reminded too much of his own hesitance to believe Keith about those sorts of things when they were alive. Keith must think the same because he waves his hand in a see? gesture to which Lance flips him the bird.
Katie shifts her glasses on her face. "You know as well as I do that it wasn't just the toothbrush."
"But that was the tipping point, wasn't it?"
"It was under my bed, Hunk!"
Side-eyeing Keith-- very clearly remembering a similar scandal being pulled on him many years ago-- Lance receives a nonchalant shrug. "What? She needed a taste of her own medicine."
Yeah, and now we're going too be found out! he almost argues. It's not like they were trying to keep whatever happened to them a secret but there were risks that came with Hunk and Katie thinking their apartment is haunted. The biggest threat being them moving out and Keith never getting a chance to properly convince his brother that he's not completely dead. (Or in Keith's mind, that they're not dead at all because he's a stubborn bastard who thinks whatever happened to them can be reversed.)
And of course, they could always get some kind of ghost FBI involved and Keith and him spend the rest of their days as lab experiments but y'know, whatever.
"These are the reports from the old owners," Katie explains, her cursor circling the article title before bringing up several more open tabs. Lance's eyes dart from one tab to the next, completely unaware there were so many things online about their passing. It's not like they could've checked before. Most electronics go haywire the moment they touch them.
Katie's glasses glint form the blue light as she leans back in her chair and rubs her temples. "There has to be something in here. If we can figure out it's them haunting this place then maybe theirs a chance they're friendly and we can communicate."
It's silly that she thinks that now. If they weren't friendly, they would have murdered them by now. Between Keith's knife skills/obsession and Lance's knack for BB guns, they would be ghosts of their own within days.
There's a tug on his shirt and he glances to his side, finding Keith there, purple eyes narrowed in concern. He whispers to him, "They don't want to leave?"
He shook his head. Thinking on it, he's not all that surprised given Katie's questionable behavior that they've observed over the past few days. A cryptic to heart she is if the stacks of X-files he found on their coffee table the other day are anything to go by. Besides, the realtor did warn them before that the place might be haunted.
"What did you find then?" Hunk questions, leaning even closer to the screen. He points to one of the tabs. "This one seems to be about the apartment."
"It's a review someone left on it after she tried to buy the place. She claims to have been threatened by the air with swords and fire distinguishers when she came with the realtor."
Ah. Crazy Bertha. He forgot about her to be honest.
He's ashamed that they'd gone that far. The fire distinguishers and swords, he means. It wasn't their finest moment. Unprepared and still grieving, the two of them hadn't known how else to get rid of people. They both just wanted to be alone in the one place that was still theirs. Neither of them had gotten the hang of being ghosts yet and the strange events that stemmed from that weren't good living conditions for anybody, not even themselves. It was for Bertha's own good, and it kept people away for a while.
Lance places a hand on Keith's shoulder then. It hadn't been a good week for him.
"So, not friendly ghosts?" Hunk looks like he's going to be sick.
"Not necessarily, no." Katie clicks on the reviews date. "That was only two weeks after the old owners died. I would chase people out of my home too if I'd just died."
Suck it Bertha. We're not crazy.
"Are you certain the old owners are the ones haunting this place?"
She nodded. "Positive. Look at this." She pulls up another tab, the earlier article about their death. "They both died on the same day in this accident. There were no reports of hauntings around this area until after then. It has to be them."
Hunk lifts his head, surveying the room and smiling sheepishly like he thinks the ghosts are watching them at that very moment, which isn't entirely wrong. "Sorry," he mumbles under his breath and then louder, "Who were they?"
"They were kids your age. Lance McClain and Keith Kogane," Katie answers. Her little eyebrows scrunch up. "I don't know, I'm missing something. They sound so familiar, like I've heard of them somewhere."
"Maybe on the news?"
"No." There's a pause and then her whole face brightens. "OH! Oh my god, I'm so dumb."
Hurriedly, her fingers dance across the keyboard and Lance sends a confused look Keith's way. He shrugs, again, and says, "Don't look at me. I know what's going on in her just as well as you do."
"But you share a room," he argues.
"Want to trade? You can have this room if you want."
"No!" he yelps and takes a step closer to Hunk. "I am perfectly happy with the arrangements. You keep the gremlin."
Both Keith and Lance freeze when Hunk shivers. The boy glances around, eyes wide. Voice shaky, he regards his friend. "Uh. . . Pidge? You don't think they're here right now, do you?"
"Shh! I almost have it. . . aha!" Katie-- or Pidge? Odd nickname but okay-- shows her screen to Hunk. Lance can't contain the little gasp that leaves his lips at the sight of Matt's social media page. On his messages board, was one particularly short text post compared to the longer rants above and below it.
@-Mattdayum [03/21/xx]
going offline for a few days. i appreciate the concern from everyone but if no one sends anymore condolences or anything for a little while that would be amazing. thank you
Oh.
"That's. . ." Keith doesn't finish what he starts to say, his jaw snapped shut. Lance feels his chest constrain. They shouldn't be reading these.
