Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Best friends always get married. That’s what people say, anyway. Keith had heard the phrase a hundred times, tossed around like some universal truth. It was the kind of sentiment that belonged in fairytales, in neatly packaged lives where the right people always found each other in the end. He didn’t put much stock in it. Life wasn’t a series of predestined moments leading to happily-ever-after; it was a tangle of choices, missed opportunities, and roads that never seemed to lead anywhere. Still, the idea had a way of lingering in his mind, uninvited and persistent, like an old song he couldn’t forget. Best friends always get married. Maybe for some people, that was true.

The words felt like a cruel joke now, as if fate had dangled the idea in front of him just to see how long he’d hold on to it. Best friends get married. Over the years, it had been a quiet hope, buried deep where no one could find it. The kind of hope that stayed hidden because saying it out loud would make it real—and unbearable. Keith had never let himself believe in it, not fully. He knew better than to expect the universe to bend to his wishes. Keith would always laugh at that phrase, hiding the painful truth that he wanted nothing more than to make that joke a reality. He was barely holding onto the fact that that reality would never come true.

Keith just didn’t expect that only four words would crumble his whole world and heart into pieces.

It all started one late evening. 

*  *  *

He was exhausted.

Barging into his apartment that night had been a blur, though not the good kind—the kind where every little thing grated on his nerves. He hadn’t even stopped to lock the door, which, looking back, was stupid. Anyone could’ve walked in, but at the time, he couldn’t have cared less. All he’d wanted was to drop everything, to stop feeling the ache in his shoulders and the burn in his fingers, but of course, it wasn’t that simple.

He’d been hauling a giant canvas, bigger than it had any right to be, and a toolbox that felt like it was filled with bricks rather than tools. The weight of the metal case digging into his shoulder blades was the worst part—no, wait. The worst part had been the damn canvas slipping out of his hands like it had a vendetta against him. He’d gripped it so tightly his fingers had gone numb, and still, it slid, edges scraping his palms. Every step into the apartment had felt like a battle, one he was definitely losing.

The place had been as drab and suffocating as ever. Bland walls. Bland furniture. Bland everything. It wasn’t home; it was just a place to keep his stuff and maybe sleep if he ever felt like it, which he usually didn’t. It was a place to exist, not to live, and at that moment, it felt as oppressive as the weight of everything he carried, physically and otherwise.

He remembered standing there in the doorway to the living room, breath heaving, sweat slick on his back, and just hating it—hating the weight, the exhaustion, the silence, the mess. And most of all, hating the fact that he couldn’t drop it all and let it go, because wasn’t that just the story of his life?

Keith’s body screamed with exhaustion, every muscle in his body aching from a relentless twelve-hour shift at the repair shop. His hands bore the day’s labour, stained with dirt, grime, and streaks of black soot that clung stubbornly to his skin despite his hurried attempts to clean up before leaving. They ached, a dull throb from hours of painstaking work on six motorcycles— six. He’d taken on the tasks out of necessity, not desire, but the frustration lingered, especially since only two of the bikes had been genuinely damaged.

The other four? Absolute wastes of time. One guy had come in complaining about a tiny scratch on the paint job—just a scratch, for crying out loud. Keith had barely managed to bite back his irritation as he worked through the motions of fixing what didn’t really need fixing. That wasted effort gnawed at him now, sharp and bitter because it had robbed him of something he’d actually wanted to do. He’d had a painting planned, an idea that had been bubbling in the back of his mind for weeks. Today was supposed to be the day he finally started. He’d even brought his materials to work, hoping to steal a moment during lunch to sketch out the beginnings. But, of course, Kolivan had put an end to that. His boss had called him in before he could so much as touch a paintbrush, drowning his fleeting hope in another round of mundane tasks.

Keith let out a tired, drawn-out sigh as he stepped inside, the apartment greeting him with its usual, unwelcoming quiet. The toolbox clattered to the floor near the front door with a satisfying clank , the sound louder than he’d intended but strangely comforting. At least his shoulder was free from its oppressive weight now. The canvas, though—he treated that differently. He placed it down on his old, worn-down brown sofa, careful not to let it slip or bend, the only thing in his possession he handled with a gentle touch.

His feet dragged as he shuffled toward the kitchen, every step heavy with fatigue. The dull hum of the refrigerator was the only sound breaking the silence, and it felt almost mocking in the stillness. Keith rubbed the back of his neck, the ache spreading up his spine, and wondered if he’d ever find the time to let himself breathe—really breathe—again.

The clock on the microwave blinked at him as Keith stepped into the kitchen—9:03 PM. It didn’t feel like 9 PM; it felt like it had to be closer to midnight, with the way exhaustion had wrapped itself around him. Time always seemed to stretch on days like this, pulling like taffy until every minute dragged painfully slow.

He opened the fridge, staring blankly at its contents. Not that there was much to stare at—a half-empty carton of milk, a leftover container from three nights ago, and a few sad vegetables that had seen better days. Nothing in there would fix the gnawing hunger in his stomach, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to make anything, either. With a sigh, he shut the fridge and leaned back against the counter, his head tipping back as he stared up at the cracked ceiling.

The silence in the apartment felt thicker now. During the day, the noise of the repair shop had been a relentless wall of sound—tools clattering, engines revving, Kolivan barking orders—but here, there was nothing. Just the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional groan of the building settling, and the sound of his own breathing. It wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.

He let his eyes wander to the canvas he’d left on the couch, the blank surface catching the dim light from the kitchen. It should’ve been covered in paint by now, vibrant streaks of colour spilling across it as he lost himself in the process. That was the plan. That had been the one thing he’d looked forward to all week, the thought that had kept him going when everything else felt like too much. And yet, here it was—untouched, accusing him from across the room.

Keith dragged a hand down his face, the rough skin catching on the dirt still lingering there. He knew he should shower, clean up, do something productive, but instead, he slid down to the floor, his back against the counter. He sat there, legs stretched out in front of him, the cool tile pressing against his palms.

His thoughts raced despite the fatigue weighing him down. Frustration mingled with guilt, a tangled mess he couldn’t unravel. Why did he always let everything else take precedence over what he actually wanted? The questions churned in his mind, bitter and unrelenting.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him, persistent as ever. Alone with his thoughts, there was no escape. And for Keith, that was always the hardest part of the day.

He’d been sitting there on the cold kitchen floor, the ache in his body pulling him down as the weight of the day crushed the air out of him. His body was aching, his thoughts heavier than the toolbox he’d hauled around earlier. The silence was so thick he could hear the soft hum of the fridge over the noise of his own heartbeat.

And then— bzzzt, bzzzt.

At first, the gentle vibration in his back pocket barely registered, like his brain was too sluggish to process it. But then the monotone ring cut through the quiet, sharp and unrelenting, making him flinch. His first thought? Kolivan. Because, of course, it would be his boss calling him to give some last-minute order, probably to come in early tomorrow or pick up a shift he didn’t want. Keith could practically hear Kolivan’s gruff voice in his head, barking out instructions before he’d even had the chance to say “hello.”

Or, maybe—just maybe—it was Shiro. That thought had flickered for a second, warm and hopeful, like a tiny flame struggling to catch. Shiro could be calling to tell him his flight schedule had changed, that he’d be in town sooner than planned, and maybe they could grab a meal or hang out for a few hours. That idea wasn’t just hopeful; it was outright wishful thinking. But Shiro was always busy flying back and forth to Europe or wherever the airlines sent him, so hearing from him unexpectedly wasn’t impossible .

Keith had reached for the phone with a resigned sigh, ready to see either Kolivan’s name—or, if he was lucky, Shiro’s—on the screen. But then he saw it.

Lance.

The name was so familiar, so Lance , that Keith almost smiled before he caught himself. Relief was the first thing he felt like an old friend had just walked into the room. Because that’s what Lance was, wasn’t he? His oldest friend, the one who’d been there since the beginning, since grade two. He could still picture it—him, the awkward, quiet new kid sitting alone by the playground, wishing he could just disappear, and then Lance, with his blue eyes, freckles, banged-up knees, stupidly bright grin, one of his front teeth missing, and with way-too-much energy, bounding over and shoving a soccer ball into Keith’s hands.

‘Wanna play?’ Lance had asked like it was the easiest thing in the world to invite a stranger into his circle. And just like that, Keith had been pulled into Lance’s orbit, where the rules were simple: no one gets left out, and no one gets forgotten. From that day on for fifteen years, they’d been inseparable. Lance had this way of making Keith feel like he belonged, like maybe being the shy, quiet kid wasn’t such a bad thing when you had someone like Lance around to balance it out.

So now, staring at the name on the screen, Keith felt that familiar sense of camaraderie, the kind that had always come with Lance. But then something else flickered beneath the surface, something Keith couldn’t quite name. His heart gave a strange, unsteady beat—too quick, too sudden—and he blinked, momentarily confused. Why did he feel like this? It was just Lance.

Then again, just Lance had always been enough. Even now, without saying a word, Lance had managed to break through the gloom of Keith’s night. It was his power, wasn’t it? To brighten the mood without even being there, to make Keith feel a little less like the walls were closing in. He hated to admit it, but that stupid, glowing name on his phone screen had already managed to shift something in him, dragging him out of the dull monotony of his thoughts.

The phone buzzed again in his hand, the insistent vibration pulling him back to the moment. He was filled with relief, camaraderie and a serene feeling that only someone like Lance could give to Keith. He couldn’t figure it out or put a direct name to it, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. All he knew was that Lance was calling, and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, that was enough to make his chest feel both lighter and heavier all at once.

Keith didn’t hesitate—his thumb hit the green button almost instinctively, and he brought the phone to his ear, forcing himself to stand as he did so, stretching his sore legs. He tried to keep his voice level, steady, like his heart hadn’t just done a little flip at the sight of Lance’s name lighting up his screen.

‘Finally!’ Lance’s voice came through the line, loud and exuberant, with the same energy that Keith swore Lance had been born with. ‘At first, I thought you were abducted or something. Like, poof! Gone! No trace of Keith anywhere. I was about to call the cops, man.’ Lance’s cheery voice wrapped Keith’s soul in a warm embrace, even through the device.

Keith rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Somehow, Lance’s ridiculousness never failed to drag him out of whatever funk he was in.

‘Sorry,’ He replied, his voice a little softer than usual. ‘Late shift at the shop today.’

‘Oh, so you weren’t abducted. Good. That’s a relief. Do you have any idea how hard it is to file a missing person’s report when you’re me? They’d probably think I was pranking them.’

Keith snorted, shaking his head. ‘Lance, you’d be the exact guy they’d think was pranking them.’

‘Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, fair. And third—’ Lance’s voice dipped into something almost accusatory, but not in a serious way— ‘it’s been, like, a day or two since you called. You’re usually a daily caller. What gives, Kogane? You forget about me already?’

Keith leaned against the counter, his grip tightening on the phone, though his tone stayed casual. ‘You’re the one who usually calls every day, not me. I figured you’d finally run out of things to say.’

‘Run out of things to say? Me? Keith, please.’ Lance laughed, and Keith could practically see him rolling his eyes on the other end. ‘I was busy, okay? I do have a life, you know.’

‘Sure you do,’ Keith teased, his smirk widening. ‘So what’s the real reason you’re calling?’

‘Fine, fine, I’ll spill,’ Lance said, his voice taking on a sheepish edge. ‘I’m off work tomorrow—like, the whole day—and I was thinking…’ He trailed off for a moment before continuing with a touch more enthusiasm. ‘What if we did some of the stuff we used to do as kids? You know, like old times. Just for tomorrow evening. You game?’

Keith blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion, but it didn’t take long for the warmth of the idea to sink in. The thought of chasing down memories with Lance, of losing themselves in the simple fun they used to have, was too tempting to pass up.

‘I’m game.’ Keith said, his voice steady but laced with an unmistakable fondness. ‘I’ll be free after work—late afternoon-ish.’

‘Perfect!’ Lance practically yelled, and Keith had to pull the phone away from his ear for a second. ‘And don’t even think about flaking on me, Kogane. I’ll drag you out of that stank-ass apartment if I have to.’

Keith chuckled, shaking his head. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. Just don’t make me regret it.’

‘You’ll love it,’ Lance promised, his tone so confident it was almost obnoxious. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be epic. Just wait.’

As the call ended, Keith had felt lighter, a little less weighed down by the day. He didn’t know what Lance had planned, but somehow, he was sure it would be exactly what he needed. It always was with Lance.

       *  *  *  *

‘Lance, slow down!’

Seven-year-old Keith’s voice cracked with frustration as he trailed behind his overly energetic best friend. His legs, though long for his age, couldn’t quite keep up with Lance’s seemingly endless reserves of energy. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the cracked sidewalk, painting the pair as two small, bounding silhouettes—well, one bounding and one struggling to keep pace.

