Chapter Text
The Bronx, 2000
8 years old
“Lance! Come on, faster!”
Keith’s bare feet pounded against wooden floor as he ran, his breath high and fast in his chest. He tugged Lance unrelentingly down the hall towards safety, refusing to stop even when he almost tripped over the upturned edge of his foster mother’s favorite rug.
“What’s-”
“Hurry!” he urged, effectively shutting down whatever Lance had been about to ask. They’d have time for questions later - plenty, if they made it to their hideout before Jake and Brent caught up with them. “You’re so slow!”
“That isn’t my fault!” Lance hissed, petulant and low. He sounded like he was about to say something else, but the sudden angry thud of feet down stairs quelled his protests.
“KEITH! Where the fuck did you go? Get back here, you little asswipe!”
“Shit,” Keith whispered, knowing full well he’d have gotten a spanking for that one if Martha had been around to hear.
“You go that way, I’ll take the back. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
“Jake, maybe we should just-”
“Shut the fuck up, Brent! Did he steal your shit or mine?”
“Yours dude. Chill.”
“So what the fuck are you waiting for? You’re dead when we find you, asshole!” Jake added, raising his voice as he addressed the last part to Keith, who practically skidded to a stop before the hallway closet.
“Shit,” he muttered, shoving Lance in among the clothes as the sound of footsteps grew closer. “Shit shit shit-”
He threw himself in after Lance, flinging the door closed behind him and muffling a yell when Lance’s fingers wrapped around his shirt, pulling him through a sea of coats and boots and into the crawlspace beyond.
“Come on!” Lance whispered as he flicked on the crawlspace light, his voice reedy and high with urgency - though there was no real need for it as they shimmied their way through dust and cobweb and into the room beyond. They both knew that they were safe in here, in this little sanctuary they’d spent years making their own. Forgotten by time and (more importantly) by Andre and Martha, the crawlspace served as a haven, an ideal escape from Keith’s horrible foster siblings and stupid life things like chores and crappy food. In here, Keith could be whatever he wanted to be - maybe an astronaut today, a brave knight the next - and he and Lance could play to their hearts’ content.
“That,” Keith panted, rising onto his knees as he emptied five toy cars out of his jacket pockets and onto the floor, “was close.”
“No kidding,” Lance agreed, reaching to wrap his fingers around the blue car (Keith had snagged that one specifically for him) and holding it up to his face for inspection. Keith giggled as he squinted at it with one eye shut like he was a detective. “These are nice though.”
“I know.” Whirling around, Keith sifted through the clutter of toys littered around the crawl space until he’d found a couple Lego figurines, one of which he tossed to Lance. “Here.”
“Thank y - wait, you gave me Coran again,” Lance pouted, chucking the piece at Keith when he sniggered. “Come oooon, I had him two days in a row.”
"Okay, okay. I'll take Coran," Keith acquiesced, picking Coran gingerly from the floor, "and you can have…here, gimme your hand."
Ever obedient and ever trusting, Lance offered up his palm and shut his eyes, as if Keith were about to present him with some precious gift. For a brief moment, Keith wondered what it might be like to close the distance between them and press a kiss to the freckles on Lance’s cheek - but then Lance was shaking his palm impatiently beneath Keith’s nose.
“Keeeeeith.”
“Sorry!” With a giggle, Keith carefully placed the other figurine in Lance’s hand, already anticipating the way his eyes would sparkle upon seeing the white hair and magic staff. “Okay,” he whispered, wrapping Lance’s fingers gently around the toy. He was well aware of how dramatic he was being, but he’d found that sometimes drama was worth it if the reward was good - especially where Lance was concerned. “You can open your eyes now.”
Lance did as he was told, opening his eyes and uncurling his fingers with the utmost care. The smile that bloomed across his face was Keith’s favorite thing in the world - warm sunshine illuminating every inch of his face until Keith could no longer imagine Lance as anything but happy.
“Allura!” he gasped, holding the mage almost reverently in his palms as Keith savored the unbridled joy in his expression. “My favorite! Thank you, Keith, thankyouthankyouthankyouthank-”
Following his earlier impulse, Keith dove forward to plant a kiss to Lance’s cheek, heat rising to his own face when Lance squeaked in delighted surprise.
“You’re welcome,” Keith mumbled as he pulled away, all at once shy and embarrassed and thrilled, altogether unable to meet that sunshine smile head on. “She’s not a racecar driver, but we can just pretend that-”
Before he knew what was happening, there was a press of something warm and soft against his own cheek, and he only registered that Lance had kissed him back when the little fiend sat back with a giddy grin.
In complete awe, Keith brushed the pads of his fingers against his cheek, where he could still feel the tingle of Lance’s lips against his skin - like magic. “Why’d you do that?”
