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Chapter Text

Keith raked his hand through his unruly mop of hair. All of the frustrations of the last twelve hours hung on his shoulders like an unbearable burden. Keith could feel the edges of his mind fraying, and a familiar but unwelcome haze was beginning to creep over his vision. This was not the time.

Almost as if in response to his blossoming migraine, the door to the interview room burst open, the bottom seam scrapping across the concrete floor. The noise echoed throughout the room hitting Keith with a resounding cacophony of unwanted stimulation.

“Good Morning, Mr. Kogane. My name is Detective Carson, and I’ll be asking you a few questions.” Keith met the detective with silence.

“Do you mind if I record this interview?” Keith gave him a dismissive wave of approval and the detective sat down in the chair across from him.

“Now, Mr. Kogane, I know it’s late and you are frustrated, but answering our questions can only help us in our investigation to find your…friend.” There was an unmistakable note of disdain in Detective Carson’s voice.

Keith’s blood boiled. It was one thing to keep his preferences hushed up at work. Even within the ranks of high society, Keith knew better than to flaunt the fact that he was gay. He kept a good deal of his life private. He had brought around a guy or two in the past, and he had certainly taken Lance to every function he could and although he never received any obvious backlash, he could feel the uneasiness.

“Just as I said with the officer from earlier, I am happy to answer any questions you may have.” Keith rubbed his hands over his face before looking at the detective who gave him a very professional, tight smile.

“Thank you. Now, can you tell me where you were last night?” Keith had to grit his teeth to keep from rolling his eyes.

“I was in my office, working late.” Detective Carson hummed in acknowledgment.

“And is there anyone that can confirm that you were, indeed, in your office late last night?” Detective Carson looked up at him, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

“Yes, my secretary, Amelia Greene, saw me come back into the office at around four, and then I was still there when she left at around six. The cleaning crew and night security arrived around eight, and I spoke to Harriet Jones and Joseph Rocker.” A flash of light burst across Keith’s vision and he furiously rubbed at his temple.

“Mr. Kogane, can you tell me when you last saw Mr. Mcclain?”

“I saw him yesterday at around one. We met up for a last-minute lunch since my day was going sour and I knew I would be working late. So, we met at Gorgio’s—“

“Gorgio’s? I’m pretty sure the waitlist for that place is a couple of months long.” Detective Carson said skeptically, and she scribbled on this notepad.

“I have a standing table, I have for years.” Keith could hear how pretentious he sounded and he hated it. He could never stomach the flaunting of money. He grew up with nothing, and when Caleb and Anne adopted him and offered him the world, his life changed drastically. Despite everything, Keith remained humble. Although his garage full of classic cars might refute that statement slightly.

“So, you saw Mr. Mcclain at one for lunch and didn’t return to the office until four?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“When did you leave the restaurant?”

“Around two-fifteen, when I received a call from my secretary rescheduling an appointment that I had originally set for three.” Detective Carson continued with his acknowledging hum, a noise that Keith was coming to hate.

“That still leaves an hour and forty-five minutes unaccounted for.” Detective Carson said quietly. Keith looked up, his budding migraine momentarily forgotten.

“What exactly are you insinuating detective?” Keith could hear the bite in his own voice and he didn’t care. He wasn’t worried about saving face in this particular moment. This trash detective had the audacity to insinuate that he had a hand in Lance’s disappearance. His blood boiled and he clenched his fists tightly.

“You’re a smart man, Mr. Kogane. A smart, wealthy man with an image to uphold. I can’t imagine what a…blemish like this could do to a reputation such as yours.” Venom dripped from Detective Carson’s words and Keith could hardly accept what he was hearing. His anger was rising, and he could feel his self-restraint slipping. He was going to hit him. He was going to put Detective Carson in his place and he was going to—

“You should be ashamed, and don’t think I going to let this slide either. I’ll be reporting this to the state.” Almost as if by an act of God, the only voice that could have calmed Keith down boomed from the hallway. The door to the room opened, much softer than it had before, and Shiro stood in the doorway like the guardian angel he had proved to be time and time again.

“Who are you? What gives you the right to be barging into my interview room like this?” Detective Carson rose to his feet, his voice loud and his stance threatening. As big and domineering as his personality proved to be, it was no match for Shiro’s. Shiro radiated an intense kind of energy, both in the courtroom and in his daily life. It was clear that he was in charge, and nobody seemed to be able to truly rival his dominance.

“Takashi Shirogane,” He extended his mechanical prosthetic out to the detective who gripped it tightly. Keith saw the expression of slight surprise that crossed his face when the prosthetic gripped his hand back.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shirogane, but this is an official police interview.” Detective Carson said sternly.

“I don’t think so. Seeing as you detained Mr. Kogane here unlawfully, and failed to notify the head of his legal team—that would be me—about this interrogation—“

“Now, sir, this is not an interrogation. It’s simply an interview. He reported his friend missing and we need to gather all of the information we possibly can.” Shiro cast an unsure glance at Keith. The word ‘friend’ had caught him off guard, and he was keenly aware of the disgusted inflection Detective Carson used with the word.

“Now, as much as I’m sure you’d like me to believe that, I don’t, and neither does my client. Until you have a real reason to bring us back in, we will be leaving.” Shiro placed a tight grip on Keith’s shoulder and began to escort him out. Before they passed the threshold into the hallway, Shiro stopped and turned.

“In the future, I hope you follow procedure if you should ever need to contact my client again.” And with that Keith and Shiro headed down the hallway, out of the police station and into the early morning air.

