Chapter Text
MONDAY, MARCH 18
The sound of spare change clinking together can easily be heard over Frank Ocean’s Blondeas Lance rolls coins with Rachel at their kitchen table. He has one foot up on the chair, chin resting on his knee as he lazily sorts the silver from the copper.
He had the longest shift ever yesterday and spent his St. Patrick’s Day dealing with a bunch of drunk people young and old pretending to be Irish, so he skipped class this morning to sleep in.
Rachel yawns a big, loud yawn. She wasn’t as lucky and had to wake up at, like, 4:30 a.m. to open at Starbucks. Gross.
“I need one more dime,” she says, holding out her hand. Lance shifts a few coins in his pile around before finding one and tossing it to her. She doesn’t even try to catch it, letting it sail past her and onto the floor.
Over the last week, they’ve collected any spare change they see around town. Now, they’ve thrown it all into a pile on the table, along with anything from Lance’s wallet, Rachel’s piggybank, or beneath the couch cushions. They’re hoping for at least 20 bucks.
“Do you think we should move?” Lance mumbles.
“In the middle of the semester?” Rachel yawns again. “Nothing will be available. This was the cheapest place, anyway.”
“Ugh,” he lets his limbs go limp, falling off the chair and to the floor, arms splayed to the sides. “I hate this.”
The most frustrating part about this is that they’ve got enough money to pay the rent. But it’s justenough. They still have to pay for groceries and gas and make their car payments. So, they have to keep working and saving.
Lance is still exhausted, and he spoke too soon about Shiro being in his corner. Ever since Friday, he’s barely gotten any replies from him. He’s trying to ignore the nagging thought in his brain that his panic attack annoyed Shiro and made him never want to talk to him again.
He’s probably just busy, right? Yeah.
Just then, he hears his phone buzz up on the table, and his heart leaps out of his chest. But he refuses to get his hopes up, staying on the floor and covering his eyes with his arm.
“Who texted me?” he asks. Lance peaks up to see Rachel leaning over to check as she fills a roll with nickels.
“Hunk,” she says, and his entire body relaxes. “He said that he might try to come here for a few days this week if he can afford it.”
His heart jumps yet again for multiple reasons, and he pulls himself up to sit back at the table. “How’d you read that? My messages don’t show unless my phone’s unlocked,” he says, grabbing it.
“I put my prints in one time when you left it unlocked and went to the bathroom,” she says, nonchalant as ever, sliding more coins into the paper roll.
“Oh my god,” he shoves her with his free hand, and she almost tips off the chair. “Creep!”
“What do you even have to hide?” she giggles, but her expression changes quickly as she looks up in horror. “You don’t send people dick pics, do you?”
“That’s for me to know and you to neverfind out.”
“Um, ew. You haven’t sent Shiroa dick pic, right?”
“No, Rachel, oh my god!” he says, dropping his phone back on the table without even unlocking it for himself. If people could stop acting like this is some big, romantic thing with Shiro, that’d be great. “It’s not like that. He’s like…my role model, and I really don’t want his opinion on my penis.”
“Okay,” she says, giggling louder now. It makes Lance start to laugh. They’re both kind of delirious. “Hey,” she says through her laughter. “I got…an audition. For…an Arby’s commercial.”
“An Arby’s commercial,” he squeaks, covering his face with his hand. Through his fingers, he continues. “Rachel McClain, the next face of Arby’s. Oscar material.”
“Um, okay,” she bellows. “One day you’re going to direct an Arby’s commercial, and you’ll say to me: Lo siento, mi hermosa hermana. I was wrong to laugh at you. Arby’s commercials are el escalón to success and I’m proud of you.”
“You wish,” he says, another laugh escaping him. “My first real project is going to be Oscar winning.”
“Why are you so obsessed with the Oscars?”
“Why are you so obsessed with the Oscars?” he mocks, putting his hands on his hips. “Because I’m a film major, you doof.”
At those words, he feels all oxygen leave his system, and he realizes exactly how much he’s screwed up these last few weeks. He’s skipped several classes and hasn’t turned in at least three assignments. In the classes he does show up to, he falls asleep. He’s going to fail something at this rate.
“I have a midterm paper due tomorrow,” he says, moving the coins in front of him around just to do something with his hands.
He doesn’t see it, but he knows Rachel’s smile drops. “Have you started it?”
“No.”
“Lance, that’s not like you.”
“I don’t have time,” he says. “Or energy. I haven’t turned in anything lately.”
“Well, you have time now,” she says, and he looks up at her. She’s gone back to counting change, her mouth quirked to the side. When he doesn’t move or speak, she sits up straight. “I can do this myself, it’s fine.”
His shoulders fall. “I should tell my professors and TAs what’s going on, shouldn’t I?”
“Yeah,” she nods, reaching out to ruffle his hair, and he groans. There she goes again, acting like she’s the older twin. “See, you’re pretty smart when you don’t let your anxiety control your brain.”
“Bold of you to think my anxiety ever stops controlling my brain,” he says, standing now.
“You know what I mean,” she says, tilting her head and looking up at him with a frown.
Yeah, he does know what she means. If only it were that simple, though. He tries breathing right and challenging his thoughts and all of that, but he’s not very good at it. Everything he could possibly worry about eats away at him anyway.