The sunshine smile warmed even farther. “I dunno,” Lance giggled, looking far too pleased with himself. “You did it first. Why did you?”
Because you’re pretty, Keith wanted to say. I wanted to see what it would feel like.
Instead, the words dried up in his throat, and Keith merely shrugged, turning his attention back to the Lego figure clenched tightly in his hand. “I don’t know.”
There was shuffling, and then Lance’s leg was brushing against his own, surprising Keith into meeting his eyes. “Well...I liked it.”
Keith released a nervous breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Okay.”
“You should do it more.”
Nodding dutifully, Keith reached for Lance’s hand, winding their fingers together as he summoned all his courage and leaned in for yet another kiss. “Okay,” he breathed as he backed away.
“Yay!”
Lance giggled again, and Keith was pretty sure the tips of his ears were red. God, his whole stupid face was so hot...was this even normal? It was possible that he was coming down with something - Maggs had the flu, and insisted on coughing in his face every chance she got.
Yeah. It was probably Maggs’ fault.
Without removing his hand from Keith’s, Lance placed Allura gently on his knee before reaching towards the cars, hovering over them with momentary indecision before plucking up the red one with a hum.
“For you,” he beamed as he held it out to Keith, who felt as if an entire family of butterflies had taken flight in his stomach.
“Thanks.”
With a satisfied hum, Lance pressed their shoulders together. “Only the best for you, my brave knight.”
Ugh. Martha was definitely going to have to check his temperature later. Thanks a lot, Maggs.
Despite his freakishly hot face, Keith recognized the game, falling into his role as naturally and as willfully as breathing. It was, after all, his favorite. “Thank you, your Highness. I, um - picked the blue one especially for you.”
To his surprise, the smile dropped from Lance’s face - slowly, as a cloud drifting across the sun.
“Hey.” Keith squeezed the hand in his own, cocking his head curiously as he attempted to peer at Lance’s face, now angled away from him and down towards the floor. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking, um...” Lance chewed at his lip, a telltale sign that he was nervous. “Maybe you shouldn’t steal Jake’s toys any more.”
Keith blinked, confused by the sudden hurt prodding at his heart. “Oh.”
“It’s not that I don’t like them!” Lance hurried, his eyes snapping up to meet Keith’s. “But - what if you get in trouble? I can’t exactly...help.”
This...wasn’t what Keith wanted to talk about now. At all.
Or ever.
“I know. I don’t care.”
The look in Lance’s eyes - the pity - hurt Keith more than he could conceive. “But, last time Jake really-”
“I don’t care, Lance.” He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to think about it or talk about it or remember it. The still-healing bruise over his ribs ached in sympathy. “I just wanna play with you. Please,” he begged, tightening his grip on Lance’s hand and silently imploring him to stop looking at him like that, like there was something wrong with him.
“Please.”
The last word left him pathetically enough that it had Lance sighing and then nodding as a gentle smile crept back onto his face. “Okay,” he whispered, and Keith was thankful that he didn’t try to push the issue, or worse yet - to give him a hug. Lance knew Keith well enough to know when to drop something and move on, which...
Was kind of the whole point of Lance, Keith supposed.
The two of them startled as the sound of several pairs of feet thundered by the closet, accompanied by the muffled sounds of laughter and merriment. Keith huddled closer to Lance, who released his hand in order to pull him in by the shoulder. Neither of them dared to speak, both unwilling to risk exposing their hideout.
It was only after the sounds of laughter had fully receded that either of them moved, Lance exhaling with relief as he hugged Keith a bit closer. “The enemy is gone, brave knight,” he announced, jostling Keith playfully until he was giggling. “VICTORY!!!”
“Shhh!” Keith was fully laughing now, unfurling from Lance’s embrace to clap a hand over his mouth. “You’re so loud!”
Beneath his hand, he could feel Lance’s lips stretch into a grin. “That’s not my fault!” he protested again, his words somewhat muffled by Keith’s palm - but Keith was laughing too hard to keep it in place. It fell away as he collapsed into Lance’s side, both of them shaking with mirth. “Next time make me quieter!”
“Nah.” Burying his smile in Lance’s shirt sleeve, Keith nuzzled his forehead against his shoulder. “I like you like this.”
“Good. I like me like this too.”
Somewhere far above them, a door slammed, and the sound of muffled yelling drifted down through the floorboards.
“Does it ever bother you that they can’t see me?”
Ripping his eyes away from the ceiling, Keith turned to find Lance watching him with a curious expression, his head tilted to the side like a little puppy. Something about it had Keith huffing a laugh and reaching for Lance’s hand. “No. Means I don’t have to share you with Maggs and Trevor.”