Keith had no jacket and refused as Shiro offered his own. Keith knew he looked a mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Lance was still missing, and from the looks of Detective Carson, the police were going to be no help.

The cold November air bit at Keith’s cheeks, but the pain was a nice distraction from the shit storm in his head.

He was going to find him. If he had to rip the world apart, drain the seas, burn the forests, Keith was going to find him.

Chapter Text

Lance awoke uncomfortably cold. As he came to his senses his head began to pound. Where the heck was he? The last thing he could remember was Keith—Oh no! Keith! Lance wriggled fervently. It was then that he realized that he was in a worse predicament than he previously thought. Lance’s hands were bound at the wrist behind his back, and the darkness that he awoke to had not gone away. He was handcuffed and blindfolded.

“Hello?” Lance called out, hating the way that his voice wavered. He was terrified, but he wished that it didn’t show so much. Who knew who his captor was, and who the hell knew what they wanted from him.

“I see our precious little flower has awoken.” A silky-smooth voice flowed through the darkness and the hair on Lance’s arms stood on end. Something was very wrong.

“W-who are you? What do you want?” Lance tried to force his voice to come out rougher, and more demanding. He tried to emulate Keith’s raw strength and power, but he wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Who am I? Oh my, that hurts. That really hurts me.” His captor’s voice dropped to a whisper in his ear, as his hand brushed across his face. Lance jumped and cowered against the wall.

“You are just as beautiful as you were when he first met.” Lance felt the man’s breath on his neck and gasped as a memory came back to him. It was a flash of long silver hair and bright blue eyes.

“Lotor?” The name left Lance’s mouth in a shaky breath.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” Lance could hear the smile in Lotor’s voice, and his body ran colder than the air around him.

“What do you want from me?” He could hear Lotor’s retreating steps and strained to hear what he was doing. “

Oh, there is much that I want from you.” Lance tried to make himself smaller against the wall to avoid the gaze he could not actually see. “But, that’s not why you are here. You’re here because that boyfriend of yours has forgotten his place.” Lance’s head snapped up at the mention of Keith.

“What? What are you talking about?” Lance couldn’t help the rise of his voice.

“Now let’s not get so worked up over some guy.” In moments Lotor was back, kneeling in front of Lance, his breath washing over his face.

“Keith isn’t just some guy,” Lance shouted. He wasn’t sure why he was getting so worked up.

“Of course, he’s just some guy. You don’t really think he loves you after just a few weeks, do you?” Lance stayed silent.

“Oh, my…you really do think he loves you? Oh, you silly boy.” Lotor’s laugh echoed throughout the room. “How naïve are you? Mr. Kogane is a very wealthy, very powerful man, and he could have anyone he wants. Why would he choose you?”

Lance couldn’t help the tears that began to stream down his face. No, none of this was true. He wouldn’t listen to this man. Lotor knew nothing. A cellphone startled Lance out of his thoughts.

Lotor sighed irritably, as he answered the phone.

“Hello…No, no, you know I’m out for the rest of the day…Well, tell him I can’t…He’s where? Tell him it’s rude and I am not coming back in…no, no, that’s fine…yes, tell him it’s his fault and I should be there momentarily.”

“Is everything okay?” A small soft-spoken female voice whispered from the darkness.

Who is that?

“Yes, it seems I am needed back at the office.”

“Wait, what are we going to do with him?” The girl’s voice grew frantic quickly.

“You’re going to sit tight while I take care of business. Just don’t let him out, don’t speak to him. You’ll be fine.” Silence filled the small room.

“I don’t know how, but this will all end one way or another very soon.” Lotor’s voice was soft, almost like a lullaby and Lance was more frightened that he had ever been in his life.

All Lance knew, for the moment, was darkness. A strong sense of fear and sadness enveloped his heart, and he sobbed quietly to himself as the world continued to turn around him.

Chapter Text

“No, no…Babe, it’s fine…That’s not necessary…Curtis, just stay home…Yes, we’re still on leave…I didn’t have a choice, if it had been anyone else you know I wouldn’t have…I’m sure they are…I’ll be home shortly, I promise.” Shiro hung up his phone and slid it into his jacket pocket.

“You should go home,” Keith’s voice was small in his vast living room. He sat on the edge of the grey suede sectional, clutching the arm for dear life. He glanced, almost accusatorily at the chaise of the sectional. The blankets from the other afternoon were balled up and discarded in the corner of the couch. The memory of that afternoon made Keith’s heartache and he turned away.

“Curtis can handle the twins for another hour or so. I’m just going to wait for Barry and then—“ Shiro was cut off by Keith’s exasperated groan.

“God, don’t say his name.” Keith threw his head in the crook of his arm, wincing as pain reverberated through his skull. In all of the mess between the police station and home, the pain of his migraine was bubbling in the back of his mind. Now that he had settled down it was back in full force.

“Oh, come on, Keith. He is a good guy and he’s a great PI.” Shiro paced the living room, trying not to be frustrated at Keith’s childish comments.

“What self-respecting grown man would call himself ‘Barry’?” Shiro rolled his eyes and shook his head. Keith hated how ungrateful he seemed, he just hopped Shiro understood the things that he could not bring himself to say.

“He’s solved a lot of cases and he’s got a great success rate,” Shiro spoke softly. “That’s what matters right?” Keith looked up at Shiro through squinted eyelids, as the natural light became even more bothersome. Keith nodded slowly before hiding his face again.

