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Chapter Text

1895, winter

So many beautiful people catch Lance’s attention at the ball: Women in bustling gowns, intricately designed and sewn; men in tailored suits and show-stopping waistcoats of varying colors.

A gorgeous woman with dark skin, thick white hair down to her waist, and pink marks of the Summer Court resting on her cheeks stands out like a beacon. The tips of her pointed ears poke out from her hair when she turns her head. Their eyes catch for a moment—hers an unnatural kaleidoscope of blues and purples—and he nervously smiles at her, hoping she won’t try to kill him later.

You can never tell with the fae sometimes. 

Breaking from her gaze, Lance almost bumps into a werewolf, who sniffs at him curiously, probably smelling the human on him, but thankfully leaves it be with a shrug.

In all honesty, Lance shouldn’t be here. Mixing oneself up with the supernatural is dangerous, almost deadly at times, but Lance has always been drawn to them, even when he was young. He has always had the ability to see what other people around him chose not to—it’s mostly how he was able to gather information about this party.

He also shouldn’t be in England, but that’s a different issue.

Having stumbled into money from a risky venture, Lance had given most of it to his mother but set aside an amount that would allow him to travel for a while. Ever since the death of his father a few years ago, his older brother marrying, and his other siblings grown, Lance has felt stuck in place, lost even.

Everything and everyone swirled around him until he tripped under a wave of dizziness.

So he ventured across the ocean and allowed himself to get lured by the London scene instead. He has been here for two weeks already; he should move on soon.

A few fairies offer to dance with him as he moves across the ballroom, but he politely declines their invitations. Through all his follies in the past year, the least he can say is that he’s learned to be less foolish (to some extent) when it comes to the supernatural world. He once accepted to play a hand of cards back in New York and almost lost his soul to the fae by the end of the first round—he should have listened when his older brother told him he was shit at cards. He has no intention of getting caught in an eternal dance or whatever the fae have up their sleeves this night.

He’s more interested in dancing with someone else anyways.

The man of his interest wears no suit jacket, causing the dark red waistcoat to be the focal point. The sleeves of his fine linen shirt are rolled up to his elbows. His hair, tousled around his pale face, falls a little past his shoulders, and bangs block his eyes, making him appear both ridiculous and endearing.

The man is ethereal, an unknown wonder of the world.

Sitting on the window’s ledge, one leg drawn up at an angle and the other hanging free, the man tilts his head back for a moment, allowing the moonlight to spread across his face.

He is a vampire. Lance would bet his life savings on that fact.

The way his chest moves with manufactured, purposeful breaths instead of effortless ones, the timeless quality of his features, forever frozen exactly how they are. From first glance, one can never truly tell a vampire’s age; this man could be hundreds of years old but he looks no more than twenty-four, Lance’s own age.

A few other vampires attend the party as well—a man with one arm primarily catches Lance’s interest since he is the only person who has interacted with the vampire by the window all night. He wonders if they’re family or at least part of the same clan. American vampires rarely interact with other supernatural creatures, preferring a more solitary existence. Apparently, their worldly relations have other ideas. 

Though, maybe not all is different. This vampire has been sequestered to the outskirts of the party, never dancing, never engaging in conversation. He holds his glass of blood red wine—that contains little wine, if any at all—and stares, lost in thought perhaps.

A book rests by his side but it has remained untouched ever since he started tracking Lance’s movements, half disinterested, half cautious.

Lance probably should have been less obvious in his curiosity but the past can not be changed. 

Once Lance walks within a few feet of him, the vampire appraises him from head to toe, dark eyes sweeping over his body, scowl deepening. “What is someone like you doing here?”

Lance crosses his arms, eyes narrowed. Oftentimes, he wonders if he has a large sign painted on his back or forehead labeling him ‘human.’ “I understand now why no one wants to dance with you.” The vampire raises a single eyebrow as if eagerly awaiting for Lance to continue. “Your manners need work.”

“I doubt very much that anyone wants to dance with uninvited guests either.”

“I have been very popular this evening, thank you.”

“Because everyone loves a fool.”

