I've had alcohol before. [That is not at all what Lance asked, but it's a way of saying something to buy time. Keith turns away from him, trying to sort out his thoughts. Once upon a time he wouldn't have taken this to mean anything, but that also destroyed his previous relationship with Lance.
And now he ... doesn't ... want it to be weird, but he can't decide which is the right way to go.]
Lance ... [Ugh. He feels like he's been messing up a lot lately.] What does this mean? Uh. Having drinks. Here. Together. [He asks the question without looking at him, like he's trying to get his wires straight.]
[ It's his turn to duck his head, uncertain. He doesn't know what he wants. Out of this in general and Keith in particular. ]
Did you really mean it, when you told me that--back when we were fighting--that it didn't matter if I liked guys or not, because we weren't gonna date again anyway?
[ He still remembers that. And he can't look at Keith when he asks the question. ]
I guess ... I thought it'd be safer to assume it was done. Now I don't really know. I'm still not really good at this. [As if he's dismissing his need to ask, to see why he was feeling like this situation wasn't just two people being friends.]
But if you're not—you know—then why are you asking?
[ Lance looks back to Keith when he hears the word 'safer', wondering if this whole time he'd taken for attack what was meant to be defense. ]
Well, I mean. I am. [ He flushes again. ] I still like girls! Just. I haven't stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it. About...you. [ More quietly: ] About us. What it'd be like.
[ He drums his fingers against the edge of the bar, stomach clenched from nerves, feeling doubly exposed. ]
You always liked girls. [Like that doesn't change anything to Keith, who doesn't see that as a sticking point. But if he isn't into boys, then what does it matter? Again: that isn't something that Keith has thought too hard about. It's not something he can help with.
He frowns, debating what to say here.]
I made it sound like it was all bad. You—he—whenever he'd make me mad, and I made it clear he messed up, he used to give me cards. It turned into a thing he did, so I'd have something to remember him by. I still have them. In my room somewhere.
[A beat.]
I still like you. It's just—confusing. When I got back and we had gotten better together at home, it felt like a slap in the face.
[ Keith sounds dismissive at first, which strikes Lance in a delicate place he'd never really touched on before; it hurts, until Keith keeps talking and it dawns on Lance that no, he isn't being shut down. The opposite.
I still like you, Keith says, and his heart hammers away tellingly. ]
I think we've pretty much established that you both messed up, though I gotta say...cards sounds like me, alright. [ And if their conflict-resolution strategy was letter-writing, isn't that already a red flag? Sweet as it is... ] But Keith, I--I don't wanna hurt you more.
What I mean is—back home, we figured each other out. But we hadn't here. And I never had a chance. Honestly ... before, I wouldn't have even asked why you were gonna get me a drink. I would've just—it might have flown over my head. [Keith and that minuscule self-awareness, but it's not like it's a new thing. He's been aware of it for some time.]
I haven't suddenly gotten good at dating. At making someone feel ... cared for, I guess. I don't want you to be hurt because of it.
[ His throat feels tight. He hadn't expected--this. Hadn't expect Keith to open up this much. The moment feels vulnerable, even sitting here in an empty hotel bar. ]
Nobody's perfect at dating, Keith. We just...get better at dating each other.
[ Mutually not wanting to hurt each other is a good start, right? He lets his hand slide forward along the bar counter until it rests halfway between them--wondering if maybe Keith will pick up the physical cue before the verbal one. ]
[Keith's eyes widen at the extension of the hand, and he beats down the need to dismiss it, to act like it's not there. He might have before. Or maybe he would've waited for Lance to be more verbally obvious.
The reality is that in pretending it hadn't happened, he wanted to get rid of the hurt. He felt like an idiot. He couldn't communicate how it was that he wasn't ready, just that he wasn't. Navigating other people is hard.
He just ... honestly feels like Lance gets it. At least a little more. It's not something that needs to be assumed—it just is. It's out there. He needs help, and he's willing to put everything into something to make it work, whether it's friendship, or a mission, or a path he's been forced on (and forced off).