What usually happens is he grabs onto the most pressing issue and tries to fix it. Usually, it’s how people view him, so he just tries to be the best at what he loves and make people happy with him.
But now it’s the rent, and he’s dedicating all his time to making money. Now he can’t focus on his passion – the reason he’s in this stupid apartment in the first place. It’d be cool if his brain would let him balance the two without completely spiraling into itself.
He flops onto his bed and grabs his laptop, but he already knows he won’t be able to focus. He finally checks his texts from Hunk instead.
Hunkules <3:
> How do you feel about all of us coming to see you sometime this week?
> We’re talking about it and we think we can swing it
> We’re lowkey worried about you
Lance:
> YES PLEASE COME I MISS YOU GUYS
> but come this weekend if possible that’s when my spring break starts
Hunkules <3:
> You okay buddy?
Lance:
> Fine just dying :)
> Shiro hasn’t messaged me back in like three days and im almost glad I have this rent shit to worry about
> otherwise id probably be crying rn hahahah
Hunkules <3:
> Just try to remember how cool it was he even answered you as much as he did!!
> He’s probably so busy
> And it has nothing to do with you I know what you’re thinking
Lance:
> ur probably right
> why am I this way
Lance locks his phone and looks up at his Kerberos poster, Shiro’s smiling face standing out to him like usual. He’s pointing at the camera – at Lance – and something about it motivates the hell out of him. He opens his laptop and pulls a new Word document up.
Shiro’s got to be busy. That’s why he’s not answering him. He still has his support, and he knows Shiro believes in him. He has to make him proud.
-
Keith is in huge trouble. Getting some facts wrong about Shiro is one thing, since Lance doesn’t actually know him, but talking aboutShiro as Shiro is another thing entirely. And his excuse was bullshit if he ever heard it.
He goes by Shiro because his dad’s name is Takashi. Keith is pretty sure his dad has never been called Shiro in his life, so he’s lucky Lance bought that. He’s lucky Lance is buying any of this.
Shiro’s been hovering and silently trying to figure out who Keith is talking to and why he’s smiling at his phone, too. He knows him enough to think that if he waits patiently, Keith will tell him. He’s going to get antsy soon, though; it’s only a matter of time before he finds out.
Keith is in way over his head.
For some reason, Shiro decided to drive them to take pictures for the ASPCA/Bumble campaign in his new BMW. Kosmo’s lying in the backseat, panting, and he’s already covered the seats with his hair.
They’re heading to the famous pink wall on Melrose, but traffic is insane for 11 a.m. on a Monday. Fucking tourists.
Keith uses the time to rapidly click through Twitter, replying to other fans’ DMs so that if anyone finds out about Lance, it’ll look less suspicious. He was just trying to interact more with fans, to make Shiro look more personable.
Ainsley (@shirosthetics)
> Shiro, I know you’ll never see this, but I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me. You are such a kind and talented person, and your passion for acting inspires me so much. You’ve made me feel loved when I felt alone. You’d never believe how many lives you’ve changed just by being yourself. I love you so much and I hope I can meet you and hug you soon. Thank you <3
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> Whoa this is so nice! Thank you!
> I just wanna hug you now so I hope we can meet soon too
Ainsley (@shirosthetics)
> OMGHDSJFS WHAT
> HI
> I really didn’t think you’d see that omg
> I love you so much I’m coming to LA in July!!
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> Well then I hope we run into eachother :)
-
CHLOE LOVES LOTOR (@kerberoskrew)
> you make me want to wake up every morning and be myself :)
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> you do the same for me chloe
> also lotor loves you too
CHLOE LOVES LOTOR (@kerberoskrew)
> SHIROTJO
> im crying
> ILY
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> love you too!
-
levi (@babytakashi)
> I hate saying this but I feel like ill never love anyone more than you. I keep trying but no one sparks joy in me quite like you do. Hopefully we’ll meet again in another life
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> you’ll find happiness and love I promise
> keep your head up
Levi (@babytakashi)
> thanks shiro love u
> you’re what’s keeping me alive
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> I’m proud of you for pushing through! YOU are what’s keeping you alive. Love you
-
yasmine (@yaaaasmine)
> whats your opinion on pineapple on pizza
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> yes
> especially on bbq chicken pizza
yasmine (@yaaaasmine)
> EW FAKE
> BLOCKEDT
It kind of bums Keith out, reading all of these. He can’t imagine meaning that much to someone, being a stranger’s reason to live or inspiring them that much. He can’t even imagine a stranger caring whether he liked pineapple on pizza.
But, like usual, he can take Shiro’s place and pretend. He can try to convince himself that his tweets play any sort of role in this.
They arrive at the Paul Smith store and park. The pink wall is even brighter in person, but Keith still doesn’t understand the appeal of it. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out, putting his seat down and leading Kosmo out onto the pavement by his leash.
Kosmo sniffs at the air, peering around at his surroundings. This is completely new to him – he never leaves the general vicinity of the apartment.
“You okay?” Shiro asks, locking the car and slipping his sunglasses up on his head. He kneels down to pet Kosmo, and when Keith doesn’t answer, he looks up at him.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
“You’ve just seemed out of it lately,” Shiro takes the leash from Keith and they head to the wall. He kneels down again, telling Kosmo to sit.
“I’ve just been stressed,” he says. “You’ve been really busy.”
