Archive of Our Own

Keith had always loved art. He remembered the first museum he had gone to: for a class trip, half a day to a local contemporary art museum where they had to take notes of their favorite and least favorite pieces to make into a little journal.

He remembered setting foot on the parquet floor, the bright lights buzzing above and reflecting under him. He remembered looking around and thinking wow. Is this real? He couldn’t quite understand the deep meaning of the art he saw, like most children his age, but he knew it was art. And each painting stroke, each plastic piece put together, each taut threads told a story he was hungry to learn more about. As soon as he had come home, he had started making a journal with cardboard and chalks and pictures printed on grainy paper, and he had gotten the best grade in his class. He spent the next week dreaming about it- the pile of candies in the corner and the wall where he pinned a red piece of fabric and the glass plates hanging from the ceiling and casting colorful lights all around. He had taken to art after this, stealing his father’s ballpoint pens to sit outside and doodle everything he saw. He wondered if he could ever make other people feel the way he felt, walking into this place.

After that, he’d gone to museums as often as he could. He quickly discovered that he preferred old art to contemporary- it filled him with different kinds of emotions, to know that the hands that held the brush or the headstones had died long before Keith was even born.

But going to the museum every weekend was expensive and after his father’s death, he’d been put in foster care where the parents were never too enthusiastic about his ideas. He had moved houses often- always a little too quiet or a little too violent or a little too weird for the people there. Keith had resorted to art books, because libraries always felt safer than whatever awaited him in the places he slept. The librarians had been kinder to him, and a subscription often costed less and kept Keith away from the families.

He read biographies of his favorite artists, once he knew his taste a little more, books on ancient Egypt and Greek art, and pretty much anything he could get his hands on and rent at the local libraries. It was the one thing he could never part with, the one thing he felt he could hold in his heart wherever he went. His love for art would stay with him through the worst houses, and help him through the nightmarish nights.

A few years later, he met Shiro. A half-sibling his father hadn’t even known about, just old enough to offer Keith a permanent roof over his head. It had been a while before Keith felt truly comfortable with him, but it only took Shiro sitting next to him for an hour and a half to listen to him rant about 12th century North African art, without laughing at him a single time (the other kids in foster care loved to do that) to change that. He’d listened and he’d remembered and had offered Keith a book on French Renaissance paintings for his birthday a couple of weeks later, his first gift in years. He had offered him a permanent bed and all the art supplies he could afford with the little job he balanced with his studies. He pinned Keith’s art on the fridge and next to the TV and always complimented him on it, encouraging him to go out and draw more. For the first time in a long time, Keith had felt seen and heard.

After finishing high school, Keith had looked for a job immediately. He wanted to help Shiro with rent as soon as possible, and the few years he spent taking apart toasters and the neighbor’s old bike had paid off when he found Coran’s garage. It was close enough that Keith could take the bus (until he saved enough for his own bike) and with a salary that could barely cover his half of the rent and groceries. It was good, and Coran was nice if a little eccentric, and it was enough.

The first time he saw the book, it was hidden on the farthest shelf of a bookstore, between a cookbook and a romance novel. Dust covered the dark green and gold of the spine, making it blend with the rest. He was here because Shiro was visiting Adam and had invited Keith despite knowing he would leave them to be most of the day. Adam lived in a different city for his work, and Keith was grateful for the invitation but didn’t want to third wheel them on the rare time they got to see each other. A change in scenery was good for his art too, and he filled his sketchbook with the charcoal lines of a nearby park and Shiro’s favorite coffee shop’s storefront.

He was halfway through trying to get a curl of hair just right when he started paying attention to what he had been drawing and heaved a sigh.

For some reason, he had been drawing the same person for years.

It wasn’t someone he’d ever seen; he would remember it. And yet, he traced the lines of the stranger’s jaw and shaded the brown of their hair again and again and again, with pens and watercolors and chalks. As he got better with his art, the face he was drawing became more defined. Freckles across the nose and the slight curve of the corner of their lips as they smiled. The slouch of their shoulders. The line of their legs as they sat. Keith’s first ever sketchbook had traces of them already- a 10-year old’s shaky drawing in markers, but Keith knew what the blue lines where meant to be.

He must have drawn them a million times at that point, and yet it was never perfect. He could never find the exact shade of their eyes, or there was something slightly wrong in the bend of their fingers, or Keith’s imagination stayed fuzzy on the edges, blurring the lines on the page and ending in half-drawn poses and expressions.

And here they were again: a portrait this time, half-drawn laughter, a curl of their hair over the branches of a different drawing. Keith could never escape them. Not that he wanted to, but when he looked back at the outlines of what he called his ghost, he felt a sort of longing he had never understood. He wished it made sense. Some part of him longed to know more about the stranger, but the familiarity with which his hand traced their shape made him question his memory.

He closed the sketchbook and decided to wander a bit longer. He had been in this part of the city before, but for the first time that day he noticed the bronze panel on the heavy wooden door that read Katy’s Bookstore across the street. A small window showed a few old books, artfully placed on an emerald velvet fabric. Keith always tried to find more books on art everywhere he went, an insatiable curiosity constantly brewing in his stomach. This time was no different. He had taken money with him just in case something like this happened, and he had been right.

A bell rang when he pushed the door, and he discovered a small and cozy shop, empty except for an old woman behind the counter and a single customer flipping the pages of a book a couple of shelves away. A radio was playing some jazz, and a heavy brown rug covered the floor. The room was illuminated by a few soft table lamps here and there and the sun shining through the window, bathing the entire room in an eerie light.  

“Welcome to my bookstore”, said the old woman, “feel free to look at anything.”

Her smile was warm, her eyes crinkling. Keith thanked her as he walked in, looking around curiously. There didn’t seem to be much order to the books, and most were so old Keith feared the pages would crumble under his fingers if he touched them too carelessly. He looked at a few, wondering if he should just ask Katy where she kept the things he was interested in. He decided to look a little longer by himself, caressing the spines of books as he walked around. No need to bother the old woman if it wasn’t necessary.

It’s then that he pulled it out of its slot, painfully ordinary at first sight. After blowing a little on the cover to clear the dust, the title caught his eye. It was mostly erased, but he could decipher the words statues and art, and that was enough to get him to look through it. It wasn’t anything he remembered seeing before, and Keith was proud of his extensive collection of art books.

The first few pages showed things he had already seen for the most part, some he knew were still exposed in museums. There were a few interesting pieces he stopped for a little longer on, admiring the artists’ work. He turned a page a few from the end and his breath caught.

A picture, covering the entire page. A statue. A man, bottom half covered in silky sheets and chest bare. One of his arms was folded on his lap while the other supported him, his face turned to the right like he was glancing over the reader’s shoulder. Slightly curly hair laid on his forehead; a sharp jaw; thin eyebrows; long fingers gently folded over the silk. Keith could see longing and emotions the grain of the picture couldn’t quite catch painted all over the marble face, eyes distant and mouth set in a straight line. The picture, unlike the others, had been taken at sunset, a soft orange glow illuminating the right side of it and melting the edges into something softer. It almost made it seem alive, warming the pale marble in colors.

Keith saw it and it was like a punch to the stomach, an influx of emotions he could barely name hitting him suddenly. Affection and want and surprise and love, like he had never felt before. There was something achingly familiar about this block of marble, and it reverberated deep in his bones. He had a word on the tip of his tongue- a name, it’s a name, he thought. It left him before he could make out the letters of it, leaving behind a strange mix of frustration and affection. There was a feeling in his throat like honey and a tremble in his fingers under the sudden pressure of all these emotions. He ran a finger over the paper, nearly able to feel the cold, smooth texture of the stone instead of the rough paper.

It almost felt too… intimate, like the artist had captured a moment so private it nearly made Keith think he wasn’t supposed to look at it. It also felt right, like the book had sat in this bookstore for years waiting for Keith to open it and see this piece.

Keith took it all in and thought, I have never seen anything more beautiful than this. The artist was written as Unknown, and breathlessness was replaced by despair in a second. He turned the page, looking for more information, for anything. Nothing. Just a picture and a title, and a three lines long paragraph on the artist.

Unnamed was found during the destruction of a house in England. It had been inhabited for years, and this is the only sculpture that was found in there. The artist’s identity to this day is still a mystery, but the technique is admirable. 

(That felt right, because Keith couldn’t imagine capturing emotions so raw multiple times. The muse had sat and the artist had worked for months and the textured page of the book probably didn’t hold a candle to the beauty of the real thing.)

Before he knew it, he had bought the book and was outside once again. The sky had gotten dark, and he wondered how long he had spent fixated on the picture. He rushed back to Adam’s apartment, determined to know more about the artist and the statue.

An extensive Google search didn’t tell him anything new at all, except that Unnamed was currently exposed in a museum. Of course, the museum had to be all the way in Illinois, a four-hour flight from Arizona. Keith didn’t even need to check to know he didn’t have enough in his bank account for the trip. Another wave of despair hit him and he groaned, melting on the couch and feeling close to tears for some reason.

“Is everything alright, Keith?” asked Shiro behind him.

“No. I found this thing- look, I found this book and there’s this statue in it that I just- I have to see it in person, Shiro, but it’s in Illinois and I can’t afford that. But I need to see it like I’ve never needed to see anything in my life. I swear, I can almost feel it already but- I have to go, Shiro.”

“Uh. It’s pretty nice, yeah. Maybe you can put your saving towards that instead of a bike for the next few months, if you really want to see it that bad?”

Shiro patted his shoulder before circling around the couch and sitting next to him. Behind them, the sound of Adam’s cooking (Keith was a disaster in the kitchen and Shiro’s prosthetic had been hurting, so his boyfriend had closed off the kitchen to both of them.) was promising another delicious dinner.

“Even then, a trip and back? And if I want to stay for a few days? It’ll take me years to save enough money at this point.”

Shiro smiled supportively and listened to Keith’s tale of how he had found it and all the things it made him feel. Shiro kept quiet, but Keith clearly saw the confusion on his face as he explained the feeling of familiarity and longing he had felt when seeing it for the first time. And, yes, it was strange, but Keith had always felt connected to art. It had always brought new emotions in him, though not quite that passionately. It wasn’t anything new- what was new was the intensity, the eagerness, the thing in him screaming that he had to see it in real life. Those weren’t things Shiro could understand, seeing the way he reacted to it. It felt both destabilizing and normal for Keith, all these emotions, and it only added to his own confusion.

He couldn’t remember what he had dreamt about the next morning, but he was pretty sure it was the statue. He had woken up feeling incredibly warm and relaxed, and it had taken him a few minutes to remember that he was laying on Adam’s guest room’s bed. The last threads of the dream escaped him the harder he tried to remember, leaving behind nothing but frustration.

Of course, he immediately told Pidge, Hunk and Allura when he saw them the following Monday. Allura being Coran’s niece, she often came by the garage to say hello. They’d both been curious about it, Coran enthusiastically launching into another one of his strange stories. Keith and Allura had met in an art gallery the young woman was directing, and they kept running into each other until they exchanged numbers. Keith liked being able to talk about art with her, even if she understood the commercial aspect a bit more than the artistic one.

Pidge and Keith had met in high school, and the youngest had introduced Hunk a few months later. They clicked fast, having the same humor and straight-forwardness to them. Hunk was impossible not to love, and the three had quickly become good friends. The first people, beside Shiro, who had chosen to stay by his side for years.

Pidge, Hunk and Keith had a weekly meeting on Monday to catch up, play videogames and watch movies. They tried to change the place they went to each week, but Pidge still lived with their family, just like Hunk, and their houses were consequently bigger but also busier. That’s why they usually went to Keith’s place, Shiro having physical therapy until late. They ordered pizza, Pidge brought soda and Hunk some dessert he had baked.

Keith told them all about the statue and its mysterious creator. Pidge decided to do their own research but didn’t come up with anything really important beside a couple of articles written on it years ago that didn’t tell Keith anything he didn’t already know. Afterward, Keith couldn’t focus on the movie. He just couldn’t stop thinking about it, the urge to get the book and look at it again itching at his fingers.

For days, he kept dreaming about it. At least he thought he did- he dreamt about something that had him wake up feeling like he did every time he looked at the picture again. Sometimes it meant he woke up with a name on the tip of his tongue, trying to reach out to someone who wasn’t here. Sometimes it meant he woke up feeling soft and full of love for something he couldn’t touch. (These days were hard, when he didn’t know who or what the affection he felt was for. It made him run his hand over the sheets like he expected another body next to his, and it ached, to feel them cold and empty. It was painful trying to find something that he could never get to, like his first heartbreak all over again. It was worse even not to know who he was looking for.).