‘Come on, Keith!’ Lance called over his shoulder, not slowing down in the slightest. ‘You’re gonna miss it if you don’t hurry up!’

‘Miss what?’ Keith huffed, his small fists clenching at his sides as he forced himself to keep moving. ‘It’s not like it’s going anywhere!’

Lance turned mid-stride, running backward now, which only annoyed Keith more. How was he this coordinated? His grin was wide and mischievous, his dark hair a mess from all the running. ‘The creek, dummy! We’ve gotta get there before the frogs come out. That’s when it’s the best!’

Keith groaned, dragging his sneakers against the pavement. ‘Why do you even want to see frogs? They’re slimy and gross.’

Lance gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as though Keith had just insulted his entire family. ‘Slimy and gross?! Keith, take that back right now! Frogs are awesome.’

Keith rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at his lips. Lance had this way of making even the most boring things sound like the greatest adventure in the world. ‘Fine,’ He muttered. ‘They’re okay.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Lance said, turning back around and sprinting ahead again. ‘Now hurry up before they all jump away!’

By the time Keith finally caught up, he was out of breath and slightly annoyed, but the sight before him made his irritation fade. The creek was more of a trickling stream, winding its way through a small wooded area behind their neighbourhood. The water was crystal clear, reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun, and the air smelled earthy and fresh, like damp leaves and cool soil.

Lance was already crouched at the water’s edge, poking at a rock with a stick. ‘Look, Keith!’ He exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. ‘There’s, like, a million tadpoles over here!’

Keith wandered over, trying to act like he wasn’t that interested, but as he peered into the water, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity. The tiny black shapes wriggling beneath the surface looked almost alien, their little tails propelling them through the shallows.

‘See?’ Lance said, shooting Keith a triumphant grin. ‘Told you it was cool.’

‘They’re...okay,’ Keith admitted, crouching beside him.

For the next hour, they hopped from rock to rock, poked at the water with sticks, and tried (unsuccessfully) to catch a frog. Lance managed to slip and land butt-first in the mud, which Keith found absolutely hilarious, though Lance insisted it was part of his master plan to “blend in with the frogs.”

Afterward, they climbed a nearby tree—Lance scrambling up like a monkey, Keith more hesitant but determined not to be left behind. They sat on a thick branch, their legs swinging in the warm breeze as they watched the sky turn shades of pink and orange.

‘See?’ Lance said, nudging Keith with his elbow. ‘Wasn’t this way better than sitting at home?’

Keith shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he was actually having fun. ‘I guess.’

Lance rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. ‘You’re the worst at admitting when you’re having a good time, you know that?’

Keith didn’t respond, but deep down, he knew Lance was right. And as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars began to appear, Keith thought to himself that maybe—just maybe—Lance had a point.

Keith felt the gentle nudge on his shoulder once more, and as he turned to see Lance, he was struck by the sight before him. Lance’s skin glimmered softly in the muted glow of the night, each freckle on his cheeks resembling tiny stars, delicately scattered across the landscape of his youthful face. The ethereal beauty of the moment made Keith’s heart swell.

Lance flashed a bright, toothy smile that seemed to radiate warmth. With an excited grin, he pointed toward the expansive canvas of the night sky, where countless stars twinkled like scattered diamonds. “This was also why I brought you here!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Keith followed the direction of Lance's finger, allowing himself to be drawn into the vastness above. The deep purple hues of twilight framed the stars, creating a breathtaking panorama that made Keith’s breath hitch. For a fleeting moment, he felt completely entranced, as if he were floating within the cosmos itself.

‘My big sis Veronica would always take me here to catch frogs,’ Lance continued, his voice filled with nostalgia. ‘But my Abuela would bring me here when night falls, just to do this! I think it’s called... stargazing? Anyway—pretty cool, right?’

‘It's amazing,’ Keith replied, still gazing up in awe. ‘I never realized how many stars there actually are. I always thought it was just… dark.’

Lance chuckled softly, ‘Yeah, most people don’t see them until they come to places like this. It’s kind of magical, right? Look over there!’ He pointed to a cluster of stars, their brightness contrasting with the darker expanse surrounding them. ‘That’s the Orion constellation! My Abuela used to tell me stories about the hunters in the sky.’

‘Really? What kind of stories?’ Keith asked, intrigued, shifting his gaze to where Lance pointed. 

‘Oh, like how Orion was this great hunter who chased after all the creatures on Earth. He’s even up there battling a bull—Taurus—if you look closely!’ Lance’s excitement was palpable as he matched his hands in a mock struggle, mimicking the celestial battle. 

‘Wow, I didn’t know the stars had their own adventures,’ Keith said, a grin spreading across his face. ‘We should come back here more often. Maybe we could try to catch some frogs next time too.’

‘Definitely! And I could teach you my secret frog-catching techniques!’ Lance laughed, bouncing slightly on his toes. ‘But for now, let’s find the Big Dipper. It’s up there somewhere…’

As they continued to scan the heavens, the air was filled with their laughter and the magic of shared moments, a bond deepening under the vast, starry sky.

    *  *  *  *

Shiro had indeed arrived in town earlier than Keith had anticipated. 

It was during the midday lunch break when Keith found himself tucked away in the corner of the workshop, poised to finally begin sketching the intricate layout of his latest project. 

The soft sounds of the bustling workshop surrounded him, but suddenly, as if life had an outing for him, the cheerful jingle from the front doorbell cut through the ambient noise. Just as he was about to have a cow and possibly have a meltdown over the interruption, he heard Shiro’s unmistakable voice resonating through the small, cluttered space. ‘Keith, your favourite brother is here!’

With an exaggerated sigh that echoed his exhaustion, Keith reluctantly set his art supplies down on a nearby table, the familiar scent of paint and varnish still lingering in the air. He gathered himself and walked toward the front of the workshop, where Shiro awaited him, radiating an energy that was hard to ignore.

Standing at the door, Shiro was still clad in his impeccable pilot uniform, which showcased his tall, athletic frame. The tailored outfit highlighted his broad shoulders, while the badges on his chest gleamed under the fluorescent lights, a testament to his numerous accomplishments. In one hand, he held a crinkling plastic bag filled with takeout, the tantalizing aroma wafting through the air and teasing Keith’s appetite. Shiro’s face was lit up with a broad smile, his black hair tousled and a striking streak of white cascading down across his forehead, accentuating his deep, onyx eyes that sparkled with warmth and mischief.

In many ways, Shiro was one of the few people Keith truly trusted, a rare, brotherly bond forged through years of shared experiences. He was the steadfast presence in Keith’s life, offering support through every high and low. Even after graduating from flight school, Shiro continued to be a guiding light for him. He had always been there to lend a helping hand, whether it was assisting with homework, navigating life's challenges, or untangling the complexities of his identity. In fact, Shiro was the very first person Keith had felt comfortable confiding in about his sexuality, sharing his feelings of attraction towards men rather than women—a revelation that had surprisingly brought them closer together than ever before.

But Shiro was also the first person he confided in about his–

‘Takeout delivery for you, Keith,’ Shiro announced with a warm smile that lit up his face.

Keith reached for the paper bag, feeling the heat radiate from it, and eagerly opened it to inhale the fragrant, mouth-watering aroma wafting from within. ‘The sweet and sour pork?’ He asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

‘In there,’ Shiro confirmed, his grin widening as Keith leaned closer to sneak a peek inside the bag.

Keith pulled out a container with a satisfying clatter. ‘And teriyaki noodles?

‘Yes,’ Shiro replied, his playful tone laced with amusement, unable to hide the smile that danced on his lips.

Keith’s excitement continued to build. ‘The thick—’

‘Yes, Keith, the thick ones,’ Shiro interrupted, chuckling at Keith’s uncontainable enthusiasm. 

Keith sighed in relief, thanking the stars for his brother’s thoughtful choices. ‘Thank you.’ He took another deep breath, letting the tantalizing mix of sweet and savoury scents envelop him. Despite knowing the Chinese takeout was likely to send him sprinting to the bathroom later—something he willingly accepted for the sake of this culinary delight—he couldn’t suppress his eagerness to dive into the meal.

‘How’s Europe?’ He finally asked as they strolled further down the shop's cluttered messes, the floor drowning in tools and spare parts, clutching the bag tightly like a treasure.

‘Pretty amazing!’ Shiro said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘I got to explore a little bit of Switzerland, and it was absolutely breathtaking. The mountains were covered in this thick blanket of snow, and the air was so crisp and clean. I even had time off to go up a small trail to a few of the smaller peaks. It was a challenge, but the views were worth every bit of effort.’

Keith listened intently, his curiosity piqued. ‘That sounds cool. Did you try any local food? I’ve heard Swiss fondue is to die for.’

‘Oh, my, god, it is. I had the most delicious fondue in a tiny little chalet,’ Shiro recalled, a dreamy expression on his face. ‘I sat outside, and the sun was shining. I can still taste the creamy cheese mixed with white wine... it was heavenly.’

Keith laughed, imagining Shiro in a picturesque mountain setting surrounded by steaming pots of cheese. But as soon as the image came, he pouted, and he narrowed his eyes at Shiro as they made it back to Keith’s little nook. ‘You should have brought some back for me. I’d trade a lifetime of takeout for just one bite of that fondue.’

Shiro grinned, nudging him playfully. ‘Next time, I promise. But you need to come with me sometime. It’s not the same telling you about it from halfway across the world.’

‘I guess.’ Keith replied, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought of travelling together. ‘Just as long as there’s plenty of food involved. But seriously, don’t forget the thick teriyaki noodles either.’

Shiro laughed, shaking his head. ‘Deal. Now, let’s not waste any more time. We’ve got some serious eating to do, I’m starving after that flight.’

‘That makes two of us.’ Keith said as he began unloading the bag. First the food containers, then the utensils.

As they settled into their seats, the aroma of the meal wafted around them, captivating their senses. A delightful spread was laid out before them, each dish tantalizingly arranged. With a palpable eagerness, they dove into the feast, their forks and knives moving swiftly as they savoured each bite. Keith closed his eyes momentarily, allowing the rich flavours of the savoury delicacies to dance across his palate. The warmth of the dishes and the exquisite blend of spices made every mouthful an indulgent experience, igniting a symphony of taste that wrapped around him like a comforting embrace. Each serving was devoured hungrily, a testament to the delightful culinary creations that seemed almost too good to resist.

He let out a loud moan of pleasure while rolling his eyes to the back of his head as soon as the burst of the sweet and sour sauce soaks his tongue. 

Shiro chuckled softly as he casually tossed a tender piece of crispy chicken into his mouth, savouring the flavour. A satisfied grin spread across his face as he turned to his older brother.

‘God. You have no idea how much I love you right now,’ Keith exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine appreciation as he swallowed down a mouthful of noodles. He hasn’t eaten good food like this in forever.

‘Ha, do I now?’ Shiro teased back, a playful glint in his eyes. He paused for a moment, eyeing the takeout containers scattered across the workbench. ‘Maybe I should start ordering these takeouts more often to keep you happy,’ He added with a laugh.

Keith, ever the enthusiastic eater, quickly shoved another handful of noodles into his mouth, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. With his mouth completely full, he attempted to respond but his words came out muffled and barely intelligible. ‘Wess, pwease,’ He managed to say, gesturing toward the remaining food with a comical mix of desperation and delight.

Shiro couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking his head with amusement as he nodded, giving his silent approval for another serving. 

As they settled into the comfort of each other's presence, they continued to eat, surrounded by the warm, inviting aroma of takeout. Minutes passed in peaceful silence, the kind of quiet that spoke volumes. This was their routine—an unspoken agreement that had formed since Keith graduated college a year ago. These visits had transformed into a cherished ritual, whether they were at Keith’s modest apartment, Shiro’s cozy space, or even here in the repair shop, with its array of tools and mechanical parts. 

Despite Keith’s stubbornness in admitting it, he found a deep longing for these moments. They were soothing, a balm for his soul during his darkest days. He felt grateful for Shiro’s steadfast presence, especially since he, very bravely, began to confess his greatest secret about—

‘Hey, Keith, how’s Lance doing? I realize I haven’t seen him since graduation,’ Shiro asked casually, cutting through the haze of Keith’s swirling thoughts.

The question landed with a weight Keith didn’t expect, pulling him out of his head and back into the present. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, and glanced across the room where Shiro sat, arms crossed and wearing that typical older brother expression—half curious, half probing.