The smile he received in response was blinding. “Cool. I don’t wanna play with Maggs or Trevor. Just you.”
Keith wasn’t used to smiling like this - not with anyone other than Lance. “Cool.”
Turning his attention back to the cars, Lance gasped as he examined the sleek black one lying by his shoe. “Is Shiro coming today? Hunk? Pidge? I think we have all their favorite - oh, there’s no green.”
Normally, Keith would have been thrilled by the idea of conjuring up their other friends to play. Hunk and Pidge always ended up bickering over something ridiculous, which would usually pull the most deliriously happy laughter out of Lance - and Shiro would be there to make sure that none of them got too rowdy, every bit the doting older brother that Keith had always dreamed of.
But today, Keith was too tired, too spent for imagination, and far too aware of the incessant throbbing around his ribs to want anyone other than his best friend.
“No,” he whispered, clutching the hand in his even tighter. “Just you. Is that okay?”
With a contented sigh, Lance pressed up against his side, letting his head fall against Keith’s shoulder. “Always, my brave knight.”
New York City, 2021
29 years old
“Well, look who it is.”
Even after all this time - even among a sea of people chatting cheerfully around high-top tables laid with white cloth and gaudy floral arrangements - the sound of that voice managed to grate on Keith’s nerves like nothing else.
He steeled himself before turning to face its source - but not before downing the half glass of Merlot clutched in his hand.
He’d last seen his ex a year ago at a writing convention out of state, and Keith was unsurprised to find that James looked just as pompous and pretentious as ever. His hair slicked back with so much gel it practically looked wet, he sauntered towards Keith with his pointy nose held high and his beady eyes shining with self-importance - his signature ‘My-Father-Owns-Griffin-Publishers-Inc-So-Plant-Your-Mouth-Firmly-On-My-Cheeks’ expression.
“The great Akira Kogane,” James started. Fuck, Keith had forgotten just how obnoxious his stupid voice was. “At the Walter Hershey Convention, no less. Funny - I thought you knew everything there was to know about writing.”
Before Keith could tell him to kindly fuck off, James was smiling sweetly and stepping into his space like he was entitled to it - and Keith was tempted to deck him then and there. “Tell me, Akira - you make anyone cry today?”
Jesus Christ. Three years apart, and James was still slinging insults at him like Keith actually cared enough to be offended.
Whatever. He’d play along. If James wanted a fight, Keith was happy to deliver. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He still had another hour to kill before his presentation, and he’d been antsy with nerves all fucking day. He hadn’t even needed to be here this early - it was his own damn fault for hearing the words ‘wine social’ and thinking he actually stood a chance at any sort of socialization.
He supposed running into James was as fitting a punishment as any.
With a dismissive shrug, Keith checked his watch. “Not yet,” he murmured, careful to keep his tone nonchalant and unbothered. “But it’s still early.”
James laughed derisively, his smug composure crumbling by the second. “Still a bitter loner, I see.”
“Still a total prick, I see,” Keith snarked back, if only to watch with a satisfied smirk as James’ feathers were further ruffled - and ruffled they were, judging by the crease that’d formed between his brows and the splotchy red dotting his ugly face.
“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” James threw him a look of faux sympathy, complete with a condescending pout. “Still living alone?”
“You can’t seriously still be hung up on this,” Keith sighed, leaning an elbow on the table as he deposited his empty wine glass beside about fifteen others (they weren’t his. He wasn’t that nervous). “It was three years ago, James. Grow up.”
“Grow up?” His ex’s voice went strident. “Oh, that is rich coming from you, Kogane. Last I checked, I’m not the one so stuck in my own head that I don’t even have time for a relationship.”
And there it was, the point of contention James never failed to resurrect whenever they were unwittingly reunited. Splendid.
Keith groaned, throwing his head back and praying for divine intervention. He’d never believed in any sort of creator, but if there was a time for an all powerful being to strike him down...
“Isn’t there anyone else you can bother?” he grumbled, running a hand down his face as he straightened. “Or literally anything else you could be doing? I hear the bathroom’s got a decent echo if you wanna hear yourself talk.”
To Keith’s disappointment, James’ eyes glinted dangerously, ice gathering behind them like frost on a window pane. “Must be nice to not give a shit about anything real, huh?”
The mask Keith had so carefully constructed slipped, falling away as James’ words hit their mark.
“Fuck off.”
It came out more affected than he’d intended, and James sneered, unbearably smug as he reveled in his victory. “With pleasure.”
He was turning away before Keith could think of a response, and Keith had half a mind to follow him, to suggest that they take this outside until they yelled themselves raw. Instead, he simply stood there, hurting and pathetic as his wild emotions ran rampant.