Most times, he woke up feeling satisfied and relaxed. On such days, it took him long minutes to drag himself out of the comfort of his bed. If he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift long enough, he could almost imagine cold stone under his fingers and warm arms around him.

He kept those to himself. Daydreaming about seeing a work of art was one thing, talking about the fleeting traces of an imaginary lover in the morning were another. Keith didn’t quite know how these things were linked- he didn’t know if the person he was looking for was the one the statue portrayed or its creator, and he certainly didn’t know why he dreamt of them. He had never felt like this before, never this strongly about anything or anyone. He woke up feeling more home than he’d ever felt before, on the edge of discovering something momentous to his life. He quickly decided that the reason didn’t matter, though, and started to fully embrace whatever each morning brought. It was too sweet to not appreciate it entirely.

He slept with the book next to his bed, reading it every night before turning off the light. Sometimes, he got lost in it and an hour would pass where he just looked at it, fingers tracing the slope of a nose or the fold of silk. He kept this to himself, too, because Shiro worried about the stupidest things and it felt too dear to him to share it with anyone.

He spent the next two months saving money, looking up flights and hotel prices, and bothering his friends and family with the sculpture.

It was a Thursday afternoon at the start of July, and the heat was getting bothersome enough that Keith had to tie his hair up every time he set foot outside. He had left work as usual- Coran had been giggling as he said goodbye, which was definitely weird, but then again Keith didn’t understand most of what Coran did at any given point.

He was getting desperate. He had managed to save just enough for half of the trip, and the frustration of being so close yet so far from the thing he had been dreaming about for months was really starting to get to him.

He arrived to Shiro and his apartment complex later than usual, courtesy of his bus deciding it wouldn’t come for some reason. He felt really disheartened by how slow things were going, and could already see how his evening would play out: he’d go to his room to sulk with a cup of tea, draw some of the cars and bikes he had seen at work that day, eat dinner with Shiro and read the book for the millionth time before going to bed and dreaming about it again.

When he opened the door to his apartment though, he was greeted by four voices yelling « SURPRISE! ». He made an instinctive move to grab for his knife (Shiro never managed to get him out of the habit of taking it everywhere with him) but floundered and fell backward when something suddenly flew in his face. He grunted at the dull throbbing in his head, opening his eyes to see the faces of his friends and his brother looking apologetic.

« Wha-»

His eyes fell on the banner in front of him and widened. In Allura’s elegant cursive letters, Hunk’s blocky words and Shiro’s strict writing were the words ‘You’re going to Illinois!’. All over it were glued little pictures of the statue- he had sent them to the group chat, and Pidge had probably printed them, adding random mocking commentary. He stared at it in disbelief, not quite understanding what was going on. Shiro pushed the banner aside, extended his hand and pulled him to his feet, placing two pieces of paper in his hands.

« We got together to pay the rest of your trip. You have a week, from July 25th to July 31st. We couldn’t cover everything, but we got you the plane tickets and a couple of nights in a hotel. I know you have enough in your account to pay for the rest, » he said with a smile.

« I’m sorry I- what? You- what? »

Keith just couldn’t believe it. He could see his favorite of Hunk’s cakes on the bar, and his gloomy evening suddenly turned unbelievably perfect.

« We got tired of hearing you whine about it. You don’t have to pay them back, but you owe me a favor, » Pidge pointed their finger at him, and Keith nodded, too stunned to speak just yet. He owned all of them a million favors, at this point.

Keith had put the tickets on his desk, looking at them and taking a big breath to will the emotions growing in him away for later. Tonight, once everyone was gone. Not now, with the laughter of the people he loved most echoing in his living room.

They had dinner and ate Hunk’s cupcakes and they listened to Keith say the same things for a millionth time, about it’s almost like I can feel it, the cold and the stone and can you believe we don’t even know who the artist is and I wonder who the muse was. It was good, and it was fun, and it felt safe.

As he laid in bed that night, he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. If he craned his neck back, resting on his pillow like it was, he could still see the plane tickets on his desk. All of that? For him?

He didn’t know he could be loved this much. He knew Pidge and Hunk and Allura and Shiro were his friends, and he probably would’ve done the same thing for them but- him? For so long he had felt inadequate, and weird, and out of place. Some foster homes were nice, but most were just awful. On long and difficult nights, he’d felt like no one would ever love him again after his father’s death.

But Shiro had, and Pidge had, and then Hunk and Allura had too. And Coran, in his own weird way and before he knew it he had people. People willing to spend their hard-earned money to help him live a dream. People willing to bake his favorite cakes and take time out of their day to make a banner, people who loved him for who he was. With all his weirdness and his obsession with art and his sarcasm and the things that made him, and that everyone else had hated or been afraid of.

He let the emotions wash over him, infinite gratitude and relief and anticipation and a bit of fear, too, intertwining and bringing tears to his eyes. He let them run down his temples for the moon to see and let himself fall asleep.

The days between his friends’ visit and the trip were excruciatingly long. He bought a brand-new sketchbook for the occasion, fully intending on drawing the art piece once he saw it in real life. He packed his favorite pen, some colored pencils, ink and charcoal, some kneaded erasers and a few more things just in case. He wanted to be able to capture it in every way.

It had always been a way for him to feel closer to the things that surrounded him; he had countless sketches of his friends and his brother, of his favorite meals, of the works of art he loved the most. He drew new and old places, the kind old lady at the supermarket, his father’s jacket, Coran’s garage ensign, the dog at the shelter Shiro said they couldn’t have (yet). In his oldest sketchbooks, he had drawings of his room and the apartment, his first permanent home in years at the time.

Drawing on the first page of a new sketchbook was always a little stressful to Keith. It was like it set the tone for the rest of it, and the pressure usually made the drawing a little worse than usual. He decided that he would draw on the plane- or skip it altogether, though he usually made sure to use as much of the paper as he could. Sketchbooks had been a luxury at one point, and he couldn’t afford to only draw on one side of the pages like he’d seen other people do.

He checked his weather app, packing just what he needed (Shiro’s small suitcase couldn’t fit all his art supplies and extra clothing, and it’s not like he had planned anything that required specific outfits). He had wanted to call Coran but apparently, he’d already given him his time off at Allura’s request under the condition that Keith would tell him all about his ‘grand adventure’ when he came back.

He left early on Monday the 25^th, letting anxiety wash over him as the plane got higher and higher in the sky. It was just anticipation, the irrational fear that the sculpture wouldn’t be here, or something would happen and Keith wouldn’t get to see it. It wasn’t his first time on a plane, thankfully, and he’d always loved the idea of flying. That was at least one less thing to be stressed about. He sighed deeply and dug out his sketchbook and a pencil from his bag, sitting a little more comfortably in his seat and feeling the rumble of the plane’s engine reverberate in his bones.

He looked outside, taking deep breaths to try to calm his racing heart. He put the pencil on the first, blank page and let himself get lost in the feeling of the lead scratching the paper. He was drawing the stranger again, he noticed. He didn’t try to stop himself this time, just let it happen. It was relaxing, to draw something so familiar. Well, familiar and not -there was always something, some part he couldn’t quite put his finger on that felt wrong. He let it happen anyway. For no particular reason, simply because he didn’t want to stop drawing this stranger, finding comfort in the eyes and the smiles that came alive under his pencil.

They were sitting and standing, drinking out of a cup, or painting something with their back turned. A few sketches of them in some sort of armor with a V on the front, some where they had pointy ears and markings under their eyes, a couple of doodles where they had foxes’ ears and a bandana…Their face was often the center point, though sometimes it was their hands that took the spotlight. Most sketches were quick things, clothes lacking detail and shadows applied fast with a flattening of the pencil. Like every time he drew them, he had a million ideas stumbling one after the other, leaving most drawings uncomplete. It put him in a strange sort of mindset, where the only things that existed were the paper under his hand and him, and the beating of his heart urging him to draw more.

He filled three pages worth of them before his head started to hurt from the focus. The flight had been early in the morning, and he still had a few hours to go. He slept, watched a movie, drew some passengers and the clouds below them, and before he knew it the plane had started its descent. The stress came back tenfold with each jerk of the airplane, sitting high and heavy in his throat.

He sent a quick message to Shiro to tell him he was in Illinois, safe and in one piece. He pulled up a map as he came out of the airport, having memorized the way from there to the museum, and from the museum to his hotel. He honestly didn’t think he could waste any more time checking in or putting his suitcase in his room. He’d waited months to see the statue, and each second that brought him closer felt a little more torturous.

He practically ran out of the taxi when it finally slowed down in front of the museum. Luckily, admittance was free that day and would be for a few more days that week. Keith started walking around, partially wanting to stop and stare at everything and mostly wanting to run to the statue. Well, he had to find it first- the museum’s website hadn’t been specific about it, and Keith spent a while just wandering the different expositions and trying to follow the signs. As he walked, anticipation, excitement and fear started building up in his chest again.

He let his feet guide him, feeling a faint tug in his stomach towards the back of the museum. Keith had always trusted his instincts, and he wasn’t about to stop there. Each step brought him closer, he somehow knew, and finally- here it was.

It was smaller than he excepted, was the first thing Keith noticed. Human sized, elevated by a platform and the statue’s frame seeming just a bit taller than him. He walked up to it in a daze, barely able to connect the thing that had occupied his mind for the past three months with what was right in front of him. This close, he could see the texture of the marble, every detail in the folding of the silk, every crease of the skin. His eyes racked over it all, heart pounding in his ears and drowning the sound of the world around him. It was like it was reduced to the statue, him, and the soft yellow light above them. Here it is, he thought. God, it’s right here.

He looked up into the eyes of the statue, and his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. He could almost see it. He could imagine the texture of the skin, the softness of the hair, the piercing gaze of the muse. He could nearly feel the warmth of a body, see the blinking of an eye. It felt alive, and his fingers twitched to touch it. He knew he couldn’t, had spent the last months dreaming of it while knowing he would never be able to set a single finger on the stone. Nothing felt more painful or harder to resist at that moment than the urge to extend his hands and run them all over the sculpture.

His knees felt shaky and he sat down on the bench facing it, hands becoming tight fists over his thighs in an effort to keep them far from the stone.

He saw, distantly, the natural light change and darken. He didn’t quite register the coming and going of the other visitors around him, their sounds having faded in the background the moment he set his eyes on the marble. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. He was battling against everything he had to not let his hands wander against it, and he vaguely remembered telling Shiro he would draw it. Tomorrow, he decided. Today, he had to take it all in, to etch every angle and every curve against his eyelids until he could close his eyes and feel like he was back here, on this bench.

He didn’t notice immediately the presence at his left, too entranced still by the work in front of him.

“I love it. There’s something familiar about it, don’t you think? I couldn’t say what, though.”

Keith jumped a little and tore his eyes away from the marble to find someone standing next to him. He was tall, wearing a light blue tank top and shorts. His skin was dark and his hair short, curling around his ears. When he turned to look at Keith, the latter felt himself blush. He was beautiful. His voice had sounded gentle and curious, echoing the slight tilt of his head and the relaxed position of his shoulders. He was smiling, the corner of his eyes creasing a little with it.

For a second Keith was sure they had met before- but no, he would’ve remembered someone like this.

He kept looking expectantly at Keith, and that’s when he remembered he’d been asked a question.

“Ah- yes, I think so too. The technique is really good, and it’s very realistic. It’s very- it’s really nice.”

It was hard to explain everything Keith felt when he looked at it, and he blushed again, embarrassed at his wording. The other just smiled more.

“Yeah. My name’s Lance, pronouns are he/him.”

He extended his hand toward Keith and he took it, the skin warm against his. It was a little bit of a shock, after so long dreaming of touching the cold surface of the stone in front of him. It felt nice, though, the tip of his fingers callused but his skin soft. It smelled faintly of vanilla scented hand cream and Keith almost didn’t want to let go.

(He had never really like being touched, but he thought he would let Lance hold his hand for hours if he asked. He was so surprised at his own thought that he froze for a second, fingers tightening over the other boy’s.)

He felt overwhelmed for a second by that feeling of déjà vu again, a part of him screaming that he had held this hand before, that none of this was new. There was something so comforting in it, too. He felt himself relax, something unfurling in him all at once. Lance felt… safe, for lack of better word. Safe and comfortable and familiar, and so many things had been feeling like that lately that Keith didn’t know why he was surprised anymore.

“Keith, he/him too,” he answered. Their hands separated, Lance’s fingers grazing his palm for an infinite second, and it took everything in Keith not to grab it back.

“Is it your first time here? I come often, but I’ve never seen you around,” Lance wondered as he sat down next to Keith.

He was closer like this, and Keith let himself imagine their fingers intertwined on the bench. He kept his hands to himself, resting on his thighs where it was a tight fist just a minute before.