Keith cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, the cheap metal chair creaking beneath him. ‘He’s doing pretty well,’ He said, his voice a touch vulnerable, like just talking about him makes Keith’s stomach flutter. He paused, staring down at the remains of his takeout—the half-eaten noodles that suddenly didn’t seem all that appetizing. ‘Job’s going well, he and his family are healthy, and—’

‘Still dating that pompous douchebag?’

Keith exhaled sharply through his nose, a mixture of frustration and resignation. ‘Yeah,’ He muttered, dragging the word out like it physically hurt to say it. ‘Lance didn’t mention him last night when we talked, but... I assume so.’

Shiro raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching in a way that told Keith he wasn’t a fan of Damien Pierce either—not that anyone would have expected him to be. ‘That guy’s got ‘red flag’ written all over him. You know that, right?’

Keith didn’t respond right away. He just nodded, his gaze fixed on his food, though he wasn’t really seeing it anymore. The familiar flare of irritation was back, bubbling under his skin and threatening to rise to the surface.

It always happened when Damien came up. Keith didn’t even have to think about it—it was a reflex, as automatic as breathing. His blood would boil, his jaw would tighten, and every muscle in his body would scream no at the mere mention of the guy’s name.

Because Damien Pierce was the kind of person who didn’t have to try to get under Keith’s skin; his mere existence was enough. Damien was polished and smug, with that air of effortless confidence that came from being the son of a billionaire. He was the kind of guy who’d probably never worked a hard day in his life but still walked around like he owned the world—which, to be fair, he kind of did.

The story was simple: Lance and Damien had met a year ago at the same company. Lance, ever the hard-working marketing executive intern, had managed to catch the eye of Damien, the CEO who’d inherited the company and the dough from his dad. It was the kind of cliché romance you’d find in a bad rom-com, complete with fancy dinners, extravagant gifts, and Damien flashing his wealth like it was a personality trait.

Keith tried to be happy for Lance. Really, he did. Lance deserved happiness—he deserved someone who’d treat him like the amazing, vibrant person he was. And if Damien did that, then who was Keith to complain?

But it wasn’t that simple, was it?

No matter how much Keith tried to swallow it down, there was a part of him that just couldn’t stand the thought of Lance with someone like Damien. Maybe it was because Damien didn’t seem to appreciate Lance’s quirks the way Keith did. Or maybe it was because Keith had spent years by Lance’s side, knowing him better than anyone else, only to watch some rich, self-absorbed CEO swoop in and claim him.

‘Keith?’ Shiro’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back once again.

Keith glanced up, meeting his brother’s eyes. ‘Yeah?’

‘You sure you’re okay?’

Keith forced a small, unconvincing smile. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’

But as he sat there, picking at his food and pretending he wasn’t bothered, Keith couldn’t help but feel like his emotions were anything but fine. It wasn’t jealousy. Or, at least, he didn’t think it was. It was… complicated.

And in true Keith fashion, he pushed it all aside. Because if there was one thing he was good at, it was pretending feelings didn’t exist—especially when it came to Lance.

Shiro tilted his head slightly, his perceptive gaze narrowing in on Keith’s obvious distraction. ‘You sure you’re fine? Because you’re staring at that takeout box like it personally offended you.’

Keith sighed, putting the chopsticks down with more force than necessary. ‘It’s not the food, okay? Lance called me last night.’

At that, Shiro leaned back in his chair, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. ‘Oh, yeah? And what did Lance have to say?’

Keith glanced up, immediately catching the teasing lilt in Shiro’s voice. He scowled, his defences already rising. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking. He just wants to hang out tonight.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Shiro said, crossing his arms as his smirk widened. ‘Because Lance just happens to call you at night to say he wants to hang out. Totally innocent, nothing to read into there.’

Keith groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘Can you not? He said he wanted to do the same stuff we used to do as kids. You know, stupid things like catching frogs by the creek or climbing trees. That’s it.’

‘Ah,’ Shiro said, nodding sagely. ‘So, a romantic stroll down memory lane. Very nostalgic. Very heartfelt.’

‘Shiro.’

‘Relax,’ Shiro said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t falter. ‘I’m just saying, it’s sweet. You guys have that kind of bond that’s hard to come by. It’s good you’re keeping it alive.’

Keith tried not to let the warmth of those words reach him, but it was hard not to when Shiro said stuff like that. ‘Yeah, well, it’s nothing deep. We’re just... friends.’

‘Right,’ Shiro said, drawing out the word in a way that made Keith’s scowl deepen. ‘Just friends who call each other every day and plan to recreate their childhood adventures. Sounds totally platonic.’

Keith glared. ‘I regret ever telling you my feelings about him. I’m not having this conversation with you.’

Shiro laughed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. ‘Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But seriously, it’s good you’re spending time with him. You two were inseparable back then. Remember when you both came home covered in mud, and Mom almost had a heart attack because she thought you’d fallen into a swamp?’

Keith snorted despite himself, the memory vivid in his mind. ‘That wasn’t my fault. Lance dared me to see how close I could get to the edge without falling in.’

‘And you fell in anyway,’ Shiro pointed out, grinning.

‘Because Lance pushed me!’ Keith shot back, his voice rising slightly as he felt the indignation of that day all over again.

‘Uh-huh,’ Shiro said, shaking his head in amusement. ‘Sounds about right. He’s always been trouble, hasn’t he?’

Keith let out a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. ‘Yeah. But he’s good trouble.’

Shiro’s smile softened, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of teasing in his voice. ‘He’s lucky to have you, you know. Not everyone would stick around through all the chaos.’

Keith shrugged, trying to play it off. ‘Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep him grounded.’

‘Or maybe you just like being there,’ Shiro said, his tone light but pointed.

Keith didn’t reply to that, choosing instead to poke at his food again. But deep down, he knew Shiro was probably right. He always was.

‘Well, I gotta go get something to clean all this up.’ Shiro said, pushing himself to his feet and stretching. ‘But I’m glad you’re hanging out with him tonight. Just don’t let him rope you into anything too dangerous, alright? I’d rather not have to explain to the ER why you’re covered in frog slime again.’

Keith rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the faint smile on his face. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

As Shiro left the room, Keith leaned back in his chair, staring at the now-cold noodles in his box. Tomorrow was going to be... interesting, to say the least. But, in a way, he was looking forward to it. Because with Lance, things always had a way of feeling like an adventure—even if it was just frogs and trees.

*  *  *

Keith had spent the entire evening in a battle against himself, pacing his apartment, rifling through his wardrobe with an uncharacteristic hesitance. Every piece of clothing he owned suddenly seemed wrong—too stiff, too casual, too try-hard, too bland. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much. It was just a trip through the woods. Just fresh air and dirt beneath their boots. Just Lance.

And yet, here he was, staring at himself in the mirror like his reflection held the answers he couldn’t grasp. He considered a hoodie, then discarded it. Too casual. A button-up? Too formal. His fingers hovered over his familiar red jacket, but he hesitated. Would it be too much? Would it seem like he was trying too hard? 

His fingers dragged through his unruly black hair, falling in soft, messy waves around his face. He hesitated before running a hand through it, gently pushing it back. His fingers lingered, smoothing down stray strands, before he let them drop to his sides. He gave up after realizing that his hair always had a mind of their own. He let out a slow, steadying breath, rolling his shoulders before finally pulling on his black leather jacket—the same one he’d had for years, worn and familiar. A safeguard, just in case the evening turned cold.

Just in case Lance looked at him in a way that made Keith feel too exposed.

Even as he got dressed, his heart pounded in his chest, an anxious yet eager rhythm thrumming beneath his skin. He wasn’t nervous. At least, that’s what he told himself. But if he wasn’t, why was he smoothing his shirt for the hundredth time? Why was he adjusting his jacket, making sure it fell perfectly on his shoulders?

Why did it feel like no matter what he did, he would never feel ready ?

He exhaled sharply, bracing his hands against the dresser. His reflection stared back at him, dark eyes filled with uncertainty and a sense of hesitance. Get a grip. It was just Lance—Lance, with his effortless charm and stupid jokes, who always made everything seem so easy.

Lance, who could look at him with a single raised brow and make Keith feel like every layer of his defences had been stripped away.

His fingers clenched against the wood, jaw tightening. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t want to look good for him. But the memory of Lance’s gaze—soft, appraising, sometimes teasing but never unkind—lingered in his mind like an echo, making something tighten in his chest.

Would Lance notice? Would he say something? Would he flash that grin, tip his head to the side, and let something cocky slip from his lips—only for his expression to betray something softer beneath it?

Keith couldn't quite pinpoint when it started. The weird, fluttery feelings in the pit of his stomach whenever Lance was near. Maybe it was always there, buried somewhere deep in the back of his mind—just a flicker of something when Lance would smile at him, or when their banter would take on a playful edge, just a little more than it should. But it wasn’t until Lance had casually mentioned that he and Damien were seeing each other that the feeling truly flared up. The words hadn’t even been spoken with much weight, but for some reason, they hit Keith like a punch to the gut, a sharp realization that he wasn’t as indifferent to Lance’s relationships as he thought he was. Something inside him twisted, and he couldn't ignore the discomfort that gnawed at him after that moment.

But this wasn’t that. He knew it wasn’t. This was just a hangout between friends, just another evening of jokes, comfortable silences, and laughter—nothing more, nothing less. He and Lance had always been best friends, and Keith couldn’t imagine a better dynamic between them. So why did it feel like something more? Why did his heart race a little when Lance’s gaze lingered a little too long, or when their shoulders brushed in a way that made Keith’s chest feel tight? No, Keith told himself firmly. It was just the way things were—friends, always. And that was enough.

The knock at the door came sharp and clear, jolting him from his thoughts. His pulse stuttered. He barely had time to grab the cologne Shiro had given him during his last visit, pressing the nozzle once against his neck, before his feet moved on instinct.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Lance stood in the dim glow of the hallway, blue eyes bright and gleaming, his signature grin tilting at the corners of his lips. That effortless kind of joy, the lightness that came so naturally to him, made something twist in Keith’s chest.

Keith's eyes flickered over Lance's outfit, taking in the snug-fitting shirt that clung to his muscles and the faded jeans that seemed to mold effortlessly to his form. There was an easy casualness to the way he carried himself as if he had thrown on the clothes without a second thought, but they suited him so well it felt intentional. The vibrant colours of his shirt highlighted the ceiling light-kissed glow of his skin, and each laugh that broke free from his lips seemed to complement the carefree vibe of his style. Keith couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of irritation mixed with admiration—how was it possible for someone to look effortlessly striking while he could barely manage to make his own outfit look anything more than functional?

‘Hey, man,’ Lance greeted, voice lilting with amusement. His gaze flickered over Keith’s outfit, a knowing gleam in his eye. ‘Looking sharp. You dress like that for all your nature hikes, or is this just a special occasion?’

Keith swallowed, gripping the edge of the door a little tighter than necessary. His face felt warm, but he scoffed, rolling his eyes in an attempt to push down the way his heart pounded against his ribs. ‘It’s practical.’

Lance hummed, unconvinced but pleased, rocking back on his heels. His smile widened just a fraction, and Keith could feel it—an energy, an understanding, something unspoken threading between them like an invisible tether.

Keith didn’t have a name for it. He didn’t dare name it.

‘Ready to go?’ Lance asked, tilting his head.

Keith took one last breath—one last moment to steady the rush in his veins—before stepping forward, shutting the door behind him.

‘Yeah,’ He muttered, voice softer than he meant it to be.

And as they walked side by side out of the hallway, he wondered if Lance could hear his heartbeat in the silence between them.

It was only when they stepped out into the evening light that Keith found a temporary distraction, the weight of his thoughts receding slightly, overtaken by the quiet beauty of the world around him. The setting sun bathed everything in a wash of fiery reds and oranges, mixing into soft pinks and yellows that bled across the horizon like some kind of unfinished painting. The glow was warm, but it wasn’t just the setting sun Keith found captivating—it was Lance, walking beside him, the light catching his caramel skin in a way that made him look almost ethereal, like something beyond reach, too perfect to exist in the real world. Keith found himself staring, mesmerized by the way the light seemed to accentuate every detail, from the sharpness of Lance’s jawline to the way his hair tousled in the breeze.

Keith’s heart thudded in his chest, and for a moment, he felt exposed. Somehow, Lance would notice and see the way his breath caught and the way his eyes followed Lance’s every movement. His cheeks burned. He didn’t know why, but the heat in his face was undeniable. Maybe it was the way Lance moved, so effortlessly, so sure of himself, that made everything inside Keith twist uncomfortably. Maybe it was the fact that Lance was so unbothered by it all, so carefree, while Keith felt like he was sinking under the weight of it all.