Turning to the table to collect himself, Keith gathered the soft tablecloth in his fists as he focused on corralling his anger - anger that was prone to lead him into fist fights and yelling matches if left unchecked. There was no way he was giving his ex the satisfaction of losing his cool. Hell fucking no. He’d played James’ game, and now he’d have to walk off the sting of losing.
With a sharp inhale, Keith pushed himself away from the table, moving through the conference hall before he had any real idea of where he was going - though he supposed it didn’t matter. He just needed to move.
Bursts of laughter and snippets of conversation accompanied him as he weaved around groups of mingling writers, aspiring and published alike converging for one weekend under a common love for literature. No one seemed to recognize him as he passed, which Keith was grateful for - he wasn’t sure how he’d fare in a conversation with a fan at that precise moment.
Distantly, he wondered again why he’d bothered coming, why he’d entertained the thought that he might actually fit in amongst this crowd. It wasn’t like he knew anyone here, and at this point in his life, making friends sounded as appealing as impaling himself on a cactus.
No thanks. He was good on his own. He always had been, he always would be…
And James could get fucked.
He was so caught up in his own head that he almost missed the moment he’d just been dreading - the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling his pen name with more excitement than he was in the mood for. Spinning to find the voice’s source, his gaze landed on a wide-eyed blond woman sitting behind a booth, practically vibrating out of her chair with excitement. Keith guessed she might have been in her early twenties, her eyes still filled with a shimmer that’d long dimmed in Keith’s own - if it had ever been there in the first place.
Careful, kid, he thought as he warily approached her booth, eyeing the words ‘Mel’s World of Curiosities!’ adorning the very homemade banner behind her in gaudy glitter paint. It’s only downhill after 26.
“Akira Kogane, right?”
This was new for him too, hearing his pen name out loud like that. He hardly ever used the name ‘Akira’ in his day-to-day life - not unless he was filing taxes, or completing round after tedious round of book signings. He’d always stuck with his first name, and even that was rarely ever used save for the occasional coffee shop visit, or the gruff calls from Randy Derricks over at Griffin Publishers Inc. It wasn’t like he really had any friends - or family, for that matter - who knew him as Keith Kogane. Just a handful of crappy exes and a shitty publisher.
But this - people visually recognizing him as Akira Kogane, author of the The Magic Within series - this was fuckin’ weird.
He’d opted for anonymity from the first time he’d set pen to paper, favoring his middle name in place of his first. Content to hide behind an alias, Keith had managed to avoid associating a face with his brand name - that was, until he’d published book two last year, and Randy had been approached by two separate film studios clamoring for adaptation rights. He’d made a big fuckin’ stink after that, forcibly booking Keith for a photoshoot and insisting that they focus on promotion and image and everything Keith despised.
Which was why he was here, killing time roughly an hour before the fantasy panel that Randy had strong-armed him into giving for the sake of p-u-b-l-i-c-i-t-y, Akira, do I need to spell shit out for you for fuck’s sake?
And now he was being flagged down by some quirky super-fan who was probably going to remind him why he’d wanted to remain anonymous in the first place. Great.
He was pretty sure the smile he sent her as he approached was closer to a grimace than anything else, but it had her eyes lighting up nonetheless.
“Oh. My God.” Her voice was lightly accented - British, maybe? “I. Love. Your books! I must have read the Battle of Iron Hill about ten times - absolutely brilliant!”
For his part, Keith did his best to warm his grimace to a smile - he really did - but the most he managed was a feeble wince. “Uh…” What the fuck was he supposed to say? He was so bad at this, he’d told Randy as much. Shit, fuck, shit shit shit uhhhhhhhh - “That’s…nice.”
Nailed it.
He could almost hear the crackle of Randy’s disappointed sigh through a phantom phone. A simple thank you won’t kill you, boyo, he imagined him saying. It isn’t hard.
“I mean-” Keith cleared his throat, heat creeping up his neck. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” She was nearly vibrating out of her seat with excitement, leaning almost fully across the table as if she were trying to phase through it to get to him. Keith might have found it vaguely funny, if it’d been happening to someone else. “Your words are...magic,” she breathed, far too dramatically for Keith to even attempt to take her seriously.
“Uh-”
“Magic. I’ve never seen so much of it in my life.”
Apparently, Keith’s brain decided the best response to that was an ugly, nervous laugh that bubbled up from his throat and escaped him before he could help it. “You’re...very…” eccentric? weird? very...very?
“...Sweet,” he finally settled on. “Thanks.”
