Lance never shuts the fuck up.
Keith canāt get enough of it.
Itās been like that for as long as Keith can remember. Lance was the motormouth in, like, 6 of his classes; always had his hand up with a question or answer, and comments in between. Keith had been annoyed with it, that first year.
But then heād shared classes with Lance again.
By then, theyād had their fair share of group projects together. Keith came to know that for all he was a rambling mess, Lance was really fucking smart, and funny besides. He was also endlessly kind and supportive, at least when he wasnāt egging on their rivalry that heād invented (and that Keith hadnāt known theyād had ā not that he wasnāt an active participant, once he knew. Riling Lance up was the most fun heād had in ages).
Keith doesnāt remember exactly when heād started smiling whenever Lance looked at him, feeling proud whenever Lance got a question right in class. Doesnāt remember when the mild annoyance turned to genuine appreciation. He does remember looking down at his notes one day, in Algebra II, only to discover a blank page, and realising that heād spent the whole class just watching Lance talk. (He also remembers feeling pleased instead of the disappointment he should have felt, because he figured heād have an excuse to hear Lance talk more if he asked him to help Keith catch up. He knew he was in quite the mess, then.)
Keith knew he had a crush on Lance, after that. And Keith was never one to sit idly ā heād asked Lance on a date right then and there. Lance had, for the first time in Keithās working memory, gone speechless. (And quite the pretty shade of red.)
The speechlessness didnāt last long, thatās for damn certain. Keith took Lance to the Applebeeās at the plaza near his house that very night, because Shiro worked there and would give him a discount. Also, Lance had once mentioned he liked the lemonade there.
Keith met Lance there because neither of them had their full license yet. He doesnāt remember what exact table they sat at, only that they must have been near a window, because Keith remembers swooning over the sunlight warming Lanceās beautiful brown eyes no less than six times. Theyād ordered, Keith some sort of fried dish and Lance ā Lance had ordered a four-cheese fettuccine with a garden salad and, of course, a lemonade. Keith remembers so specifically because Lance spent the next thirty minutes excitedly telling him every piece of history surrounding the dish, down to the prehistoric origins of wheat-made pasta and the disturbing account of the first pink lemonade. Heād looked sheepish after looking at his watch and realising how long heād been talking, and Keith hadnāt known how to assure him that Lance could narrate every detail of paint drying in a wall and Keith would swallow up every word.
(Later that night, Shiro sent him a picture he took while the both of them were distracted ā Lance, animatedly waving a fork in the air as he lectured, and Keith, chin in his hands, meal forgotten, looking at Lance with a face more besotted than he knew he was even capable of making.
Keith sent the photo to Lance, asking him if heād like to go out again, confessing that he enjoyed every second of Lanceās rambling.
Lance said yes. Very quickly.)
The rest, to a degree, had been history. Theyād dated for the rest of high school, staying together even as they attended university and trade school on either side of the country. It was easy, really. Lance made sure they always had something to talk about. (Lance loved university. He was enamoured with every second of it, every niche interest of his getting its fill. He switched his major fourteen separate times, chasing every one of his ambitions, and Keith loved every story he heard. He also liked becoming an expert by proxy, because that was inevitable ā you could only hear about the important of spiders in the ecosystem so many dozen times before the information was reflective whenever someone brought up the subject.)
As soon as Keith got his mechanicās certificate ā and he passed his exam in the highest percentile, meaning he could practice anywhere in the country, much to his pleasure and Lanceās overwhelming pride ā he took off to California, his one and only thought being that he had to get to Lance. (Not that it had been impulsive ā this was planned, something theyād been waiting for. Did Keith run over as soon as he could? Yeah, kinda. So maybe it was a little impulsive. But mostly it was planned.)
Not to sound like a Disney princess, but Keith really felt like their life began once they moved in together. Keith was able to find a job at a pretty decent garage, bring in money for them immediately. Lance had his library job until he graduated, and of course then he was snatched up by the nearest ecological restoration effort ā he got to spend his days crawling through the forest, fawning over every tiny bug and critter. He is so fucking cute. Keith loves him more than anything in the world.
Lanceās constant lectures never stopped, either ā any interest he picked up, he told Keith about it. From his knitting club to the new beetle species heād found at work, Keith got the pleasure of hearing about it. And it truly was a pleasure. Keith had his fair share of time being a motormouth, too ā heād bought a project bike as soon as theyād saved enough, and spent a fair chunk of free time building it back up. (Lance helped, or at least as much as he could. Mostly he sat in their garage, handing Keith tools, and talking about anything he could think of. If Keith could go back and tell his ten year old self what his future would look likeā¦ God. Sometimes he canāt even believe how lucky he got.)