“Are you alright?” Shiro had seen the pain on Keith’s face but did not have the chance to get a response.  

“Sir?” Keith’s head shot up as Martha entered the living room. “You have a visitor, I’ve seated him in the dining room and I have coffee on.” As Martha spoke she aimed her voice at Shiro, casting soft apologetic glances at Keith.

“Thank you, Martha. We will be right in.” Martha smiled softly at Shiro and left the room. Keith sat on the couch a moment longer, silent in his thoughts.

“She really cares about you, you know?” Shiro was at Keith’s side, and he placed his right hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“Martha’s always been sweet on me. She used to sneak me late dinners when I would get in trouble and storm off to my room.” Keith gave a small chuckle.

“I don’t suppose you’ve told your parents about any of this yet?” Keith cast his eyes downward and Shiro nodded in understanding.

“They are going to need to know sooner or later. Especially with that Detective. He seems like a sleaze…” Shiro didn’t finish his thought, and Keith didn’t need him to. I need to get in front of this before the media gets a hold of it, Keith thought sullenly. How a professional, whose job was to serve and protect, could betray their badge and talk to the media was beyond Keith, but he wasn’t naïve, he knew it happened.

“Let’s just get through this first,” Keith rose to his feet and tried to ignore the way that his knees trembled. Another bright explosion crossed the forefront of his mind and he grabbed the arm of the couch for support.

“Keith?” Shiro reached forward, a moment too late as Keith flopped back onto the couch. Keith couldn’t bring himself to look up at the concern on Shiro’s face.

“It’s just a migraine…I’ve had it since this morning.” Keith squeezed his eyes shut tightly, unable to block out the floodlights behind his eyelids.

“We can push this back if we need to.” Shiro’s voice was unsure, but the look of pain on Keith’s face pushed some of the urgency out of the situation.

“No, we need to get this started.” Keith forced himself to his feet, trying with all his might to ignore the pain.

“Are you sure?”

Keith looked up at Shiro then, the pain of missing Lance covered by the pain of the explosion happening inside of his head.

“I have to be.”

 ***

“And there he is!” As Keith entered the dining room he was bombarded by an obnoxiously loud voice coming from an obnoxiously dressed person. “It’s nice to see you again Mr. Shirogane!” The loud little man continued to take Shiro’s hand aggressively before turning his sights to Keith.

“Mr. Kogane! Barry Scott, pleased to meet you.” Keith winced as his whole body vibrated from the enthusiastic handshake. He was dressed in a coffee brown tweeded suit, the purple elbow patches clashing with the red and gold paisley tie he wore. He was a short, round little man, with an alarmingly red face, and Keith wasn't sure what he had gotten himself into. 

“Yes, if only it was under better circumstances.” Shiro placed a hand softly on Keith’s shoulder and steered Keith towards the table.

“Ah, yes. If only.” Barry scurried towards the table and begun unloading his briefcase.

“Now, this is going to be…well it isn’t going to be very fun.” The room was silent for a few moments.

“I think I figured as much.” Keith looked across the table at Barry.

“Of course, I heard what happened at the police station, and although I know that this will be much more civil than that was for you, it may still be a bit…intense.” Barry glanced at Keith, and then at Shiro.

Keith took a small, shaky breath. “I understand.”

“Alright then, I’m going to leave you both to it. Call me if you need anything.” Keith nodded, smiling a silent ‘thank you’ as Shiro exited the room and Martha made her way in.

“I’m sorry to delay this even more, but I brought some coffee.” Martha began pouring cups of coffee and handed Keith some Ibuprofen.

“Thank you, Martha.” Keith took the medicine gratefully and began sipping his coffee.

“Alright, Mr. Kogane, we’ve got to cover the basics, and they are always a bit uncomfortable.”

“Okay, let’s just get through this.” Barry nodded looking down at his legal pad.

“Mr. Shirogane was kind enough to supply me with the transcripts from your interrogation this morning. Just to confirm the last time you saw Mr. McClain was yesterday afternoon around four?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Keith could feel the pain in his head dulling once again, and he silently hoped it wouldn’t come back any time soon.

“And previous to that you both had lunch at Georgio’s that concluded around two-fifteen.” Keith nodded his approval to the statement.

“Alright, so now I need to know what happened between then and when you returned to the office at four.”

“After lunch, we came back here. We just laid on the couch and watched some stupid sappy movie about this girl, and someone was dead and she like slept with the dead guy's friend or something.” The interview had just started, and Keith was already growing frustrated. What was the name of that movie? Why can’t I remember it? He didn’t know why it was such a big deal that he couldn’t remember whatever sappy movie Lance has chosen for them to watch, but at that moment, it was crushing him to not know.

“And then you went back into the office at four, were there when your secretary left and were still there when the cleaning crew and the night security were there. Around when did you leave your office for the night?” Barry looked up at Keith expectedly.

“I probably didn’t get out of there until ten-thirty, maybe eleven.” Keith sat up straight, stretching the lower muscles of his back.

“Why so late?”

“We’re working on a case to get more state funding for some of the children’s homes in the area. There simply aren’t enough supplies, and you can only rely on volunteers for so long. It’s been a long process, and we still aren’t done.” Keith realized he was beginning to rant and took a deep breath. Not everyone understood why Keith took special interests in cases concerning the orphanages in the state, and Keith never found it necessary to explain.

“Did you have any contact with Mr. McClain after you returned home?”