His gaze snapped down to the sidewalk in a panic, hoping Lance hadn’t caught him staring. The concrete beneath his boots suddenly seemed too interesting, like if he looked hard enough, maybe the world would just disappear and he could forget about this strange, growing feeling in his chest.

But of course, Lance noticed. Keith could already hear that chuckle, light and teasing, the sound that always seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach, mixing with a strange unease. ‘So, I got a text from Shiro,’ Lance said, his voice easy and nonchalant, like they hadn’t just been walking in silence, like Keith hadn’t been fighting with the urge to throw himself in front of a moving truck just to stop his own feelings. ‘He’s back in town today?’

Keith tried to tamp down the heat in his face, his fingers clenched tight at his sides as if that would somehow stop the warmth from spreading. He forced a deep breath through his nose, trying to focus on anything else but the fact that Lance’s gaze was still lingering on him, even if it was only for a fraction of a second. ‘Yeah, I think he's officially travelled out,’ Keith managed to say, his voice more strained than he wanted it to be.

It didn’t matter, though. His heart was still pounding, the words still didn’t quite sound right in his ears, and all he could think about was how effortlessly Lance was handling it all.

Lance stood just a tad bit straighter as they walked further down the dim streets, a smug grin plastered across his face. ‘And admit it,’ He began, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. ‘You’re speechless by my handsomeness, huh? Don’t deny you were just staring in awe a second ago.’

Keith felt an uncomfortable warmth rush to his cheeks, a heat that betrayed his facade of indifference. It was like a switch had been flipped; his heart, which had been merely existing up to that point, suddenly melted into a puddle of embarrassment. He silently prayed to any higher power willing to listen that Lance, with his infamous keen observation skills, wouldn’t catch on to the blush that threatened to bloom across his face. 

In all honesty, Lance's eyes were almost unnaturally sharp, capable of discerning the tiniest nuances—like he could spot a splotch of dust on a gray rug from a mile away. For a moment, Keith considered the bizarre possibility that Lance's spirit animal might have been an eagle in a past life, soaring through the skies with unparalleled vision. The thought made him chuckle internally, a small distraction from the way this conversation was making his heart race.

Clearing his throat, Keith plunged his hands deep into his pockets, his fingers curling into tight fists as he resisted the urge to punch something—preferably the silly grin off Lance’s face. ‘Pfft,’ He scoffed, attempting to inject a hint of bravado into his voice as if he were somehow unfazed. ‘Yeah, right.’ Denial, for the moment, seemed like the safest route. It was better, stayed simple, and allowed him to sidestep the complicated web of emotions swirling inside him.

Lance shifted his stance, casting Keith a side-eye filled with mischief that Keith found infuriatingly familiar. It was a look that always seemed to uncover something inside him as if Lance had some hidden key to his heart that he was playful enough to twiddle with. ‘Dude,’ Lance said, his voice a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity, ‘just admit that I’m the better-looking one out of our duo.’

Keith mentally rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in defiance as he retorted, ‘I won’t because that isn’t true.’ His voice came out a tad too defensive, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of accepting Lance's overt self-confidence felt like swallowing a bitter pill, one that threatened to dissolve his carefully constructed facade.

Their banter came to a pause as they reached Lance’s Sudan parked along the sidewalk. Lance gracefully swirled around to the driver’s seat, still wearing that infuriating grin, effortlessly charming even in the dull task of getting behind the wheel. ‘Well, I’m pretty sure Damien at least thinks I’m handsome,’ Lance quipped casually as if the mention of the name wouldn’t unleash a hurricane of emotions within Keith.

The mere mention of Damien made Keith’s chest tighten—a peculiar, unexpected irritation bubbling up within him. Instinctively, he felt the overwhelming urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, as if such an act could physically rid him of the gnawing jealousy threatening to surface. It was frustrating; Keith had never considered himself the jealous type, certainly not over someone as harmless as Damien. He knew how Lance operated—just a little playful tease meant to shake things up—but still, emotions surged through him like a wildfire, unwelcome and yet impossible to extinguish.

In that moment, as he stood there, lost in a flurry of thoughts and feelings, he couldn’t help but ponder how Lance had a way of stirring up the most tumultuous storm within him. There was a strange blend of annoyance and admiration wrapped neatly together. How could one person be so infuriatingly handsome and undeniably charming all at once? Keith couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all, even as he desperately tried to maintain his stoic composure. After all, banter was part of their dynamic, a puzzle piece that fit perfectly, even if it occasionally left him feeling just a bit off-kilter.

As they both settled into the car, a familiar routine enveloped them. Lance turned the ignition, the engine humming to life, but he quickly sensed the absence of Keith's usual banter. With a playful elbow, he nudged Keith on the forearm, hoping to draw him out from his quiet thoughts. 

Keith's mind, previously adrift in a sea of contemplation, was pulled back to the present. He lifted his gaze, only to find it colliding with Lance's eyes, vibrant and full of life. 

Lance's lips curved into a warm, gentle grin—a smile that spoke volumes about their camaraderie, a connection forged not just through shared experiences but through fifteen years of unwavering friendship. It was a bond that ran deeper than the surface level, intertwined with countless memories and moments that continued to shape their lives together. In that fleeting moment, everything felt right, resonating with the weight of their history and the promise of many more adventures to come.

‘You okay, Keith?’ Lance asked, his voice steady and warm, an inviting tone that reflected his genuine concern. He wasn’t pushy; that was never his style. Instead, he exuded a quiet confidence, like a friend ready to listen without judgment.

Keith inhaled deeply, making an effort to calm the twisting nerves in his stomach and the rapid thudding of his heart. He nodded, hoping the smile he offered would carry the optimism he felt inside. ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ he replied, his voice a touch more certain than he felt.

Lance nodded back, his expression brightening as he turned to face the front once more. He stepped off the sidewalk and into the road, the world bustling around them. A broad grin spread across his face, stretching from ear to ear. ‘Alright, let’s go, Mullet!’ he exclaimed, the playful nickname rolling off his tongue with affection.

      *  *  *  *

‘Keith, I’m not ready for this…!’ Lance muttered, voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked on the floor like he could will himself to disappear if he just didn’t look up. His fingers picked at the frayed edges of his sleeves, fidgeting, restless. It wasn’t the usual Lance—loud, dramatic, always quick with a joke or a cocky remark. This was different.

Keith sighed, rolling his eyes for show, but there was no real exasperation behind it. ‘Lance, I’ve heard you practice probably a thousand times. You’re amazing. You’ll be fine, they’re gonna love you.’ He tried to keep his voice steady, sure, because that’s what Lance needed, right? Someone to tell him that this wasn’t a big deal. That he was going to walk out there and blow everyone away, just like he always did.

But Lance didn’t look convinced. His breathing was coming faster now, shallow, his shoulders rising and falling in uneven jerks. Keith’s stomach twisted. He had seen Lance nervous before—before tests, before soccer matches, even before asking out a girl in their grade—but this was something else entirely. His usual bravado was gone, stripped away by the reality of stepping onto that stage alone. The laughter and chatter of the crowd on the other side of the curtain seemed so far away, yet pressing in on them at the same time.

Keith wasn’t the best at words. He never knew what to say when people got nervous or upset, never knew how to make things better with soft reassurances or easy smiles. That just wasn’t him. But just being here with a worrying Lance, Keith felt a gnawing helplessness settle in his chest.

Keith hesitated only a moment before reaching out, pressing a firm, steadying hand to Lance’s trembling shoulder. He wasn’t good at this—he knew that. Comfort had never come naturally to him. He was brash, blunt, too direct. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to make this better. But when it came to Lance, it didn’t matter. He was going to be there, no matter what.

‘Lance, are you okay?’ His voice was quieter this time, less sure, but the question hung in the air between them, heavy and real.

The backstage area was cramped, suffocating in a way that Keith only now realized. The air was thick, stale, and the only real light came from the stage beyond the curtains, a cascade of neon colors flashing and shifting as two eighth-graders performed some overly-rehearsed choreographed dance. The glow spilled into the small space, catching on Lance’s face, highlighting the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, the tight clench of his jaw.

Lance didn’t answer right away. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his fingers still worrying at the sleeve of his jacket, pulling and twisting the leather like it was the only thing grounding him.

Keith squeezed his shoulder slightly, hoping it would be enough. Hoping Lance would look at him, see that he wasn’t alone. That Keith wasn’t going anywhere.

Keith tightened his grip on Lance’s shoulder, not too hard, but firm enough to ground him, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this. The jittery tremble beneath his fingertips made something in Keith’s chest squeeze uncomfortably. He had never seen Lance like this—so unsure, so… small. Lance was always the confident one, the one who walked into a room like he owned it, flashing that easy grin like it was a shield against the world. But right now, standing in the dim backstage light, his breath uneven and hands unsteady, he looked fragile, like one wrong move would shatter him completely.

Keith didn’t know how to fix this. But he had to try.

He hesitated, searching for words, his mind scrambling for something—anything—that might help. Then, without really thinking, he blurted out, ‘You don’t have to be perfect, you know.’

Lance blinked, his wide, anxious eyes finally meeting Keith’s.

Keith swallowed, shifting on his feet. The words had just slipped out, but now that they were hanging between them, he realized how much he meant them. ‘You think you have to be the best at everything. That if you mess up, people are gonna stop caring, but that’s not true.’ He took a breath, forcing himself to keep going. ‘They already love you, Lance. You could get up there and forget the lyrics and they’d still love you. Because it’s you.’

Lance stared at him, something unreadable in his expression. The tension in his shoulders didn’t disappear completely, but Keith could feel the shift—the tiniest exhale of breath, the smallest fraction of ease settling into his frame. The weight of Keith’s words seemed to sink into him, settle somewhere deep.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the distant hum of the stage lights, the muffled applause from the audience beyond the curtain. Then, slowly, Lance straightened his back, his fingers finally stilling against his sleeves.

‘You really think so?’ He murmured. His voice was quieter than usual, missing its usual teasing lilt, but there was something raw in it, something uncertain in a way Lance never usually let himself be.

Keith held his gaze. ‘Yeah,’ He said as if it were the easiest truth in the world.

Lance let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly. ‘Damn, Keith. Didn’t know you had it in you.’ But his voice was lighter now, and when he rolled his shoulders, Keith could tell some of the weight had lifted.

Keith snorted, shoving him lightly. ‘Don’t make it weird.’

Lance laughed, and just like that, the last of his nerves seemed to settle. He gave Keith one last glance—one that felt like something unspoken was being exchanged between them, something neither of them fully understood yet—before stepping forward. The stagehand gestured for him to move, and with one last deep breath, Lance pushed through the curtain, stepping into the golden glow of the stage.

Keith stepped closer to the edge of the curtain, just enough to see without being seen. He folded his arms over his chest, watching as Lance approached the microphone, his hands steady now, his shoulders relaxed like he belonged there.

And then, Lance started to sing.

The first note alone sent a shiver down Keith’s spine.

Lance’s voice, rich and smooth, filled the auditorium effortlessly, weaving through the air like something tangible, something alive. The old Spanish ballad he had chosen was hauntingly beautiful, his words rolling with warmth and longing, each syllable coated in emotion. It was raw and honest in a way Keith had never heard before. He had listened to Lance sing plenty of times—during practices, humming absentmindedly, even dramatically belting songs just to annoy him—but this was different. This wasn’t just singing. This was something deeper.

The audience fell silent, completely captivated. Even Keith, who had always known Lance was good, found himself breathless.

But more than anything, he felt proud.

Proud that Lance had done it, that he had pushed through his fear. Proud that he had believed him, even if just for a moment. Proud that, maybe, just maybe, something Keith had said had helped him realize his own worth.

Keith watched as Lance finished his song, the final note lingering in the air like an echo of something unforgettable. The crowd erupted into applause, and cheers filled the room as Lance grinned, breathing heavily and his eyes wide with exhilaration.

And Keith, standing there in the shadows, couldn’t stop the small, rare smile that tugged at his lips.

Because even then—at thirteen, before he understood anything about feelings or what this strange, swelling warmth in his chest meant—he knew one thing for sure.

Lance was meant to shine. And Keith would always be there, watching from the wings. And he didn’t mind.

      *  *  *  *

Lance’s car glided smoothly along the city’s bustling streets, the soft sounds of the radio filling the space between them. He hummed along to the familiar melody, the gentle rhythm creating a comfortable backdrop to their quiet ride. Keith leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, watching as the world outside blurred by, lost in thought.

After several minutes of silence, which felt increasingly heavy, Keith turned to Lance. ‘How’s work?’ he asked, his voice breaking through the stillness. It was hard to believe that they hadn’t spent any quality time together in over a week, their schedules tangled in a web of late shifts and demanding commitments. Plus, Damien had monopolized their friend’s time, insisting on a weekend retreat with his boyfriend for some much-needed “quality time.”