“I’m only honest.” Her smile turned…almost fond as she finally sat back in her chair, clutching her hands over her heart. “I was already such a huge fan! I had no idea you were-” She cut herself off abruptly, her fingertips flying to her lips as if she’d just caught herself about to say something she hadn’t intended to reveal. “Er…here!”
“Uh…” Keith’s eyes drifted towards the giant poster stretched across the conference hall wall to his left - a poster that bore his name in huge block letters along with a couple other headlining authors.
“Ah!” Following his gaze, the girl giggled, clapping her forehead in a way that was too theatrical to look genuine. “Oh! Silly me, must not have read the sign! There you are!”
Confused and feeling like he was stuck in one of those dreams where he was running in place, Keith nodded. “There I am,” he echoed blankly, unsure how to extract himself from the situation and wishing that Randy - or hell, even James - might materialize to save him.
“They invited me to give a panel,” he continued, as if that weren’t obvious, “and I - well, I wasn’t sure I was gonna come, but my agent said it’d be good for pub...licity,” he finished, eyebrows furrowing as his words ground to a halt. He wasn’t sure why he’d disclosed any of that to a complete stranger, but there was something about her…
She smiled at him, all at once warm and inviting and apologetic. “Sorry. Little too much, perhaps.”
Feeling strangely as if he’d just come out of a trance, Keith blinked. “A little...what?”
“Never you mind that now.” Before Keith could ask what the hell she was on about, she was leaning in again, wrapping a hand around his wrist and giving him a nasty static shock in the process. “Come to my shop,” she whispered conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming animatedly as she plucked a business card from her table and pushed it into his hand. “I’ll explain everything there.”
“Explain - what?” He squinted down at the card in his hand like it might spout answers - but he was greeted by nothing more than the words Mel’s World of Curiosities, an address, and a shitload of glitter. “What exactly...do you sell?”
“Oh, all sorts of things,” she answered airily as she drew away, releasing Keith’s wrist - which he oh-so-discreetly shoved behind his back and out of her reach - to wave a dismissive hand. “Books, tea, crystals…oh, glitter,” she added, and Keith resisted the urge to say no shit. “I guarantee I’ll have something that strikes your fancy.”
Just as he was figuring out the kindest way to say not in a million years, sorry, her eyes snapped to his own, suddenly urgent and wide. “You will come, won’t you, Keith?” When he could do nothing more than stare blankly at her, her expression grew pleading. “Please?”
He had no real idea why - whether it was just a means of excusing himself or if it was something about the look on her face - but Keith found himself nodding and pocketing her card. “I’ll do my best,” he reassured, knowing full-well he’d do nothing of the sort. It wasn’t like he made a habit of stopping by random bookstores run by crazy super-fans.
"I know you will.” Keith wasn’t sure he liked the self-assured look in her eyes as she sat back in her chair and beamed at him. “I’m quite looking forward to it. Who knows what we might discover together.”
The fuck? Was she...coming on to him? And if so, what part of his ensemble screamed ‘straight’? He was wearing fingerless gloves, for fuck’s sake, which...Randy was probably going to kill him for.
Oh, fuck. Randy.
Rapping a knuckle against her table, Keith took a blessed step back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well. It was-” fuckin’ weird “-nice meeting you, but I gotta run. My agent’s probably waiting for me to set up,” he explained, fishing his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. “I promised I’d - ah fuck, I’m-”
“Go!” The girl - Mel, he guessed - giggled, shooing him away with a perfectly manicured hand. “I’ll see you there!”
Oh god. Keith froze, one foot planted behind him like he was about to bolt. “You...will?”
“Of course! What sort of fan would I be if I didn’t come?”
…
When Keith finally burst into hall C307, disheveled and breathless, he ran straight into Randy - literally.
“The fuck have you been?” his agent asked as he steadied him, and - oh good, he sounded pissed. “I needed you here ten minutes ago.”
Keith scowled, wrenching himself away and straightening his jacket. “It’s a big place. Took me a second to find.”
Those were, apparently, the wrong words. Randy’s frown deepened, the wrinkles on his forehead growing more prominent as his handlebar mustache appeared to wilt into the folds of his neck. Keith had been in the business of disappointing people long enough to know an incoming lecture when he saw one.
“That’s why you plan ahead instead of runnin’ in like a bat outta hell - and what in the Lord’s name are you wearin’, boyo?”
Rolling his eyes, Keith dumped his messenger bag beside the podium. “Clothes.”
“You think this is a joke?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Neither am I. We got the Times and the Post coming in for this, and you couldn’t be bothered to throw on a suit? The fuck am I supposed to do with this, Kogane?”
A mousy-faced young woman bearing the word ‘intern’ on a name tag scurried towards the podium, looking for all the world like she’d rather be anywhere else than in the vicinity of this argument. Keith sent her an apologetic wince as she deposited a name tag of his own into his hands before making a hasty retreat to fiddle with the projector at the back of the room.