“No, I messaged him goodnight and I didn’t hear back.” Keith looked up and saw something cross Barry’s face. “But I just assumed he fell asleep. I didn’t even consider that he could be…” Keith’s voice drifted off. How do I finish that sentence? He could be missing? He could be lost? He could be de—no. Keith shut his own thoughts down, his entire stance growing cold.

“Mr. Kogane, this might be difficult to consider,” Barry shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to upset the young man before him. “…but, is there any chance that Mr. McClain left of his own accord?”

“What? No!” The china on the table clattered together, and Keith’s empty coffee cup toppled over as he jumped up from the table. “Why would you—why would you say something like that?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kogane. I did say this would be difficult to consider, we just need to cover all of the bases.” Keith sighed, slightly because he was embarrassed by his outburst, and mostly in frustration, at the ache in his head, that was seeping back in.

“Can I ask why you are so sure that Mr. McClain did not leave on his own?”

“I stopped by this morning, and it was just…a mess. And Kaltenecker was still in the backyard and…” Keith’s voice grew more frantic as the scene manifested before him.

It was almost like he was back in that moment. He had thought nothing of it at first as he unlocked the front door with the key Lance had given him as a present last month. Originally the key itself was nothing special, just a plain silver copy of Lance’s house key, but Lance had taken the time to decorate the key’s small surface with red nail polish hearts. His cake decorating skills finding a non-edible use.

As Keith entered the small entrance hallway, he could tell something was wrong. The smell of coffee was soft and faded, not the usual bold slap in the face it was morning after morning. Keith was scared to venture further into the house he had once known so well, but he forced himself to. He treaded slowly, almost like he was walking on thin ice afraid he could break through the surface at any moment. As he exited the little hallway, he noticed three things at once: the glass end table on the left side of the couch was overturned and glass littered the floor, one of the stools from the breakfast bar was turned over, and there was a steady drip-drip-drip coming from somewhere Keith couldn’t see. Keith needed to take a few more steps to see over the breakfast bar, but he was frozen in place. He didn’t want to see what was on the other side, but he had to know what happened here. Keith took two steps forward, and instead of taking that third step, he raised himself up on his toes.

It was then the ice broke and Keith was plunged into the icy depths of the unknown. Lance’s favorite mug—a ceramic, handmade, cow printed piece from some Italian market—was turned over on the kitchen counter, most of its contents spilled out on the floor.

Something was very wrong, and Keith hated to imagine what had happened.

In seconds, he was pulled out of the vivid memory. Across the table from him, Barry was observing him with kind eyes. How long was I out? Why is he being so patient with me?

“I’m sorry I was just…” Keith stumbled over his own words, and he cast his eyes downwards.

“You were just reliving one of the worst moments of your life.” Keith looked up, his eyes big and round like a deer in headlights. “I’ve worked hundreds of cases Mr. Kogane. I know that look, and I am deeply sorry for what that look means.”  All Keith could do was nod in acknowledgment.

“So, when you arrived, his place was a mess and Kaltenecker his…” Barry trailed off, waiting for Keith to fill in the blanks.

“His cow.” The wrinkles on Barry’s forehead deepened.

“His…cow?”

Keith chuckled softly and nodded his head. “His family owns a farm in California and they breed this miniature species of milk cow, and when he moved out here, he brought one with him.” Keith smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation. A twenty-three-year-old baker smuggling a miniature cow across the country.

“He must be a very interesting man,” Barry added softly.

“Yeah, he is.” Keith could feel his jaw tighten as a pool of emotion began to well up in his chest.

“I just have a couple of more questions—” Unwillingly, Keith let out a groan of pain as light bubbled behind his eyes.

“It’s just a list of associates, anyone who might have a grudge against you, Mr. McClain, or your family.”

“Of course, Shiro should have a list of all of that, actually.” Keith rubbed his temples forcefully, before meeting Barry’s gaze.

“With parents like mine, you can never be too careful,” Keith replied, to the unasked question.

“Of course.  Let’s break here for today, I’ll contact Mr. Shirogane’s office and get a list of names I can start working on.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Barry.” Keith stood up and extended his hand.

“it’s what I do, Mr. Kogane. We will pick this up tomorrow, and you can tell me the whole story, from the beginning.” Barry shook Keith’s hand and Martha returned to escort Barry out.

Keith groaned and let his head flopped into his arms. He was glad to be done with reliving that moment…that horribly terrifying moment.

“Mr. Kogane,” Martha’s voice was soft and gentle, juxtaposed with the harsh light streaming into the dining room. Keith heard the soft clatter of pills against the mahogany dining table.

“Let’s get you up to bed, it will be a better day tomorrow.” Keith smiled tightly. Martha’s wisdom was universal and sometimes a hard pill to swallow, unlike the Benadryl that always went down smoothly. Keith gulped at the water that Martha supplied and sighed prematurely at the thought of relief from the aching in his head.

Keith had no distinct memory of heading to bed, but he was all too happy to be there. Keith dozed off as soon as his head hit the pillow, and as he slept he dreamed of Lance.

Chapter Text

Lance was awoken from a dreamless sleep by a firm nudge.

“What!?” For a moment, Lance couldn’t remember where he was. But slowly, as the darkness refused to dissipate, he remembered everything.

“Sit up.” The voice was demanding and feminine. It was nothing like Lotor’s predatory, seductive drawl.

“Wh-who are you?” Lance shifted slightly, unaware that he was cowering against the wall, away from the new voice.

“That’s not important.” The voice answered. Lance was startled once again as cold glass was nudged against his lips.