“You, sir, are a delight .” Lance cracks a sarcastic grin, barely bowing an inch to show the least amount of respect to this vampire as possible. “I must know the name of the man who’s insulted me. If only to be able to cast dark curses upon his soul.”

The man snorts, the corners of his mouth ticking upward. So, the vampire can smile. “Keith, Keith Kogane,” he supplies willingly, much to Lance’s surprise.

The blood wine has stained his lips a dark red; it’s hard to look away from them and does a terrible job at curbing Lance’s desire to kiss him.

“Lance McClain.” He extends his hand for Keith to shake only to swallow a gasp at Keith’s rather cold hand when it slides into his. “But I cannot say it has been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that ghost smile remaining on his face. “I’ve no idea why you would attend a party like this one, but for your sake, you should leave. It is not safe.”

Keith must think Lance is nothing but a naïve human who wandered into a space they should not have. 

He has no inkling that Lance knows he’s a vampire, that Lance could name every supernatural creature present in this room tonight, having made friends with their across the pond relations many times over. He’s a people person like that; everyone loves him.

“I’m braver than you think. Try me.” He holds out his arm, another offer for a dance.

“I do not dance.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the right partner, wallflower.”

“And what makes you think you are that person?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Unable to find fault in the logic of Lance’s answer, Keith begrudgingly places his book and wine glass down on the window bench and slides his arm through Lance’s. They find an open spot on the dance floor, catching the music at a slow melody, one that forces Lance’s hand to slide up Keith’s back and grip his other tight in a too intimate embrace for strangers.

But Lance loves it.

Keith’s eyes flicker across his face, a kaleidoscope of dark hues, a type of indigo Lance rarely sees outside of dyed material.

“Are you comfortable dancing in front of everyone?” Keith suddenly asks, cocking his head as if suddenly realizing they are two men dancing at a society ball though no one has felt fit to comment. In fact, no one has glanced at them all night with anything more than just a cursory stare to witness who was able to coax the wallflower vampire into a dance.

“I know this is a place to be free; it’s why I came,” Lance says, still smiling. 

Though, his main reason for attending focused on regaining a bit of home he has lost out on. This was the first large supernatural community he has stumbled into since traveling. It reminds him of late nights in the city and the underground clubs and magic. But not having to worry about where his gaze may linger is a bonus he will never complain about.

On cue, the music forces them to step closer to one another, a closeness that would merge their heartbeats if Keith had one, but it’s a closeness they both willingly accept, and Lance allows himself to stay lost for a little while longer.

After an hour of dancing, they manage to steal some private time for themselves to venture out into the gardens. They do little but walk side by side, though occasionally Lance will amuse himself by trailing his fingers across the back of Keith’s hand and finds himself more pleased every time Keith doesn’t pull away. It’s cold outside but the crisp temperature bothers Lance little, despite his breath fogging the air in front of him, and Keith probably doesn’t notice it at all.

“I still do not know why you would attend this type of party. I cannot figure out if you’re simply foolish or naïve,” Keith comments to the quiet night air of the countryside. They’re close enough to London that it wasn’t a long trip on Lance’s part but he is glad to be away from the smoky haze of the city and stench of the Thames. “Maybe brave.”

“Are you truly afraid that I’ll find out you’re a vampire?”

Keith pauses his steady pace. He swings around to block Lance’s path, eyes wide with surprise if not also with equal parts concern and amazement. “You know? And you haven’t run yet?”

“I’ve made friends with selkies back in Cuba. My best friend is a shapeshifter. I am not blind to your world. You and your pointy teeth do not scare me,” Lance says as he crosses his arms, waiting for Keith’s counter argument. “I knew you were a vampire the minute I laid eyes on you, just as I know that the host of the ball is fae.”  

“Foolishly brave then,” Keith decides while staring at Lance like he is a whole new person.

“I do have one question, though,” Lance says as he takes a step further into Keith’s personal space. “How old are you?”

Keith arches an eyebrow that disappears under his hair. “You’d not ask a lady for her age; the same rules apply to vampires.”