Which is sort of true. Shiro was this busy when they filmed the first season, so Keith should’ve expected it. But he hasn’t taken Kosmo on a walk in weeks, and he’s been eating at odd hours and mostly fast food. He doesn’t get a lot of sleep, either, so it’s no wonder he made the mistake he did with Lance.
“Sorry I keep you on set so much,” Shiro says. He shifts into a crouch and wraps his arms around Kosmo. The husky keeps panting, mouth open and tongue hanging out the side. It’s a perfect shot.
“It’s fine,” Keith says, quickly pulling his camera open to take it before Kosmo moves. “It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway.”
Shiro frowns, but only briefly so the photoshoot can continue. The conversation usually flows like that as they take photos, and they’ve had a lot of photoshoots like this. Keith can’t exactly run Shiro’s Instagram by himself, not like Twitter.
“I think you’re right, though,” he mumbles, snapping another picture as Kosmo licks Shiro’s nose. “I think I’m connection-starved.”
That’s the only reasonable explanation for how attached he immediately got to Lance, and for how he thought it was acceptable to pretend to be Shiro just to talk to him.
“I think you’re touch-starved is what you are.”
“Please don’t say things like that to me,” he says.
Shiro laughs, picking Kosmo up and holding him like a cat, supporting his bottom. This will probably be the photo that the companies will choose, thinking Shiro’s arms will convince his followers will come to the event.
“You should make a tinder or something,” Shiro says. He gives Kosmo a kiss on the side of his face. “Make some friends.”
“I don’t think that’s a place to make friends.”
“Just put ‘here to hang out and make friends’ in your bio,” Shiro says. “Some people will believe you, and others will proposition you for dates or sex. It’ll be the best of both worlds.”
“I’ll think about it,” Keith grunts, shaking his head but unable to keep himself from smiling.
They finish taking pictures, and Keith thanks whatever god is out there that no one noticed Shiro. There were a couple of girls at the wall taking pictures, and they kept glancing over, but they were polite enough not to say anything.
“Hey, will you read through a scene with me when we get to set?”
“Sure,” Keith pauses. “As long as it’s not a scene with Adam.”
“No,” Shiro smirks at him. “I save those to read with him.”
Kosmo immediately curls up in a ball in the backseat; apparently, his twenty minutes of being a model has worn him out. As the two slide into the car, Shiro sits back and lets out a breath.
“Speaking of Adam,” he says, “will you go with us if we get drinks on Saturday?”
“Like a third wheel?” Keith asks, lips pouting in confusion, which makes Shiro chuckle.
“Like a ‘no we’re not dating, Allura, nothing to see here’ wheel.”
At the reminder, Keith texts the photos to Allura to send to whoever’s in charge of the Bumble/ASPCA event before he forgets. He’s attaching them to the text as he says, “So, areyou guys dating?”
“No,” Shiro says, starting the car, “I can’t tell if he’s flirting or just being nice.”
“You really sound like you’re in middle school, you know that?”
Shiro glances to the side at him, a smile playing on his face. He sing-songs, “You’ll understand one day, when you’re older and in love.”
“Yeah, like that’ll ever happen,” Keith says, barely audible, but Shiro still somehow hears him.
He takes a hand off of the wheel to pat Keith on the back, so hard Keith jerks forward. “Tinder, buddy! Tinder.”
It isn’t until after midnight that they get back home from set, and Keith drags his feet as he walks into his apartment. At least he knows he fed Kosmo before he left, so all he has to do is take him out to poop and then he can go to bed.
Or at least that’s what he thinks. Kosmo makes it clear that that’s not what’s going to happen as soon as the door closes. He runs around in circles, whining and jumping up on Keith.
This isn’t “I have to poop” excitement. This is “Finally, you’re home! Let’s go on a walk,” excitement, and Kosmo doesn’t take no for an answer.
Normally, at this hour, Keith would ignore him long enough that he would give up, but he knows he owes him. Huskies have more energy than most dogs already, and Kosmo has two weeks of that pent up in him.
“Kosmo, it’s 12:30 in the morning,” Keith groans, but Kosmo just keeps running circles around him. So, he decides to be a responsible pet owner for once and put Kosmo’s harness on and take him for a walk.
As soon as they’re outside, Kosmo is tugging him out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. Keith has to yell “heel” at him 12 times before he finally stops pulling.
Once they’re going at a reasonable pace, Keith pulls his phone out and opens Twitter again. He types in Lance’s username and goes into their DMs out of habit, and he feels heavy just looking at all of the unanswered messages.
Lance (@thesoftshiro)
> whoever said money can’t buy happiness was lying
> id be so much happier if I had money right now
Lance (@thesoftshiro)
> update on group project situation: my group doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing
> the trailer is due this Friday and they won’t agree on the literal plot of it so we haven’t even written it yet
> I want to say I wish I could just do this myself but if I had to I probably wouldn’t turn it in and I’d get a zero
Lance (@thesoftshiro)
> people who pretend they’re Irish today just to get shitfaced are annoying
> why is there a holiday just dedicated to getting drunk
> I mean I like drinking as much as the next guy but REALLY
> I had to clean up puke on the bar tonight I hate everyone
Lance (@thesoftshiro)
> My sister and I officially found $35 in change, we are THAT much closer to being able to pay rent ladies and gentlemen
> but I honestly do not know how I am going to do this every single month
> maybe ill just drop out of school and move back home
> then my sister can move back in with her old roommates and it’ll be fine
As if knowing he opened his messages, Lance starts typing again, and a message quickly comes through.