“When my client shows up in ripped jeans and lookin’ like he's just walked out of a fuckin' pub, what kinda message do you think that sends?”
Shrugging, Keith made a non-committal noise as he fastened the tag to his shirt. “That I got a kickass sense of style?”
Randy shot Keith a vehement glare. “Try: unprofessional. Disrespectful. It makes us look bad, Akira.”
Jesus - why couldn’t he latch the fucking tag? “Funny. I think I look pretty good.”
“You wanna be smart with me, wise guy?” Randy’s voice had risen enough for the intern to slink off to a back room, and Keith was pretty sure he heard a lock click.
He couldn’t say he blamed her.
“It makes an ass outta Griffin Publishers, is what it does. Is that your way of thanking us?”
Seriously, what was up with this fucking tag? Why couldn’t he just - just-
“That how you show your gratitude? By actin’ like a smarmy asshole when-”
Keith hissed as the pinpoint punctured his skin - and all at once everything was too much, too loud, too painful, too...too…
With a growl, he slammed the tag onto the podium, heart pounding so hard it was all he could hear in his ears. “I didn’t ask for this,” he exploded, slightly louder than he’d intended. “I never asked you to tote me around like some kind of show dog.”
“Akira-”
“I’m not changing for anyone, Randy,” Keith interrupted, his chest heaving with emotion. “What you see is what you fucking get. You deal with it, or you drop me.”
“Kogane, I swear to God-”
“I need some air.”
Keith stepped around the podium stand, striding towards the door as Randy yelled after him.
“The hell are you thinking? You start in eight minutes, y-”
When Keith whirled around, hand resting on the doorknob of hall C307, he must have done so with enough poison in his glare that Randy stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Then I’ll be back in eight minutes,” Keith hissed, his voice frosty even to his own ears.
The image of Randy standing lost and speechless with his gaping mouth and wilted mustache was the last thing Keith saw before he turned and shut the door behind him with a mighty slam.
…
He normally hated panels. Just - the idea of standing in front of a room of wide-eyed authors, all expecting him to do or be something…it was the worst.
But, today? Today all he had to do was talk about Lance McClain, and Keith never, ever got sick of that.
“Akira, I’m - hi, by the way, I’m a huge fan - will we see any shift in Lance and Keith’s dynamic after the Battle of Iron Hill?”
Keith chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair, pretending to ignore Randy's obvious irritation at the back of the room. He wasn’t supposed to be talking about book three - hell, he wasn’t even done writing it yet, but…
It was honestly worth it to see Randy get all red-faced and wild-eyed, like a boiling tea kettle come to life.
“Again, that kind of gets into spoiler territory,” Keith responded, and the woman who’d asked the question lowered her hand with a polite nod. “I will say that the King’s injury is a pretty big blow for the Kingdom, but Keith obviously takes it more personally than most.” Continuing to ignore his tea kettle of an agent as he made conspicuous You’re-Pushing-The-Terms-Of-Your-Contract motions, Keith rested his elbows against the podium. “He’s in a shitty enough position as Lance’s bodyguard, you know? But then there’s this added component of, like - Keith almost lost his best friend. He almost lost the guy he’s been in love with since - I mean, Jesus, since they were kids. You don’t just bounce back from that, you know? Feeling like you let someone down on that level. And of course - classic Keith - he’s gonna internalize the shit out of it.”
There were a few scattered laughs around the room, and Randy’s mustache seemed to droop in disappointment as he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
Not that Keith really cared. Riling Randy up was always a good time, but after running into James, Keith needed something to soothe the residual sting.
So…pissing Randy off and talking about his favorite original character? A perfect combination.
Another hand shot up at the back of the room, and Keith ducked sideways to meet its owner’s eyes. “Okay, one more question, and then I’m out of - oh. Hi.”
“Hi!” replied Mel as she beamed at him from the back row, her smile no less enthusiastic than it’d been when they’d met in the convention hall. “I was just wondering - well, you’ve undoubtedly answered this before, but - how did you come up with your characters?”
“Uh…” Keith swallowed, suddenly fidgety as he balled his hands into fists against the podium. He’d actually never answered this question - or if he had, he’d given some fake, dismissive answer about Imagination and Creativity that he thought would appease the masses.
But yet again, something about those eyes urged the truth out of him, the truth he held most precious and close to his heart.
“I don’t normally talk about this, but…” The room had fallen dead silent. Keith could feel the weight of every eye on him, but Mel’s expression had softened into something encouraging and kind, and Keith felt strangely…safe. “I grew up in the foster system. I didn’t really…have anyone. Like - friends, or family, so…I made up a bunch of imaginary friends.”