“It is. I arrived this morning, I came to see this,” Keith answered.

He looked back at the statue, but suddenly found that the boy next to him was equally as interesting as it. He was leaning forward, reading the little bronze plate at the bottom of it. God, he was handsome like that, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Keith felt the certainty that he would never forget him even if this was the last time they ever saw each other settle in.

“It’s really beautiful. I sculpt too, though it’s mostly with clay, and I can’t imagine ever making something like that.”

“It’s the only thing they found, in an old, abandoned house. No one knows who made it.”

Keith couldn’t help sighing deeply as he said that. Lance laughed at little, and it ran over Keith’s skin like a waterfall.

“You really like it, don’t you?”

And his eyes were so blue. A bit like the ocean, or the sky on the hottest days. He had freckles running across the bridge of his nose and on his shoulders, too, and Keith suddenly realized he wanted to draw him like he’d wanted to draw the statue. Again and again and again in a million different ways, to try to capture at least an ounce of the beauty they held.

“I do. I like y- it. I like it. A lot. There’s just so many emotions in it, isn’t there? It’s like the muse is relaxing but waiting for something, or remembering something. You can really feel the artist’s love, the dedication that was put into this. The details are incredible, it almost feels like it could come alive any second,” said Keith before stopping, embarrassed at his little rant.

Next to him, Lance looked absolutely delighted.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” he exclaimed, “The technique is awesome but I’m more touched by the emotions that come off it. Can you imagine being loved enough to have someone make that for you?”

He was looking at the statue too, a hand over his heart and a deep longing in his voice as he said the last part. So he was pretty and he shared Keith’s opinion and passion on art? Keith opened his mouth to ask something, anything, to keep the boy here a little longer- when a voice came over the speakers.

“The museum is about to close. We ask all visitors to please head over to the exit.”

Already? Keith looked at the time, both surprised and not to notice how long he had spent here. He had even forgotten lunch, and he suddenly realized he was starving.

He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave neither the statue nor Lance, not yet. It felt like he hadn’t had enough time to get to learn about either of them -felt like a thousand years wouldn’t be enough, too.

“Crap. Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

It was Lance’s turn to look embarrassed. He rubbed at his neck a little, pointedly looking at the statue and not Keith. He took a deep breath and turned back toward him, face set in determination.

“Do you want to grab coffee with me tomorrow? I have sculpting classes until 4, but we can meet in front of the museum after, if you want. I don’t know if you’ve had time to explore, but there’s a nice coffee shop a little farther down the road.”

Keith wondered if he was dreaming. He nodded quickly, afraid to see the opportunity slip between his fingers.

“Yeah, let’s do that. Can I- can I have your number?”

They exchanged numbers quickly as they got up and started walking away from the exhibition. Lance added a little winky face and a dolphin next to his name, and Keith could barely contain the smile that wanted to escape him. He hadn’t done that in a long time, exchanging numbers and planning dates and feeling flustered by the mere presence of someone next to him.

He watched Lance leave, a little swirl of joy dancing in his chest every time he turned back to look at him. He couldn’t fight off the grin on his face, and it followed him until he finally let himself fall into the hotel room’s bed. That had been a good day.

He was here again, standing, in front of the statue. It felt like it was looking straight into his eyes, this time, striated white in deep purple. There was no one around; no barrier between them, no security guard standing just a few feet away. Nothing to stop Keith from extending his hand, fingertips finally reaching the cold, smooth surface of the stone. He exhaled a trembling breath, and put his hand fully on the sculpture’s face. Finally, he thought, finally.

He lost himself to the feeling quietly and easily. He had never dreamt of this before; or he hadn’t remembered upon waking up. It all felt so real. The floor under his feet and the hardness under his fingers and the tingling of his hair against his face. Just like he’d imagined it, open eyed on his bed and in the subway and at the park, lost in daydreams. The world around them was blurry and far away, but everything else felt like Keith was truly standing there in front of it.

He was stroking his thumb over the stone, and his eyes jumped to the spot he had been touching when he suddenly felt it warm up. He felt the stone give way to something softer and-

Under his hand and in front of his eyes, white left place to warm brown, and suddenly it was Lance sitting before him. Bare-chested and legs covered by blood red silk sheets, like the statue had been. He had freckles on his shoulders, cascading down to his chest, and a faint white scar on his left hip and is skin felt unbelievably soft under Keith’s fingers. Something in him ached to touch and look more, to commit every inch of the sight to memory. To feel the silk between his fingers and trace the scar with his lips and follow the path of the freckles on his skin- Lance was here and it made sense, somehow.

Lance lifted his hand from his lap to put it on top of Keith’s, against his cheek. He smiled softly, letting his face rest in Keith’s palm. The way he was looking at Keith- with so much fondness in his bright blue eyes it was almost unbearable- made Keith’s chest swell with something indescribable. He almost choked on the sentiment, feeling like it could spill right out of him. Lance leaned forward slowly, and Keith let him, entranced by the infinite blue of his eyes and the feeling of yes, yes, yes, yes singing behind his ribs. Their lips touched, warm and soft and sweet, and-

He blinked once, twice, taking a second to remember where he was. What was- oh. Oh. Oh, no. Oh, that was bad.

Keith buried himself under his covers, whining and feeling his face heat up quickly. He could remember his dream in excruciating details this morning, and it was not good for his heart. He couldn’t start mixing up the pretty boy of the museum and the statue he’d been obsessed with for months. He just couldn’t. That was weird, wasn’t it? No matter that it had felt right and logical in the moment.

Though now that he thought about it… Didn’t they look similar? He hadn’t quite noticed the day before but… He would need to have a better look. He’d been looking at the statue -or a picture of it, at least- for months. He’d only seen Lance for a few minutes, though he had definitely made an impression on Keith.

Oh, that was another thought. Maybe Keith had noticed, just unconsciously, how eerily similar the two were. That was worse. So what, he only felt attracted to Lance because he looked like Unnamed? That was terrible, for both of them. He didn’t want to like Lance because he looked like something he loved.

He sighed, annoyed at himself. He dressed up, put his hair in a ponytail as usual these days and headed out quickly after some breakfast. He was regretting a bit his decision to bring his most basic clothes, but then again it wasn’t like he had expected to meet anyone he would want to impress. He called Shiro on the way to the museum, apologizing for not having done it the day before. He told him about the statue and how he had lost hours simply looking at it, how he couldn’t wait to finally sit with a sketchbook and a pen to trace it on paper.

“I’m glad you had fun, Keith,” said Shiro.

“There’s also…”

“Yeah?”

“I met a boy? Uh, his name is Lance, and we talked a bit about the statue, and he said things about it that I was totally also thinking about and we’re seeing each other this afternoon again.” He definitely hadn’t planned to say this much, but it had spilt out of him before he could think about it.

“Keith, are you telling me you have a date?” said Shiro, sounding so excited it made Keith blush on the other side of the phone.

“I’m not sure? I mean, I hope so. He’s been… really nice, so far.”

He kept to himself the feelings of familiarity and the strange resemblance he had noticed this morning. He would tell Pidge- they both loved conspiracy theories, and there was something here Keith couldn’t pinpoint but neededto. He would wait a bit longer. He remembered Lance’s face, of course (how could he forget?) but if he managed to get him to stand next to the statue again maybe he could confirm it.

He got rid of the thought quickly when he finally arrived in front of the museum, saying bye to Shiro and replacing his art supplies under his arm. He had bought a sandwich on the way this time, and set an alarm on his phone for noon so he wouldn’t forget to eat. This early and in the middle of the week, there were really few people in the museum. Some exhibitions were completely empty, and Keith reveled in the echo of his feet around him. He set a fast but light pace, careful not to disturb the ethereal silence around him.

When he arrived in front of the statue, images of his dream came up again. Keith shook his head a little, ignoring the way it made his cheeks warm up. He sat down and let himself look again for a while. The sun was a little higher when he finally set his sketchbook on his lap, starting with a rough sketch and his favorite pencil. He detailed a few parts, trying to see the little things before attempting to draw the bigger picture. He turned a page, got up to walk back a few steps before sitting down again.

He drew it from different angles, with quick ballpoint pen lines and slow watercolor strokes. Most of his drawings were unfinished- a hundred ideas came to his mind at once, and he decided rough would be enough for today. He had six days left to perfect what he had started, after all. For now, he needed his hands to become familiar with it- though that was easier than usual.

He ate quickly and went back to work, remembering half-way through drawing a strangely familiar eye that he had promised to meet Lance sometimes in the afternoon. When he checked his phone, he grimaced at the multiple unread messages. He opened his friends’ first, a little nervous to see what Lance had to say.

Allura – 7:12am

Hello Keith, Coran and I hope your trip went well!

Pidgeon – 8:30am

hey asshole how’s it going

Shiro told matt who told me that you found a boyfriend lol

don’t forget to ask him if he’s okay with sharing you with your bf The Mothman lmao

Hunk – 8:43am

Hey Keith, hope you’re doing okay! Tell us how your date goes please!!! 

The Meme Team

Little menace – 8:52am

Facetime us tonight loser

Cinnamon Roll – 8:53am

Yeah, Keith! We haven’t had the chance to talk yesterday, you must have been tired from your trip! After talking about the statue so much, I’m curious about what it feels like to see it in real life :)

He wrote a thanks to Allura, sent an eloquent finger to Pidge and a ‘Yes, of course’ to Hunk because he didn’t have it in him to argue about whether or not it really was a date (and whether or not he wanted it to be). He sent a thumb up to the group chat as well, feeling slightly guilty at having fallen asleep so quickly the day before. After all that, he opened Lance’s messages, both nervous and excited to see what he had to say.

Lance 😉🐬 – 3:30pm

Heeeey

So my class is almost done

Ur still good with what we planned?

Keith?

I hope I have the right number

If you’re not Keith I’m sorry

If you ARE tho I’ll be at the museum at four! The café is close by, just a few minutes by foot

I really hope it’s you

Omg what if it’s a fake number

Ugh I hope not

Keith set his sketchbook on the bench next to him, smiling a little at Lance’s antics.

Me – 3:43pm

Hi, Lance. It’s Keith, I didn’t give you a fake number. I’m still good for four

See you soon

He quickly put his art supplies away, sending one last longing look at the statue, both sad to leave it so soon and excited to see Lance again. Even if it wasn’t a date but just a friendly outing, he was really looking forward to talking to Lance again. Maybe they had more opinions on art they shared. No one around Keith was really interested or understood art like he did, and he’d always felt a bit frustrated to have one-sided conversations about it. Pidge had suggested online forums, but he’d never really been into technology or the internet, except to look up conspiracy theories. He’d only gotten a phone at Shiro’s insistence after they started living together, and rarely used it.

He stepped out of the museum and looked around, not quite sure from which direction Lance would come. He didn’t have to wait long until he saw him walk up the street. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and shorts today again, a bag thrown over his shoulder. His entire face lit up when he saw Keith and he smiled, cheeks flushed in the heat. Keith couldn’t help the small grin on his lips either. Lance tripped over something in his haste and almost fell on the hard concrete, and Keith grimaced a little. When Lance finally arrived next to him, he was looking embarrassed but otherwise unharmed, to Keith’s relief.

“Hey, man,” said Lance.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

He didn’t look like he’d been hurt in his tripping, but you could never know. Lance let out a nervous laugh, a faint blush darkening his cheeks further.

“Ah… Nope, I’m good. Let’s go?”

“After you.”

Lance laughed a little, more naturally this time, and they started walking together. Lance told Keith he’d discovered this café the first time he tried to get to the museum because he’d gotten lost. It was pretty small, but that only made the atmosphere cozier. The walls were painted green and pale yellow, and the seats were a deep brown. There were three baristas working, a red-haired person with a little they/them pronoun pin stuck to their apron smiling at them as they approached the counter. Some popular pop song Keith didn’t know was playing on a speaker, mixing with the background conversations the few other customers were having.

Keith ordered a latte and Lance chose some complicated drink with too many details to remember. Somehow, Keith thought he should have expected it- it felt very much like a Lance thing, to order a complicated and oversweet drink (three servings of sugar?). They sat in a booth close to a window in a corner while they waited, the light of the day shining bright over them. The AC was put on high, letting them enjoy the sun without dying from the heat.

Apparently, Lance had always lived in Illinois but planned to move to Arizona after college, to rejoin some friends and because there were better work opportunities there. (Keith’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of Lance being in the same State as him, and the thought that it could maybe, potentially mean they would get to continue seeing each other). He had one year left and he studied astronomy because he’d always loved space. Keith told him about how he had dreamt of being a pilot when he was little, but it was too far and too expensive for him. He was happy where he was anyway, Coran’s little garage letting him work on something he loved while still giving him enough free time for art.