Lance (@thesoftshiro)
> SHIRO I just cranked out an entire 7 page essay in RECORD TIME
> it’s probably awful but its SOMETHING which means I won’t get a ZERO
> and im gonna email all of my professors and tell them what’s going on so hopefully I can make stuff up
> you don’t even know how you helped me but you did so thank you
Okay, now Keith has to respond, otherwise he’ll feel bad. But after this, he shouldn’t talk to Lance anymore. He just has to get him off of his mind and go on with life like this never happened.
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> Sorry! I’ve been super busy while we film. You saw the first episode is premiering in a couple of weeks, right?
> I hope you guys figured out that script!! Just write one and say look guys lets just do this or else we’re not getting this shit done
> Also you should probably look into getting a new job :( you don’t have to love what you do right now but you should at least LIKE it a little bit yknow??
> OMG you did it that fast?! I’M PROUD! You work so hard, it’s impressive. Good job!
Lance (@thesoftshiro)
> YES I CANT WAIT!! ITS GONNA BE AMAAAAAZING
> We decided on something and we’re almost done writing it in a google doc, we’re meeting tomorrow to start filming ugh
> im thinking about it but that’s just soo much work right now. But wow, you work super hard so that means a lot? Thanks shiro love u
SHIRO (@takashitweets)
> everything’s gonna turn out great for you, lance
It annoys Keith, how much pride and fondness he feels for Lance. He’s just a fan – he doesn’t even know he’s talking to Keith, so how is Keith feelingso much? Not answering him ever againis going to be harder than he thought.
When he gets home, his eyes droop as he fills Kosmo’s dish up with water. But he has to be proactive about this, to get himself out of this situation once and for all. He takes Shiro’s advice and downloads Tinder, setting up his profile as he lies in bed.
He picks two pictures – a selfie with Shiro, to make him look cool, and a picture Shiro took of him with Kosmo a while ago. His about me was the hardest part, but he settled on, “I like to watch horror movies, listen to a bunch of different kinds of music, and work on my motorcycle. I draw, among other things. Down to make friends and see where things go.”
It made him cringe to type it.
He needs to forget about Lance, though, and the best way to do that is to get someone else on his mind. But with each photo he swipes right on, he’s finding how rare it is for him to get butterflies from just looking at someone’s selfie. There’s just somethingabout Lance.
Keith closes out of the app, and he’s about to give up already and just delete it when he gets a notification that he’s matched with someone named James. He feels his heart leap, just at the validation.
He has to admit, the reason he swiped on James is because he looked a lot like Lance. Same floppy brown haircut, same tan skin. His profile picture is the typical mirror selfie, and his bio is “FIRST OFF IMA SELF MADE BOSS, LOOKIN FOR A MAN THAT’S ON THE NEXT LEVEL AND AINT AFRAID TO LIVE LIFE ON THE EDGE,” which Keith thinks is pretty stupid. But he’s hoping it’s just a joke, and James’s bio also says he’s a film major at LMU, so close enough.
Keith’s heart leaps again as he’s validated even more with a message from James.
James:
> hey nice pic
> is that your dog
Keith:
> yeah haha
God, he’s so bad at this. He pulls his covers up to his chin and Kosmo stares at him as he bites his lip and tries to come up with something more to say.
> his name’s kosmo
James:
> cute
> what are you up to?
Keith:
> just in bed…on here
Seriously, how do people do this?
James:
> without me? ;))
…
Keith looks up at Kosmo again, as if his dog will explain this message to him. He should’ve waited until he was with Shiro to make this, so at least he could have some guidance.
Keith:
> well…yeah. we just met
This is not like talking to Lance at all. But he has to do this. He can’t keep comparing people to Lance.
James:
> hahaha want to get a drink or something?
Keith:
> like right now?
James:
> yeah
Keith:
> it’s almost 1:30am on a Monday
James:
> yeah and?
> it’s midterms dude it’s fine
Keith:
> well, im pretty exhausted right now but
> tomorrow, maybe?
James:
> ugh sure
> we can figure out when and where tomorrow
Keith:
> okay
Keith drops his phone on his bedside table and finally lets his eyes close. He struggles to force himself to feel content with this, but he knows Shiro would be proud.
TUESDAY, MARCH 19
Shiro was so thrilled that Keith had a ‘date,’ that after insisting he show him James’s profile, he gave Keith the entire day off. He claimed that Adam could grab him coffee, and anything else he needed, he could just ask someone else’s assistant for or get himself.
It wasn’t a great way to make Keith feel needed, but he was so exhausted when Shiro told him that he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He just waltzed out of Shiro’s apartment and back into his own, burying himself under his covers.
But now that he’s awake with nothing to keep his mind busy, he’s getting antsy. He and James agreed to meet at Altea Bar and Grill at 8 p.m., and it’s now 6:30, and Keith has already put it into Google Maps three times despite passing the place often and knowing exactly where it is.
Needless to say, he has no idea how to prepare for a ‘date,’ or whatever this is. He tucks and untucks his hair behind his ears twice before realizing it doesn’t matter what he does to his hair, because it’s going to be matted down with a motorcycle helmet soon.
He tries not to focus on his outfit too much, either. He just throws his biker jacket over a red t-shirt, slips on black jeans, and calls it fashion.