There was a chorus of aw’s, and Keith rubbed the back of his neck, hoping his face hadn’t grown as red as he thought. “Shiro was like an older brother, Hunk and Pidge were like…” Keith huffed a fond laugh. “The angel and devil on my shoulder, I guess. Allura and Coran were these little Lego characters we used to play with, and Lance…”
The room waited with bated breath.
“Lance was my best friend,” Keith admitted, finding himself suddenly fixated by a notch in the podium. “He was the first imaginary friend I had, he was there for me through…everything, honestly. If it weren’t for him…”
Old memories rose to Keith’s mind - memories that’d gathered a layer of dust over the years. Hours spent crying with a boy at his side, the two of them curled up against each other in bed-
Hours spent wondering why his own brain was so cruel, why his poor, lonely imagination had brought him someone that felt so real but never would be.
“Anyways,” Keith muttered, clearing his throat. “It hurt, knowing they weren’t real. And growing up sucked. For a long time, I thought it meant having to say goodbye, but then…”
Still tracing the notch on the podium, Keith felt his lips tug into a smile. “I realized I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to let them go. So…I developed their personalities, gave them backstories, created a world and conflict, and…here we are.”
His words were met by a round of light applause, and when Keith lifted his eyes, he was greeted only by kind smiles.
“Thank you, Akira.” Mel’s smile was brightest of all, the sort that leaked fondness and crinkled her eyes. “Thank you for sharing that. Your love for your characters is enormously touching.”
“You’re welcome - uh, thank you for asking,” Keith replied, shocked to find that he meant it. He’d normally never be so open and vulnerable around fans, but for some reason, he felt good. He felt free. It was as if some part of him that’d been stashed away had finally been unlocked, and it left him feeling light-headed and giddy.
…Mainly light-headed, though. He’d been feeling slightly queasy for the past hour, and while he’d attributed it to nerves and to running into James, he was starting to think he might be feeling the effects of several anxious, sleepless nights that’d led up to the conference.
“Alright folks!” The preppy emcee who’d introduced him sprang back to life, leaping off the stool he’d been inhabiting and bounding over to the podium. “We’re unfortunately all out of time, but let’s give a big thank you to Akira for a fantastic panel!”
The room broke into an applause far too enthusiastic for Keith’s pounding head. He barely managed a smile by the time the emcee turned to him with an outstretched hand. “Akira, it’s been such a pleasure, I can’t thank you enough,” he murmured, but Keith was barely there.
“Uh - thanks, yeah,” he grunted in response, wondering how fast he could book it out of the conference hall and back onto the subway. Jesus, there was a name for this, right? For feeling like you were going to be violently ill after a stressful episode. Let-down effect, or something? Christ, was it supposed to kick in this fast?
Barely cognizant that the room’s inhabitants were beginning to file out, Keith cleared his throat and tried to focus his hazy vision on the emcee. “And thanks for having me, by the way.”
“Seriously, Brian, thank you,” Randy added, materializing behind Keith and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We really appreciate the opportunity, the-”
“Akira?”
Standing a few feet away was Mel, hovering awkwardly as the last few stragglers left the room. She was hardly met with more than a glance before Randy and Brian returned to conversation, and Keith sighed as he stepped towards her.
“Hi,” he greeted, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. Seriously, this girl was obsessed with him, or something. “Mel. Thanks for the question.”
“Of course! I’m - I’m sorry to bother you again,” she rushed, “but I just want you to know - whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?”
Keith blinked. “Uh - no offense, but - I don’t know you.”
“No, no, of course.” Mel shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if inwardly berating herself. “I can’t imagine I’m making any sort of sense at the moment.”
“What?”
“Just - come by my shop when you need me. If you need me,” she hastily corrected.
“Uh…okay.” Taking an instinctive step backwards, Keith jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m not feeling so hot, so I’m gonna-”
“Goodness, I can imagine! Please - don’t let me keep you.” She clutched her hands to her chest and bit her lower lip, looking at him like she was sending him off on his first day of preschool. “Good luck, Akira. You are stronger than you know.”
Okay. So she was seriously starting to creep him out now.
With a nod, Keith excused himself and retreated to Randy’s side, where his agent stood with his face buried in his phone. “Who was that?” he grumbled, clearly still aggravated by Keith’s earlier behavior.
“No one,” Keith murmured, confused by the sudden sense of dread hammering away in his chest as he watched Mel slip out the door. “Just some fan.”
…
By the time Keith had stumbled out of the subway and up to his little apartment, the world was spinning.