“Surely not. I have to know what I’m getting myself into. How will I keep up with you if you reference personal tales from the 1500s?”

“What you’re getting yourself into?” A flicker of a smile appears on Keith’s face. They’ve continued to walk again, but this time it is Keith who plays with Lance’s hand, hooking their pinkies together. “I am less than a hundred years old if that soothes your worries.”

Lance grins, fully soothed. His mother always warned him about the danger of far older romantic acquaintances—though he highly doubts her thoughts had drifted towards immortals or even men for that matter. “That I can work with.”

Lance guides them to the gazebo caught under the moonlight. He takes the small steps two at a time, turning with a wild smile that draws a quiet chuckle out of Keith. He’s proud of that. The moonlight colors Keith’s dark hair silver; it adds sparkles to his eyes, and a glowing hue to his skin. Lance would never want to look away even if he could.

“You know what the best part of the supernatural is?” he asks but doesn’t allow time for Keith to try to guess. “No one cares about who you may fall in love with.”

“You are right on that accord,” Keith admits though he tilts his head, and his bangs drift into his eyes. “Though, once again, I must ask where you’re acquiring these delusions about the future.”

“Says the vampire who has not left my side all evening.” Lance grins again, practically all teeth, pleased with himself for voicing a claim Keith will never be able to refute. “Be careful, Mr. Kogane, your intentions might be misleading.”

“And if they are not?” Keith asks, amused as he crosses his arms and smirks. 

He watches as Lance jumps from stone bench to stone bench before ending right in front of Keith. Lance holds out his hands to pull Keith up, met with no resistance and suddenly no space between them, a phenomenon made much more apparent now that they are no longer dancing.

“Don’t think less of me,” Lance says softly, as he stares at Keith with half-lidded eyes, “but I would like to kiss you. If it is not too scandalous for you.” He smiles again when his words cause Keith to fully laugh this time. It’s truly one of the most beautiful sounds in the world, a lost ancient wonder.

“I am not the gentleman you seem to think I am.” As he hooks his arms around Lance’s neck, already pulling him forward, he says, “Kiss me.”

Lance obliges. His reward isn’t necessarily fireworks or a hot turn in his gut—though the sensations are indeed present—but more the sanity of his mind as he falls into the kiss and the weight of the world disappears from his shoulders. He wraps an arm around Keith’s waist; his free hand weaves into his long hair. Lance meets Keith’s hunger with his own and only adds to the intensity.

He thinks that if Keith asked to feed on him right then, drain him dry and leave him to the worms, he’d be all too willing to agree.

When they part and the sounds of the ball drift their way to the garden and Lance finally remembers his own name, he brushes a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear and asks,

“May I see you again?”

Keith doesn’t hesitate to answer.

1897, spring

Even in the dark, Keith can see every detail of Lance: the way his hair falls across his forehead, ends curling; the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and spreading out across his cheekbones; the soft bow of his upper lip; the beating of his heart; the pulse of his veins. 

He reaches out to brush a curl behind Lance’s ear, touch gentle enough not to wake him.

They slept the night in Lance’s flat. Keith always thought it would be safer to stay in Shiro’s—or more accurately, the clan’s—mansion, away from prying eyes of nosy human neighbors. But Lance has his independence as a mortal and likes his private space, nothing Keith could ever blame him for. And then there is also the argument that, 

“ Shiro sleeping five doors down would ruin the atmosphere ,” Lance argues whenever Keith suggests the safety of the mansion. And it is difficult to disagree.

Ever since Lance entered his life, Keith has discovered that it’s difficult to disagree with him on anything. It is true they bicker and argue, whether to rile the other up under purposeful intent or because of true passion for a subject, but Keith likes to cave to Lance’s every whim, no matter what he asks. 

Lance wandered into his life without warning, dressed to the nines and not a care that he’d walked into a den of supernatural creatures, and for the first time since Keith had become a vampire—twenty-one years, not quite to the day but close—he had finally known peace.