“Ah!” Lance threw himself back, smacking his head into the concrete wall behind him.

“Calm down, it’s just water.” Lance took a few breaths and leaned forward to meet the glass. Slowly the glass was tilted towards him, and a cool stream of water flowed down his throat. Lance gulped at it thirstily, unconcerned about the water that was spilling down his chin and wetting his shirt.

“Thank you,” Lance rubbed his mouth against his shoulder, as he remembered his arms were not currently his to use. He attempted to flex his wrists in their binds.

“Is there any chance you could let me out of these things?” Lance asked skeptically.

“You and I both know I can’t do that.” She replied sternly.

“It was worth a shot.” Lance continued fidgeting, attempting to find a comfortable position against the wall. There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?!” Lance turned his head frantically attempting to find the source of the voice.

“I feel like you’re staring at me with your beady human eyes.” She replied.

“I can’t even see! How could I possibly be staring at you?” Lance slumped back against the wall.

“I don’t know…You shouldn’t even be talking to me. Just go back to sleep.” Her voice was dismissive and Lance lost any hope he had about making a possible ally in this horrible situation. Lance nodded dejectedly and shuffled closer to the wall. As his skin touched the concrete he shivered violently. It was then that Lance realized that the room was freezing. Lance tried to take his mind off of the temperature of the room, and focus on anything else but he couldn’t. A shiver continued to run through his body like a seizure, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to put a stop to the spasms. He could hear the soft, disgruntled huff from a distance and heard her shoes trudge across the floor. Suddenly, Lance felt something soft, warm, and slightly heavy fall across his body.

“What are you—“ Lance began.

“It doesn’t do anybody any good if you freeze to death. Now go to sleep.”

Lance didn’t remember falling asleep. The next thing he remembered was waking up to a horribly familiar, intrusive voice.

“Axca!” The voice thundered through the small room, and Lance jumped.

“What? What happened?” The girl—Axca—seemed to be startled away just as Lance was.

“You fell asleep?!” Lotor’s voice dripped venom. “I put you in charge of watching the only leverage we have, and you fell asleep?!”

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and—” She never got to finish her sentence. A sharp snap resounded throughout the room.

“I’m sorry you made me do that.” Lotor’s voice casually turned the blame to his second in command.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” Lotor asked softly, his voice carrying a bitter edge.

“He’s cold and he would like to get out of his restraints,” Axca said softly.

“Okay, I’ve got things handled here, why don’t you head off for a while.” The rest of the exchange was silent, and Lance could not see Axca leave, but he felt the temperature in the room drop as soon as she was gone.

“How long have you been awake?” Lotor’s seductive voice scraped against Lance’s skin like sandpaper.

“Not long.” Lance could feel himself cower. He did not want to be on the receiving end of this man’s wrath, but he wasn’t sure he could avoid it being the only other person in the room.

“I’m sorry you had to be in the middle of that, My Treasure.” Before Lance knew it, Lotor was much closer than Lance wanted him to be.

“It’s fine…I’m okay.” Lance tried to shrink away from Lotor, but without his sight, it was impossible to know where he was. It felt like Lotor’s presence was constantly surrounding him.

“Now, now, Axca said you were cold, My Pet.” Lance didn’t like where this was going.

“I could keep you warm.” Lance clenched his eyes shut tightly, even though he couldn’t see a thing. An icky feeling settled over him. And then, there was nothing. Lance couldn’t feel a thing, and the more he allowed himself to not feel, the farther he seemed to get from himself.

Lance drifted off into an abyss of nothingness. He was lost inside his own head because his reality was so much worse than he ever wanted to imagine. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found Keith. His gorgeous purple eyes whispering sonnets into Lance’s weak heart.

Chapter Text

Keith stood watching the rain splatter across the living room window. The rain was unpredicted, but the storm that the rain foretold of was expected to be intense.

“Sir, Mr. Scott has arrived.” Martha pulled Keith from his despairing thoughts.

“Bring him in here if he doesn’t mind.” Keith wrapped his arms tighter around himself as he turned to face the room.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll have coffee in just a moment.” Keith nodded softly, smiling tightly. Martha’s words were too soft, too sweet. It just made everything more real.

“Thank you, Martha,” Keith said softly as she made her way out of the room. Keith took a deep breath, steeling himself for the boisterous man that was Barry Scott.

“Mr. Kogane, how have you been doing?” Keith was surprised to find that Barry’s tone and volume much more tolerable this morning than it had been the other day. His voice was soft and sympathetic and Keith couldn’t help but feel his heart tighten.

“I’ve been doing as well as to be expected.” Barry smiled comfortingly.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I felt the dining room was a little too formal.” Keith settled into the sectional and gestured for Barry to do the same.

“Of course,” Barry unbuttoned his blazer and then pulled out a recorder. “If you don’t mind?” Keith nodded as Martha returned with coffee and muffins. Keith pocked up the inconspicuous muffin and delicately began opening it up. The best thing about Martha’s muffins was that until you cut them open, you never knew what kind they were. As Keith opened up the muffin, felt his heart melt. The vibrant colors of the strawberries and blueberries mixed together leaving purple splotches on the inside of the muffins. It was Martha’s way of saying that everything would be alright.

“Before we begin, I wanted to let you know that my offices began looking into the list your law team provided to us.” Barry pulled a couple of files out of his briefcase and began flipping through them.

“Yes, of course.” Keith settled into the chaise, and couldn’t help but notice that the light grey suede of the couch still carried the scent of Lance’s cologne.