Keith has it made. He comes home from work every day to Lanceās beaming smile and gentle teasing about the grease on his clothes. Heās got everything heās ever wanted. Heās happy. So fucking happy.
Except that things have been a little different, recently. For the past few weeks, heās been coming home to his usual smile and kiss, but the idle chattering or excited rambles ā Keith feels as if theyāve become a rarity. Their home used to be filled with the sound of Lanceās voice, silent only when heās reading or focused intently on something, eyes narrowed and tongue peeking out of his mouth.
Lance still looks happy. He still curls up with Keith on the couch after dinner, socked feet in Keithās lap and three million blankets over his shoulders. He still sends Keith a myriad of heart emojis on his lunch break. Their sex life has not suffered.
But the lectures. The constant infodumps of whatever passing thing has grabbed Lanceās attention. Theyāre gone. And Keithās devastated about it.
He misses Lanceās voice.
āIt doesnāt sound like a big deal,ā he says, voice staticky because signal at the shop is ass. āI mean, maybe you two are just growing up and settling down. How long have you guys been together, now? Seven years? Eight?ā
āAlmost ten,ā Keith says quietly.
Ten years of the same thing. This change is new. Itās strange, and Shiro isnāt getting it at all.
āExactly! Ten years! You guys were so young when you started dating, kiddo. Hell, Lance was still wearing braces, wasnāt he? Iām not shocked that heās mellowed out a little.ā He chuckles to himself. āHell, maybe heās finally just learnt every bit of knowledge he finally can.ā
Keith frowns. āI dunno, Shiro. Sometimes I feel like he wants to say something, but heās holding himself back. Why would he ever hold himself back from me? I donāt ā I donāt want him to hold back from me. I like it when he talks.ā
āTell him that, then. The only way youāre going to get answers is if you ask him, you dork.ā
āSome brother you are,ā Keith mutters, pouting. āYouāre supposed to solve things for me.ā
āHm. Pretty sure youāre a grown-ass man whoās capable of solving his own problems, bud.ā
āUgh. Youāre horrible. Iām changing the Netflix password to kick you off.ā
Shiro laughs. āSure! No more Costco membership for you. Password sharing goes both ways, you little snot. Now hang up and call your man. I have to leave for work soon.ā
Despite his ongoing frustration, Keith canāt help a smile at the familiar banter. āYeah, yeah. Enjoy your upcoming fourteen hour shift of hell.ā
āGo fuck yourself! Love you!ā
It shouldnāt really surprise him that Shiroās no help. As much as he pesters his brother as often as possible and generally finds joy in making himself into a nuisance, they havenāt seen each other face-to-face since Christmas. Theyāve lived in different states for years.
But, still. Thereās some part of Keith that will always think of his big brother first when he has a problem. And that part of him had the right ideas, because Shiro is unfortunately right ā he really does just need to talk to Lance. Thereās not much else he can do.
He spends the rest of his shift wondering how heās going to bring it up. He has his own motormouth moments, sure, but realistically? Keith doesnāt talk all the much. Heās more of an action person. How the hell is he supposed to breach the subject? āHey, Lance. Iāve noticed that you are talking less. This change has consumed my every thought. I miss the sound of your voice. How come you donāt talk to me about your life anymore?ā
Yeah, no. It sounds ridiculous even in his own head. Heāll have to ā plan it out, maybe. Heās not sure. Heās never had to worry about making Lance talk more before.
Heās so distracted that he nearly burns off his eyeballs, forgetting to put on his welding mask before trying to make a part he couldnāt source for an older car. His boss sends him home early, worried he might accidentally leave a blowtorch by an air compressor or something and send the whole place up in smoke. Keith tries to take it as a blessing ā maybe heāll ride around on his bike for a while and clear his head. A way to bring it up might come to him naturally.
It doesnāt. He spends the whole ride just stressing himself out. He does drive by a flower stand, and turns around to pick up some poppies and peonies ā Lanceās favourite. It wonāt breach the subject, or anything, but itāll make Lance smile. Hell, maybe heāll start talking to Keith about all the different pollinators that made this bouquet possible. That would be a dream come true.
He hasnāt come up with any new ideas by the time he makes his way home, but heās less stressed. He sets the flowers on the counter and takes a quick shower. Maybe heāll start some dinner? Surprise Lance, for a change. Yeah. That wonāt solve the problem, but itāll be nice anyway.
He starts making four-cheese fettuccine and pink lemonade, because he is a sappy loser.