Keith winces as the first sun rays poke through the thin space between the curtains, his body slow to adjust from a night spent in complete darkness. He draws the fraying blanket over his shoulder, the knitted quilt crumpled by his feet and too far to pull up, and rolls into Lance’s warm body. He presses a kiss against Lance’s pulse, breathing in the soft, earthy scent his skin holds onto from a night together. 

“Good morning,” Lance mumbles, half caught by his lingering dreams. He turns his head; his nose brushes against Keith’s hair. Then he flips their positions so he absorbs the brunt of rising sun, blocking most of it from reaching Keith.

Most humans don’t know about the supernatural, and when knowledge of it does bleed into their world, through the written word most of the time, it is usually misinterpreted. Unlike what humans believe, vampires will not disintegrate when in contact with sunlight. Keith can walk out into the street any bright morning he wishes, but prolonged exposure to sun—an hour or more of direct sunlight—may cause severe illness and eventual death.

He smiles against Lance. His fingers dance along his ribs, enjoying the rumbling building deep inside him as he tries not to laugh at the touch.

“I’ll have to leave soon. Your neighbor will be waking.”

“What if you never left instead? You’d be happy here, I think.” Lance starts to stretch out on top of the mattress, not caring if his feet bump into Keith, forcing him to move closer to the edge. “I would have to make a deal with the butcher for pig’s blood of course but we could make it work.”

“I am not Rapunzel,” Keith mutters, “And Shiro would come searching within a few days.”

“How quickly you shatter my dream.” Lance gasps through a mask of faux outrage. 

“At least purchase thicker curtains.”

“Then you’ll stay forever?”

Keith freezes; his fingers settle on Lance’s arms, drawing along his forearm from his wrist to his elbow. “You know that has a different connotation for a vampire.”

“I meant what I said.”

Keith remains still for an extra moment, as if waiting for Lance to retract his previous statement, to realize the true weight of admittance. Forever is forever for a vampire, even if Lance has nothing more than a regular human lifespan guiding him.

He closes his eyes, imagining Lance old and gray and still so beautiful. How his eyes will grow clouded and the skin around them will wrinkle and his laughter might break with coughs, but he will be the same Lance as he is now. He thinks maybe it is something he could handle; a lifetime of love, a lifetime of happiness, could hold him through the darker days once Lance leaves this existence entirely.

His memory would stay with Keith forever.

He leans down, pressing his lips to Lance’s forehead. “If you want me forever,” he decides, “you have me.”

Lance tilts his head up to capture Keith’s mouth, guiding them into an unhurried kiss. Slow and purposeful, one that sinks into Keith’s bones and sends vibrations down to his toes. It’s the type of kiss that would steal his breath away, if he had a need to breathe anymore.

“I love you,” Lance whispers. 

When Keith eventually closes the door to Lance’s flat, slipping into the shadows of the early dawn, those words imprint onto his heart.

1899, fall

Tragedy strikes in threes, Keith has always understood. Just as he has always understood that nothing good in his life lasts forever, and he shouldn’t have started to believe he and Lance were the one exception.

A flurry of letters arrive from America. In one fell swoop, Lance learns that one of his sisters has become pregnant out of wedlock and the other, the oldest, has run away. By the way Lance’s gaze pinches, Keith has a feeling Lance knows who with—“She had a lover,” Lance says a little bit later after the letter has fallen to the table in the need to be forgotten, “Axca, I think.” Keith vaguely recalls meeting a winter court fae with the name a decade ago.

When the third letter arrives, his brother Luis requests his assistance on the farm while his wife remains bedridden due to impending childbirth of their third child. The way Lance absently covers his parted mouth the further he reads, her condition is serious.

After all the letters are read, they sit in a pile on the small table that separates Lance’s kitchen from his bedroom. The papers are crinkled where Lance held on too tight while reading. Frustrated, Lance rubs his face and scrubs through his hair, ruffling his curls. “My mother is far too old to deal with all this by herself.”

Keith places a hand on his thigh and knows what Lance will decide before even he makes up his mind. Lance’s eyes widen the more the reality of the situation begins to dawn on him. His mouth parts to speak but Keith beats him to it.