“We have made our way through most of the list, and there really doesn’t seem to be anyone we are too concerned about,” Barry continued flipping through the pages in his file.

“We have had our team go through Mr. McClain’s home, and there are a few things we’ve seen that have raised some flags.” Keith took a slow sip of his coffee eyeing Barry wearily. He did not like where this was going. He had no idea what Barry and his men found and he was afraid of what that would mean for his hopes of finding Lance unharmed.

It took Keith a moment to realize that Barry was waiting on him. He took a shaky breath and then nodded at Barry to continue.

“My men discovered what we believe to be the original point of entry, there was a window in the guest bedroom that had a broken lock. It seems whoever broke the lock and came in through the window.” Keith nodded along, trying not to visualize the scene as Barry gave him the details.

“We also found smears of what we believe to be chloroform across the counter by the sink. This leads us to believe that whoever broke in drugged Mr. McClain before taking him from the house.” Keith could feel his grip on the coffee cup tighten. He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to picture some faceless figure creeping up behind Lance and drugging him.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t what we are most concerned about.” Barry’s tone was hard and his words were sharp. How could there be anything worse than this? Keith thought wearily.

“Chloroform is a very volatile substance. Too little and your victim will still be able to put up a fight…too much and they could asphyxiate quickly.” Keith’s brow furrowed, not able to grasp the meaning of what was being said.

Barry cleared his throat. “This could mean one of two things. One, it could mean that Mr. McClain is…dead. Two, if he is not, it means that someone put a lot of thought and research into his kidnapping.” The room fell silent. There were two possibilities and they were both shit. Either Lance was dead, or the person that took him knew what they were doing.

“How much thought and research?” Barry gave a slightly startled look at the question.

“Are you saying that this is some science geek that works in a secret lab somewhere or do you think we are looking for someone more malicious than that?” Keith could hear the lack of emotion in his voice and he hated himself for it. He didn’t want to have to deal with this like the wealthy target he always knew he could be. He wanted to deal with this as the grieving boyfriend missing his better half.

“My men think we might be looking for a stalker.” As the words left Barry’s lips, Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Keith knew from the experience of others that stalkers were dangerous, especially for powerful people.

“Do you know who?” Keith’s voice caught in his throat. Barry looked at him with sad eyes and shook his head.

“Not yet, we’re going through the list, and Mr. Shirogane has been kind enough to get a hold of all of your father’s contacts for us.” Keith’s head snapped up.

“What?” Keith had kept this entire situation under wraps from everyone, including his parents.

“Since you’re a rather new asset to your company, we required a more thorough list of previous employees, collaborative partners, the like. We reached out to your father at the close of business yesterday and as far as I know, have yet to hear back from him.” Keith took a deep breath, trying not to think about how upset his parents would be to hear about this from anyone other than him.

“I am sure he will respond as soon as he is able.” Keith gave Barry a tight smile and set down his coffee cup. “Shall we get started?” Barry searched his client’s face attempting to get any sort of explanation for the cold air he was receiving.

“Of course, whenever you’re ready. Just tell me your story.” Keith shifted slightly, making himself comfortable on the couch. The best place to start a story was at the beginning, and this is simply what Keith did.

Chapter Text

The day had been grey and gloomy. Keith pulled his jacket tighter as the bitter cold wind of the January day chilled him to his bones. He was irritated, this hadn’t been his job. He was assigned to rent the hall and he had put his assistant, Amelia, in charge of sending out all of the invitations. Pidge was supposed to handle the cake.

Keith stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. A few disgruntled commuters grumbled around him, but Keith wasn’t worried about them. He looked around at the shops that surrounded him, but couldn’t remember what he was looking for. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and attempted to unlock it with his frozen fingers.

“Hello?”

“Pidge, it’s me. Where am I going again?” Keith walked around in slow circles, reading the names of all of the small shops.

“You’re looking for a small little bakery on 12^th and Main. It’s called El Cubano Azul.”

“It’s called ‘The Blue Cuban’?” Keith couldn’t keep the laugh out of his voice, as he looked for a street sign.

“Dude, you named your car ‘The Bat Mobile’ I don’t want to hear it.” Keith sighed; she wasn’t wrong.

“Alright, I’m a couple of streets away. Whose name is it under?”

“Just tell him it’s for Hunk, he will know what it’s about.”

“Wait, this baker knows Hunk?” Keith furrowed his brow as he came up on 11^th street.

“Yeah, this is the baker that Hunk is always raving about. He spends all his time in that bakery with the owner chatting about techniques and such.” Keith chuckled to himself.

“Well, I’m almost there. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.” Keith bid Pidge goodbye and then hung up as he made his way to 12^th street.

“Sounds good, thanks again!” With that, Pidge ended the call, and Keith put away his phone, stuffing his hands into his pockets to try and keep them out of the cold air. When he finally came up to the bakery, he was surprised to see the vast amount of foot traffic that came in and out of the little shop.

Keith scooted around the groups of women and families that circulated in and out of the shop. Without meaning too, he found himself pressed up against one of the far walls of the bakery. Although Keith had gotten better at socializing, he was not one for crowds. As he stood against the wall, he was able to watch the show unfold before him.