Lance shot him a playful smile, his eyes focused intently on the road ahead, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze. ‘It’s going well,’ He replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone. ‘Though I’m starting to think these new hours of my job were specifically designed to physically and socially distance me from everything and everyone I actually care about.’ His laughter rang with a mix of frustration and amusement, a sound that momentarily lightened the weight of his words.

As they continued down the road, Keith could sense the underlying tension that came with balancing work and personal life. He knew that beneath Lance’s playful demeanour lay genuine concerns about the isolation of his demanding job. And to Keith, it made his chest feel heavy all the while.

The car hummed softly beneath them, the city lights fading behind them as they drove further out. The sky darkened into a deep blue haze. The familiar rhythm of the road beneath the tires filled the silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it never was.

Lance’s voice broke through the quiet, casual but curious. ‘Oh, how’s your artwork coming along? Got that new piece started yet?’ He flicked on the turn signal, steering the car smoothly onto a narrower road.

Keith, who had been resting his head against the window, immediately groaned and buried his face into his hands, exhaustion dripping from his voice. ‘No. Not even a fucking dot was jotted on the canvas.’

Lance’s eyebrow shot up to his forehead, his lips quirking into an amused smirk. ‘Really? That doesn’t sound like the Keith I know. The man who is so determined to get an artwork piece done? So, zip? Nada?’

‘Nothing,’ Keith mumbled into his palms. ‘Work has been consuming my life.’

Lance chuckled, the sound light and teasing, but somehow, Keith felt his shoulders loosen, his frustration ebbing away into something more manageable. It was ridiculous how easily Lance could do that—how just the sound of his laughter could pull Keith back from the edge of whatever dark cloud he was sinking into. He wasn’t sure he wanted to figure out why.

‘That makes two of us,’ Lance admitted, slowing the vehicle as they approached an even narrower dirt road, leading them further into familiar territory. ‘We barely have time to hang out anymore.’

Keith let out a small chuckle. ‘I think you hang out with Hunk more than me.’

Lance grinned, throwing him a glance. ‘Well, he doesn’t live in an apartment that’s over fifteen minutes away from my place.’ He parked the car smoothly into a parallel space, the headlights illuminating the dense trees ahead, the soft shimmer of water barely visible beyond the brush.

Keith blinked, his heart skipping a beat as recognition settled in.

The creek.

Their creek.

He turned to Lance, who was already unbuckling his seatbelt, acting as if this was the most natural thing in the world. As if he hadn’t just driven them back to the very place they had spent so many summers as kids, down the familiar dirt trail, past the thick forest line, to the small, hidden creek where they used to waste hours doing nothing and everything at once.

‘I still can’t believe you wanted to bring us here.’ Keith admitted, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

The two exited the car and walked to the very entrance of the treeline, the dim sky now shrouding the whole area into darkness. Lance pulled out his phone, activated its flashlight and flashed a smile and the device in Keith’s direction. He nudged his head to the ominous trees. ‘You ready? For old times’ sake?’

Keith returned the grin and shoved his hands in his pockets. He clicked his tongue. ‘Lead the way, amigo.’

Lance chuckled at that, shaking his head as he turned toward the darkened treeline. ‘Man, I can’t believe you just said that. You’ve been spending too much time around me.’

Keith smirked, falling into step beside him as they stepped onto the dirt path, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath their boots filling the quiet space between them. ‘Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it go to your head.’

Lance swung the flashlight around, its beam cutting through the dense shadows stretching between the trees. The forest was different at night—darker, quieter, and yet still held that same familiar air of nostalgia. The place hadn’t changed much since they were kids. The trees still loomed overhead like silent watchers, their branches intertwining like an unspoken promise of secrecy. The path, though slightly overgrown, was still the same one they used to race down, their laughter echoing through the woods as they tried to see who could reach the creek first.

Keith felt something tighten in his chest at the memory. How long had it been since they had come here together? Years, at least. Life had gotten in the way—responsibilities, work, distance. And yet, somehow, here they were again, walking down the same trail, like no time had passed at all.

‘So,’ Lance said, breaking the silence as he sidestepped a stray root, ‘when was the last time we were here?’

Keith hummed, pretending to think when he actually knew the answer immediately. ‘Four years ago. Right before graduation.’

Lance let out a low whistle. ‘Damn. That long?’

Keith nodded, his gaze flickering around the trees, the shadows shifting with every step they took. ‘Yeah. You wanted to come here one last time before we all went our separate ways.’

Lance was quiet for a moment as if he was letting the memory settle in. Then, he let out a breathy chuckle. ‘That sounds like me. Always the sentimental one.’

Keith rolled his eyes, though there was no real bite behind it. ‘You cried when we left.’

Lance gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as he turned to Keith with mock betrayal. ‘Excuse you. I had something in my eye.’

Keith snorted. ‘Yeah, like three tears’ worth of something.’

Lance shoved him lightly, and Keith stumbled a step before righting himself, a small smirk tugging at his lips. The playful banter, the easy back-and-forth—it all felt so natural, so them .

They continued down the path, their footsteps the only sound aside from the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze. The deeper they went, the stronger the nostalgia grew, pressing against Keith’s ribs like a quiet ache. It was strange—coming back here after so long. It felt like stepping into a memory, a version of themselves that existed in a different time, one untouched by the weight of adulthood, of responsibilities, of feelings too complicated to name.

And then, finally, the trees parted, and the creek came into view.

The water shimmered under the moonlight, reflecting the stars above in a rippling display of silver and blue. The old fallen log they used to sit on was still there, slightly more weathered, but unchanged. The rocks they used to skip were still scattered along the banks, half-buried in the damp earth. The whole place was frozen in time, untouched by the years that had passed.

Lance let out a soft whistle. ‘Wow.’ He turned to Keith, a lopsided grin pulling at his lips. ‘Looks the same, huh?’

Keith exhaled, his hands still tucked in his pockets as he took it all in. ‘Yeah.’ His voice was quieter, softer. ‘Exactly the same.’

For a moment, neither of them spoke, just letting the weight of it all settle in. The past, the present, the time lost between the two.

Then, Lance suddenly nudged Keith with his elbow. ‘Hey. Wanna race to the log?’

Keith turned to him, raising an eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’

Lance smirked. ‘C’mon, for old times’ sake.’

Keith stared at him for a second before shaking his head, a reluctant grin breaking through. ‘You’re an idiot.’

Lance took that as a yes. ‘On three.’

Keith barely had time to react before Lance shouted, ‘Three!’ and took off sprinting.

‘Lance!’ Keith barked, but his feet were already moving, instinct kicking in as he chased after him, just like they always used to

Lance had cheated. Obviously. He always pulled that same stunt, calling “three” before actually counting properly, taking off running like the little shit he was. And, just like when they were kids, Keith had taken the bait, instincts overriding logic as he bolted after him, the sound of Lance’s laughter ringing through the trees.

Keith pushed himself harder, his boots kicking up dirt as he closed the gap between them. Lance was fast—he always had been—but Keith had the advantage of sheer determination. With a final burst of speed, he lunged forward, grabbing the back of Lance’s hoodie and yanking him to a sudden stop.

‘Hey!’ Lance yelped, stumbling as Keith used his momentum to shove past him, reaching the log first and slamming his hands down on it triumphantly. ‘I won .’

Lance groaned, dramatically throwing himself onto the ground beside the log. ‘Ugh, you cheater .’

Keith scoffed, panting slightly as he turned to him. ‘Oh, I’m the cheater? That’s rich, coming from you.’

Lance grinned at him, breathless, his chest rising and falling from the sprint. His face was flushed from exertion, and strands of hair stuck to his forehead, but his ocean-blue eyes still shone, bright with mirth.

Keith looked away before his brain could start thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about.

Lance sat up, stretching out his legs before nudging Keith’s boot with his own. ‘Alright, alright, fine. You won. Happy now?’

Keith smirked. ‘Very.’

Lance huffed but didn’t argue further. Instead, he picked up a nearby rock and tossed it toward the creek, watching as it splashed into the water. ‘Man, I forgot how much fun this place was. I mean, remember when we tried to build that shitty raft?’

Keith let out a snort, shaking his head as he sat down on the log beside him. ‘How could I forget? It sank within, like, ten seconds. ’

Lance burst out laughing. ‘Ten seconds? Generous. I swear the second we pushed it off the shore, it just—’ He mimicked an explosion with his hands, making a dramatic ‘ pchoo ’ sound.

Keith chuckled, shaking his head as the memories played vividly in his mind. The two of them, thirteen years old, soaked to the bone as their so-called “raft” completely disintegrated beneath them, leaving them flailing in the water. They had laughed so hard they could barely swim back to shore.

They spent the next hour reliving old memories—climbing the tallest trees, having ridiculous skipping rock competitions (Keith swore he had the record, but Lance refused to believe him), and even revisiting the small patch of dirt where they had once tried to dig a “secret underground hideout” before realizing that neither of them had the patience for actual manual labour.

Eventually, they settled back on the log, the adrenaline of their playful antics fading into a comfortable, tired silence. The night had fully settled in now, the moon casting silver light over the creek, its reflection shimmering across the rippling surface. The air was cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine.

Keith found himself staring at Lance again, something unfamiliar twisting deep in his chest.

Lance gazed out at the water, his features soft under the moonlight. His caramel skin glowed in the silver hue, and his dark hair was slightly tousled from the wind. His ocean-blue eyes, bright and clear, caught the moon’s reflection, making them look even more mesmerizing than usual. He looked… breathtaking.

Keith swallowed, gripping his knees tightly. Not this again.

But it was useless. Because this feeling—the weird, fluttery, all-consuming thing that took root in his chest whenever he was around Lance—wasn’t new. It had been there for years. Since high school, since before Keith even understood what it meant. It had lingered, buried deep, always gnawing at the edges of his mind.

And tonight? Tonight, with Lance sitting beside him, looking so effortlessly beautiful, laughing like they were kids again?

Keith knew .

He couldn’t keep holding this in. He couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t exist.

He was going to confess.

He didn’t care if Lance was with someone else now, he just needed to get these feelings out before they ate him up from the inside out. Heck, even a rejection was better than letting this ticking time bomb explode his soul every time he sees Lance.

After five pent-up years of suppressing these feelings, of shoving them into a box labelled "Do Not Open, " he was finally going to say it.

Keith took a breath, his pulse hammering, his fingers clenching against his jeans. He turned to Lance, opening his mouth—

But before he could say anything, Lance spoke first.

‘Keith,’ Lance said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. ‘I, uh… I actually invited you here for old times’ sake, yeah, but also because…’ He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’ve got some news.’

Keith blinked, his stomach twisting with unease. ‘Oh.’ He forced a weak chuckle. ‘That’s… funny. I, uh, actually had something I wanted to say too.’

Lance smiled, but there was something off about it—something uncertain. ‘Yeah?’

Keith nodded, inhaling deeply, trying to steady himself. ‘Yeah, I—’

But before he could even get the words out, Lance blurted, ‘Keith, I’m getting married.’

Keith’s entire world stopped.

His breath hitched, his heart stuttering in his chest. For a moment, all he could hear was the distant rush of the creek, the wind rustling through the trees, the faint echo of Lance’s words repeating in his head.

Keith, I’m getting married.

Lance was getting married.

Keith’s mouth had gone dry. His hands felt cold. His chest—where just seconds ago, excitement had bubbled up, ready to spill into a confession—now felt hollow.

Lance was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction. Keith scrambled to find one, anything to say, but his mind was blank, stuck between this isn’t real and of course, it’s real.

Somehow, through sheer force of will, he managed to croak out, ‘Oh.’

Lance’s smile turned sheepish, a little nervous. ‘Yeah, uh… it’s kinda crazy, right? But, uh, Damien proposed last week and—I mean, it just felt right . I really wanted to just scream it through the phone but I thought news this big just had to be said in person, you know?’

Keith nodded. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything right now.

Keith felt something inside him break. But still, he forced a smile—small, weak, but passable. ‘Wow,’ He said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘That’s… that’s great, Lance.’

And just like that, his confession died before it ever had the chance to live.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The world had not changed—the creek still murmured, the wind still whispered through the trees, the moon still cast its soft silver glow over them. But inside Keith’s mind, a storm raged.

His heart had not just cracked; it had shattered .

He felt every jagged edge of it, the pain lancing through him with every thundering beat. The confession that had been burning on his tongue only moments ago now felt like ash, useless and dead before it had ever truly existed.

Lance was getting married.

To Damien.