“Lance,” Keith whispers softly. He leans forward to press a quiet kiss against his mouth; he can taste the salt on Lance’s lips the longer he lingers and soon he detaches. “It’s okay.”

“I have to go.”

“You do,” Keith agrees.

“I want to stay.” Lance drops his head onto Keith’s shoulder; his nose finds the crook of Keith’s neck, right near a pulse point that doesn’t exist anymore. “I want to stay with you. Forever. That’s what we agreed upon.”

“I know.” Keith threads his fingers through his hair, gently soothing him.

Lance wraps himself around Keith, holding him as close as possible, even closer and tighter because Keith doesn’t need to breathe. He can track Lance’s heartbeat against his chest, feel the heat of his blood traveling through him; he tries to memorize it all.

If Lance asked, Keith would come with him without thought. He has had many homes over the years. First in Osaka with Shiro before they became vampires, but those days are no more than a faint whisper in Keith’s memories. He probably wouldn’t be able to recognize the place if he traveled back now. Then London, though it has always felt like a home for Keith to briefly settle in rather than lay permanent roots. Now that he must roam the earth as an immortal, no place can be permanent anymore.

But the question never passes Lance’s lips, and Keith does not force it. He does not wish to overstep whatever bounds they have created for themselves in this moment. He knows Lance is too selfless to ask, too kind-hearted to pull Keith away from his clan and last remaining family.

The life Lance is forced to return to has no place for someone like Keith anyways, as a non-human, as a lover. He understands that even if his heart breaks for the future fate has felt fit to deal them.

Keith clutches onto Lance until his quiet sobs fade into nothingness and the only thing left is the sound of his heart.

A week before Lance’s passenger liner is set to depart to New York, he comes to Keith with an offer. 

He had been disappearing here and there for a few days to deal with securing his trip to America and packing up his flat. Keith hadn’t thought much of it—besides the slow ache of realizing the likelihood of ever seeing Lance again would be slim—but the way Lance stares at him now, eyes varying slightly to the left as he gnaws on his bottom, has Keith realizing maybe he should have been paying more attention than wrapping himself up in his feelings. 

Lance takes Keith’s hands; his thumbs brush across his knuckles. “I know we are not at a time in our lives, nor a time in the world, where we can be together the way we want,” he starts as Keith steels himself for whatever Lance is about to reveal. “I know I am mortal and you are not—”

“Please do not tell me you turned yourself into a vampire,” Keith quickly cuts him off. He would never wish that fate on anyone, especially his lover. The idea knotts his stomach until he realizes that this entire time he has been able to hear Lance’s heartbeat and feel his breath.

“No, that wouldn’t help either of our situations.”

Keith sighs, knocking his head against Lance’s, relieved to hear Lance deny his suspicions out loud. Still, he keeps his guard locked, waiting. 

“I got in contact with Lady Allura. She said there’s a way for my soul to be reincarnated somewhere down the line once I pass from this lifetime. We would be able to find each other again, in hopefully a slightly more forgiving world.”

Lady Allura, princess of the Summer Court has been around for dozens of centuries; Keith has little disbelief that she can perform the ceremony she offers, even if the fae do like to twist their words. Allura has never been one to do so, always speaking truth even if it’s a blunt, unwanted truth. But she is still fae and the fae do little without gaining something in return.

So, cautiously, Keith says, “And what did she ask for in return?”

Lance hums a little, unconcerned. “My first born.”

“ Lance!”

Holding up his hands, Lance surrenders. “I’m only teasing.” He chuckles at Keith’s outraged expression before he takes a step forward, resting his hand on Keith’s elbow, drawing him close again. “She said she owed you a debt, so consider it paid, if you say yes.”

Keith concentrates on Lance’s heartbeat, a drum to his enhanced hearing.

“Humans would call this a proposal,” he replies, staring at Lance through the fringe that falls into his eyes.

“I am human.”

“Are you sure? Are you certain you truly want to tie yourself to me forever? It will never be able to be undone. If you realize—”

“Keith, querido, my love, I will never find anybody else like you. Not in two years, not in a hundred. It kills me to part from you, but to know another version of me would have the chance to find you and be with you, it makes the parting a little more bearable.” He brushes Keith’s hair behind his ear, touch lingering. “I love you. And I will love you again.”

