Chapter Text
Dammit. Lance stared at the black wallet with the Deadpool logo on it sitting on the passenger seat. It didn’t belong to Lance. Which meant it had to belong to... Dammit. Shit! Fuck!!! He ran his fingers through his hair and put his hands on his hips. There was nothing for it. He’d have to go back. Lance got into his car and picked up the wallet. Maybe there was a number? Nope. Lance wasn’t surprised. From what he had seen of his acquaintance, Keith would probably prefer to just replace everything in the wallet as opposed to try and find it or interact with people.
Lance put his foot on the brake and watched his car come to life. He leaned back against the headrest and sighed, willing the headache to go away. He’d just wanted to go get some food. He turned and gazed out the window. The world was grey and overcast. He wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to go back. Normally, he’d jump at the chance for a second interaction with somebody he liked. Or any social interaction in general. But the truth was, Lance was tired. He was tired of trying and failing to tether himself to anything.
Because when he really thought about it, he had nothing to reach out to. He missed Cuba, a land he’d never seen but still felt for deeply in his soul. He missed Veradera, where he’d spent all the best days of his life. He missed his mother and his family, with whom he’d had borderline no contact with in six years. He missed James. And Evan. And Nyma. And so many others. But at the same time, he was okay just missing them. He didn’t want any of them back. He didn’t have enough feeling left in him for that. A mixture of misery and apathy sat on his chest like so much weight. He’d done everything he’d set out to do. And missed out on everything else.
Well, no use dwelling on it. Time to bite the bullet.
I met up with an acrobat
In Brooklyn or some place like that
With life and taxis flying past
We tore that dancehall down.
Pocket change and subway cars
Our big ideas filled empty bars
You might be from the moon or Mars
Either way I'm never going home
***
Hunk was looking at modern restaurants for decor inspiration when Pidge slumping into the desk next to him with a moan. He handed her a dirty chai, like he did every morning.
“So...how’s Beezer?”
“Needs some new parts. I’ll have to make them from scratch. Or buy them, but screw that. How your baby?”
“Needs lighting. And tables. And chairs. Ande everything else. We’ve got two months until we graduate, which means two months to get the place in shape. How’s Lance?” Another moan.
“I honestly don’t know, aside from the fact that he turned down an opportunity to make a friend yesterday.”
“He what?” Hunk was shocked. From what Pidge had told him of Lance, and she’d told him a lot, the guy was pretty much already friends with everyone. He was so nice, and so friendly, he’d turned more than one homophobe into a friend.
“Yeah. Just made an acquaintance, helped him out of a bit of a tough spot, and left without even getting the guy’s number.” Hunk cast his AP Calc homework aside. He was almost done anyway and it wasn’t due until tomorrow.
“Dish. Now.” Pidge looked at him gratefully, and Hunk gave her a warm smile. He loved her so much. People were put off by her...well, everything. She was aggressively passionate and unsettlingly smart, with a dark sense of humor and almost no sense of fashion. And Hunk loved every piece of her. So as Pidge launched into the story of her conversations with Lance, he listened, clinging to every word.
“And I just don’t know what to do and I hate myself for not seeing it sooner because this has been coming on for a while and how could I not have seen it and how am I going to fix him and I’m kicking myself for not being that kind, gentle people person that you are because maybe if I was-” Pidge’s voice broke with a squeak. Hunk stood up and pulled her out of the classroom. This was not the time for Pidge to break, before classes even started. He had three minutes to build Pidge back up before first bell.
Out in the abandoned hallway, Hunk wrapped her up in a hug, kneeling so he could gauge her breathing. As she gasped into his neck, trying not to panic, Hunk held her close.
“Listen, Pidge. Listen to me, okay?” He whispered, voice echoing in the mostly empty hallway. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. If anything, you’re probably the only thing that’s kept Lance together with long.” Hunk pulled back so he could look at her sweet little face. “Trust me, I would know. You’re the one who keeps me together. Don’t worry, alright? We’ll figure out how to help Lance. I promise, okay?”
“We?” Pidge asked, wiping her face. Hunk couldn’t help but feel a little bit angry with Lance (even though it wasn’t fair) for causing Pidge such distress. But at the same time, everyone knew Lance was literally the kindest person on the face of the planet. To everyone. Even if they were shit to him. And he needed help.
“Of course, Pidge,” Hunk said, putting one of his giant hands on her tiny shoulder and she brushed away a final tear. “I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”
I was drinking from the wishing well
Some junkie metalhead hotel
When we boarded the carousel
The roof was caving in
On the stage my oxblood friend
Was singing songs about the end
The bankers in the lion's den
We're dropping lines like beggars in the snow.
***
Lance didn’t know the apartment number, so he couldn’t go in through the lobby. Plus, he would attract the kind of attention that Keith doubtless would not want. So instead he grabbed the wallet and climbed up the broken fire escape to the window. It was still open. Or maybe Keith had closed it and reopened it later? Perhaps he was out? Maybe he was out. Lance hoped he was out. Ugh the height really wasn’t helping his headache.