Lance was getting married, and Keith—Keith was just his best friend , the one he thought to invite here for nostalgia’s sake before breaking the news with that easy, lopsided grin, completely unaware of the devastation he had just caused.

Keith swallowed hard, staring down at his hands, his fingers clenching against his jeans so tightly his knuckles burned white. He needed to say something, anything , before the silence could betray him.

But before he could force his lips to move, Lance spoke, his voice warm and expectant.

‘Wait—what about you?’ Lance asked, nudging Keith's knee with his own. ‘You said you had something to tell me, too.’

Keith jerked slightly, dragged back to the present, his breath catching in his throat.

His confession.

The words were still there, lodged in his chest like broken glass, but now they were meaningless.

He forced a tight smile, shaking his head quickly, burying everything—his pain, his heartbreak, his stupid, stupid feelings —beneath a well-practiced mask. ‘Oh. It’s nothing,’ he said, his voice lighter than he felt, airy like it didn't matter at all. Like Lance getting married didn’t just take a dagger to Keith’s ribs and twist.

Lance's brow furrowed slightly. ‘Nothing?’

Keith nodded, shrugging for effect, because if he didn’t physically move, he might start shaking. ‘Yeah. Just… something dumb. Forget it.’

Lance studied him for a second as if trying to see through the lie, but then he let it go, smiling as he reached into his pocket.

‘Okay, but—you have to see this,’ He said, his voice tinged with excitement.

Keith barely had time to brace himself before Lance pulled something out of his jeans—a small velvet box. He flicked it open carefully, revealing a ring.

A massive, glimmering, expensive as hell engagement ring.

The diamond caught the moonlight, sending tiny fractured beams of light dancing across Lance's fingers.

Keith barely breathed.

And that? That was the final twist of the knife.

Lance grinned, turning the box toward him fully as if expecting some kind of reaction as if expecting Keith to be excited for him. ‘Wild, right?’ He said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. ‘I didn’t wear it tonight because I knew you’d notice right away. Figured I’d tell you first before you started asking questions.’

Keith stared at the ring, at the way Lance's fingers cradled it so carefully, like something precious . His mind screamed at him to react, to smile, to pretend .

But he couldn't.

He could barely hear over the roaring in his skull, the skull-splintering, chest-crushing heartache that made it impossible to focus on anything but the way his world had just collapsed in on itself.

Lance was still talking, something about how Keith was the first one outside of family to know, how he planned to tell Hunk and Pidge tomorrow, how it all still felt surreal—

But Keith could barely listen.

Because all he could think about, all he could feel, was the aching, suffocating realization that he had lost before he had even tried.

‘So, um,’ Lance began, shutting the velvet box with a soft click before tucking it back into his pocket. ‘What do ya think?’

Keith forced himself to breathe, to move , to act like the ground hadn’t just been ripped out from under him. His jaw felt locked, his throat tight, his stomach a hollow pit.

He should say something. He should smile , should tease Lance about how absurdly huge the ring was, should congratulate him like any best friend would.

But all he could manage was a slow, jerky nod. ‘Yeah… it’s, uh—it's nice.’

Lance’s lips quirked like he’d been expecting more. But if he was disappointed by Keith’s lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. Instead, his expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced over at Keith.

‘Listen, I, uh—’ Lance hesitated like he was choosing his words carefully. ‘I know this is probably weird as hell for you to hear. I mean, marriage? Me? Can you believe it?’ He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. ‘But, uh… I wanted to ask you something important.’

Keith swallowed, forcing himself to look at Lance even though every fibre of his being wanted to run. ‘Yeah?’

Lance exhaled, smiling, but there was something earnest behind it, something a little hesitant. ‘I want you to be my best man.’

Keith's breath stuttered.

Best man.

The words should have meant something different. They should have been something special , something warm and solid and meaningful between them.

But instead, they tasted like iron on his tongue, like something raw and bruised and aching.

He had spent years trying to understand these feelings. He had spent years pushing them down, making peace with the fact that Lance would never see him the same way. But even still, some part of him—some stupid, desperate part of him —had hoped .

And now, that hope was dead, buried beneath the weight of reality.

Lance was getting married.

And Keith? Keith was going to stand beside him at the altar, smiling, watching him pledge his life to someone else.

But Keith had always been there for Lance. Always. And if this was what Lance wanted—if this was what made him happy—then Keith would be there for him again, no matter how much it hurt.

So, he swallowed the lump in his throat, pushed the pain somewhere deep, and forced himself to nod. ‘Yeah, that'll be great.’

Lance’s face lit up with relief, his smile bright, warm, genuine . ‘Really? Oh man, Keith, that means a lot.’

He reached over, clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. The warmth of his palm burned through Keith’s jacket, grounding him in a reality he wished he could escape.

Keith just nodded again, swallowing down everything he wanted to say.

Lance stretched, letting out a yawn as he glanced up at the moonlit sky. ‘It’s getting late. We should probably head home.’

Keith exhaled slowly. ‘Yeah. Probably.’

They stood in unison, brushing dirt from their jeans, the weight of nostalgia still hanging between them. But now, it was tainted—no longer just a place of childhood memories, but a graveyard for something Keith had never been brave enough to say.

As they made their way back through the trees, Lance fell into step beside him, humming softly, oblivious to the hurricane inside Keith’s chest.

Keith forced his expression to stay neutral, forced himself to listen, forced himself to pretend.

Because that’s what best friends did.

And if he was anything to Lance, he was just that.

Nothing more.

And never, ever more than that.

After those four words were spoken to him a week ago, he started pondering as the days went by. No matter how much he and Lance hung out, teased each other, or just enjoyed each other’s company, Keith knew that once Lance got married, their friendship would never be the same again.

BEEP! 

BEEP! 

BEEP!

Lance groaned into his pillow once the ear-splitting siren of his alarm clock blared around the bedroom, declaring that his beauty sleep was officially over.

He flailed an arm out, slapping blindly at his nightstand until his fingers finally found the offending device. With a click , the noise cut off, and silence filled the room once more—well, aside from Lance’s miserable groaning.

He lay there for a moment, face buried in the cool fabric of his pillow, willing the universe to grant him just five more minutes . Just a little longer before he had to drag himself out of bed and pretend to be a functional adult.

Eventually, he sighed, rolling onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling.

The bed felt colder than usual.

That was the first thing he noticed—the lack of warmth, the missing presence of the man who was supposed to be next to him.

Lance turned his head, eyes landing on the empty space beside him, the sheets still smoothed out from last night.

Huh.

Damien must have left early again.

Lance squinted at the clock. 7:00 AM. Yeah, that made sense. Damien had been swamped with work lately, always heading out before Lance even had the chance to mumble a sleepy goodbye. He figured he must already be at the office, tackling whatever high-stakes business/CEO stuff that needed tackling.

With a yawn, Lance finally peeled himself out of bed, stretching his arms above his head until he felt a satisfying pop in his spine. He shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and blinked blearily at his reflection.

A handsome, but very tired man stared back at him.

He sighed dramatically. Beauty sleep was a necessity, not a luxury.

After brushing his teeth, doing his morning skincare routine (an organized schedule of moisturizer, toner, face wash, and cleanser), and taming his bedhead into something that resembled an actual hairstyle, Lance went to the closet. He rifled through his clothes until he found an outfit that screamed, "I’m a responsible intern who totally knows what I’m doing."

Dark slacks, crisp button-downs, and a blazer that made him feel like a corporate badass? Check.

Marketing executive intern mode: activated.

As he poured himself a quick cup of coffee in the kitchen, his mind wandered.

It had been two weeks since the actual proposal and a week since he told everyone—his family, his friends, Keith—about the engagement.

And it still didn’t feel real.

He remembered how Damien proposed as clear as day. It was your typical dinner date night when Damien decided to take a detour from their ride home to an extravagant fireworks show made just for him. Lance was so busy being transfixed on all of the gorgeous lights that he didn’t notice Damien kneel down beside him, holding open a sleek velvet box that treasured inside, probably the biggest and most expensive diamond ring ever. Damien said your typical love declaration with his big green eyes and sheepish smile, and Lance just said yes after a beat.

Lance grinned to himself as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and staring at his left ring finger with the diamond ring now wrapped around it. He had been so nervous to tell people, not because he wasn’t sure about Damien (he was ), but because saying it out loud made it all the more real .

But the moment he saw the way his mamá’s face lit up with joy, the way his sisters squealed in excitement, the way Hunk wrapped him in a bear hug that nearly crushed his ribs—it all settled into something warm and solid in his chest.

And Keith—

Lance’s smile softened as he leaned against the counter, fingers curled loosely around his coffee mug.

He hadn’t been sure how Keith would react. They’d been friends forever, but Keith had always been… Keith . Hard to read, quick to deflect, never one to get overly sentimental about things. Lance had braced himself for an awkward pause, for one of Keith’s classic non-answers or some dry remark meant to dodge emotions altogether.

But then— Keith had agreed.

Lance let out a quiet breath, warmth blooming in his chest at the memory. Keith had nodded, said yeah, that’ll be great , and that was it. Simple. No hesitation, no reluctance. And yet, something about it felt big , like a solid weight pressing into Lance’s ribs.

Keith was going to be his best man .

The realization settled deep, stirring something in him that he couldn’t quite name.

Keith had always been there. Through every dumb middle school drama, through high school competitions and college stress, through heartbreaks and triumphs and nights spent at shitty diners at 2 AM, laughing over bad coffee. It was just them , through it all—Keith steady and quiet, Lance loud and larger than life, balancing each other out in a way that had always felt effortless.

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him that Keith had agreed so easily. Maybe it was just Keith being Keith, showing up when it mattered, being the one constant Lance never had to question.

And yet… something about it felt different.

Lance shook his head, brushing the thought aside as he rinsed out his mug.

All that mattered was that Keith was going to stand beside him for his big day, as he did through everything.

And for reasons Lance couldn’t quite explain, that was enough to make his chest feel a little lighter.

With a contented sigh, he rinsed out his mug, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.

Today was going to be a good day.

Lance whistled a jaunty tune as he stepped out of the elevator, shoulders rolling back, confidence radiating from every fibre of his being. The cool, crisp scent of fresh paper, coffee, and printer ink filled the office air— the scent of productivity, he liked to call it.

Dressed to kill in his best blazer and tailored slacks, Lance strode across the polished floor, passing rows of cubicles and glass-walled offices. The gentle hum of ringing phones, rapid-fire keyboard clicks, and the occasional burst of laughter from a break room conversation surrounded him like white noise.

His grin was practically award-winning as he fired off a set of well-placed finger guns at a passing coworker. ‘Linda! Looking sharp as ever.’

Linda, a middle-aged woman balancing a stack of folders in one hand and a half-empty iced coffee in the other, arched an unimpressed brow over the rim of her glasses. ‘You’re too cheerful for a Monday, McClain.’

‘Every day’s a good day when you look this good.’ He winked before continuing his strut down the hall.

As he passed by other cubicles, he tossed out casual greetings and exchanged nods with familiar faces. He was good at this—the socializing, the charming ease, the way he could turn a dull work environment into something just a little more bearable. He liked people, and people, more often than not, liked him back.

That was the key to marketing, wasn’t it? Selling a product, selling an idea, selling yourself . And Lance McClain? He was one hell of a product.

Still, despite the easygoing act, the morning buzz of office life couldn’t quite distract him from the nagging thought lurking at the back of his mind— Keith.

Lance was ecstatic that Keith had agreed to be his best man. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was… something about their conversation last week still sat weirdly with him.

Keith had looked —Lance wasn’t sure. Not upset, but… off. Stiff. There had been something there, something almost unreadable behind his usually sharp eyes. But before Lance could really press, Keith had shaken it off, plastered on that neutral expression of his, and changed the subject.

Maybe I’m overthinking it.

He hoped he was overthinking it.

Lance shook the thought away as he arrived at the large glass door at the end of the hallway. He took a deep breath, straightened his blazer, and knocked twice before stepping inside.

The office was sleek and modern, with all glass walls and minimalist furniture. The shelves were stacked neatly with books on marketing strategies, leadership skills, and enough self-help guides to fill a bookstore. At the center of it all, behind a mahogany desk that looked absurdly expensive, sat her .

Allura Altea—Lance’s mentor, his boss, and possibly one of the most terrifyingly competent women he had ever met.

Her fluffy white hair was pulled into a sleek, no-nonsense bun, not a single strand out of place. She wore a crisp white button-up tucked neatly into a high-waisted black pencil skirt, a matching blazer draped over her shoulders like a queen wearing her armour. Everything about her—the sharp lines of her outfit, the poised way she held herself, the calculating glint in her ice-blue eyes—exuded authority, precision, and just the right amount of intimidation.