Within the privacy of the flat, Keith tugs on the lapels of his jacket and pulls him in for a kiss. “Yes,” he answers, “My answer will forever be yes.”

Under the willow tree, caught somewhere between the fae realm and the mortal world, a soft breeze blows through. It gently lifts the ends of Keith’s hair and fluters through Lance’s curls. Their hands remain clasped as pink translucent magic swirls around them, settles into their skin, sinks into their bones

The magic starts to thrum within Keith as Lady Allura weaves it into his very soul, stitching his and Lance’s together forever. The fire roars in front of them, climbing higher and higher as her magic grows. Purple smoke curls off the orange flames. 

From their slit palms, blood drips drop by drop into the fire, fizzling and steaming on the logs. Lance’s flows quickly, a dark red when it touches air. Human. The sweet scent of his blood tickles Keith’s nose, clinging to him. Keith’s blood takes time bubbling to the surface of the cut. When it slowly runs off his palm, it’s black—not human, but not quite of the dead either. Slowly, their quintessence merges.

“As long as Keith remains on this earth,” Lady Allura utters, “you will be reincarnated and your souls will find each other again.”

Heat swells around Keith’s heart and he knows her words ring true.

Once Lady Allura’s magic settles—leaving behind the sharp scent of the fae’s beloved juniberries—and the formal part of the ceremony concludes, music begins to fill the air as floating violins play by themselves. Lance offers his hand, a new, already faded scar in the center of his palm that matches Keith’s, and his bright eyes ask the question he doesn’t bother voicing aloud.

Keith joins him in the dance. They trail across the grass, light on their feet and in time to the music. Keith holds Lance close as he leads. With no mortal world to police their feelings, their touch becomes intimate. Keith clasps Lance’s hand as they dance around the grove. His other rests on Lance’s back, low and teasing that Lance laughs at, playing games of his own. He brushes his lips against Keith, nuzzling his nose into his cheek. He’s warm, unlike Keith, and Keith tries his best to brand this sensation into his mind for when the night grows cold once again.

Keith catches sight of Lady Allura over Lance’s shoulder as they sway to the invisible orchestra. Her cheek marks continue to glow long after the ceremony has concluded. 

She speaks through his consciousness. ‘I never believed a human could have such devotion towards one person. He surprises me.’

‘He surprised me too,’ Keith admits with a quiet smile before returning his attention to Lance.

As if Lance heard their conversation, he grins for a moment, but Keith quickly realizes it’s because he almost lost the rhythm of the dance, distracted by Lady Allura.

Keith shakes his head and leans forward to place a lasting kiss on Lance’s lips. “I love you, and I’ll miss you,” he whispers as he taps their foreheads together.

“I love you, and I’ll miss you,” Lance repeats, voice soft and catching.

Keith will hold onto this memory for the rest of his life. While others fade with the passing of decades, this will stay true; it will stay perfectly lit in the depths of his mind as the world moves on and he can do nothing but follow. And someday, he will get to make more memories with the person in his arms. 

Tears may well at the corners of his eyes, but it’s the happy thoughts that persist.

On the morning of Lance’s departure, Keith stands with all the others wishing their loved ones safe passing. The overcast day allows Keith to stay as long as possible with no fear of the sun’s direct rays, and part of him wonders if Lady Allura had anything to do with that. He’ll have to remember to send his thanks.

Lance holds his bag over his shoulder, one pack containing all his belongings. His ticket wrinkles in his grip, fluttering from the breeze drifting off the ocean waves. His hair dances to the same gust while his dark eyes never once veer from Keith, no matter how many distractions surround them at present. A little girl darts between them and neither startle. Keith is too caught trying to memorize every one of Lance’s features, the exact shade of his eyes, the exact shape of his lips, the exact amount of freckles across his nose.

But he knows he’ll be able to find Lance again even if everything about him changes.

“I will write to you every day, every hour even,” Lance promises as he ducks his head to hide the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Is there even enough paper in the world for such an endeavor?” Keith asks, amused and honored by such a declaration.