Lance told him his favorite art medium was clay, and sculpting was one of his favorite past time- he went to sculpting classes every summer, and this one was no different. He loved his family, but he had more siblings than Keith could ever imagine having and it felt nice to get out of the house for a few hours to do something he loved.

He showed Keith a few pictures of things he had made on his phone, and Keith apologized for only having a couple of them and a few pages to show (he kept the drawings of the stranger he’d done on the plane to himself. This, right there, felt more intimate than anything and required more vulnerability that he could give, in the middle of a café at 4:30pm.). There was always something stressful about showing his drawings to people, but Lance had done nothing but shower him with compliments. He didn’t like to show his art to people, and his Instagram account only had a couple of posts Pidge and Hunk had insisted he make, so he wasn’t used to it. It felt really, really nice though, to know his art and the efforts he’d put into it through the years were being appreciated- even more so when he knew it was from someone who knew art.

Their drinks arrived at that point, and Keith’s curious look at Lance’s red-purple-blue drink prompted him to offer a taste. Keith tried not to think too hard about childish things like indirect kisses as he took a sip. He forgot about it quickly though, because that was the sweetest thing he’d ever drank, and the face he made made Lance laugh and then suddenly Keith was lost in the crinkles of his eyes and the dimple on his cheek.

He felt it again, the sudden urge to draw the boy in front of him. To put the slope of his nose and the round of his ear on paper so it would never be forgotten- to inscribe it somewhere other than his heart and his eyes. Lance had said “Can you imagine being loved enough to have someone make that for you?”, and Keith secretly thought he would be able to love him enough for it. They’d talked for maybe, 10 minutes total and Keith already knew he was gone for the boy in front of him.

“So, you came here for that statue, right?” Lance asked once his laughter died down.

“Yeah, I discovered it a few months ago and I just really wanted to see it. My friends got together to help me pay for the trip.”

He smiled fondly at the memory, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. His tongue still held the taste of Lance’s drink as he took a sip of his coffee.

“That’s really cool of them! Personally, I come for a painting. It’s in a totally different part of the museum so you might not have seen it, but it’s my favorite art piece ever. I think you should see it, you’d like it.”

“Yeah? We can go see it tomorrow, then. I’ll be here the entire day too, you can just- get me when you get there. Sorry, I’m pretty bad at texting and just…checking my phone in general.”

They could technically go see it right now, the museum was still open, but-

“No problem, thanks for telling me. Tomorrow is good, I don’t want this date to end just yet.”

Keith barely had time to process Lance’s words before the other boy delved into an embarrassed explanation, hands flailing as he talked.

“I mean, this doesn’t have to be a date! I just said that because, well, it’s kind of how I meant it but we don’t have to- “

“I want it. I mean, I want this to be a date,” said Keith, feeling his cheeks heat up for the millionth time since he’d set foot in Illinois. His heart was beating fast, too, so loud in his ears he feared Lance would be able to hear it.

“Cool. Cool. I want it too. I mean, obviously since I’m the one who…uhm.”

They stayed quiet for a bit, sipping on their drinks and sending each other looks that became soft, tender smiles. Lance started making up stories about the people passing by, whispering and leaning towards Keith as he talked. And Keith was utterly useless, barely hearing what he was being told over the warmth of the body next to him, Lance’s ushered and amused voice registering more like a song than real words.

He had been pushed and pulled in the airport crowd and he’d gotten used to Shiro and Hunk’s hugs, but it was totally different to be so close to someone he was attracted to and who, if his eagerness to call this a date was anything to go by, was attracted to him as well. He could feel his ears burn, and he was doing his best to keep his breathing soft and low so he could hear Lance’s voice better.

He suddenly remembered his dream, and the worries he had that morning, of only liking Lance for his resemblance to the statue. He crossed the thought out easily, because everything about Lance made his chest feel warm and complete, in a way that he’d never felt before. From the way he used the worst, cheesiest pick-up lines with a grin to the softness in his face when he talked about his family. Keith liked every new thing he learnt about Lance, putting every new piece of information in a box close to his heart. He wanted to learn more, wanted to know everything about the boy in front of him.

And sometimes Lance did something, and Keith was hit by that feeling of familiarity that hadn’t left him since they had met. He replaced his hair behind his ear and shook his head immediately after to have it fall in the same place as before, or he tilted his head a certain way to hear Keith over the other customers’ chatting, and the feeling slammed into the shorter boy’s chest. He talked about space and everything in Keith’s body felt like it was right, like Lance and space had always been related in his mind, no matter that he’d met him the day before. Most of the things he said, Keith felt like he already knew. He didn’t know know, but he felt like it had been somewhere just below the surface all this time and Lance mentioning it had made it emerge.

He put that thing in the same corner of his brain where he’d put the thought of Lance and the statue looking alike (he could see it now; they really did look oddly similar). He needed to talk to Pidge about it, because it felt mysterious and bigger than him and he’d always loved theorizing about things with Pidge. And if he didn’t tell anyone about all this soon, he would start to question his sanity, probably. The force of the emotions he had felt the last few months, and particularly the last couple of days, was so strong it almost made him dizzy with the weight of it.

It felt right and he'd never, even been as comfortable with someone he had just met as he did with Lance, but a part of him couldn’t help but try -and fail- to rationalize it. Keith relied on his instincts most of the time and Shiro loved to call him hot-headed, but he couldn’t ruin this because he went too fast. He wouldn’t fight against it, the dreams and the familiarity and the affection he could feel taking root in him swiftly. Still, he would be careful not to get swiped in it too quickly. There was also the matter of knowing if Lance felt the same- and that was something else altogether, wasn’t it?

For now though, he let the setting sun cast oranges and reds over them both, and let himself enjoy the moment.

When he facetimed his friends after getting back to the hotel, he told them all about the statue and the boy he’d met there. He recounted the date, the green-yellow walls and making stories for passers-by and the oversweet drink he’d tried. He kept the overwhelming sense of familiarity quiet for now. He wanted to have… more. Enough things to show Pidge so they wouldn’t call him delusional. Enough proof of whatever that was. He knew they could probably hear the endearment in his voice as he talked about the boy, but he couldn’t keep that away, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn’t quite remember his dream the next morning, but he knew it had been pleasant. Keith woke up feeling mushy and warm, and only managed to drag himself out of bed to answer Shiro’s call. It was their first time being so far apart since they’d met, after all, and his older brother had insisted for daily calls or texts (and Keith was famously bad at texting).

Lance and he had planned to meet in the morning this time. His class started a little bit later than usual, courtesy of the teacher having a family emergency. Keith had wanted to protest, to tell him to enjoy a day of sleeping in but… He hadn’t found it in him, because he really wanted to see him again as soon as possible. It looked like Lance wanted the same thing, and it made Keith’s heart beat fast and hard in his chest.

When he arrived at the museum, Lance was already here. He looked good, as always, his hair slightly curlier than usual and his nails painted the light blue Keith had learnt to associate with him.

“Hey! How are you?” he asked as Keith approached.

“I’m good. And you? Do you… want to get some coffee to start the day? Breakfast, if you haven’t had it yet?” said Keith.

He himself hadn’t, and there was still a bit of time before the museum opened anyway. He hoped Lance didn’t either- he didn’t want to be the only one eating, and he had wanted to share this with him.

“I didn’t! I was going to ask you if you wanted to do just that, actually.”

Lance made a joke about their brains being connected and Keith laughed and stored it away. He’d write it later on the list he had started the night before in his note app. Putting down everything had helped Keith see things a little more clearly, and he also thought he could show it to Pidge later on. He had very cleverly titled it “Reasons why Lance might be my soulmate”, which was maybe a little bit extreme, but was the only kind of explanation he had found so far for all the things that kept happening.

They sat at the same table as the day after ordering drinks and some bagels, and Keith thought that the morning light looked really nice on Lance’s skin. They started talking about everything and nothing, until they came up to the subject of their birthday. Keith was explaining that he’d gotten the plane tickets offered as a very early birthday present, and asked when Lance’s was. He had a feeling it was in summer, maybe because of the sunny personality of the boy.

“It’s tomorrow, actually. I usually celebrate with my friends and family but most of them are either in Arizona or working the whole day, so we’re planning something for the weekend.”

Multiple thoughts came to Keith at the same time, and he almost let his bagel fall out of his hand in shock.

“Wait, what? Your birthday is tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Why- oh! You don’t have to like, buy me anything! We haven’t known each other for a long time. If that’s what you meant?”

It was what he meant. And now Keith was panicking, because of course he needed to give something to Lance, but what? He didn’t know him enough for a personal present, but he also didn’t want to just get something generic. Lance deserved something good, and Keith wasn’t good at presents. When he was little, he mostly gave drawings and as he got older and got his own money, he struggled to find ideas on his own, even for the people closest to him.

“No, I- I’ll get you something. I want to.”

They argued about it for a while, but Lance gave up in the end. Keith was happy to have won this round. After Lance left though (with a wink and a hand grazing Keith’s shoulder lightly but long enough for Keith to feel his heart go wild), Keith started really panicking. He opened his phone and created a new group in facetime, calling Pidge, Hunk, Allura and his brother.

He barely had time to shove his earbuds in before Pidge answered.

“What the hell Keith? Are you dying?”

“What? No, I’m not dying, I need help with something.”

Shiro’s window appeared next, and he turned the camera to let Allura say hi. They went to the gym together sometimes and had probably just finished with it, if their sweaty foreheads and heavy breaths where anything to go by. Hunk came on last, rubbing his eyes from sleep. Right, the time difference… Keith had totally forgotten about that.

“Keith? What is it?”

“You remember the guy I met here? His birthday is tomorrow, and I want to give him something, but I don’t know what,” he replied, a little desperate.

“You can just buy something generic, like Sephora soaps. Or, I don’t know, earbuds. You can never have enough earbuds,” responded Pidge, propping up their phone on a pile of junk and turning back to whatever they were coding.

“Maybe you can just buy him a cake?”

“Do you know if he goes to the gym? Maybe a water bottle or some clothes?”

“If you want something personal, I’d suggest you draw him something. You’re good at it and he seems to love art.”

Well, Allura’s idea was the best, even if Keith had stopped giving drawings as presents years ago. Before he could answer, a hand passed by his eyes. The barista smiled at him as they took the leftover plates and cups. There was a green, purple and white bracelet on their wrist, woven with thread.

“I think I know what I’ll do. By the way, you’re all useless. Except you, Allura. And you, Hunk,” because Hunk was too nice for anyone to be mean to him, “but I’m not going to buy him a cake. Maybe a drink if we come back here, but I don’t really know what he likes.”

“Wait. What did you say the guy’s name was?” asked Pidge, squinting their eyes.

“Uh. I don’t know if I told you, it’s Lance.”

Keith privately thought that the name really suited him.

“Lance?”

Now Hunk was looking surprised, and Keith wondered if he’d missed a step somewhere. Pidge was smiling, but at least Allura and Shiro looked as confused as he felt.

“Lance McClain, born July 28^th, Cuban, goes to Space School, my best friend since kindergarten? This Lance?”

Now, out of all the things he could have said, that was the last Keith expected. He vaguely recalled Hunk talking about a best friend named Lance who he’d left back in Illinois, now that he thought about it. Hunk had told them how funny and kind he was and- yeah, that sounded like him.

“I… guess.”

“Oh man, this is great.”

Now Keith felt embarrassed, because he had talked about Lance in length to his very best friend. It looked like Pidge knew him too, and they never hesitated to make fun of him. Hunk, of course, was just happy about it.

“Man, I’m glad you met! He told me about you, you know! I won’t tell you what he said exactly because that’s bestie confidentiality, but it was all good things.”

Keith really, really wanted to pry more but it was already late into the morning, and he wanted to go back to the statue. It felt like he hadn’t seen it in a million years, even though it had probably just been a few hours. He couldn’t say what he preferred to do: hang out with Lance or sit in front of the statue and let his hand guide him on the paper.

He sat at his usual place and let himself just look for a while, reconnecting every little detail he saw with what he remembered of it. He’d been doing this for a few days now and yet, the sight of it always filled his chest with emotions. He already dreaded leaving it, even as he was adding colors and ink to the paper. He would worry about this later, he decided; for now, he just to let himself get lost in the familiar movements of drawing.

He stopped a few hours after lunch and decided he would start with Lance’s present. He felt a drawing could be a good idea, since they both liked art and he had seemed to love Keith’s, when he had shown him a few of the pages he had filled with the statue. What could he draw, though? They didn’t know each other enough, and they’d only been to two places together. The panic he’d mostly managed to ignore until now resurfaced, and he started biting his nails -a habit he was sure he had shaken off years ago.