But Lance knew better.

Beneath the unshakable, take-no-prisoners business persona was someone warm, someone who cared . He’d seen glimpses of it in the way she spoke about her late father, in the fond way she regarded her closest friends, in the rare moments outside of work when her hair was loose and her laughter was real.

But here, in this office, during these hours?

She wasn’t Allura , his friend.

She was Allura , his mentor. And today, she wasn’t here to coddle him—she was here to make sure he became the best.

She didn’t even look up from her laptop as she waved him in. ‘You’re late, McClain.’

Lance checked his watch. ‘By two minutes.’

‘Two minutes in marketing is the difference between a good deal and a great one.’ She finally lifted her gaze, crystal ice-blue eyes sharp and assessing. ‘You want to be great, don’t you?’

And just like that, the playful energy in the room shifted into something more serious. Lance straightened, pushing away any lingering thoughts about Keith or his engagement.

Right now, he had a job to do.

Lance’s grin turned sheepish as he slid into the chair across from her desk. ‘Of course, princess. Greatness is basically my middle name.’

‘Then let’s get to work.’

The office buzzed with the familiar sounds of people wrapping up their day—keyboards clicking slower, conversations shifting from work matters to dinner plans, the occasional rustling of papers being filed away. The golden glow of the setting sun streamed through the high-rise windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

Lance stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders after a long day of brainstorming sessions, marketing pitches, and Allura’s brutal yet very effective mentorship. His brain felt wrung out like a sponge, but the satisfaction of a productive day thrummed beneath his exhaustion.

As he walked down the hall, passing offices and cubicles now mostly vacant, he heard whispers—hushed but not exactly subtle.

‘Did you hear? McClain’s engaged to him.’

‘Crazy, right? The CEO?’

‘Talk about dating up. Imagine landing that kind of security.’

Lance barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He heard the whispers as well from this morning, but now that the day was over and they didn't have to worry about work until tomorrow, it was now a free-range gossip shootout.

Ever since he and Damien had made their engagement public, the entire company had turned into a gossip mill. He got it—workplace relationships were already a hot topic, but getting engaged to the CEO ? That was practically office soap opera material.

Still, the constant whispers and side glances made his skin itch.

It wasn’t like he’d planned to fall for Damien. It just happened . And now, instead of people seeing him for his skills, his own hard work, they saw him as—what? Some lucky intern who’d secured a future through romance?

He clenched his jaw, shoving his hands in his pockets as he picked up the pace.

He was about to round the corner toward the elevators when a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

Lance nearly jumped out of his skin. ‘¡Mierda!’ He swore, heart rocketing into his throat. His entire body snapped into fight-or-flight mode, hands half-raised before his brain caught up with reality.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, familiar.

‘Relax, darling,’ A smooth voice murmured behind him, amusement threading through the words.

Lance whipped around, hand still over his chest. ‘ Dios mío, Damien! Are you trying to kill me?’

Damien Pierce, in all his tailored, polished, obnoxiously gorgeous CEO glory, arched a perfectly sculpted brow. ‘I didn’t think I was that scary.’

Lance huffed, giving him a light shove. ‘You don’t just sneak up on people like that, cabrón!’

Damien chuckled, dark eyes glinting under the dim office lights. ‘Not my fault you were too lost in thought to notice me.’

Lance narrowed his eyes but couldn’t help the way his lips twitched upward. Damien had that effect on him—exasperating, effortless charm wrapped in a five-star suit.

‘What are you even doing here?’ Lance asked, tilting his head. ‘Shouldn’t you be in some high-stakes board meeting or, I don’t know, making billionaire deals or whatever?’

Damien smirked, slipping his hands into his pockets. ‘I wrapped up early. Thought I’d surprise my fiancé.’

At the word fiancé , Lance felt a flicker of something warm in his chest. It was still surreal sometimes, hearing it out loud.

Still, he scoffed, tilting his chin up. ‘Well, congrats , you succeeded. Nearly made me have a heart attack, but sure.’

Damien laughed, stepping closer. ‘Let me make it up to you.’

Lance raised a brow. ‘Oh?’

Damien leaned in, voice dropping into that dangerously smooth tone. ‘Dinner. My treat.’

Lance pretended to consider it, tapping his chin. ‘Hmm. Tempting. But, you see, I had very important plans of going home, throwing myself onto my couch, and dramatically sighing about my long, hard day.’

Damien chuckled, eyes twinkling. ‘You can dramatically sigh in a nice restaurant with a glass of wine instead.’

Lance exhaled loudly for dramatic effect before grinning. ‘Fine. You win, sweetie . ’

Damien smirked. ‘I always do.’

And with that, he gently took Lance’s hand, leading him out of the office as the city lights began to twinkle beyond the windows.

‘Mmm, this good, Mamá ?’

Lance held up a navy blue tie, stretching it between his hands like it held the answers to all his problems. His mother, seated elegantly on the leather couch, studied it with narrowed eyes, her lips pursed in thought. For several agonizing heartbeats, she said nothing, before finally shaking her head.

‘I don’t know, cariño ,’ She murmured, her voice warm but uncertain. ‘I’m not sure if it would match the tuxedo we ordered for you.’

Lance groaned in defeat and all but flung the tie back into the old wooden box in front of him. He let himself fall back against the couch, his legs sprawled on the plush carpet, the weight of everything pressing down on his chest. The box before him was filled with relics of his parents’ past—old jewelry, love letters, faded photographs, and vintage accessories that, apparently, might contain the perfect Something Old for his wedding.

But at this point? He was convinced fate just wanted him to suffer.

His mother watched him with soft amusement, before reaching down and threading her fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp the way she used to when he was a kid. The gesture was comforting, grounding—exactly what he needed.

He came to his parents’ house for a visit the night after Damien took him to an expensive dinner and for some semblance of an idea of what his Something’s could be. Damien was away on a last-minute meeting so Lance had to figure out something to do other than slouch around in his and Damien’s house. 

Since he grew up exposed to his mother’s cooking, his father’s teachings and his siblings’ racket, he thought this house was the perfect place for his Something Old. But after some time rummaging through boxes, he realized that it was harder to find that item than he’d thought.

‘What’s got you so frustrated, mi amor ?’ She asked gently, leaning in as if she could pull the stress from his body.

Lance sighed, staring up at the ceiling. ‘It’s just—’ He stopped himself, pressing his lips together before exhaling heavily.

It had been a full freakin’ week since Keith had agreed to be his best man. A week since they had sat beneath the moonlight, where Lance had spilled the biggest news of his life. And since then?

Radio silence.

Lance had called. Texted. Hell, he even tried that dumb Instagram meme-spamming thing Keith always rolled his eyes at—but nothing . At first, he brushed it off, assuming Keith was catching up with Shiro since he was finally back in town. But last night, when Lance called for their usual nightly chat, Keith didn’t answer.

No text. No callback.

Nothing.

And the worst part?

Lance had no idea why.

Was Keith upset? Had Lance done something wrong? Maybe Keith had just been busy, but then why had Hunk and Pidge—who Lance immediately called in a mild panic—said they hadn’t heard from him either?

Something wasn’t right.

Lance drummed his fingers anxiously against his thigh, debating if he should call Keith again after this—because damn it, a week was a lot —but before he could finish the thought, his mother’s voice snapped him back to reality.

‘Lance?’ Her warm, chocolate eyes were filled with concern.

Lance blinked, swallowing down the spiralling thoughts in his head before forcing his attention back to the half-full box in front of him. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘It’s just… Finding this Something Old thing is harder than I thought. And there are still three more of these to go. Why do I have to find them now?’

His mother hummed, smoothing a loose curl away from his face before letting her hand rest on his shoulder. The simple action soothed something tight in his chest. ‘Because, mi vida , there are a thousand things left to plan for this wedding. It’s better to get these little details out of the way now.’

Lance groaned dramatically, flopping further onto the carpet. ‘But it sucks .’

She chuckled, shaking her head. ‘Then why don’t you ask one of your friends for help? Or Damien?’

Lance chuckled. ‘Mama, you know the future spouse can’t see what you’re wearing on the day of. Including the accessories. It’s bad luck!’

‘Eesh, mi amor, you take things so seriously!’ She smacks him gently on the side of his arm.

‘Mama, you thought pancakes actually needed salt one day for breakfast when Rachel just meant that sarcastically.’

Lance’s mom looked rather flushed at that but her nostrils flared as she sighed. ‘That was one time, mi amor! Well then, your siblings aren’t here at home right now, but surely you could ask Keith? You two are practically inseparable.’

Lance’s stomach twisted.

Keith.

His best friend, his best man, the person who had always been there for him.

Except now… he wasn’t.

Lance hesitated, his fingers hovering over his phone screen. His mother’s expectant gaze bore into him, her expression gentle but firm. He could already hear her voice in his head— “Lance, just call him. The worst he can do is not pick up.”

Yeah. That was exactly what Lance was afraid of.

He had spent the last week being met with nothing but silence, and if Keith ignored him again, Lance wasn’t sure he’d be able to brush it off. Not this time.

But his mother had that look —the one that meant “Do it now, or I’ll do it for you.”

With a resigned sigh, he tapped Keith’s contact and brought the phone to his ear, bracing himself for yet another ignored call.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Lance exhaled sharply, ready to pull the phone away when—

‘Hey.’

Lance froze.

Keith’s voice was quieter than usual, rough like he’d just woken up or—no, wait. That wasn’t just exhaustion. That was… something else.

Something off.

Lance sat up straighter, clutching the phone tighter. ‘Holy shit, you actually answered.’

There was a pause before Keith let out a soft snort. ‘Yeah. I guess I did.’

Something in Lance’s chest loosened, but he wasn’t going to let Keith off that easily.

‘Okay, spill. Where the hell have you been? I was starting to think you got kidnapped or something.’

Another pause. Longer this time.

Keith exhaled slowly. ‘…Just been busy.’

Lance frowned. That wasn’t entirely a lie—Keith was always busy, what with his job and everything—but it wasn’t the truth either.

There was something in his voice. Something wrong.

Lance leaned back against the couch, his brows furrowing. ‘Busy?’ He echoed, skepticism laced in his tone. ‘Too busy to even text back a simple “hey, I’m alive, don’t freak out”?’

Keith was quiet.

Lance could practically feel him retreating, curling into himself like he always did when he didn’t want to talk about something.

But a week of silence minus the occansional, good morning? Yeah, no. Lance wasn’t going to let this slide.

‘Keith.’ His voice softened, but only slightly. ‘What’s going on?’

Another slow exhale. Then, finally—

‘Nothing. Just… had a lot on my mind.’

Lance narrowed his eyes. A lot on his mind?

What the hell did that mean?

Before Lance could push further, his mother gently tapped his knee, reminding him why he made the call in the first place.

Right.

He cleared his throat. ‘Okay, well, whatever’s going on in your “broody, lone wolf brain” can wait. I need your help.’

Keith made a sound—something between a scoff and a chuckle. ‘With what?’

Lance sighed, rubbing his temple. ‘My Something Old for the wedding. Mamá and I have been searching for hours, but everything in this damn box is either too old or too ugly. I’m losing my mind over here.’

Keith was silent for a beat before muttering, ‘It’s not hard. Everything makes you lose your mind. One mishap about a utensil drives you insane.’

Lance gasped, offended. ‘Excuse you?!’

His mother chuckled softly from the couch, shaking her head.

Keith huffed a small laugh, and something warm flickered in Lance’s chest at the sound. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sliver of normalcy.

‘Alright,’ Keith said, his voice lighter now. ‘I’ll help. You free right now?’

Lance blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected Keith to offer —hell, he was prepared for some kind of excuse, another brush-off. But this?

This was good.

‘Yeah,’ He answered quickly. ‘You wanna come over?’

Keith weirdly hesitated. ‘Sure. You sound like you need help.’

Lance scoffed into the phone. ‘For once, I do need it.’

‘Ha! Well, that’s a first.’ Keith chuckled and instead of feeling the frustration of getting teased, Lance just felt relieved that he could finally hear Keith laugh again.

Lance played along and scoffed, ‘Pfft, just get your ass here, k?’

Keith stayed silent for a moment longer than normal before bringing out his typical broodiness. ‘Fine, you big baby.’

The line then disconnected.

Lance blinked at his phone, still processing the fact that Keith actually answered. That they actually talked. That he wasn’t being ignored anymore.

Something inside him uncoiled, a tension he hadn’t even realized had settled in his chest over the past week.

But still… something about Keith’s voice lingered in his mind.

There had been something off about it—something distant like Keith was holding back. Lance wanted to ask, wanted to push, but he knew better. Keith would only talk when he was ready, and forcing it would just make him retreat further.