“Perhaps I will find out.”

Keith reaches out, wanting to grab Lance, wanting to hold Lance, but he curls his hand into a fist in mid air, suddenly mindful of where they are. In public, on the docks. There are too many eyes, not enough of them supernatural.

Lance grips his forearm instead, as if pretending to shake his hand as an acquaintance and not departing from a years-long lover. The contact is enough; it has to be enough. “See you soon.” Lance smiles, a sad one but Keith doesn’t doubt him. He’ll never doubt anything again.

He just has to be patient.

Even so, he doesn’t stop watching the ship until his enhanced vision can no longer track it past the curve of the horizon and the tears collecting at the corner of his eyes have long dried.

2021, summer

As Lance grew (again), he slowly began to recall his past life. At first, it came to him during his dreams, flashes, images of a world long gone. At first, he couldn’t believe his own mind, struggling to decipher what was real and what couldn’t possibly be anything more than a child's imagination. Therapists were of little help, some going as far as wanting to diagnose him with schizophrenia, and Lance soon learned to keep the memories to himself. Slowly, everyone around him forgot about his childhood “fantasies.”

But Lance never did. The feelings, sensations, and recollections grew more intense the older he got. Except it wasn’t until Lance stumbled upon the supernatural community (again)—befriending a werewolf named Hunk when he entered middle school—that he realized he’s been reliving a past life. After that, it hadn’t taken long for one face to constantly appear among the deluge of memories. A pale face mixed with a dark gaze and frowning lips.  

When he remembered the name Keith Kogane one day in the middle of AP calculus, the final piece linked the rest of the fragments together, completing the puzzle.

Reincarnation. 

It had worked, precisely as Lady Allura intended.

Lance is a different person from who he was back then, though. And he’s sure in the rough hundred plus years since they have last been face-to-face with each other, Keith has changed, has evolved too into someone new but not, perhaps, a complete stranger. 

Maybe they won’t even fall in love again.

That train of thought, however, doesn’t stop Lance’s desire to see him.

An itch persists inside him as the years linger on.

Sometimes it grows; sometimes it fades. For the past year or so, it has become a constant thrum, a second heartbeat of sorts.

He feels like he’s close; he feels like any day now, he’ll walk around a street corner and bump into the love of his life—of his lives . But he’s also held that notion in his chest, next to his heart ever since he left for college six years ago so then again, it might be all in his imagination. Something he desires but not reality.

Maybe because it was mid afternoon, Lance hadn’t expected much of anything. Maybe because he was dead tired from a long shift at work, now going through the motions of grocery shopping. Maybe because that itch has been so consistent within him, he’s gotten used to it and barely notices it anymore.

Plastic bags swing from his arms as he throws them into the trunk of his car. Their contents spill out, tumbling into the back of the seats and Lance does nothing more than sigh and shuts the trunk hard enough to shake his car.

This is his life now.

He wastes away his days grumbling over a dead end job he got right out of college to pay for rent. It was supposed to be a temporary position; he’s been there for two years now.

Despite all the flaws of the late 1800s—the rampant racism and queerphobia and sexism and lack of modern medicine—he misses it. Mainly the parties. Well, only the parties and maybe the fashion and definitely Keith. The late nineteenth century sucked but Keith was the one bright spot.

His phone chimes with a text. Hoping it’s from a friend or sibling, he frowns when he spies his boss’ name, who asks him, once again, to cover a last minute, late night shift. Lance almost bangs his head against the steering wheel but is with it enough to stop an inch before he presses on the horn.    

He so wants to press on that horn.

Sighing, he starts to back up, eyes caught onto the rearview mirror. Until his car smacks into something and a sharp yell follows the harsh impact.

Slamming on the breaks, Lance jerks forward, hands gripping the steering wheel tight. His knuckles pale as he calms his breathing. Of course, of course today when he is in no mood to handle anything right now.

Of fucking course.

Maybe it was just a shopping cart, he briefly tells himself as he looks at his muddled reflection in the windshield. But he knows shopping carts do not scream. 