A gust of wind blew past, pushing aside the curtains to reveal a young man with dark, choppy hair sitting cross-legged on the living room tarp, apparently meditating. He was only wearing an old pair of pajama pants, no shirt despite the chilly air blowing in from outside. His bare torso and his arms were streaked with paint. For someone who was apparently a recluse, Keith’s body, while of slender build, was well-toned. Lance noticed a scattering of puckered, pale pink scars. He swallowed hard. So something bad had happened to him. A car on the street out front gave a long, loud blast from its horn, and Lance saw Keith inhale sharply, letting it out shakily in time to a screech of rubber.
Lance reached up and rapped quietly on the glass. “Don’t freak out.”
Keith screamed, scrambling away from the window. Lance caught a glimpse of his long teeth again. “What the fuck!” His chest rose and fell frantically and his eyes were wild. His hand had closed around a folding knife on the floor under the coffee table. Lance made a note not to tell Pidge about that. Keith looked far from thrilled to see Lance again. Lance didn’t blame him. Why couldn’t Lance not terrify him?
“Sorry, sorry. I was just returning your wallet.” Lance clambered in through the window, knocking over the stacks of books again, and held it up. “I would have just called you, but you didn’t have your number in it. Or your address. Might want to fix that.” Lance smiled, mouth closed, hoping it would put Keith at ease.
It apparently did, because Keith sighed and picked himself up off the floor. He walked over and plucked the wallet from Lance’s hand. “I don’t like it when people knock on my door. And I never answer my phone anyway.” Keith averted his eyes at that last part. Lance couldn’t help but think he saw a bit of guilt there. Interesting. “Thanks for returning it to me.”
“No problem. Sorry.” Lance shuffled his feet and fumbled with his pockets. He found himself fishing for an excuse to stay.
Keith sighed again. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. He peered at Lance from under his dark eyebrows.
“What?”
“I know that look. I’ve seen it before. Come on. I’ll pour you some coffee.” Lance didn’t know what to say. Keith’s dark eyebrows were scrunched together, a small frown on his lips. He turned away, picking up a faded black t-shirt off the pile of books on the coffee table. The red jacket from yesterday, Lance noticed, was flung carelessly over the back of the couch. He turned toward the kitchen, and Lance followed. He noticed with some trepidation another knife on the kitchen island. Had that been there yesterday? Lance looked around, and spotted a new pallet covered with plastic wrap on the table. It was coated in various shades of burning red.
“Do you always used warm colors?”
“I do tend to use them more often, but my latest piece has more blue and green…Cream? Sugar?”
“Please.” Keith smirked, adding a considerable amount of both. “Wow. It’s like you read my soul.”
“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Keith slid the cup across the island counter. “You just seemed like that kind of person.” He turned to the dining table and uncovered the pallet, turning to a canvas on one of the easels. There was a half-painted, deep red butterfly hovering in front of a window, an overturned jar on the desk below the sill. Outside, there was a field of green and brilliant blue sky. A deep blue butterfly fluttered on the other side of the glass, looking in, its tiny feet pressed against the nearly invisible barrier, trying to taste whatever lay on the other side. It was quiet, beautiful. And filled with a certain longing that felt all too familiar.
Keith furrowed his brows, looking down at the pallet and carefully coated the tip of his pinky in one of the lighter shades of red, gently spreading it over a darker color, and the light from the window hit the glittering insect’s wings in just the right way. He brushed his long fingers against the canvas, staining his finger tips red. Keith’s face was a mask of concentration, his dark eyes glittering, soft lips parted ever so slightly. He rubbed his fingers over his lips distractedly, smearing them with red. Lance felt almost like an intruder, eavesdropping on the most intimate of moments. Lance didn’t want to breath, and he didn’t want to look away. He hitched himself up onto one of the island chairs, trying not to make any noise. So, naturally, the chair creaked beneath him.
Keith turned, lips still parted, eyebrows raised questioningly. Beautiful. You’re beautiful. Wait, what? “Did you need something?”
“No, sorry. It was just the chair.” Shit. Lance kicked himself for breaking Keith’s concentration.
“Mmnh.” Keith turned back to the painting. Red leapt up onto the table, her tiny paws thumping against the canvas-covered wood. She sat there primly, purring like a motor and squinting her eyes up at her dad. “Hey, kitty,” Keith said softly. Red purred louder at his voice and lay down on the edge of the table. Her legs dangled over the end. Her tail flicked back and forth like the pendulum in a grandfather clock. The radiator kicked on, roaring in Lance’s ears.