At least he was coming over.

At least he wasn’t shutting Lance out completely.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

Yeah, I got you now, Mullet. You’re not disappearing on me again. He thought.

With a satisfied sigh, he stretched out his legs and leaned back against the couch.

The moment of peace, however, was short-lived.

His mother suddenly stood, dusting off her skirt. ‘Well, that settles that. I should get ready.’

Lance’s brows furrowed as he craned his neck to look at her. ‘Wait, what? Where are you going?’

She gave him a knowing smile. ‘Luis asked me to help out with the kids tonight. He and his wife have plans, and you know how much your nephews love their Abuela .’

Lance pushed himself up to sit properly. ‘I can come with you if you need help.’

She waved him off immediately. ‘ No, no, you stay here. Keith’s coming over, isn’t he? You two can hang out, like the good old days.’

Lance opened his mouth to argue, but his mother just ruffled his hair, effectively cutting him off.

‘Besides, it’s been a while since you two had time to yourselves. It’ll be nice, mi amor .’ She gave him a wink before heading towards her room. ‘Oh, and the leftovers are in the fridge if you’re hungry.’

Lance huffed, smoothing down his now-messy hair. ‘Geez, Mamá, way to make me sound like a lonely loser.’

She only laughed in response, disappearing down the hall. Soon after, the front door opened, then shut again, shrouding the house in total silence.

Lance sighed, rubbing his face.

Great. Now he was alone with his thoughts until Keith arrived.

And unfortunately for him, that was dangerous territory.

He adjusted his seating by sitting up on the couch cushions and continuing to rummage through the box until Keith arrived. He found many other items, all from his siblings’ pasts and his parents’ childhood memories, all in one box. He found his older brother’s, Luis’s, baseball mitt from his Little League days. His twin sister’s old Red Riding Hood costume. 

Lance chuckled to himself as he pulled out the tattered red fabric of the costume, shaking his head as memories flooded back. He could still remember her parading around the house in it, bossing around their younger siblings like some kind of fairy-tale queen while he’d dramatically played the Big Bad Wolf, chasing her up and down the halls.

His fingers brushed against something else at the bottom of the box, and he fished out an old Polaroid picture, its edges curled from time and wear.

It was a photo of him and all his siblings, squeezed together in the backyard, mid-laughter, their arms draped around one another. He must’ve been… what? Ten? Eleven? His front teeth were still a little crooked, and his face was dotted with freckles from spending too much time in the sun.

Luis was in the middle, making bunny ears over Veronica’s head, while his twin had a smirk that screamed trouble. And there Lance was, right in the front, grinning as bright as ever.

It made something warm bloom in his chest.

Man… time really flies, huh?

Shaking his head, he placed the Polaroid on the coffee table beside him, his fingers absently tapping against the wood.

The house was too quiet.

It wasn’t bad quiet, but… it was the kind of quiet that left him alone with thoughts he wasn’t ready to deal with yet.

Like how Keith’s voice had sounded weird on the phone.

Like how he still didn’t know why Keith had been ignoring him.

Like how something in his gut told him that there was something Keith wasn’t telling him.

Ugh, come on, man. It’s just Keith. You’re probably overthinking it.

Still, the unease didn’t settle.

Lance exhaled loudly, dragging a hand down his face before reaching for another item in the box—anything to keep his mind occupied.

But just as his fingers closed around something soft and worn, the sound of a knock echoed through the house.

Lance practically jolted upright, his heart skipping a beat before he quickly composed himself.

Keith.

Finally.

He jumped to his feet, tossing whatever he had grabbed back into the box before making his way to the door.

He didn’t know why he suddenly felt nervous —Keith was his best friend, had been his best friend for over a decade now—but something about tonight felt… different.

With a steadying breath, he pulled open the door.

And there Keith stood, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, expression unreadable in the dim porch light.

Lance blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sight of him.

Keith always had this effortlessly cool, rugged thing going on, but there was something off about him tonight. His shoulders were tense, and his face, while neutral, carried an exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.

Lance’s stomach twisted.

But before he could say anything, Keith gave him a small nod.

‘Hey.’

Lance swallowed down whatever weird feeling was rising in his throat and plastered on his usual smirk. ‘Hey yourself, Mullet. Took you long enough.’

Keith stepped inside, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as Lance closed the door behind him. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the cool night air outside, and the familiar scent of home-cooked meals and old wooden furniture settled into his senses. It was still the exact same like a decade ago.

Lance smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door. ‘I was starting to think you were avoiding me, y'know.’

Keith barely glanced at him. ‘Yeah, well, traffic was a bitch.’

Lance snorted. ‘Uh-huh. Traffic at—’ He pulled out his phone, flicking on the screen. ‘—nine at night? In our small-ass town? Sure, buddy. Real believable.’

Keith sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he walked past Lance toward the living room. ‘Are you gonna interrogate me, or are we actually looking for this wedding thing?’

Lance grinned. ‘Wedding thing ? Oh my god, Keith, it’s called “Something Old.” Have you never been to a wedding before?’

Keith plopped onto the couch, crossing his arms. ‘Nope.’

Lance blinked. ‘…Wait, seriously? Hm, I guess you’ve never been to any of my relatives’ weddings.’

Keith only shrugged.

Lance groaned dramatically, throwing himself onto the couch beside him. ‘Dios mío, Keith, we have so much to fix before my wedding. This is an emergency.’

Keith quirked an eyebrow. ‘Not really.’

Lance waved him off. ‘ Yes, really. You’re my best man. How the hell are you supposed to give an epic best man speech if you’ve never even been to a wedding?’

Keith gave him a flat look. ‘You just made that my problem.’

Lance grinned, nudging him with his elbow. ‘Damn right, I did.’

Keith huffed but didn’t argue, instead letting his gaze drift to the open box on the floor. ‘So, what exactly are we looking for?’

Lance perked up, scooting to the edge of the couch and rummaging through the box again. ‘Something old. It has to have sentimental value, and I’d prefer it to be from my family. Y’know, tradition and all that.’

Keith watched as Lance sifted through trinkets and old keepsakes, his fingers brushing over each object with an absent sort of care.

Keith never really got traditions like this, but for Lance, he could at least pretend to understand.

Lance pulled out an old compass, turning it over in his palm. ‘Huh… I forgot about this.’

Keith leaned forward slightly. ‘What is it?’

Lance smiled fondly. ‘It was my grandpa’s. He used to take me and my siblings hiking when we were kids, and he always carried this with him. Said that as long as you have a compass, you'll never be lost. But he also added, if you follow your heart, it will surely lead you to the end of the tunnel.’

Keith watched the way Lance's fingers tightened around it, his expression briefly distant before softening with nostalgia.

For a moment, Keith felt a familiar ache bloom in his chest—one he’d been trying to push down for days.

Lance looked up at him. ‘What do you think? Think this would count?’

Keith cleared his throat, forcing himself to nod. ‘Yeah. Seems fitting.’

Lance grinned. ‘Great! That’s one thing checked off my endless wedding list.’

Keith smirked slightly. ‘Glad I could help.’

There was a pause, the energy between them settling into something quieter.

Then, Lance shifted, nudging Keith’s knee with his own. ‘So, seriously, though. What’s up with you?’

Keith tensed slightly. ‘…What do you mean?’

Lance sighed. ‘Dude. You ignored my calls for the past week. I had to go full detective mode and ask Hunk and Pidge if they knew where you were.’

Keith exhaled through his nose. ‘I just… needed some space. That’s all.’

Lance frowned. ‘Space? Space from me ?’

Keith shook his head. ‘No, it’s not like that.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘I just… had some stuff on my mind.’

Lance studied him for a moment, his gaze searching.

Keith could feel the weight of it, the way Lance was trying to see through him, past the walls he’d put up.

For a second, Keith almost considered telling him the truth—about how the engagement news had hit him like a sledgehammer, about how his feelings had been festering for years, about how he had almost confessed that night by the creek.

He gazed downward at Lance’s hands on his lap, more specifically, the shiny diamond rock on his ring finger. He could almost feel his heart shatter in his chest all over again.

So instead of telling the truth, he just muttered, ‘It’s nothing. Just work and life, y'know?’

Lance’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘Oh. Dude, you should’ve just said something! I get it—work’s been eating me alive, too.’

Keith forced a small chuckle, nodding.

Lance smirked, elbowing him lightly. ‘Don’t go all broody and distant on me again, okay? You know I’m always here if you wanna vent or whatever.’

Keith swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Yeah, he thought bitterly. Except for the one thing I can’t tell you.

Instead, he mustered a nod and muttered, ‘Yeah. I know.’

Keith leaned back against the couch cushions, arms crossed as he watched Lance rummage through the old box of keepsakes.

It wasn’t long before Lance started pulling things out at random, holding them up like a game show host and putting on a performance for Keith’s entertainment.

‘Oh, Dios mío, look at this masterpiece.’ Lance lifted a tattered, crayon-covered piece of paper, smirking as he squinted at it. ‘I present to you: five-year-old Lance’s abstract vision of his future. Notice the fine detail in the scribbled mansion, the sick-ass sports car, and the palm trees—because obviously, I was destined for a life of luxury.’

Keith snorted, tilting his head. ‘What’s that next to the car?’

Lance blinked, then brought the paper closer. His face immediately turned red. ‘It’s a—uh—stick figure. Obviously.’

Keith leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. Then a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. ‘That’s a stick figure of you… next to a wife.’

Lance groaned, throwing his head back. ‘Ugh, why did my mom keep this? This is so embarrassing.’

Keith shrugged, biting back an amused grin. ‘Guess you always wanted to get married.’

Lance blinked, suddenly looking thoughtful. He glanced down at the drawing, a strange softness passing over his features before he scoffed and tossed it back into the box. ‘Yeah, well, five-year-old me also thought I’d have a pet tiger by now, so.’

Keith let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

The night continued like that—Lance sifting through old belongings, both of them making fun of the strangest items he found, laughing until their stomachs ached.

Keith had almost forgotten how easy it was to be around Lance like this—how it felt to just exist with him, without the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on his chest.

But the hours slipped away faster than Keith would have liked, and soon enough, Lance was stretching his arms over his head and yawning.

‘Alright, mystery box time is over. I should probably let you go before my mom gets back and starts offering you leftover arroz con pollo and guilt-tripping you into staying.’

Keith smirked as he stood. ‘Not the worst way to get free food.’

Lance chuckled, shaking his head as he led them to the front door. He opened it, stepping aside with a lazy grin. ‘Well, thanks for helping me find my Something Old, even if you were totally useless.’

Keith scoffed. ‘I was helpful. I confirmed your choice.’

Lance rolled his eyes but his expression was warm. ‘Yeah, yeah. But seriously, I’m glad we got to hang out. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.’

Keith forced a small, easy smile. ‘Nah. Just been busy. I’m sorry though if I made you feel like I did.’

Lance studied him for a moment, then nodded with a relieved smile, satisfied. ‘It’s alright, man. I’ll see you soon then, yeah?’

Keith swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. ‘Yeah. See you.’

The door clicked shut with a soft finality, leaving Keith alone on the porch, the laughter from earlier already fading into the silence of the night.

He stood there, unmoving. The chill in the air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice settling deep in his chest. His breath curled in the cold, wisps of warmth dissolving into nothing—just like whatever fragile hope had been lingering inside him.

Lance had smiled at him. Had laughed with him. Had given him that easy, heart-stopping grin like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just unknowingly crushed Keith beneath the weight of words that weren’t meant to hurt but still cut deeper than anything else ever had.

Keith swallowed, his throat tight, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. He forced his hands into his jacket pockets, fingers digging into the fabric as if grounding himself could stop the ache in his ribs from spreading further.

Lance thought everything was okay now.

Keith would let him believe that.

Because what else could he do? Tell him the truth? Let everything unravel between them, risk losing the one person who had ever made him feel like he belonged?

No.

He would stand beside him. He would be the best man at Lance’s wedding, smile through it all, support him, celebrate him—because if there was one thing Keith had always been good at, it was enduring pain in silence.

Even if it shattered him, piece by piece.

He inhaled sharply, then let the breath out slowly, steadying himself as he turned away from the house, from the warmth of Lance’s world, and walked toward his bike.

The cold was sharper now, the night quieter, lonelier.

Keith threw his leg over the seat, gripped the handlebars, and started the engine. The rumble beneath him was steady, grounding. He focused on that. On the road ahead.

But as he disappeared into the dark, down the empty streets, he knew deep down—this wasn’t the end of anything.

This was only the beginning of a slow, inevitable ache.

And Keith wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear it.