He barely managed to make it to the couch to throw down his messenger bag, but there was no way he was skipping out on his nighttime routine - not in a million years, not even if the world was collapsing around him. He’d said goodnight to Lance every evening for the last twelve years, and he’d be damned if he let a little dizzy spell stop him.
Summoning all the energy he had left, Keith staggered down the hall - but not before he’d emptied his pockets, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter and flinging Mel’s glittery business card into the trash. He was nearly sick to his stomach when he finally reached his office, but the sight that awaited him provided a sweet reprieve, if only for a few seconds.
Every surface of Keith’s office was covered in his illustrations - meticulously drawn maps, labeled flora and fauna, and countless character sketches. Stepping into his office was like stepping into another world, one where Keith didn’t have to be anyone he wasn’t - didn’t have to answer to moody publishers, or shitty exes, or rabid fans. Here, Keith was just…Keith, lost to imagination and enveloped in fantasy.
It was sort of sad, when he really let himself think about it. He’d never met another author who’d gone through the lengths that he had to escape their mundane existence. He’d never met anyone who’d named a character after themselves, or modeled them off their own likeness and personality to the point where they had to use a pen name in public - all so they could play pretend.
He supposed James had been right, in a way. Keith had been lost to the real world for years, living vicariously through Keith the Knight, Bodyguard of the King, just so he could feel closer to…
His smile softened as he reached careful fingers to caress the drawing just behind his desk, the paper discolored from years of Keith’s touch. It was his favorite - the best rendition he had of the character who’d grown so close to his heart.
The pathetic truth was, somewhere along the way he’d fallen deeply for Lance, fallen hard and fast for a figment of his imagination. It’d ruined any idea of a relationship for him, the idea that he’d never find anyone as good as the man he’d built in his head-
But Keith had long made peace with that, and had grown content to live with the bittersweet heartache of knowing he could never truly have what he wanted.
So - pretending was the next best thing.
“Goodnight, Lance,” he whispered, just as he had every night for years - and for a brief moment, his dizzy-spell was forgotten. He traced along a sharp jawline, feeling for the first time since he’d set foot in his apartment that day that he was truly home. “Sleep sweet, Highness.”
Sometimes, he liked to imagine Lance saying it back, and as Keith trudged wearily out of his office and towards his bedroom, he imagined Lance calling softly after him, his voice low and fond.
Night, Keith.
…
“Keith. Get up.”
Sunlight warmed his face. Birdsong drifted through the air.
“Keith. Come on, man. We’re so late.”
Someone’s hand was on his cheek, callused and warm, but Keith found he didn’t mind the touch, and - God, he didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to remain in this dream forever, comfortable and content and awash with an inexplicable sense of safety.
“By the Creator’s name - how much did you drink last night?”
“Jus’a couple pints,” Keith slurred, nuzzling into the fingers carding through his hair. “Barely enough t-”
Wait - what the fuck was he talking about?
Panic crept up his throat as yesterday’s events careened back into him with unforgiving speed. He’d gone to the conference, and then…and then what? He’d felt sick as a dog, barely made it home, said goodnight to Lance, collapsed into bed, but he certainly hadn’t-
“Uh huh. That’s what you said last week. We remember what happened last week, right? I mean-”
The voice, simultaneously unfamiliar and achingly familiar, cut itself off with a laugh. “Do you know any other king that would carry his own bodyguard home from the pub? Then again…”
Whoever it was trailed off, and when they spoke again, sunshine had crept into their tone. “I guess I’ve always had a weak spot for you, Kogane.”
And it would have been a sweet sentiment - that was, if the voice had belonged to a friend or a lover.
But Keith didn’t have friends - nor did he have a boyfriend - and he definitely hadn’t been to a bar last night. Hell, he hadn’t been out drinking in ages. He definitely hadn’t had anyone carry him home - not this week or last…
And he definitely, definitely didn’t have a roommate.
Jerking out of the strangers touch, Keith wrenched his eyes open to meet a sight that stole the air from the room. He forgot how to breathe, forgot how to speak, forgot how to think, because hovering over him, impossibly handsome and impossibly there, the way Keith had always imagined him, was…was…
“Lance?” he breathed, his whole body numb from shock. It couldn’t be anyone else. Keith had drawn that face too many times not to be sure, had rendered those eyes and that smile until his heart was raw with longing. He had to be dreaming, or…or on drugs, or something. Maybe James had slipped something into his drink, or that girl Mel had dusted her card with some sort of hallucinogen, because there was no way that his character - that his character was…
The man above him raised an eyebrow, his smile tilting into something soft and so unbearably fond that Keith might have looked away if he could.
Yet still he remained transfixed to those eyes - eyes that his roving imagination had only ever conjured in dreams.
“Mornin’, Keith.”