He suddenly remembered something from their first time at the café. Lance had told him extensively about Varadero beach, back in Cuba. He’d talked about the pale sand and the blue sky and surfing lessons with his siblings, and Keith had done his best to remember it all instead of getting lost in the way Lance’s eyes shone. Determined, he walked out of the museum and went back to the café- they were starting to know his name, at this point- where he would have more place and no statue to distract him. He felt sad to leave it behind, but he was equally desperate to make something good for Lance.

He chose a random picture of Varadero beach he found after a quick google search and set to work. He only had his sketchbook, and he preferred working on bigger canvases when he could, but it would have to do. He didn’t have that much time after all, especially since he was really hoping to see Lance the next day. He used his travel watercolors palette and his favorite brush, letting blue seep into the paper naturally. He would ink it when it was dry, carefully.

Once he was satisfied with what he had he started looking around, searching for… anything. It didn’t feel like enough- maybe because art was easy, and Keith felt like he needed to put actual effort into this birthday present. At that moment, the red-haired server came to ask Keith if he wanted to order something. When they took out their notebook, Keith ‘s eyes landed on the little woven bracelet at their wrist.

“Sorry, can I ask about this?” he asked, pointing at it.

“Uhm? Oh, the bracelet? My girlfriend made it for me.”

Well, here went Keith’s idea. He was generally good with his hands, but he doubted he would be able to make something good in the half day he had left.

“Ah… I need a birthday present for tomorrow, and I was hoping I could buy it somewhere.”

“They’re easy to make! There’s a shop a few feet down the street where you should find thread, and then you can just look it up on the internet. Really, anyone can do it.”

“Really? Thank you then, I’ll do that.”

The server smiled, looked around quicky, and bent down to talk to Keith discreetly.

“If I’m allowed to ask, is it for the boy you usually come here with?”

Keith felt his cheeks flush and he nodded.

“We only met a few days ago, but I really want to gift him something good.”

“You met a few days ago? Really? You look like you’ve known each other all your lives, I thought you were childhood best friends or something.”

It was Keith’s turn to be surprised. He knew he felt like he’d always known Lance, but the thought that other people could see it too filled his chest with happiness. It meant it wasn’t just him imagining things.

“In any case, you two have awesome chemistry. I’m sure he’ll love whatever you give him. Good luck, lover boy!”

They left with one last wink, leaving Keith to clean his table of his stuff and go find the store. He looked up quickly how to make a friendship bracelet, and was relieved to find numerous YouTube videos and tutorials. It didlook pretty easy, and he thought he would probably have time to do it that night.

He bought blue, white and purple thread, hand hesitating over black and red. He brought it back close to him, felling himself blush. It would be better to make Lance something he could wear with his outfits, rather than something that was more… Keith’s colors. He made sure to hide it as he walked back to the museum. He checked his phone as he went, smiling when he saw he’d received a message from Lance.

Lance 😉🐬 – 5:12pm

Hi!!

Would you come with me to see the painting I told you about, tonight?

I have to go get my sister at soccer practice after class but if I hurry I should b here before the museum closes 🏃🏽♂️💨

Me – 5:15pm

Yeah, let’s do that. I’m looking forward to it.    

He really was. Lance had told him he would love it, and Keith was curious about it. If Lance loved it, Keith would too. Even if it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen (it probably wasn’t, because other than that outrageous drink, Lance’s tastes had been good so far).

He used the time he had left to keep staring at the statue and draw it, redefining the unfinished works he had started the day before. It felt natural under his hand, the lines coming easily to him. He got lost in it again, not noticing the hours pass by until there was the shuffling of feet behind him and a gentle “hey”. He looked behind him to see Lance, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and a soft smile on his lips. His breath was a little short, chest heaving high and low, and Keith wondered if he’d run there. They had an hour before the museum closed.

“Hey. Sorry, I was drawing and got kind of... Lost in it. Let’s go.”

He put back his art supplies and started following Lance, doing his best at small talk all the while. They walked for a few minutes before arriving in a room filled with paintings. There was a strange kind of anticipation growing in Keith’s stomach with each step he took, but he didn’t know if he should attribute it to seeing something Lance loved or whatever strange things were happening with art pieces and Lance lately. He distantly thought that he should add it to his list later.

The painting was older than the statue and portrayed a woman, head to collarbones. She had long, slightly wavy black hair and pale skin colored by a healthy, rosy flush. She was wearing a red dress, and her serious expression was emphasized by her thick eyebrows and her eyes, looking straight towards the viewer.

“It’s nice,” said Keith.

“I think it looks a bit like you.”

He turned to Lance, bewildered. They both had black hair and similar skin tones, but Keith couldn’t see any resemblance behind that.

“What? No, it doesn’t.”

“Sure it does. Look, your hair is the same.”

Lance reached out, gently tugging Keith’s hair free of the elastic band holding it together, and Keith stopped breathing. For a second Lance’s hand froze too, and then he started gently carding his fingers through Keith’s hair. When he finally looked up, his eyes were shining with something that Keith knew was reflecting on his own face. His lips left up in a smile, soft and loving.

“See?” Lance said, and then he seemed to realize what he was doing and he started blushing, looking away quickly.

Keith felt his own cheeks heat up quickly and he looked away too, almost looking back when Lance’s fingers fell out of his hair, slow and careful. And how Keith would have done anything to have them back here- for Lance to touch him more, in any way. It didn’t matter if it was their shoulders brushing as they walked or their hands touching as they reached for the bill, or something else he didn’t dare think about here and now. He knew he was going to think a lot about what had happened, again and again.

Keith looked back at the painting and cleared his throat.

“You- you’re right, I can see it now. It’s uh, the hair. Definitely.”

“Y-yeah. Anyway, this is my favorite painting of all time. When I look at it I feel like… Like there’s a secret, maybe, something hidden in it. Like the person painted isn’t who they seem, maybe.”

Keith could see it, somehow. It did feel like there was something more to what was shown, but he couldn’t say what. It was a portrait, after all. There was no indication on the place, nothing behind the face of that person.

“I can see it, kind of. There’s also… doesn’t it feel very intimate? The painter was probably her lover. I just mean, it looks like there was a lot of effort and affection put into it.”

Lance turned to him and smiled again, bright and delighted.

“Absolutely. The painter made a lot more of these, actually. Most of his art is this person, but this is the painting that shows the muse the best. The others show them far away or hiding their face and things like that. I love them all, but this is my favorite.”

They stayed a bit longer, talking about the painting and delving into art in general. It felt amazing to have someone to share these things with. Even when they disagreed on something, the simple fact that Lance knew enough about art to talk about it with Keith felt like a miracle. He’d never had someone like this, after all.

When the speaker over them announced the museum was closing, they made to move out slowly, still deep in conversation. They decided to sit on a bench a little farther away, never stopping their discussion.

Keith explained what he knew about the different types of paints and how different gouache or oil could act on the canvas. Lance piped in with his own knowledge, the conversation slowly drifting to all types of craft, from scrapbooking to mosaics. Lance had the tendency to change subjects suddenly- or, more accurately, talking about one thing always made him think of another. Keith knew he would find that annoying in anyone else, but he let himself be swept away by ebb and flow of Lance’s voice easily.

At some point, Lance answered the phone, finally checking the time and realizing they’d been here for almost two hours. His mother was calling, worried about where he’d been, and he apologized before saying he would head home soon. They both laughed, a little embarrassed, and got up to walk.

Before Keith knew it, they were stopping in front of an unfamiliar door, paint green and chipped. The setting sun cast a soft yellow glow over them both, windows slowly starting to light up all along the street. Next to the door, a mailbox read McClain Family and he looked back at Lance, flustered at the idea that he’d been so focused on their conversation that he’d followed him all the way back home.

“So… this is your house?”

Lance smiled at him, a hint of amusement in his voice as he answered.

“It is. Sorry, I didn’t plan to bring you here, I just…”

“Yeah, I didn’t notice where we were going, to be honest.”

They looked at each other in silence for a little while, and Keith took in all he saw of Lance, wondering if the other was doing the same thing. His eyes racked over the barely visible freckles under his eyes, the slight wrinkle of his clothes, the way he was standing, closer than Keith had thought they were. He had a barely visible scar on the side of his calf and was putting most of his weight on the other leg, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The familiarity of it all hit Keith hard once again.

Lance was a bit taller than Keith and he had to lift his head a little to look at him properly. His eyes flickered to the taller boy’s mouth without his accord and when he looked back up, he saw Lance look up as well, quickly. He wondered if he’d thought of the same thing as him. Keith thought he might have been blushing, his face feeling a bit too warm.

He could hear muffled voices behind the door, laughter and yells and the usual sounds of a big family. Lance was awaited, he knew, but once again Keith felt like they hadn’t had nearly enough time together. Still, they couldn’t stand here forever.

“Well, good night then. Will we see each other tomorrow?”

Keith hoped his voice didn’t sound too hopeful, or desperate, or in love. (Not that he was in love with Lance. Well- he didn’t know if he was scared to call it that or if he wasn’t there just yet.) But Lance agreed quickly, with an enthusiastic nod and a big grin. They set a time that worked for both of them, early in the afternoon. Keith still wanted to spend as much time as he could drawing and examining the statue and Lance had duties he couldn’t pass at home -though he was free of classes that day.

Keith took a step away from Lance, and it felt like the most difficult thing he had ever had to do. Before he could go any further, Lance’s hand shot out and gripped his, tightly. It was as soft as Keith remembered it.

“Good night. It was really- I had a lot of fun today, Keith.”

Lance was facing the light and nothing could hide the darkening of his cheeks, so Keith squeezed the hand in his a little tighter. His heart was beating so loud in his chest, covering the sounds of the street and the evening around them.

“Me too. I love talking to you. About art, but also about- everything, anything you want.”

Keith knew he probably let more spill into his words than he had intended to, the unsaid talk to me more and I love your voice hanging between them for a second or two. Lance nodded and said “Me, too” in a soft voice, and that was it.

They separated, and Keith started walking slowly. The voices behind the door poured into the street when he was at the end of it and he turned around, just in time to see Lance’s last hand wave disappear.

He knew he would remember the way the back of their hands had brushed for the entirety of the walk. He would remember the highs and lows of Lance’s voice as he talked passionately about art, the sight of his home so close, the soft way the light had reflected in his eyes and on his skin. He would remember the way their hands had fit together perfectly, how Lance had seemed to not want to let go either, the way his body had been leaning slightly forward the entire time like he wanted to get closer to Keith.

He called Shiro in the taxi back home and told him all about it, and Shiro listened to everything. Keith hadn’t cared about his dates with Adam at all, but he was glad his brother wasn’t resentful. He was just happy for him, instead, congratulating him for his next date and giving him a Talk Keith really, really didn’t want to listen to in a taxi in the middle of the night.

When he finally got back to his hotel, the sky was completely dark. He couldn’t see the stars here, not with all the light pollution. He suddenly thought that he’d like to bring Lance to his favorite spot in the desert one day, the one where he could see the entire milky way and what felt like entire universe, laying on his back in the sand. He had brought Shiro there once or twice, but he knew as soon as he had his own bike that he’d do the trip as often as possible.

It brought back the wonder he’d felt as a child, sitting on his father’s lap and learning about constellations and the stories behind them, dreaming of one day flying through the stars. He used to say Keith’s mother was up there, exploring galaxies and saving people from evil aliens. It was his favorite story as a child, the idea that the mother he’d never met was someone great.

Making Lance’s second present didn’t take him that much time, not with the help of the numerous tutorials YouTube had to offer. He didn’t have anything to wrap it, but he put it aside with the drawing he’d done of Varadero Beach earlier that day, lined with light, flowing black lines. It was slightly out of his usual, more realistic style, but he thought Lance would like it better. He talked a lot about focusing on the feeling of making art more than trying to make the creation perfect, after all. Sometimes I just let my hands do the work for me, he’d told Keith, and whatever happens, happens.

 (It reminded Keith of the way he felt when drawing his ghost, rarely something conscious, most often just instinctual. He preferred to make art with intent, but he could understand why Lance didn’t. It was nice, to get lost in it and not care if it came out ugly.)

Once all of that was done he finally got in bed, falling asleep to the memory of Lance’s fingers in his hair and the way his laughter had sounded, resonating against the museum’s walls and the concrete streets.

He woke up looking for someone or something, with a name on the tip of tongue. He’d never felt as close to finding it than that day and yet- it escaped him, like all the times before. He sighed deeply but decided this wouldn’t ruin his day. It was Lance’s birthday, the weather was good and he had a few hours to draw and admire the statue before him.