So—Keith's hand comes to cover Lance's, a little awkwardly, but fingers crossing fingers, before he squeezes Lance's hand.
There's a moment where Keith is thinking that he has to say something, but the words don't come. Probably because he's said enough already.]
[ Keith meets him halfway. It feels like that's been the theme since Lance got here, which--positive, right? He runs his thumb over Keith's knuckles, feeling a fizzy, elated feeling overtake him. He's practically giddy from the sharp release of nerves. ]
So. How about that drink, handsome?
[ He definitely just winked...but lets out a self-aware puff of laughter a moment later. ]
[There's a little bit of unspoken relief here, not at the touching of hands or anything like that, but the fact that Lance quickly reverts to some rather ... Lance-like mannerisms. Lance (before) hadn't felt comfortable doing that with Keith. It had been ... one of many bullet points on the list of things for Keith.
It is also one of the things that will likely annoy Keith the most before long. He has layers. Like an onion.]
Lance ... [Drawn out, just a tad.] Yeah, let's get a drink.
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And now he ... doesn't ... want it to be weird, but he can't decide which is the right way to go.]
Lance ... [Ugh. He feels like he's been messing up a lot lately.] What does this mean? Uh. Having drinks. Here. Together. [He asks the question without looking at him, like he's trying to get his wires straight.]
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I don't--it. I.
[ It's his turn to duck his head, uncertain. He doesn't know what he wants. Out of this in general and Keith in particular. ]
Did you really mean it, when you told me that--back when we were fighting--that it didn't matter if I liked guys or not, because we weren't gonna date again anyway?
[ He still remembers that. And he can't look at Keith when he asks the question. ]
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But if you're not—you know—then why are you asking?
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Well, I mean. I am. [ He flushes again. ] I still like girls! Just. I haven't stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it. About...you. [ More quietly: ] About us. What it'd be like.
[ He drums his fingers against the edge of the bar, stomach clenched from nerves, feeling doubly exposed. ]
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He frowns, debating what to say here.]
I made it sound like it was all bad. You—he—whenever he'd make me mad, and I made it clear he messed up, he used to give me cards. It turned into a thing he did, so I'd have something to remember him by. I still have them. In my room somewhere.
[A beat.]
I still like you. It's just—confusing. When I got back and we had gotten better together at home, it felt like a slap in the face.
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I still like you, Keith says, and his heart hammers away tellingly. ]
I think we've pretty much established that you both messed up, though I gotta say...cards sounds like me, alright. [ And if their conflict-resolution strategy was letter-writing, isn't that already a red flag? Sweet as it is... ] But Keith, I--I don't wanna hurt you more.
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I haven't suddenly gotten good at dating. At making someone feel ... cared for, I guess. I don't want you to be hurt because of it.
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Nobody's perfect at dating, Keith. We just...get better at dating each other.
[ Mutually not wanting to hurt each other is a good start, right? He lets his hand slide forward along the bar counter until it rests halfway between them--wondering if maybe Keith will pick up the physical cue before the verbal one. ]
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The reality is that in pretending it hadn't happened, he wanted to get rid of the hurt. He felt like an idiot. He couldn't communicate how it was that he wasn't ready, just that he wasn't. Navigating other people is hard.
He just ... honestly feels like Lance gets it. At least a little more. It's not something that needs to be assumed—it just is. It's out there. He needs help, and he's willing to put everything into something to make it work, whether it's friendship, or a mission, or a path he's been forced on (and forced off).
So—Keith's hand comes to cover Lance's, a little awkwardly, but fingers crossing fingers, before he squeezes Lance's hand.
There's a moment where Keith is thinking that he has to say something, but the words don't come. Probably because he's said enough already.]
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So. How about that drink, handsome?
[ He definitely just winked...but lets out a self-aware puff of laughter a moment later. ]
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It is also one of the things that will likely annoy Keith the most before long. He has layers. Like an onion.]
Lance ... [Drawn out, just a tad.] Yeah, let's get a drink.