The crowd was filled with mothers herding gaggles of children that couldn’t all possibly be theirs. Keith glanced between the bobbing heads trying to get a better look at the man behind the counter. Because of the crowds, Keith could only catch swift glimpses of smooth, toned, caramel-colored arms, standing out gorgeously against the royal blue apron. Keith could hear the sing-song melody of his voice, and his sweet laugh sent a vibration down his spine. Keith was in awe. Here was this man who was confident and suave. His voice was loud and friendly. He was everything that Keith wasn’t. In any other setting Keith would be annoyed by this man’s presence, but here, in this crowded little bakery—that smelled like a very familiar early morning in a tiny Italian bakery he and his parents traveled to every September—he couldn’t get enough of him. He felt drawn in by every glimpse he caught of him. Keith was floored by his laugh.

Keith wanted to live in his fantasy for longer than he let himself. The nagging thoughts began to creep in. Why would he be interested in you? You have nothing to offer but money. He’s not just some hooker you can pay to put all your broken bits back together. Keith winced at the sharp tone of his inner voice. He knew the odds were slim, and after what happened before…Keith shut the thought down quickly.

Now was not the time. He had a job to do and he was going to need to go back into the office after Hunk’s party unless this new intern decided to suddenly get competent.

Keith was pulled out of his thoughts by a shrill cry. A small girl down in the front of the display had begun to cry. Keith had never been a big kid person, but everyone in the little shop seemed to gather closer to see what was wrong.

The guy behind the counter stopped what he was doing and came onto the floor to investigate.

“Nadia, what’s wrong?” Keith couldn’t hear the little girl’s reply, and the rest of the conversation happened in hushed tones. After a moment there was a twinkling laugh and the little girl was swooped up into the baker’s shoulders.

The baker went back to his duties and began handing the little girl—Nadia—treats as he rang up the other customers. Keith tried to keep his mind occupied and off of the baker. Keith pulled out his phone and scrolled through his email.  Goddamn Amelia, for keeping up with my emails, Keith thought bitterly. Amelia was a great asset to his department, and she had definitely made his job much more manageable. But at the moment, he was looking for a distraction, anything would do. Keith finally resorted to scrolling through hundreds of eBay listings looking for new additions to his ever-growing collection of classic cars. Keith lost himself in the search and barely noticed the speed at which the little bakery cleared out.

“Hellooo? Tall, dark, and broody?” Keith was shaken out of his little quiet corner haven, by a rambunctious and melodic voice.

“Oh, God. I am so sorry. I just zoned out and…” Keith scrambled to put his phone up and to try and get himself together.

“Don’t worry about it, I mean, I usually close for a couple of hours after the morning rush, but…you seem worth staying open for.” Keith’s breath was caught in his throat. The beautiful boy leaned across the counter, resting his chin on his hand. Keith didn’t know how long he stared.

“Umm…I…” Not only could Keith not think, but he couldn’t breathe. This beautiful boy was being flirtatious and paying Keith more attention than anyone had since Nick.

After a moment of silence, the baker spoke again. “How can I help you?” Keith took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m picking up an order for Hunk.” Keith slowly made his way up to the counter, trying to hide how flustered he was.

“You know Hunk?” The baker’s eyes lit up and he stood up a little straighter.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since high school.”

“Oh yeah?” The boy behind the counter said smiling, his eyebrows raised in a challenging motion. “Well, what’s your name? Maybe he’s told me about you.”

“I’m Keith,” Keith extended his hand to the baker, giving a soft smile.

The boy behind the counter looked up at him, his eyes sparkling underneath gorgeously long eyelashes. Finally, he took his hand, his hand was soft, but his grip was strong.

“I’m Lance, nice to meet you, Keith.” Keith felt like he might melt into a puddle, as his name slipped through Lance’s lips like music. Keith didn’t know how long he stared, and the embarrassment from gaping like a fish at this handsome, smooth, boy had yet to dawn on him. Lance chuckled softly.

“Let me go grab that order from the back.” All Keith could do was smile sheepishly and nod. As Lance disappeared out of sight, Keith let out a quiet exasperated groan and threw his face into his hands. What is wrong with me, Keith thought sourly. A cute, funny guy is openly into me and I can’t even seem to breathe right!  Keith wanted to bang his head against the counter but since he didn’t know when Lance would be back, he did not want to risk acting a fool even more than he is sure he already had.

“Alrighty, one fancy-pantsy cake, and six little cupcakes of various flavors for the H-Man.” Lance’s bright bubbly energy lit up the room, and Keith pulled himself out of his own sense of despair.

“Thank you.” Keith waited while Lance continued to ring him up. The slight moment of silence was too much for Keith, and he softly cleared his throat in an attempt to break it as he fumbled for some cash from his wallet.

“How much am I looking at here?” Keith asked, working hard to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.” Lance smiled down at his keyboard as he worked on printing out a gift receipt.

“What?” Keith’s voice was unintentionally louder than he wanted it to be as he was floored by the gesture.

“Hunk’s a great guy, and I’m just glad I can do something for him today. Make sure you tell him I said, ‘Happy Birthday’.” Lance closed up his register, gave Keith a brilliant smile and disappeared into the back of his store. Keith was unsure of what to do. He stood in front of the counter, a fifty clutched in his hand with no reason to have it out. Just as Keith was thinking to leave, he spotted the tip jar.

At 9:15 Keith rushed out of the little bakery, unsure why he was rushing. There was a fifty sitting in a small bakery’s tip jar, and a gift receipt secured to the top of the cake box with a royal blue cupcake sticker fluttering in the January wind. Unbeknownst to Keith, the ink from a glittery blue ink pen was smearing across the top of the box making the last two numbers in an unexpected phone number mostly illegible.