He dressed up quickly, slightly disappointed again at himself for not having any nicer clothes. He put on some ripped, black skinny jeans, his favorite red shirt and his fingerless gloves, hesitating a while on whether or not he should tie up his hair. He could still feel the way Lance’s fingers had touched his skull slightly, how he’d tug out the elastic carefully- the way Keith’s hair had felt falling on his neck, the awestruck expression of Lance’s face, something he was almost shy to call adoration on his features.

He decided to let it loose for the day. The weather wasn’t too hot anyway, and the museum had good AC…

Keith packed Lance’s presents carefully, making sure not to wrinkle the paper. He added the date, his name and Varadero Beach on the back of the paper in black ink, looking at the bracelet again to make sure it was still woven tightly.

He headed out both nervous and excited- wondering if Lance would like his presents but happy to share this day with him. He sat for a coffee in the little café while waiting for the museum to open, taking the occasion to thank the waiter who’d helped him out with finding a present for Lance.

Morning passed quickly after that, Keith testing out new techniques of drawings in his sketchbook for the statue. He used bright, unnatural color with colored pencils and an aplat he knew would smudge on the other page if he didn’t put a tissue in between, using the fine rubber he had to trace the outlines and the lighting.

He ate at the café, willing himself to go slowly despite his nerves. He still had a good hour and a half before meeting Lance, plenty of time to finish his meal. He couldn’t help the nervous pang in his stomach though, taking out the presents and looking over them again. He kept coming back to the drawing to add more colors, a new line here or there. Though he knew it would never feel perfect enough for him and changing it again and again just meant more chances to ruin it, it was still hard to resist.

He stepped out of the café a while later, spotting Lance easily.

(It was always easy to find him, like there was something telling Keith look, he’s here. He thought he would probably be able to find him in a crowd, the tilting of his head and the twinkle of his eyes familiar and easy.)

He was dressed up, with a floral short-sleeved shirt and slacks in some light material, flowing around his legs with each step. His hair was artfully stylized, a curl brushing his forehead and bouncing a little as he walked. From the other side of the road, he seemed to find Keith easily, matching smiles blooming on their faces. Halfway through, Lance’s face did something strange- he seemed to remember something, and suddenly he was walking a little faster, his eyes shadowed with determination. The first thing he said as he saw Keith was:

“You’re Hunk’s Keith?”

“What?”

It took a second for Keith’s brain to catch up, and Lance used that time to keep going, doing wide mimicking gestures with his hands as he talked.

“Hunk’s friend Keith? Emo conspiracy theorist, Mothman lover, favorite cake is raspberry fondant?”

He sounded both excited and bewildered at the prospect that Keith and Hunk knew each other- just like Keith had been to learn Hunk and Lance were best friends.

“You know, he said the same thing about you. But I’m not emo!”

“Oh no baby, you are.”

Something in Keith short-circuited at the pet name, and he found himself unable to talk back. Lance, despite slightly reddish cheeks, was smiling like he was proud of himself. He was more confident than usual, and it was probably going to kill Keith before the end of the day. He could not take flirting, much less when Lance was all dressed up and handsome like that.

He finally remembered himself when his fingers twitched at his side, finding paper and tread in his hand.

“Oh! Happy birthday, Lance. Uhm, here.”

Lance took the presents carefully, like it was something incredibly precious. Keith’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might just fall out of his chest. He had never been so nervous giving presents before, not even to the few people he had dated.

(They were nothing, compared to Lance. At most he’d felt a bit of attraction and boredom, but with Lance everything seemed brighter, more exciting, more important. This was important. Essential, even- Keith didn’t know how he’d lived before that, before the statue and Lance and whatever was happening between them.)

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next year,” he said.

Lance looked up from the paper and bracelet in his hands, flushed and handsome.

“Next year?”

Keith’s cheeks set aflame. He’d talked without thinking and-

“I’ll be waiting for it then, but this is perfect, Keith,” he said as he turned the drawing around. His face lit up again when he read what was written. “It’s Varadero Beach? Thank you so much, Keith. I love it. Did you make this too?” Lance asked, thrusting his hand out to point the bracelet.

The way he kept saying his name- Keith had never cared for his name before Lance started saying it.

“Yeah, it’s not as complicated as I thought… I used these colors because I thought they would work with your outfits?” It was more a question than an affirmation on Keith’s part.

He wasn’t the best at fashion, but Lance obviously put a lot of care in his appearance (not that he needed to. Keith was sure he would find him breath-taking if he was wearing a trash bag). Lance’s features fell into something softer, his smile becoming warmer.

“Thank you. Will you tie it for me?”

Keith tried his best to not linger too long, but he couldn’t help the slowness of his fingers as he made a knot over Lance’s wrist. Every so often their skins would touch, making Keith’s heart skip a beat. He wanted to touch him for real, to slide his palm under Lance’s wrist and hold it here, to caress the skin of his forearm with his thumb, slowly, gently. And so, he did just that.

He could be a little brave today. Lance had called him baby and he’d been happy with his presents, and he was so beautiful, and Keith wanted to show him how all of that affected him. He heard Lance’s breath hitch, saw him looking at their joined hands. He felt the twitch of his fingers before he settled his weight in Keith’s hand, his fingers slipping slowly to settle in a loose hold over his arm.

 All of it felt so right. Their closeness felt right- Keith could count the freckles on Lance’s face, see the way his lashes fluttered a few times. Lance’s hand in his, the warmth of his skin so distinct form the heat hair around them, their breaths mingling with each other. The contrast of their skin colors, the threads caught between them. For the first time, Keith wished he hadn’t worn his gloves. He wanted to feel Lance’s skin fully, to take every inch he was allowed and burn it into memory.

“Be my muse,” blurted out Lance.

Keith looked back up to see the other boy looking as surprised as him.

“I mean- please pose for me. The studio I have my sculpting classes at isn’t so far and it’s open all the time for people who like to practice- will you come with me? Please?”

He sounded a bit desperate, like it was critical that Keith said yes. He was a little breathless as he finished, his fingers tightening over Keith’s forearm. And how could he say no? It was a privilege to have an artist use you as their muse. Keith had never been asked that before mostly because he didn’t know any other artists, but he had also never particularly wanted to be someone’s muse, or to model for artists but… But Lance had asked, and that changed everything. It filled Keith’s chest with something he couldn’t quite name- gratefulness, maybe, adoration probably. He smiled at Lance, seeing the way his frame relaxed as Keith nodded. Lance had seen him draw multiple times, but he’d never seen Lance sculpt, and suddenly he longed for it.

Lance started walking and let his hand fall, just low enough to slot in Keith’s palm. Even when the sidewalk was small and they had to stand behind one another to let other people pass through, Lance didn’t let go. Keith wouldn’t have let him, anyway. He would savor every second they got, every minute where they were touching. He barely paid attention to the path they were taking, too entranced by the boy next to him and weight of the hand in his.

The studio was in a tall building, on the fourth floor. Keith only noticed because of the big 4 on the wall they were facing when the elevator doors opened. There were a few people who paid no attention to them as they entered, focused on their own projects. He could smell clay in the air, the plastic sheeting on the floor crinkling with each step they took. There were three big windows on the wall, letting a big flow of light in the room. Lance led them to a more secluded corner, letting go of Keith’s hand to reach for an apron left there. Keith despaired at the loss, but rather than dawdle on it he preferred to take in this new space. He knew Lance when he talked about art, when he talked about his family, knew him in the museum and the café and the street and his front porch, but he had yet to learn about Lance as an artist. And God, how he was eager for it.

Keith studied him as he prepared what he needed. The apron was stained in reds, greys and browns, Lance’s name embroidered over his heart. His movements were sure and confident. He’d been here a lot, that much was obvious. On a table next to him were a few sculptures, hidden behind white bags so they wouldn’t dry. Lance made him sit on a stool, telling him to get comfortable because it could take a while. Keith set a foot on the footplate, extending his other leg and letting his arms rest loosely on his lap. Lance was twisting some wire, and Keith vaguely recalled seeing somewhere that it was some base armature for the clay to stay upright.

“Can you take off your shirt, please?”

There was a moment of silence before they both started blushing, realizing what Lance had just asked. It was logical- many models posed without clothes, after all. There was nothing sexual about it, just an artist and their muse working together. Keith nodded and took his top off, setting it aside with his sketchbook and drawing supplies. He hesitated with taking his gloves off, but Lance hadn’t asked so he left them on.

The air was a bit chilly here, the AC working loudly on the other side of the room and Keith shivered a few times before getting used to it. He wasn’t insecure about his body, thankfully- he went to the gym regularly, and his job was physical in itself. He was happy with where he was, and didn’t think Lance would have judged him even if he wasn’t.

Lance started by putting the metal armature and its base in front of him, bending the wires to mimic Keith’s pose and adding clay to it in a roughly human shape. Everything was silent for the most part, the murmurs of the street below them barely audible, the humming of the AC fading in the background easily. Keith forgot there were other people in the room, focused on staying still and the way Lance’s hands danced over the argil. He was quiet, focused solely on his work, and not for the first time Keith missed his voice.

Lance would talk and talk and talk, and Keith would listen, and he loved it. He decided he would listen to his silence too, appreciate it, recognize the focus he could see on his face. Keith wondered if he looked the same, losing himself to pencils on paper.

By the time Lance stopped working, the sun was starting to set. His hands were stained, his expression more peaceful than Keith had ever seen. Then, his eyebrows furrowed and a confused look passed over his face. Before Keith could ask what was going on or if he’d done something wrong, Lance stood up abruptly to tear off the plastic bags on the projects set on the table next to them.

There were a few mugs, some body parts, a rabbit- and half a dozen sculptures of the same thing.

“It’s… It’s you,” said Lance, sounding baffled.

“What?”

“All of these- they’re you. I’ve been trying to sculpt you for years. Every time I get too lost in the craft, I start making these, and they’re never perfect but this- “he pointed to the clay he’d worked that day, “this is right.”

Like finding the final piece to a puzzle he didn’t even know he had, Keith threw open his sketchbook to the first page. He could see it so clearly. Of course it was Lance. He could recognize it know- could see every bit of Lance he’d tried to put down before he’d ever seen him in real life. He wordlessly thrusted it towards the boy, not even caring that his hands were wet and dirty when he took it.

“Me too,” is the only thing he said, and Lance’s eyes filled with tears.

Keith stood up, panicking. He was panicking and confused about a lot of things at that moment, but Lance’s tears came at the forefront. Did he hate it, whatever was happening between them?

“What? What is it, are you okay- “

He stopped suddenly when Lance looked up, a wide smile on his face. He took a few deep breaths, eyes closing and reopening a few seconds later.

“I’m okay, it’s just… I don’t know. What is this? How is it possible? I’m so- happy, I guess. What?”

And yeah, Keith was in the exact same mindset. He didn’t try to fight the urge to take a step forward, lifting his arms slowly so Lance could see it and stop him if he wanted- but he didn’t, he only lowered his hands, and he let Keith hug him.

They’d never been this close and god, it felt so right. Lance’s cheek on his temple, his arms going up as well to tighten around him, the way their legs slot together, Lance’s smell, of clay and cologne and summer. Keith honestly didn’t care at all that the muddy apron was pressed on his chest, that he was ruining his good pants. How had they not hugged before? Keith had wanted to, like he’d wanted to hold his hand and listen to him talk, but he’d never been brave enough to take the step.

Maybe their first embrace was meant to happen here, only visible to the setting sun and each other. Maybe it had all been for this moment. Maybe the second Keith had stepped foot in that old library, he’d been destined for this. Or maybe it was the first time he’d etched a familiar face on paper- whatever it was, he never wanted to let go.

He had a sudden thought, unbidden- « My brain may have forgotten him but my hands remember. » He stopped, mulled over the words, replayed them slowly in his mind. Yes, that seemed right. He’d always known the shape of his face, the softness of his hand, the slouch of his shoulders. He just hadn’t known it was him. He hadn’t been able to draw it properly, but he’d known, and his hands had remembered, and now he got to do it all correctly. Oh, he couldn’t wait to draw him again.

When they separated after longue minutes, through Lance’s apology for dirtying him, the cleaning and all the way back to the museum, Keith felt lighter than ever before. He could feel butterflies in his stomach and the rapid beating of his heart through it all. Why would he care about things like having dirty clothes when Lance was right here? When they kept stealing glances at each other, not even trying to be secretive about it?

Their fingers found each other easily, and Keith closed his eyes when Lance put his hand over his cheek, gently brushing his lips over the other one. He went slowly, slow enough so Keith could back away if he wanted to- but how could he say no to Lance touching him? He would take anything, everything Lance would give him.