He hopes he didn’t kill someone.

Lance jumps out of his car. A stream of curses echo into the silent air—which, fair, this person did almost get run over. At least they seem fine enough to curse up a storm. Lance is thankful that there’s no one else around right now. And that the person’s alive, of course.

As he makes his way around the back, he stops in his tracks. The ardent apology dies on his tongue.

Lance staggers back, quickly placing a hand on the trunk of his car to stop himself from tumbling to the ground as well. He crumples his shirt right over his heart, hearing his own heart beating, and he’s sure the person on the ground tunes into it easily.

He knows how good a vampire’s hearing is.

He knows how good Keith’s is.  

But Keith is busy gathering the stuff that got scattered from the impact that he hasn’t drawn his attention towards Lance yet, too occupied with cursing out the driver who hit him.

That’s okay; it gives Lance a chance to process everything before him. Eyes blown wide, he takes a step forward and slaps a hand over his mouth, covering his open shock.

Not much about Keith physically has changed in the century that has passed, except that his hair is cut shorter, curling wild around his neck and jawline, and a burn scar races up his right cheek. The only thing about Keith’s appearance that truly catches Lance off guard though is the modern clothing. He wears a leather jacket in the middle of June—which Lance would assume is extremely uncomfortable, except vampires are not bothered by heat, only the sun—and tight black jeans that do wonders for his thighs.

Lance tries not to feel frumpy in his post-work comfort wear of a baggy sweatshirt and fraying jeans. The fragment of self consciousness doesn’t last long. How can it when he has finally found the person he’s been searching for his entire life?

Keith is here , right in front of him.

Lance only pinches himself twice to make sure this isn’t some elaborate dream that will leave him an emotional mess in the morning.  

Drawing a deep breath, he places a hand on his hip and addresses Keith for the first time in over a century with, “Walk much?”

“You could’ve looked when you were backing up, asshole!” Keith growls, shoulders tight as if expecting a fight soon. He finishes gathering his stuff into a neat pile—seems like he picked up a renewed interest in human food, or gained a sweet-tooth.

Lance can’t help the smirk slowly forming on his face. “I did, but you definitely weren’t in the rearview mirror .”

Keith pauses at that, slowly turning around. The anger seems to start to fizzle out of him. “Oh, right. ” Finally, he lifts his head and every minute expression on his face freezes until his eyes flash through various phases of disbelief and surprise. He gasps, breathless as he says, “ Lance. ”

Wearing a cheeky smile, Lance tilts his head to the side. “You know, if you wanted to fall for me again, there’re probably less painful ways.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Keith practically launches himself at Lance. He grabs Lance’s forearms, pulling him close as he searches Lance’s face, learning about all the similarities and differences between the Lance he first knew and the one before him now—just as Lance had done not a minute ago. His hand hovers close to Lance’s cheek, wanting to touch him but not sure if it would be welcomed. “So you remember?”

“Yeah, and you haven’t been very easy to find,” Lance quietly admonishes, laughing all the while. He’s high off his giddiness. “Though, clearly I should’ve time traveled back to the 80s because you still seem to be stuck there.” His hands weave into Keith’s hair, tugging gently on the shorter strands, marveling at how, even in his old memories, he never forgot how soft it was. “Honestly, do you really have a mullet?” He’s still so beautiful, still so like the man he knew. His voice is exactly the same, that gentle low rasp, and his touch is cold but confronting. And— “ Oh. ”

Keith’s vampire strength starts to bruise his upper arms as he’s quickly drawn into a tight hug. “I missed you,” Keith mumbles into the crook of Lance’s neck.

Lance folds into Keith’s embrace as tears prick the corners of his eyes and his hands twist into Keith’s shirt, an anchoring type of grip. “Me too.” 

All of his lost luck over the years must have been pooling into this one moment where they find each other again in the parking lot of a grocery store. Where Lance has waited a full lifetime and then some for this exact moment and Keith has been forced to endure their separation for far longer.

In the parking lot of a grocery store, they have the chance to start again.

Lance will make the most of it this time around.