By the time he hears Lanceās key in the lock, heās got the table set and the food is done. He keeps it heated on the stove, ducking into the bathroom to check his reflection as Lance steps into the apartment.
No grease smudges on his face. His hair is braided, the way that always makes Lance all blushy. Heās wearing the v-neck, too-tight black sweater that Lance likes, too. Heās got this. He doesnāt have a solid plan, or anything, but he thinks maybe if he turns up the romance then Lance will just spill whateverās wrong. That works in the movies.
āKeith, baby? You home?ā
āYou have leaves in your hair,ā Keith says, stepping out to meet Lance by the door. Lance smiles immediately, laughing to himself as he cards his fingers through his hair in an attempt to find them. Keith takes pity on him after a few seconds of fruitless searching, reaching forward and running gentle hands through the curly mess of his boyfriendās hair, half to get out the leaves and half just to touch.
āYeah ā climbed a tree to check out a new weaver ant colony. Watched āem for hours ā pretty boring, Iām sure you donāt want to hear it.ā
I want to hear about it, Keith thinks mournfully. Please, please tell me about it.
āI made pasta,ā Keith says quietly, when itās clear that no more details are forthcoming. āAnd, uh, got you some flowers.ā He tugs Lance gently towards the kitchen, placing the flowers in his hands.
āOh, Keith, theyāre gorgeous! Man, I love peonies. They looks like pink cabbages, itās the best. And poppies āā
Yes, Keith thinks. Tell me about how California poppies were traditionally used as stress-relief medicine, but not like opioid red poppies. Tell me ā
āI should put these in a vase,ā Lance says instead of any of that. Keith feels like he could cry, honestly. Lance leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, patting him on the chest. āYou want to set the table while I do that? Or do you want to eat on the couch and watch a movie?ā
āTable sounds good,ā Keith says, because if they watch a movie then thereās no chance of Keith finding out whatās wrong.
āOkay! Iām going to get changed, too, Iāll meet you in ten.ā Lance kisses him again and then rushes off. Keith waits until heās disappeared into their bedroom to cover his face in his hands and scream silently.
Fuck! He just wants his Lance back. So badly. He wants to be woken up at strange hours of the night to hear about how trees communicate. He wants to get spam-texted as heās trying to work, phone practically buzzing out of his pocket. He wants to hear about marketing strategies when theyāre grocery shopping. He wants Lance to get distracted mid-sex by reading the back of the condom box, and then remarking with vague interest that they use the same dye in some cereals.
At the very least, he wants to know why Lance is acting so strange.
āSo,ā Lance says, once theyāve both settled down at the table and started to eat. āHow come youāre home early?ā
āBoss sent me home, I was distracted. Iām not mad, honestly. Itās been a while since Iāve done something special for you, which is a travesty.ā
Lance smiles. āDork. I appreciate it, though. Very sweet of you.ā He shifts in his seat, tucking his legs up under him and leaning his head on his chin to look at Keith properly. āHow come you were distracted?ā He wiggles his eyebrows. āThinkinā about this hot bod all day?ā
Keith huffs a laugh. āSomethinā like that.ā
āTell me! Iām curious now. I have to know or Iāll die.ā
āYouāre so dramatic.ā
āMhm. Thatās not even the half of it, and you know it. If you donāt tell me right now Iāll just start listing the names of royals throughout European history and how freaky it is that most of them are directly related.ā
Lance is teasing. His tone is light and playful; heās obviously trying to goad Keith into playing along and groaning theatrically. A few weeks ago, Keith might have given in easily, and started ribbing him about why on Earth he has the names memorized in the first place.
But all Keith can think about is just how badly he would love to hear that.
Keithās voice comes out embarrassingly sincere. Soft and hopeful and dead-serious.
Lanceās hand stills, mid pasta-swirl.
āYouā¦want me to? List names of inbred royals?ā
Keith swallows. Itās as good of a segue as any, he supposes.
āBecause I ā I miss your voice, I guess.ā
āKeith, I talk all the time,ā Lance says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He snorts to himself. āOne might even say itās my defining quality.ā
āYou havenāt been. Not recently. You used to talk all the time, but now ā I dunno. The house is quiet. I miss you talking about random things. I miss hearing about your day and the million creatures you met and the people you saw on the bus home and the weirdly-shaped stone you tripped over on the sidewalk. I miss you bazillion lunch-break texts. I miss your running commentary when we watch a movie, even though you miss important dialogue and have to rewind to hear it again. I dunno. I just miss you.ā
Keith keeps his eyes downcast on his plate as he speaks, and keeps it there after he finishes. Heās finished his food, already, but he canāt bring himself to look at Lanceās face.