Eventually, with nothing else to do, he decides to show up at the bar early and get used to his surroundings before meeting a whole new person in them. In fact, he speeds there, finding himself just wanting to get it over with.
The bar is impressively packed for a Tuesday night, mostly with college students destressing from midterms. It’s right by LMU, so it makes sense, but it’s still a shock to Keith’s system. He stands in the doorway for a few moments before deciding to suck it up and get a seat.
There’s a single bartender with violet hair up in a bun filling everyone’s orders at the other end of the bar. Keith bites on his thumbnail, trying to ease his nerves before she gets to him.
He can’t decide if he’s more worried that James will be awful or that he’ll be amazing. Both would be equally detrimental, for Keith at least. Being amazing would give James more opportunity to be awful in the future.
But Keith thinks he’s ready to let someone in, finally. Or at least he wantsto be. The only thing is he kind of wants that someone to be Lance, even though it’s impossible at this point.
“Hey there, lone wolf,” the bartender says. “Can I get you anything?”
“Um,” Keith’s voice cracks as he pushes the words out, licking his lips, “just a water for now, thanks.”
She fills a cup and sets it in front of him before moving on to the next person, and Keith sucks the water down greedily. He’s suddenly parched out of nowhere. He really, really just wants this over and done with, so he doesn’t have to feel this anticipation anymore.
He pulls out his phone to check the time: 7:37. Just 23 more minutes. The urge to check his messages with Lance comes as soon as he unlocks it, but he has to will himself not to. That’s the whole point of being here.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” someone says, and Keith looks up and around in hope that he got the time wrong and it’s James because they were actually meant to meet at 7:30 or something. “I was working on a group project and we went way later than we thought.”
It’s not James, but another bartender who looks a lot like James. Keith blinks, watching him tuck a towel in his back pocket. From the side, it kind of looks like…Lance.
But it can’t be. He’s just projecting, since he’s trying so hard not to think about Lance.
The violet-haired bartender goes over to the lookalike, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You need to take a break, Lance.”
Keith holds his breath. Okay, so, they have the same name. So what? Plenty of boys in their twenty-somethings are named Lance and have tan skin and floppy brown hair.
The lookalike puts both of his hands on the other bartender’s shoulders and shakes her. “Money, Acxa! I need money!”
Plenty of boys in their twenty-somethings are also bartenders who need money. It’s fine. Yet, Keith still hasn’t breathed out, and he’s watching his every move.
Acxa laughs, playfully shoving him away from her. “Go cover your side of the bar. This rush almost killed me without you.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, and of course, of course, he comes right up to Keith with a big grin on his face. The grin falters for just a moment, almost as if he somehow recognizes Keith too, before it’s spread back on his face. “Hey man, can I get you anything other than water?”
Keith stares, fully unable to breathe now. It is Lance – thesoftshiro, with his dimples and freckles and piercing blue eyes. It’s Lance. Keith’s not actually Shiro. And he was not prepared for this.
“Um, uh, yeah, actually,” he stammers, dropping his phone. He definitely needs alcohol now. “Can you make something sweet? Like an amaretto sour or something?”
“Yeah, I can do an amaretto sour,” he says, leaning onto the bar on his elbows. “Can I just see your ID?”
Keith fumbles with his wallet and ends up just showing Lance his ID through the clear film it sits behind instead of trying to pull it out. He lets out a long breath and sucks another deep breath in.
“Perfect, Keith,” he says, tapping the bar. “I’ll get that for ya.”
Then, he smirks – he actually smirks. One dimple dips in, and Keith feels the same butterflies he felt when looking at Lance’s selfies. This is unreal.
Lance makes the drink with such ease that Keith can’t help but watch him. He flicks his wrist as he pours various things into a shaker, a hint of that smirk still on his face. Keith’s eyes wander to his bicep flexing beneath the sleeve of his black t-shirt.
He watches, while Lance shakes the drink and pours it into a glass full of ice, for any sign that he hates this job. It’s an invasion of privacy, or at least it feels like one. He keeps his gaze settled back down on his hands until Lance wanders back over to serve him the drink.
Lance rests his hands on the edge of the bar, leaning against it again. He does a brief glance around at everyone else as Keith takes a sip of the drink, before he looks back at him.
The cocktail goes down Keith’s throat easily, not even tasting like alcohol, and he holds his breath again. He prepares himself for confrontation and tries to think of any possible way Lance could know he’s the one he’s been talking to.
“So, do you go to LMU?” Lance asks finally, and Keith relaxes only slightly.
“No, uh,” Keith opens and closes his mouth a few times, “no.”
Lance hesitates then – he must have been expecting a ‘yes.’ For just a second or two, Keith can see his mind racing.
“So, what are you doing here by yourself if you’re not escaping exams?” He asks, voice light. “It’s kind of sad, man.”
“I’m actually—” he starts, and he sees Lance’s face drop only milliseconds before he feels a hand on his back. It’s James, his hair slicked back with just one piece hanging over his eyes. He does look like Lance, but at the same time not at all.
“Hey,” he says. “Keith, right?”
“Yeah,” Keith says, and James slides onto the seat beside him.
“’Sup, man?” he says to Lance, who has a smile plastered on his face again. “Gin and tonic, and I’ll pay for whatever he got.”