Lance watched Keith’s hands. The long delicate fingers moved across the canvas in a way not unlike how Lance’s moved across a piano: with an elegant grace that seemed without effort. He could hear the sound of Keith’s fingertips sticking to the wet paint. He could hear his every exhalation as loud as a gust of wind in a storm. The chaos of the city faded away. He was subconsciously aware of his racing heartbeat, fluttering very much like the butterfly, dreaming of the outside world. He didn’t want to breathe. He didn’t want to shatter the silence. There was too much to see. Too much to hear. Where typically, Lance would feel nothing, he felt more than he’d ever felt before.
Then Red spotted him, and meowed at him. The moment shattered like window glass. Red slipped off the table and trotted over to wind around the legs of Lance’s chair. Did you have to, Red?
“She’s such a little whore,” Keith said fondly. Red yowled plaintively, before leaping up onto the island. “It’s funny that she likes you. She hates the upstairs neighbors who smoke weed on the fire escape.”
“I should get a cat,” Lance said. The moment was over, so it no longer mattered if he spoke.
“What?” Keith said.
“I mean, I live alone. It might be nice to have a friend.” Lance paused. “Well, I mean, I have a friend. One. But I don’t get to see them too often, so I’m on my own a lot.”
Keith was quiet just long enough to get Lance squirming. If Keith spent all of his time in this apartment by himself, no wonder he was so anxious when he went outside. “Cats are nice. They judge you silently instead of out loud. And they’re pretty low maintenance,” he said finally. Lance rubbed Red’s head, and she fell onto her side with so much force, she grunted. Keith burst out laughing, a surprisingly bold, clear sound for a quiet guy. He stopped short, as though he’d surprised himself too. Lance chose not to mention it. He also chose not to mention that Keith’s canines were more like fangs. They looked almost an inch long.
“Plus, you don’t have to take a cat outside,” Lance said. He was laughing too, though he tried to keep it quiet.
“Exactly. Although carrying cat litter up a ladder and five flights of stairs sucks.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lance said with a grin. And the silence descended again, except for Red’s purring (Lance kept petting her to keep her quiet), the radiator and the sound of Keith’s fingers ringing in his ears. He sipped his coffee. He felt comfortable in this space. “You really only have one friend?” Keith asked, softly.
“Yeah, Pidge. She’s the voice actor I hired to play Kubo.”
“Ah.” Keith turned to him. “Wait, I thought she was just a kid?”
“Pidge is seventeen. Won’t be eighteen until April. So, yeah. It’s a little questionable, but her family trusts me not to ruin her. For some reason. Besides, it’s only another couple weeks anyway, so why stop now?”
Keith laughed. “Do they not turn on the TV? I mean, sure most of it’s bullshit, but still. You’re probably not the greatest influence for a teenage girl.”
“I’m really not,” Lance said, forcing a smile. At least Keith didn’t think he was the living incarnation of Hedonism Bot. “I prefer to handle my problems with alcohol and partying. But I make sure she does her homework and that the industry doesn’t eat her alive, so they tolerate me. Plus, I’ve made sure she’ll never have to take out student loans. And I wrote her a letter of recommendation for MIT.” Keith was looking at him thoughtfully.
“Speaking of which…” Lance checked his Breitling. He was supposed to go meet Pidge for lunch at eleven-thirty so they could discuss their plans for the summer. It was eleven-fifteen.
“Fuck!”
Keith jumped. “What?”
Lance couldn’t believe it. He’d been there for nearly two hours. “Sorry. Shit! Sorry.” He leapt off the chair, disturbing Red, who had managed to finesse her way onto his lap. “Fuck. Shit.” Lance dug through his pockets, checking for his phone and keys. “I’m supposed to meet her for lunch today. At eleven-thirty.” Lance rushed to the window, but paused. He thought about what Pidge had said about him shutting everyone out. He munched on his bottom lip and came to a decision. “Hey. Can I have your number?”
Keith stared at him for a few seconds. Just long enough for Lance to expect him to decline. “Toss it,” Keith said finally, holding out his hands. Lance felt his face break into a grin and tossed Keith his phone. The artist caught it and punched in his number. Lance heard a phone vibrate from somewhere in the room. The coffee table? He wasn’t sure.
Keith tossed the phone back. Lance fumbled it. “See you around, Lance McClain.” Keith was smiling. It was a small one, crooked, and his head was tilted as to make it look almost mischievous. The tip of one of those little fangs stuck out. Lance’s stomach did a somersault. You can stop that right there, Lance.
“See you around,” Lance said, and leapt out the window, flying down the fire escape stairs. He was more eager than ever for a chance to see Pidge.
Outside, the day, still overcast, seemed a little less dark. The clouds, a little less grey. The air, crisper, less filth with each breath. And the noise of The Pit crashed over him like the waves of an incoming tide. His senses felt amplified. Everything felt bigger, louder, stronger. He was Daredevil. Fearless. Unafraid to jump. Unafraid of the fall.
Youre my number one
Youre the reason I'm still
Up at dawn
Just to see your face
We'll be going strong
With the vampires baby
We belong
We belong awake
Swinging from the fire escape