Thereās a strange quality to Lanceās voice, a sort of ā bewildered breathlessness. Keith risks a glance, finding his boyfriend staring at him with a dropped jaw and wide brown eyes.
āYou really ā you miss my motormouth?ā
Keith shrugs. āI fell in love with your motormouth. Of course I miss it.ā
That makes Lanceās cheeks heat, and he glances down at his plate like theyāre teenagers again and Keith told him he was cute for the first time.
Keithās not sure what else to say. He doesnāt know how to express that thereās nothing that Lance does that he dislikes, not truly. Sure, itās annoying when Lance leaves a million half-full cups of water around the apartment, and Keith is regularly tripping over the shoes that he never puts away for some reason, but thereās nothing ā every part of him is precious to Keith. Everything he does and everything he is, Keith knows he canāt live without.
āI know you love me,ā Lance whispers. He looks pointedly away from Keith, pushing a couple wayward noodles around on his plate. āIāve never ā Iāve never needed to doubt that.ā
Keith swallows. āGood.ā
āI ā yeah. You show me all the time. And, I mean, look at today! You brought me flowers home just because. You do things like that for me regularly; I never forget that you care about me. But āā
One word. Three measly letters. But itās enough to feel like a stone is dropping on Keithās chest.
āā sometimes I feel like Iām too much? Like, Iām kind of intense. I know that. And I canāt always tell when Iām being weird or annoying. And youād never ā youād never string me along, I know that. If you stopped loving me youād tell me.ā
āI would never stop loving you.ā Keith canāt say the words fast enough. He wants to print them out and ā tattoo them on his forehead. Melt them into gold and press them into Lanceās hands. Smash them to dust and sprinkle them in the air. Whatever ā whatever it takes to prove to Lance that theyāre true.
Lance bites his lip. His eyes are wet. āI ā I donāt want us to āā
Keith doesnāt wait for the tears to fall. He stands and hurries the two feet over to Lanceās chair, carefully pulling him up and wrapping tight arms around his waist. Lance falls into him willingly, resting his forehead on Keithās shoulder and leaning into him.
āThree of my coworkers think Iām annoying,ā he whispers, long after the foodās gone cold and the light from the window has begun to dim. After Keithās arms have gone a little numb and a wet spot has grown where Lanceās face is pressed into his shirt. āI just thought ā I thought we were friends, but I heard them talking about how exhausting I am to be around. I donāt want ā I donāt want you to get tired of me, too.ā
Keith closes his eyes as he exhales in a shudder, firmly reminding himself that unfortunately, being a two-faced asshole is not illegal, and Keith has no defense for hunting those shitheads down and murdering them a little.
āThey are not worth the ground you walk on,ā Keith whispers, pressing a firm kiss to Lanceās hair. āYou have more value in your toenail clippings than they do in their entire bodies.ā
Lance giggles wetly. āGross.ā
āI mean it,ā Keith says, smiling. āI love you, Lance. All of you. I never get tired of listening to you talk. Okay?ā
It takes a while. Those asshole coworkers did a number on Lanceās self-esteem, because theyāre horrible, and they deserve every horrible thing that happens to them. Honestly, Keith kind of hopes their cars break down and they have to spend ridiculous amounts of money getting them fixed by idiots, because Keith has quietly blacklisted them to every good mechanic in town. (Not that Lance knows. Lance is too nice to ask for something like that. Keith, however, is a bitch, and has no problem doing shady things to appease his own sense of justice.)
Eventually, though, the apartment stops being so silent. It starts with a shark documentary that takes them three hours to watch because Lance keeps pausing it to point out specific behaviours to Keith. And then they get kicked out of a casino they go to for shits and giggles, because Lance canāt contain himself and points out how the house is strategically winning all the card games theyāre calling āluck-basedā. And then grocery store trips start taking too long again, and Lance gets distracted mid-shower comparing the ingredients of shampoo and conditioner, and then they start a small fire in the apartment because he was explaining how broccoli evolved from mustard seed and burnt a whole pan of stir-fry to a crisp.
One day, seemingly out of the blue, Shiro sends him a picture of him and Lance, fifteen years old, at the shitty town Applebeeās.
I was looking at old pictures, the text reads. And you were right. It is strange that Lance was so quiet. I canāt imagine how that would feel. Iām glad you two worked things out.
Keith looks over at Lance, whoās singing a the periodic table song to himself as he washes the dishes for Keith to dry, and smiles.
Heās glad they worked it out, too.
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