Matt. . . Lance can't even begin to imagine what him and everyone else must have felt when they died. He'd of course worried about how they'd handled it and prayed everyone was okay but he didn't think that they'd get too much support, so much so that it became exhausting like the text post implied.
This is just his friend. What about his brothers and sisters? His parents? Professors and flight supervisors? Were there more people he knew with posts like this asking for space while they grieve? He didn't get to think more about it before Hunk spoke up.
"That's a few days after they died."
Katie nodded. "Yeah. . . Matt had said he was going through something, that someone he knew was gone but I didn't think. . . It could be them, right?"
"Maybe," Hunk says. "Check Shiro's account."
Keith visibly stiffens next to him. The part of him that will always be protective of his best friend reaches out and reassures the boy that he can leave if he needs. Keith declines the offer, shaking his hand from his shoulder, stubborn as ever.
@-TakashiShiroganeOfficial [03/27/xx]
Thank you to all our friends for the support over the past few days. You have no idea how much it has meant to me and my family. If you want to attend the service, it will be held a
this
address on Sunday at noon. For anyone else, please donate
here
to support the boys families. I apologize for the abruptness but I'm sure some of you can understand.
Thank you, and stay safe.
The words on the screen stare up at them all, the room growing evermore silent and tense. There's something hanging in the air, an emotion caught between sorrow and empathy. Lance's own heart aches for the man he would dare to call his brother and for Keith, the boy whose brother it really is.
The only sound in the room is that of Katie clicking on the donation link.
Help the McClains
Help the Koganes
McClains. . .
Lance leaves the room, slamming the door on his way. He barely registers the screams that correspond with the slam as he storms out of the apartment. He needs some air.
-:-
"You scared them," Keith says when he finds him hours later.
He's staring at the stars in the sky, sprawled across the roof of the playground house. The rustling of Keith climbing up to join him blends in with the sound of crickets and cars driving by the highway a few blocks over. The cold breeze of the January air doesn't touch him, doesn't numb his cheeks and finger tips like it used to. Not even the hard wood of the playground roof feels the same.
Keith hauls himself up and rolls onto his back, joining him. He crosses his hands over his stomach.
"Lance?"
He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about his family that he hasn't seen in a year. The ones who know he's dead and grieved for him. The donation page means they were struggle, right? Did they struggle? How much pain did he cause them? What could have been avoided if he hadn't have been so stupid that fatal day? He didn't want to think about how much he hurt them. How much it hurt himself.
"Lance? Don't draw away now."
He tales a second to compose himself as he stares at the endless night sky. The stars are beautiful tonight. He tilts his head to the side, meeting Keith's eyes. His raven hair is splayed across the wood, stray strands curling around the frame of his face. Gaze intense and worried, Lance thinks in that moment that Keith could be more beautiful than the stars if he really wanted.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. "You found me faster than normal."
"You hid easier than normal," he responds. "This is your spot after all."
He says that instead of 'the place you come when you can't handle it' and he's a little grateful. Even before he died, he used to sneak off to here and sit for hours, mapping out the skies. The galaxies so far from their own always felt more like home than most places when he was feeling that terrible sinking sensation in his gut. His sister used to say he was destined for the skies since he spent so long gazing up at them.
Look where that got him. A dead pilot.
Keith nudges him with his foot. "It's okay. You know that, right?"
"What's okay? Being dead?" He snaps without really meaning to. Months ago, that would have started a full out fight between them but their many poltergeist episodes have dulled that sensitivity and instead Keith sighs.
"No. Being upset. Upsetting others. It's okay."
Lance stares at the sky as his words think in. Is it okay? They're dead, can anything really be okay? He doesn't say that. Instead, he said, "I wish it would be more than okay."
Heavy silence weighs down the mood briefly before Keith replies, "I know."
This past year had been hard for them, harder than they could have expected. They couldn't see the people they loved, at least not without being ignored. They couldn't do the things they loved. Smiling was harder. Seeing the world like they'd dreamed felt more pointless, a distant fantasy of kids who didn't know how little time they had left. Their whole world evaporated except for each other.
It's not something either of them could just walk away from, even if they tried. For all that he complains about Keith not being able to accept being dead, he hadn't handled their situation well either. Running away from Katie's computer shows that well enough, he thinks.
"I think. . ." Keith says almost hesitantly, "that it's going to feel more than okay one day. I think it was already starting to. We just-- we have our bad days that we learn to deal with it. And if this is your way of dealing with it. . . I'm here for it, yeah?"
Blinking at Keith, his feels his eyes water. He scoffs and wipes quickly at his eyes with his sleeve, muttering, "Aren't you supposed to be the emotionally constipated one?"
"A common misconception, really."
A smile tugged the corners of Keith's lips upward, and Lance's own in turn. He looks back at the skies, his pinky reaching to intertwine with Keith's. He whispers quiet enough for only Keith and the wind to hear, "Thank you."
"Any time, sharpshooter."
"Mullet."
"Goofball."
Despite the names. they're both smiling softly at the skies. The rest of the night is wasted away like that, pinkies twisted together and comfortable silence making the whole world feel just a little lighter.
-:-
Chaos awaits the next morning.