Watching him walk away felt both terrible and not. Terrible because it felt like he’d finally found him and he didn’t want to let go, but not because he knew with certainty that he’d see him again. The next day, or in a year, or in his dreams maybe, but he knew that this was only the start.

Keith spent half an hour splayed on his bed after a quick shower, replaying every interaction he’d had with Lance in his head. It started with daydreaming of hand holding and his laugh and him, but it quickly delved into the… Stranger things that kept happening.

Keith brought out his list and decided to call Pidge. They answered quickly, activating the camera and setting their phone down so they could keep typing at their computer at the same time.

“Hey, Pidge. I want to talk to you about something.”

“If you want to talk about Lance, please go to literally anyone else.”

“No I- well, it’s kind of about him but more like… So, I have a theory and I need you to tell me if I’m losing my mind or if it makes sense to you too.”

That made them take their eyes off of their screen. They both loved looking up conspiracy theories and debating the realness of them, but it was the first time Keith had come up with his own.

“Alright, tell me about it.”

It was better to go straight to the point, right?

“I think Lance and I might be soulmates.”

His voice was a little hesitant, but Pidge’s half-disgusted half-bewildered look prompted him to continue, growing more confident as he listed everything that had brought him to this.

He talked for a long time, and he really tried to be objective, but, well- there was a lot of ‘I feel like I knew him before we even met’ that he knew Pidge wouldn’t count as proof. He talked about the way the statue looked like Lance and the painting he swore looked like Keith, about the way they had been creating portraits of each other decades before they’d even met, and the reoccurring dream he’d been having since he saw the statue. It was hard to explain these things, because it seemed so plain, said like that, when it made Keith feel so much.

He kept some things to himself, not going into details about the mannerism he recognized or the kiss he’d dreamt. Pidge wanted facts, after all, and he still wanted to keep a bit of Lance to himself. Not in a possessive manner, and he knew Pidge and Lance were already friends but- there were things he wanted close to his heart, only for him to see for the time being.

Once his pitch was finished, he sent the list to Pidge. They pulled it up on their computer, looked at it, eyes squinting behind their glasses.

“Yeah, I guess I can see it. There are too many coincidences for it not to be something. I wouldn’t put it past you and Lance to do some impossible thing.”

The relief Keith felt was a bit unexpected. No matter how certain he was of his theory- even more after the events of that day- hearing someone say it made sense was nice. They talked about it a bit more, Pidge accepting to do some research on soulmates and other similar phenomenon until Keith’s trip ended. It was a bit too romantic for them, but they loved the mystery all the same.

After their call ended, Keith typed Shiro’s number and told him all about it. “I think we might be soulmates,” he said, and Shiro answered “That would be nice,” because he’d always liked these kinds of stories. Keith didn’t want to stop talking about it, his brother’s happiness for him warming his heart, the souvenir of Lance’s arms around his still fresh in his memory. They talked late into the night, until Keith started feeling guilty at the tired note in his brother’s voice.

It took so long for Keith to fall asleep after that. He kept touching his cheek, finger brushing against the skin Lance had kissed. When he closed his eyes, he was back at the studio, wet clay against his torso, Lance’s scent enveloping him. He could still feel it all, and every time without fail it filled his chest with something so strong it almost brought tears to his eyes. He turned around and around in bed, tangling his sheets and holding them close like they were flesh and bones. It felt unreal, but most things had lately. Setting eyes on the statue for the first time had felt unreal. Meeting Lance had felt unreal. Every touch and every story they had shared had felt unreal, in the best way possible.

It reminded Keith of the first time he’d gone back to Shiro’s apartment and thought, I’m going home. Every second with Lance felt like the first step in a space that was his, truly and fully, shared with someone who loved him. Somewhere safe, constant, where he was awaited and expected to be no one but himself. He had craved it as a child, that feeling of home he’d lost along with his father.

And Lance loved him, he knew. He must, with the way he’d been sculpting Keith since he’d first laid hand on clay- and before that, even, he told Keith he’d drawn and painted him, on bedroom walls and pristine white printer paper.

He must, because he answered every one of Keith’s little touches tenfold, and nodded when Keith talked about himself with that gleam of recognition in his eyes that Keith knew all too well.

He must, because Keith had never had anyone come close to Lance, and the way he made him feel comfortable and appreciated and seen, not even a week after meeting each other. He was certain that he saw him, too, with all his flaws and his qualities.

Lance was friendly and loyal, and Keith new he would take a bullet before he let anyone he loved get hurt. He made self-deprecating jokes and had a skincare routine and liked to show off. He talked a lot, moved a lot, laughed loudly, had an infinite collection of the worst pickup lines, and Keith loved all these parts of him. All the good (so, so much good in him) and all the bad (if he could see himself how Keith saw him, he’d love himself more.)

The clock read 3am the last time he looked at it before falling asleep, the adrenaline and excitement finally dying down after hours.

He woke up late- later than usual, at least, and he dreamt of Lance. He was sure of it, this time. He only had a few impressions left, the images already fleeting his mind as he blinked sleep away, but it made him smile all the same. What a perfect way to wake up.

He was almost ready when Lance texted him that they wouldn’t be able to see each other that day. It would be a lie to say Keith wasn’t disappointed, but at the same time he still felt so raw from all the emotions that had flooded him the day before he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to face him. He sent back a text saying it was okay, knowing he would miss him all the same.

Before going to the statue, he thought he would go see Lance’s favorite painting once again -with the new knowledge that they’d been making art of each other since they could hold a pen.

Standing in front it, with the quiet shuffle of steps and the whispering of early visitors behind him, Keith thought he agreed with Lance. It looked like him, just a bit- or maybe quite a lot, now that he thought about it. The artist’s name was written clearly on this one, contrary to Keith’s own favorite work. Something in him felt the need to search them up, and the page loaded quickly on his phone. Next to the painter’s name was a picture, and Keith immediately clicked on it because... Well, that was Lance. Or someone who really, really looked like him.

Keith bit his lower lip, fingers tightening over his phone as he thought that maybe, it was Lance, in another time. The thought came unprompted, but Keith immediately accepted it. Was it wishful thinking, to imagine Lance and he could have known each other some lifetimes ago? He’d drawn him in a million different scenarios, at war and in the depths of sea and in other eras of their world, and all of it had felt right.

He looked through more of the painter’s work, a strange feeling of satisfaction settling in him. In a million different settings and a million different places, the person from the portrait was here. Long dark hair, always in red, turned away most of the time. And everywhere. In every painting, you would find them, whether a few dots far away in a garden or their body from head to toe, looking outside a morning lit window, draped in nothing but burgundy bedsheets.

Looking at all this, Keith felt almost… smug. Yes, smug was the right word. Satisfaction and pride of all things curled in his stomach as he kept swiping to see more paintings. He wondered what Lance saw when he looked at them. He wondered if he felt the same things Keith felt in front of the statue, nostalgia and affection and wonder filling his chest so much it almost became overwhelming.

The painter looked like Lance and the painted looked like Keith, and the statue Keith so adored was so similar to Lance, too. And maybe, if the painter was Lance, then the sculptor might have been Keith.

Yes, if soulmates existed, Lance and he surely were each other’s.

He sent a text to Lance, fingers shaking from emotion.

Me – 09:21am

Hey, have you ever looked up the painter of (TITLE)?

image.jpg

Because they really look like you

Keith walked back to the statue as he waited for Lance’s reply, setting down his art supplies and getting lost in the sculpture until his phone vibrated in his hands. (It was still so easy to let himself be swept away by the art piece, no matter how many times he saw it.)

Lance 😉🐬 – 09:26am

No I never looked it up 😳 you’re right that’s totally me lol!!

Maybe I’ve been painting you even before this life 😉😊 Isn’t that a nice thought?

Yes, yes, yes, thought Keith, heart beating fast in his chest. The continuous proof that Lance felt just like him, that this whole thing wasn’t only just one-sided, almost seemed like a miracle. From the second their eyes had met they’d been in this together, feeling familiarity and affection in the same places, finding one another time and time again.

  Me – 09:28am

Yeah, it is

Okay, so he’d never been the best to express what he was feeling, whether that was out loud or by text.

He let his thoughts wander for a while, looking at the statue and leaving his art supplies untouched. Between daydreams of another time, where his own hands could have sculpted the man in front of him, he let himself miss Lance. He needed that time, a day to process and let his imagination run on his own, but he longed for the other all the same.

He wondered what his laugh would sound like. What shades of blue might he wear that day? Had he straightened his hair this morning? Was he okay, had he slept well, had he missed Keith like Keith had missed him? So many things to ask, but Keith couldn’t dare text him, so he kept his questions behind heavy layers of imagination.

All the things he’d thought about, all the things he’d felt while watching the statue came back to him. He thought, though his hands were unexperimented, that he could have carved anything for Lance. When he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the rhythmic hit of the hammer against a chisel, the soft sweep of the brush against canvas. He could see himself sitting straight and still, letting Lance trace the contours of his face in pinks and beiges. He could imagine him, red sheets and brown skin in the morning light, taking shape in greys and whites from a block of marble.

Hours passed without notice, Keith lost in everything his head conjured up. He kept his fingers intertwined tightly in his lap so he wouldn’t try to reach out to the statue in front of him. He’d dreamt about it a million times, had sketched it from a thousand different angles, and he still ached to touch it. It would be cold like the wet clay of Lance’s apron had been, and soft like his hands, Keith knew.  

He’d forgotten lunch, the sound of the museum closing barely taking him out of his reverie. He hadn’t drawn, though he’d taken out a pen and a new, blank page in his sketchbook. There was just so much to think about and so much to dream of.

He texted Lance late into the night, letting him talk about his day and his nephew’s new favorite show and the way the flowers on his balcony had finally bloomed after some years. When Keith accidentally called him after fumbling with his phone, Lance accepted it before Keith could panic. And God, hearing his voice was so much better than texting.

Keith fell asleep to the ups and downs of Lance’s voice telling him about a game he’d played with Pidge recently. It was easy to do so, like his sentences were made of a lullaby.

Saturday morning came slowly, the sky dark and heavy. Keith woke up leisurely from a dream that had felt soothing and soft, fingers clenched around the memory of another hand in his.

One last check to the museum’s website confirmed it would close in the afternoon- something about new art pieces being installed, though Keith hadn’t paid too much attention to the reason.

He hesitated for a while before sending a good morning text to Lance. He hadn’t been the one to text first so far, but he remembered Lance telling him he liked to sleep in during the weekends and, well… It had felt nice, to wake up to a Hi! How are you? or to receive some version of Hello handsome, how did you sleep? as he brushed his teeth.

After agonizing over what to say for a quarter of an hour, he pressed send on Hey, I hope you slept well. Can we see each other today? without looking. He considered asking Shiro for advice, but decided he was old enough to do something as simple as send a text. He also wasn’t sure he would appreciate the mocking he would surely receive afterward (Shiro never went too far, but it seemed older brothers had the instinctual tendency to tease their little siblings about everything years down the line, if Matt and Shiro were anything to go by.)

He started gathering the few things he’d taken out of his suitcase, telling himself he’d finish packing later. The sky was dark but the pavement dry as he walked out of his hotel, and Keith found himself wishing it would rain. He’d always loved the rain- maybe because the house in the desert he’d lived in with his dad hadn’t seen much of it. It always seemed to change the atmosphere, to make everything a little fuzzier and a little quieter.

His flight was early the next morning, so he took the time to appreciate the statue fully, knowing it was the last time he could see it. He drew it a few more times, though he knew he would never be able to erase the picture of it in his head. He had pages and pages of it, in colors and black and white, ink and markers and blue ballpoint pens. He’d looked at its photo in the book so much, so often, that he could picture it like he could Shiro’s face, or the view from his bedroom window.

Lance texted back around 10am to ask him if they could eat lunch together- which Keith only saw at lunchtime, of course. He quickly typed his approval and an apology for not answering sooner, worried that Lance might have felt ignored (Keith would never, ever ignore Lance). He quickly grabbed his things when the speaker announced the museum was closing, hurrying towards the exit with one last, long look at the statue. Oh, he would miss it.

He was anxiously waiting to see what Lance would answer, focused on the little dots next to his name signaling he was writing when he bumped into someone.

“Sorry! Uhm, hi, Keith. I really wanted to see you, so I came? Even if you didn’t answer…” said Lance, a bright smile and a faint blush on his face.

Keith’s phone almost slipped out of his hand before he stumbled to snatch it, both of them reaching out at the same time to keep it from hitting the pavement. They ended up hunched over, Keith’s phone in his hand and Lance’s over it. They smiled sheepishly at each other.

“Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t see your text earlier, I’m not really good at this whole… texting thing.”