“Yooou got it, James,” Lance says. “Just show me your ID, I have cameras on me.”
They know each other repeats in Keith’s mind as James purses his lips and pulls out his wallet. Lance barely looks at his ID. Well, of course they know each other. They’re both 21-year-old film majors that go to LMU, apparently. They must have classes together. But still, this night just keeps getting weirder for Keith.
“So, your profile said you go to LMU?” Keith asks, stealing Lance’s opening line in an attempt to start this ‘date’ off on the least awkward note despite the circumstances.
“Yup,” James leans more toward Keith with eyes full of pride, as if this is the single greatest accomplishment anyone could have. “I’m a film major.”
“Oh, cool,” Keith says, trying to sound like it wasn’t one of the sole reasons he swiped on him anyway. “What do you want to do with it?”
“Direct,” he says. “And I get the highest grades in the film school, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up being the next Steven Spielberg.”
Keith glances at Lance, who’s finishing up making the gin and tonic, willing some of his film knowledge to transfer to his brain. He’s heard the name, obviously. He just doesn’t know what to say next.
“He’s the guy who directed…Jaws?” He sputters out, just as Lance sets the drink down.
“Who, Steven Spielberg?” Lance asks, perking up at the name of his favorite movie, and James looks at him with the hint of a glare. Lance shrugs before moving on to serve a couple that just sat down. It has got to be the cutest thing Keith has ever seen.
“Yeah,” James says, taking a swig of his drip and looking back at Keith, “Jaws and like a dozen other amazing films. What’d you say your major was again?”
“Oh, I-I don’t have one.”
“You’re undecided?”
“No, I’m not in school,” Keith says, and he’s almost ashamed to say it this time around, to someone who seems so proud that they’re going to LMU. He takes another drink of his amaretto sour and looks away before he can see James’s reaction.
Unexpectedly, James leans even more toward Keith, resting his elbow on the countertop and his cheek in his palm. “What do you do, then?”
“I’m a personal assistant and, um,” he looks around quickly for Lance, ensuring he’s out of earshot before continuing, “social media manager. For Takashi Shirogane, the actor.”
“Oh, I know him. Lance is obsessed with that guy,” James juts his chin in Lance’s direction. “He did a whole speech on him in our public speaking class last year.”
Keith cringes. Not exactly a tattoo of Shiro’s face, but it’s close. Yet his evident crush shows no sign of receding.
“Yeah, he’s a cool guy,” he says. “He pays me well enough.”
“I should’ve had you pay for our drinks then,” James laughs, and his hand brushes against Keith’s arm.
“Ha, well, I don’t make that much.”
They continue to talk about inconsequential things, and Lance only returns to them once to get James another gin and tonic. He fills Keith’s water glass without him asking while Keith nurses his single amaretto sour, and Keith feels his insides go soft.
The more James drinks, the more he touches and the closer he gets to Keith. This is all new, and Keith really isn’t sure what’s going on or what to do. The closer he gets, and the more he talks to him, the less James looks like Lance.
“You wanna get out of here?” James asks eventually, his eyes flicking to the door and then back at Keith. His cheeks are starting to flush pink.
“Uh, sure.”
They pay the tab and start to head to the door. James wraps an arm around Keith’s back, hand resting on his hip. Every possibility of what is about to happen is running through Keith’s mind.
“Hey, wait!” he jumps at Lance’s desperate voice, showing a hint of the less-confident version of himself Keith has gotten to know through Twitter for the first time all night. He and James turn back around. “James, don’t forget to send me that footage so I can start editing it tonight.”
James just waves him off, pulling Keith forward and forcing him to turn back toward the door. So, he’s part of that group that Lance has been frustrated about, the one that’s been making him feel like he isn’t being heard.
This newfound information inspires action in Keith, but he isn’t sure what kind of action, exactly. What is he going to do, hit the guy? Give him a nice talking-to about the etiquette of group projects? James doesn’t even know that he’s aware of anything about Lance other than the fact that he’s a bartender who gave a speech on Shiro.
“That your bike?” James asks, forcing him back to the present, arm still around Keith and pointing at his motorcycle with his free hand.
“Yeah,” Keith breathes.
“What do you say you give me a ride, huh?” James spins Keith around so he’s in front of him, places his hands on Keith’s waist and pulls him closer. “Back to your place?”
And at your place, too? His expression seems to suggest.
“Um, well, I only have one helm—”
He cuts him off with a kiss: Keith’s first real kiss in about a decade. Keith’s eyes fly open as James’s lips press harshly against his. His first thought in that moment, for some reason, is Lance – his own eyes wide as he reminded James to send him what they worked on.
Lance is probably a much better kisser. A good kisser. Keith sighs out of his nose, annoyed at his own thoughts, and closes his eyes, willing himself to enjoy this.
This is what he wanted. He’s touch- and connection-starved.
But James’s tongue pushes its way through Keith’s lips far too soon and meets his own with enthusiasm. His hand slides under Keith’s shirt and up his back, sending chills up Keith’s spine. What is happening? Keith takes the first opportunity available to pull away.
“I actually,” he starts, and James leans into another kiss, forcing him to pull away again. “I actually have to go.”
James tightens his grip on Keith’s waist, pulling him closer. Keith has to bring his hands up and push at James’s chest.
“Seriously. I have to go.”
He pushes into a turn, breaking free from James, and takes long, quick strides toward his bike. Luckily, James stays where he is, confused.