Lance had taken a page out of Keith's book, choosing to ignore what had happened the day before and just roll with death. Fate, however, had another plan.
His day had been going perfectly fine before he'd sat down in the living room, choosing to watch the show Hunk had left on when he went to shower. It was some cartoon slapstick comedy about a cat and mouse but it was entertaining enough. Better than Katie's criminology shows. Pardon him but he's seen enough blood and gore in the past year.
The scream, he had not been expecting.
"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!"
The thing about people screaming is more often than not Lance will retaliate in like. He screeched, high and deafening, whilst leaping a good foot or two from his spot on the couch. From Keith's bedroom, he hears a clash followed by a curse. He can't even bring himself to wonder what happened before Keith burst into the room, wide eyed and asking, "What happened? Are you okay?"
Lance only gapes, eyes shifting between Keith and the source of the original scream, Katie Holt. She seems to be in a very similar state. Face pale and jaw dropped. Eyes staring through-- no, at him.
Oh shit.
"You. . . you. . . " she stutters, words trailing off before they can truly go anywhere in the first place.
"Uh. . . Keith? Pinch me. Please," Lance practically cries. His unloyal roommate doesn't make to pinch him, preferring to gape at Katie.
"Can she. . .?"
"I don't know," Lance hisses. He moves to him and tugs on his wrist. "What do we do? Can she see us? I'm dreaming, right?"
Keith doesn't bother pushing his hand away. "I- Maybe? People have seen us before. Maybe she really can."
"But she would have seen us, I don't know, any other damn time this past week!"
"I know just as well as you do, Lance!"
"Who else am I supposed to ask!?"
"I don't know!"
Their butting heads, forehead touching and faces twisted into sneers when Katie interrupts them with a simple but rather summarizing, "What the fuck."
What the fuck indeed.
Stepping away from him, Keith huffs and crossed his arms. Lance smiles sheepishly, wincing as he spreads his arms. "Surprise?"
There's four ways this can go in Lance's mind. One, Katie panics and call the modern day equivalent of the ghostbusters and he and Keith spend their days in the containment of ghost proof cells or containment jars. Two, she flips and moves away with Hunk and Lance goes back to boredom scaring away realtors and their clients. Three, and hopefully avoidable option, she tries to stab them or figures out a way to truly kill their spirits. And fourth, and most desirable, this is a dream and Lance wakes up on the floor of Hunks room.
None of the above happen as Katie rushes forward and grabs at Lance's arm. Caught off guard, the hand slides through and he shrieks.
"Interesting," Katie notes like she didn't just pass through his literal soul.
Keith, bless him, yanks Katie back from him by the collar of her shirt. She yelps (serve her right) and attempts to swat Keith away. Key word being attempt when her hand goes through his torso. The boy shivers and Lance sympathizes, all too aware of the gut wrenching feeling being passed through gives.
Katie blanks. "Oh. Even more interesting."
"Interesting?" Keith mocks. "That's all you have to say?"
She raises her eyebrows. "Is there something you'd like me to say?"
"Scream?! Shout ghost at the top of your lungs?! Anything?!"
"To be fair, I already did that first one."
Someone drop on anvil on him, please. Here was this gremlin of a girl who certainly was not the same as the one he'd heard so many stories about, and she barely batted an eye at him. Of course people had seen him and Keith before, mostly lunatics who claimed to have gifts but others who were only regular people passing by on the street. Those people always stopped in their tracks when they saw him or Keith. They stared, screamed, fainted; it was always different but yet still all too similar.
Katie did none of that. She screamed at first, yes, but more out of surprise than terror he would think. He would scream to if he saw some rando on his couch, regardless of whether they're a ghost or not. Kids these days.
"Hold up," Lance butts in, hands raised. "You can see us?"
Katie eyes him up and down, frowning. "Uh, yeah. Unless I finally lost my mind."
"Finally!? You're, like, twelve!"
"Sixteen, actually."
Unable to contain himself anymore, he yells in frustration. Next to him, he sees Keith roll his eyes. McMullet uncrosses one of his arms and holds out his hand for Katie to shake. "An introduction is in order then. I'm Keith and this is--"
"Lance," Katie cuts him off. "So I've read."
Lance decides to not tell her off for invading their privacy last night by going through every bit of information about them online.
Her eyes widen comically as she shakes Keith's hand. Leaning closer, she inspects his hand still held firmly in her grip. "Fascinating," she muses. "It almost feels real. I mean, if it wasn't freezing, jeez."
"It," Keith growls, turning his hand permeable and yanking it through Katie's own and back to his side, "is my hand. And before you ask us anything, you should get your buddy in here. It'll be easier to only explain once."
Eagerly, she nods and calls through out the house, "HUNK!"
There's a quick coming! and then the beautiful hunk of a man (if Keith were in his head he'd be rolling his eyes) comes strolling into the room, wiping his hands on an apron. It's a cute apron, Lance thinks. Especially the little detail of an embroidered yellow flower on the left peck. The boy looks up. There's a pause, a brief moment before his eyes widen and then loll back in his head.
He faints.
Lance sighs. Great. This is going to be a long day.