Keith made a vague gesture with his hand as he said this, feeling like he’d won when Lance laughed.

“I’d love to eat with you. The café has some formulas for lunch, if you want.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

The back of their hands brushed a couple of times as they walked, before Keith took a deep breath and went to hold Lance’s fully. He received a smile (Lance’s smiles where so disarming, he couldn’t keep doing that to Keith’s heart) and a squeeze of his hand in return. It was funny how easy it had become to touch him, how natural it felt.

They ordered quickly, the red-haired barista winking at Keith when they noticed Lance wearing the bracelet he’d made him. Keith felt his cheeks warm but brushed it off when Lance asked, embarrassed (and maybe, also, wanting Lance to keep thinking he’d had the idea on his own).

They sat in front of each other, Lance reaching out his hand with a soft smile for Keith to take. Eating with one hand wasn’t the easiest, but Keith wouldn’t have let go of Lance’s hand for anything. He was right-handed and Lance was left-handed, so it worked anyway.

“You know, even when we’ll be apart, we’ll always carry a little bit of each other in us.”

“That’s really poetic,” Keith said, keeping his voice soft.

It was a nice thought, even if Keith preferred to think they had always carried bits of each other in them, long before they’d even met. Lance looked away and blushed, a faint smile on his lips.

“I’ve always loved poetry. I could write a million poems about you, I think.”

And Keith thought, me too, so he said it, even if he knew he had no talent with words. He’d try for Lance, though.

It felt a bit like poetry and love confessions when he traced the shape of his face on paper, anyway.

Outside, it started drizzling, the little tap-tap of water hitting the window carrying along with their conversation. Lance talked about his birthday they’d celebrate the next day, cousins and aunts he rarely saw coming to celebrate with them. Keith willed himself to feel happy for Lance, even as he explained that his flight would be early Sunday morning and that they probably wouldn’t have time to see each other again.

As the drizzle became rain, Keith had an idea. Lance had told him early on about his love for water, beaches and rain and pools in his grandparents’ garden. The café was playing some popular, romantic song, the front door open to let in some fresher hair. The rain was still falling pretty much straight down, keeping the room from flooding for the moment.

“Do you trust me?” he asked Lance, and Lance answered “Of course”, so Keith tugged on his hand until he stood up.

His eyes opened a little wider when they started walking towards the exit, but he followed all the same.

They walked to a little parking lot a few feet away, the water soaking up their clothes quickly. The rain was warm and Keith could feel it run down his face, where their hands were holding, soaking up his jeans.

If he listened closely, he could almost hear the café’s music, mixing with the tap-tap of droplets hitting concrete and metal. Keith started walking backward in a circle, tugging Lance along and soon enough they were spinning around together. He wasn’t sure who laughed first, but it was contagious. The parking lot filled with laughter, mixing with the rumble of the rain and the cars driving a few feet away.

It felt like a dream, Lance’s bright blue eyes fixated on Keith and the world fading out around them but for the precipitation and the puddles under their feet.

Lance’s hair sticking to his forehead, the slight transparency of his shirt as it got soaked, the water running down his nose, his arms, their hands... He looked perfect, Keith thought. He could have stayed here forever, whirling around with Lance, slowing down until they stood still, close enough that Keith could count each and every one of Lance’s freckles. They caught their breath when their laughter died down, looking into each other’s eyes and holding on to each other’s hands.

Lance’s cheeks were dark, blushed with joy, and Keith wondered if he looked like that, too. Breathless and with so much affection etched onto his face Keith thought he would be able to live off of that one look for the rest of his life.

Slowly, Lance took his hands away from Keith’s. Nothing but surprise had time to settle in before he put them back on Keith’s skin. They travelled up along his arms, barely caressing his neck before settling on his cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” Lance asked, a barely audible whisper over the downpour around them.

Keith thought he would never get tired of hearing that question, the anticipation and want in Lance’s voice mixing with the innate knowledge that he would pull back immediately if Keith asked. He wouldn’t- not now, not here, on the last day they’d be able to see each other before who knew how long. It felt good all the same, to be asked.

“Yes,” he said, and he thought he might have sounded a little too eager.

Lance smiled and kissed him, softly, on his right cheek.

“Can I kiss you again?”, he asked, and Keith said yes, so he kissed the other cheek.

“Can I kiss you here?”, and he kissed his temple. “Can I kiss you there?”, and Lance’s lips caressed the other side of his head.

“Here?”, on the back of his hands.

“Here?”, on his palms.

“Can I kiss you here?”, for the tips of his fingers, one after the other. He kissed his thumb and Keith wanted him to let his head rest in his palm.

“Can I kiss you here, too?” for the other hand, just as softly and gently as the first.

Keith’s heart and the rain, even as hard as they were beating, couldn’t drown out Lance’s voice. Is this what it feels to be adored? wondered Keith, and he saw the answer in the delicate way Lance was holding him. He felt so loved, here, on this parking lot on a Saturday afternoon. Such an innocuous place, and when he thought that he might never have known this if he hadn’t stepped in a bookstore all those months ago, his heart hurt.

They apologized when they came back in the café, accepting the offered towels graciously. With the towel on his head, Keith started feeling shy. There was no doubt the café patrons had seen them dancing in the rain, if the smiles he received every time he crossed eyes with someone were anything to go by. At least Lance seemed to be in the same situation as him. He still took Keith’s hand as they walked back to their table, and didn’t let go for hours.

They hugged for a long, long time when they split up, Lance placing one last kiss on Keith’s temple before letting go. Watching him walk away, Keith felt his heat break in a thousand tiny pieces.

He’d text him every day, promised himself he’d call him, too (his voice, Keith didn’t think he would be able to live without Lance’s voice). Lance had told him he’d planned to move to Arizona after his studies, and Keith hoped they would be able to live close to each other. Patience yields focus, always said Shiro, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to wait this long. He just wanted to be able to see Lance, as much as possible, as soon as he could.

He would never forget the way his hands had felt in his. He would never forget the shade of his blushing cheeks, the rhythm of his laugh or the ease with which he’d sculpted. The way he walked and how he titled his head slightly whenever he was thinking hard about something, the slight accent he had on certain words, the shade of his hair. No, he would never forget anything about Lance.

Sitting on his bed with a pillow held tight in his arms, he willed himself not to cry. Instead, he called Shiro, asked for a distraction and tried to focus on what he was being told. His throat constricted as he explained in a few words that that was it, the last he’d see of Lance- ever, maybe. He didn’t want to talk about it too much, and, when his call ended, he focused on packing his bags and cleaning the room.

He flipped through a few pages of his sketchbook before putting it in the suitcase. He stopped on the first, the one he’d filled on the plane. He could see, now, where he’d gone wrong with the portraits of Lance. He realized he hadn’t drawn him since they had discovered that they’d been drawing each other for decade. He would change that as soon as possible.

Lance deserved it all, all the things Keith had learnt through the years and all the skills he’d cultivated in his art. He deserved the best Keith could give. God, Lance deserved everything.

Going to sleep that night was difficult. A few tears escaped, silently wetting the pillow under his head. No one was here to see him, at least. The dark of the room felt safe, even as Keith took deep breaths to keep the rest of the tears in. His flight was at 8:30am, and the time it would take to check out of the hotel, get to the airport and check in there meant he had to get up really early.

When his alarm rung the next morning, he almost wanted to miss his flight on purpose. He had work on Monday and a million different reasons why he couldn’t, but oh how he wanted to. He finished packing his suitcase, looking around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, and grabbed a croissant from the buffet before checking out.

Thankfully, his taxi driver was quiet. Keith really didn’t feel up to talking, or even listening to anyone at the moment. He just wanted to not leave, or see Lance again, or anything other than what he was currently doing.

He still had to get out of the car and find his gate. Once everything was done, he sat in the waiting area. Airports had always felt somewhat otherworldly, like time passed differently, like stepping in a parallel universe. Keith didn’t feel up to drawing just yet, so he opted for scrolling on the few people he followed on Instagram, sighing when he got to the end of his feed. He occupied himself with Lance’s favorite game: looking at the people around and trying to imagine their story, the other half of a phone conversation or what that woman’s fourth trip to the bathroom in half an hour could be about.

It felt both like a terribly long and an immensely short amount of time had passed when they announced that he could move onto his plane. He got up with a sigh, hauling his suitcase as he went. It immediately went clattering to the floor at the sound of his name being yelled from across the hall.

He turned around so quickly his vision became fuzzy for a few seconds- just long enough for Lance to get to him. He was breathing hard from his run, hair sticking out and face still colored by sleep.

“Can I- “

He couldn’t finish his sentence before Keith walked into his open arms. Lance immediately hugged back and they stayed like that, holding on to each other so tightly Keith had trouble breathing. It didn’t matter though, because Lance was here, in the flesh.

A second call for his plane sounded and they reluctantly pulled off of each other. The same expression he’d seen under the rain passed over Lance’s face and he asked, always careful and calm:

“Can I kiss you? On the lips?”

“Please, do.”

Keith was surprised by his own eagerness and the hint of desperation in his voice, but he forgot about it quickly with Lance’s mouth over his. He was holding Keith, one hand at his waist and the other buried in his hair, the same air of restlessness in him that Keith felt. They leaned away from each other when they started missing air. Lance had an intense look on his face, serious and important.

“Keith, will you be my lover?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

A last call from the speakers, and they separated. They promised to facetime as Keith walked away, voices echoing in the empty space.

“Call me soon, Mullet!”

Keith sputtered, too stunned to find anything to say back.

The flight attendants berated him for arriving at the last minute, but he’d made it on time and he’d seen Lance, so he honestly couldn’t have cared less.

He let himself smile on the plane, uncaring of the weird looks he was getting from the other passengers. Lance was his lover, and he was Lance’s, and everything was good.

He felt giddy like he’d never felt before for the entire trip back home, and for days after that.

They called each other every night, facetiming for an hour or two. Keith joined in game night with Pidge and Hunk, and discovered a new facet of Lance. It was so easy to get competitive with him, and they kept scores of each one’s numbers of wins and losses. Keith facetimed Lance on movie nights so he could be with them, and it always made Keith miss him even more.

Some days, Keith woke up with his heart pumping adrenaline in his veins, knife in hand and breath short. These nights didn’t quite feel like nightmares, but he knew he fought (with Lance next to him, always). He felt the heaviness of an armor he wasn’t wearing on his chest and the phantom pain of injuries he’d never had deep in his bones. Some part of him was always scared for Lance (and other people, too, though they felt less… essential. Not any less important, but less essential). He couldn’t help but call him, every time, only to find Lance short of breath and muttering about fighting on the other side of the line.

He kept dreaming of things he couldn’t remember that had him wake up soft and sluggish. Even with no memory of what they were about, he liked to imagine he’d dreamt of Lance.

Keith’s walls were littered with portraits of Lance, more accurate than ever. He still found himself sketching scenes from a different time or different universes, and he kept those preciously in a box. He sent each one to Lance, and received in return pictures of his sculptures. It quickly became their own way to say I miss you, and I think about you, which is to say, I love you.

For their first Valentine’s Day together, Keith made the third post of his Instagram account. It was pictures of drawings of Lance he’s done through the years, the recent ones clearer and the oldest ones more hesitant, evidently done by a child. He wrote Proof that I’ve always loved you in the caption and didn’t tag Lance because he had never learnt how to. It was the first post Lance saw as he opened the app, and when he called Keith right after there was tremble to his voice and sniffles he couldn’t quite hide.

A little under a year after their first meeting, Lance moved to Arizona, two streets away from Keith. Better job opportunities and the prospect of living closer to his friends and his lover had brought him here. Walking the streets and showing Lance all his favorite places, having dinner with Shiro and watching his brother’s surprisingly scary shovel talk, introducing his lover to Allura and Coran… Everything Keith had only ever dreamt of happened. He saw how close Hunk and Lance truly were, smiling at the inside jokes they shared, grateful that he’d met people who were important to Lance.

It was two years later that Lance found a note titled “Reasons why Lance might be my soulmate” in Keith’s phone and he laughed, before showing him his own list. He had named it “Reasons the museum guy needs to become my husband rn” and had filled it with little things he liked about Keith. There were also points like we totally knew each other in another life and I don’t know much about him yet but I really, really need to and if I don’t ask him to pose for me before he leaves I’ll die, because Lance had always been dramatic like that. And they’d talked about it, and Lance liked to call Keith ‘soulmate’ like Keith called him ‘love’, because it was a sure way to lift up his mood. They joked about it and saved money to maybe, one day, be able to put in their living room a painting or a statue they’d made in different time. It was one of Keith’s favorite conspiracy theories.

He was pretty sure he was going to marry him.

(He did.)