“What the hell, dude?” he asks as Keith slips his helmet on. “I paid for your drink.”
“I’ll Venmo you, or something,” Keith answers quickly, probably not even audible enough to reach James.
He fumbles with his keys before pushing one into the ignition and turning it. He puts the bike in neutral, pressing the kill switch back to start, pulling the clutch, and hitting the starter button in natural movements that easily juxtapose the strange feeling in his gut as he zooms out of the parking lot.
-
“Wait, who was it?” Rachel asks through a mouthful of ramen from her side of her and Lance’s shared room. Her half is always a lot cleaner and more decorated than Lance’s, with her gray and magenta sheets clear of discarded clothes, fairy lights strung on her headboard, and various posters taped up without a risk of falling.
“I don’t know, some guy named Keith,” he says. His voice is a bit too high pitched for his liking – he can feel himself getting annoying. He turns back to his laptop and tries to make his voice calmer. “He said he didn’t go to Loyola. He was really hot.”
“And what’s the problem?”
“Were you even listening to me?” he asks, already raising his voice again and turning back to her.
She leans back against her wall, right under her poster of Lin-Manuel Miranda as Alexander Hamilton, and takes another bite of her ramen. “You talk too fast.”
Lance groans, but he’s glad Rachel closes at Starbucks tomorrow and is even awake for him to complain to.
“The problem is he actually seemed kind of into me and then James showed up.”
Even after they left, his shift passed, and Lance got his tips from last week, clocked out, and drove home, it was still bothering him. That good-looking, soft-spoken boy was on a date with James Griffin, of all people.
And Lance knows it was a date, since James spent the last hour of the time with their group talking about how he was going to get laid tonight.
“That asshole in my narrative film production group,” he tells her. He’s complained about James to Rachel more than once but has most likely exclusively referred to him as “dick” or “asshole.”
What’s even more frustrating is that James still hasn’t emailed Lance the footage from today. So not only is he going to have less time to edit, he has to sit here and wonder if it’s because James and Keith have been having wild sex for the last three hours. Or, even more disheartening, if they’re cuddling and sharing secrets with each other.
He really wishes he wasn’t this way. He doesn’t even know Keith. He could be a complete dick, just like James. And Lance is sure to be thinking of someone new in a couple of days, anyway.
But Lance has more hours during spring break, and they finally think they’ll be able to secure enough to pay for everything as long as they spend as little on groceries as possible. So, he has a full month to save and look for a less stressful, higher-paying job and thus has room to worry about things like this again.
“Oh great, and look at this,” he says, turning his laptop so Rachel can see the tweet he’s looking at. “Shiro has barely messaged me back, but he’s been DMing a bunch of other people.”
Rachel sets her cup of ramen on her desk and leans forward so she can read the screenshot Lance’s mutual, Sarah, posted. It has to be at least the tenth one he’s seen. Shiro replied to Sarah’s message about season 2, telling her she’s just going to have to “wait and see” what happens with Lotor’s character.
For weeks, he was seemingly the only one Shiro was DMing, and now all of a sudden, Shiro’s talking to everyone.
“You know you don’t have to be the only one for it to matter, Lance,” Rachel says.
“I guess.”
“The same applies to the thing with that Keith guy!” she says, talking with her hands now in her expressive, I-just-had-an-epiphany type of way. “Just because he was on a date with James, doesn’t mean he wasn’t interested or that he’s not gonna come back to the bar by himself to get your number.”
“That’d never happen to me,” Lance mumbles.
“You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”
“Not objectively,” he says. “I’m good-looking and nice. But tell that to Nyma. And Erin, Nina, Alaina, Bennett, Emilio…”
She gives him a look.
“I could go on.”
“Yeah, well those people just suck and weren’t worth your time in the first place,” Rachel says. “Also, anyone named Bennett is probably a frat boy who brags about giving a dollar to a homeless person. Do you want someone like that to love you?”
“He was in Delta Sig,” Lance says, a small smile on his face.
“See!”
He nearly whispers, “But he was funny and had really good bone structure.”
“There is nothing wrong with you, Lancito!” She jumps up from her bed, only to pounce into a hug and knock Lance over. “Nothing! Do you hear me?”
He giggles as she blows a raspberry on his cheek, arms wrapped around him. Over it, he hears his phone buzz. It could be three things – Shiro DMing him, Hunk texting an update on their friends’ spontaneous trip, or James finally emailing him the footage. All are equally important.
“Okay! You’ve convinced me!”
She hasn’t, but he can try to put his insecurities aside again to make her think she has. Rachel gets off of him but sits beside him still as he looks for his phone.
“In all seriousness, though,” she says. “Don’t you think you should find a therapist here? We only go home in the summer.”
Lance flings his sheets around and throws his clothes on his floor, but his phone is nowhere to be found. “Therapists cost money,” he sings, lifting his laptop. Nope. Not there either.
“Okay, well, do you—”
“Shh,” Lance says, hearing his phone buzz again. He lifts his pillow, and there it is. “Aha!”
“Do you, like, use what Dr. Thornton and you have talked about?” Rachel continues without missing a beat. “There’s no point if you’re not implementing it.”
James has officially sent him the footage; Keith must have finally left his apartment. AndHunk has texted him. But still nothing from Shiro, which makes his stomach sink whether he wants it to or not.
“Lance?”
He looks up from his phone. “Um, it’s a lot to remember. And I suck at meditating, like my brain doesn’t shut the hell up.”
“Well, you won’t get better at it if you don’t try—”
“Can we not talk about this right now?” Lance snaps without really meaning to, and Rachel sinks back. “Ugh, sorry, Rach. It’s just a lot.”
“I’m just worried about you,” she says quietly, nudging him.
“I’m fine,” he tries to smile, showing her his phone. “Look, my friends are coming on Friday.”
Hunkules <3:
> FYI me, Matt, and Pidge just bought PLANE TICKETS TO LA!!
> Flying into LAX at 2:36pm on Friday
Rachel perks back up, grin reappearing. “Matt’s coming?”
“Well, yeah, obviously. He’s one of my best friends,” Lance says, but then he studies his sister a little longer. He squints at the way she pulls her long, fluffy hair to the side, the way her cheeks seem a tad bit pinker, and the shy way the corners of her lips turn up. “Eww! Miss me with thatshit!”
“What?!” she asks. “I was just wondering! He hasn’t told me.”
“Eww! You guys talk?”
She nudges him again, harder this time – more like a push. “You guys have been friends for years, of course we talk. I talk to all your friends.”
“Sooo, why’d you only ask about Matt?”
She shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. But Lance knows his twin; he knows the way she looks when she has a crush on someone. Rachel made the same face when she had a crush on some girl she met at an audition. She tried to play it off like she was just admiring the girl’s skills, but she totally wanted to kiss her.
“I talk to him more than the others, that’s all.”
“Mhmm, yeah, okay.”
Now she really pushes him. “We’re friends! So, are they staying here or what? We don’t have a lot of room.”
“Oh, I see,” Lance says, crossing his arms. “You want them to stay here, where there’s limited space to sleep, so you can cuddle with him.”
“Oh my god,” Rachel gets out of his bed and hurries to their bedroom door. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”
“You mean get ready to dream of Matt Holt.”
“Laance!” she whines.
“You can’t hide the truth, Rachel.”
“You can’t handle the truth,” she says, attempting to imitate Jack Nicholson on the short walk to the bathroom. Lance jumps out of bed, shutting his laptop and carrying it with him as he follows her.
“You did not just quote A Few Good Men at me.”
“I know movies, too,” she grins, wetting her toothbrush under the sink.
“Sure, Miss Arby’s Commercial,” Lance says. Pride fills him as Rachel just rolls her eyes, not even taking her toothbrush out of her mouth to argue back. “I’m going to stay up for a little while. James finally sent me the stuff. Not too late though, I don’t think I have any more free absences in my 8 a.m.”
“’Kay,” Rachel says through toothpaste, then spits into the sink. “Night, twin. Te amo.”
“Te amo, twin.”
He’s feeling really light in that moment, but as soon as he sits down in the living room and Rachel shuts off the lights and goes to bed, everything gets heavy.
For starters, he probably went too far and annoyed Rachel about Matt. They really could just be friends; he doesn’t know. But then there’s the fact that she really gave off that vibe: the bright-eyed, bashful vibe that Lance loves to see other people give off.
It just reminds him, though, that he hasn’t had a crush in years without hating himself for it. Other people are cute, but whenever he has a crush, he does and feels everything completely over the top and ruins everything.
Maybe he should get a therapist he sees more regularly. Feeling this way is getting old, and he’s starting to annoy himself.
After he finds a new job, he guesses.
When he opens up his laptop, he pulls open a blank Word document instead of Adobe Premiere. Just for the time being, he tries to at least drudge up any solid memory of what Dr. Thornton has told him. Through all of the worksheets, advice, and attempted meditation, all he can really remember is the concept of positive affirmations.
Be realistic when writing them. You’re not trying to make yourself be perfect by any means, he remembers Dr. Thornton saying. Then repeat them daily, until you know them by heart, and soon they’ll become your new automatic response.
His fingers hover above the keyboard, hesitating. He always found these stupid. Like repeating words to yourself is ever going to help.
Well, you’re repeating negative words to yourself and they’re affecting you, aren’t they? Dr. Thornton’s voice rings in his head.
“Ugh,” Lance grumbles to himself. He might as well try. He sets to typing, slow and steady, as he bites his lip and thinks. He tries to remember the way Dr. Thornton phrased things in his examples.
- My love will not burden or annoy the right people. I will be enough for the right people, not too much or too little.
God, this feels so stupid.
- I can feel annoying without that actually defining me. I don’t have to believe the critical voice telling me I am 100% annoying.
- I don’t have to be perfect, the best, or the only one to matter.
- I am allowed to take up space, even though not everyone will like or agree with me.
- Other’s opinions of me don’t define me. My own view of myself defines my reality.
It takes a solid half hour to come up with those.
Five is enough, right? Because every word he types makes him feel like an idiot. Like, he knows that the statements are true…logically. But when applied to him? Absolutely false.
Lance reads through them, changing the font, size, and color of the words as if that will make them easier to digest. It’s not any better the first, second, or third time he scans through them.
Ugh. He just can’t. He can’t get himself to believe a single crumb of these words for even a second.
Lance closes out of the document without saving it and opens up his email. He downloads today’s footage, pulls up Adobe Premiere, and gets in his editing zone. That helps him a lot more than any words can, anyway.