Chapter Text

Keith was in a mood that even 9:30 city traffic could not bring down. Despite the fact that it took him almost an hour to get to the Victorian hall they had rented for Hunk’s birthday lunch, Keith couldn’t have been in a better mood.

“Um, hello? Earth to dumbass?” Pidge adjusted her glasses before waving her hand in front of Keith’s face as he set down the cake and cupcakes on the pre-assigned table.

“Huh?” Keith looked at her like a deer in headlights. He was completely out of it.

“I take it that you got the cake okay?” Pidge eyed him skeptically as she shoved him to the side and took a peek inside the box.

“Oh, yeah everything was just fine.” Keith plastered a nervous smile on his face trying—and failing—to not remember the smooth silky lull of Lance’s voice.

“Are you sure because—” Pidge never got to finish her inquiry. Just as she was going to point out the stupid grin Keith had on his face, a very disheveled Shiro burst through the hall’s doors.

“I-I’m here! Did I miss it?! Oh, God!” Shiro slumped into the nearest chair, and as he went to plop his head down on the table, he missed by a few centimeters promptly falling out of his chair and dragging the table cloth with him.

“Shiro!” Keith was pulled out of his ever-growing daydream as Shiro startled himself into consciousness by falling to the floor. Pidge and Keith helped Shiro up and casually tossed the table cloth back on to the table just as an equally disheveled Curtis plowed through the swinging door. Both men looked equally exhausted. Dark half-circles seemed to have taken up residence under their eyes, and each had odd tufts of hair sticking up here and there.

“We made it, right?” Curtis looked around at the scene before him, not quite sure of what he was seeing. His right lens was smeared with an odd substance and a diaper bag was hanging precariously off of the handle of the twin stroller he pushed.

“Are you guys alright?” Pidge asked as she surveyed the scene. Shiro was now sitting upright in a chair looking around groggily.

“Of course we are, this simulator is just kicking our asses.” Shiro shrugged as his eyes slipped closed. In seconds he had jerked himself awake again.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Pidge said laughing as she made her way to Curtis and the stroller. “Now, let’s see these robotic nephews of ours.” Pidge pushed back the conjoined sun visor and stared dumbfounded at the half-empty stroller.

“Um, guys?” Pidge received a small, mumbled, incoherent response from the two soon-to-be-parents sitting around the table.

“Doesn’t it make more sense to practice with two robot babies instead of one?” As the statement left her mouth silence filled the room. After a few seconds delay, Curtis jumped up with a jolt of adrenaline.

“We left a baby in the Uber!” Without a single thought, he bolted out of the doors before Shiro had even processed the information. For a few moments, everything was in chaos. In Curtis' sleep-deprived state, he could not seem to find the door he had just come through a few moments before, and Shiro was scrambling around in no direction in particular.

“Well, now. Who could this little fella belong to?” Coran waltzed into the room carrying a small robotic baby. Allura followed closely behind, her arms filled with decorations.

“Oh, thank God.” Curtis took the robot baby from Coran and placed it into the stroller next to the other one.

“Are you sure you guys are okay?” Pidge questioned looking back and forth between the two.

“Of course, we’re just a little bit tired,” Shiro reassured them as he rested his head on the table.

“Well, why don’t the two of you go and…” Allura gave both men a once over, “…freshen up. I’m sure the babies will be fine while we finish setting up.” Allura looked around, looking for cooperation from the other three in the room.

“Why yes, we can watch these two little tykes.” Coran cooed as he wiggled his finger in the face of one of the robot babies.

Slowly Curtis nodded, and he and Shiro headed out to the bathrooms to clean up.

“Whose bright idea was if for them to sign up for this baby simulator?” Pidge asked as she began haphazardly taping up crepe paper banners.

“I believe it was Curtis' sister’s idea. She said that she wished she had something like that before she had kids, and helped the boys sign up for the class.” Allura was following behind Pidge correcting the shoddy job she had been doing with a scowl on her face.

“Well, they didn’t have to agree to set the difficulty to hard. They should have just stuck with average.” Keith muttered as he fumbled with correcting the table cloth Shiro had knocked over.

“Well, now they will be better prepared,” Allura said as she looked around the hall with all of the decorations in place.

“The chef is here,” Curtis and Shiro announced as they reentered the room.

“Of perfect!” Allura marched up to him with an air of importance and she deflated slightly as he breezed past her to greet Keith with a warm smile and a firm handshake.

“Monsieur Kogane, how are you? How is your father?” The man seemed enthralled with every word that came out of Keith’s mouth as they engaged in tedious pleasantries.

“Chef Leblanc, it is an honor to have you come out here. Please, let me introduce you to the rest of today’s guests.” Keith had switched into business mode without much thought. People like Chef Leblanc were of an entirely different breed. It wasn’t just because the Chef was French, but he was used to catering to a higher-end clientele. Normally he would not have said yes to such a small and informal gathering, but Keith threw his name around a little, and Chef Leblanc was quick to comply. Finally, Keith was able to pass off the reigns of command to Allura who showed the good Chef where to set up. Quickly his assistant brought in all of his supplies and began quickly setting up.

“Wasn’t there supposed to be a bartender here too?” Shiro asked as he joined Keith at an empty table.

“Yes! Sorry, that’s me! I was running a tad bit late.” A young girl in her mid-twenties ran up to the table, the crate in her hand rattling as the glass bottles of liquors jostled together.

“Laura, nice to see you again.” Keith gave her a quick hug which she used to catch her breath.

“Mr. Kogane, thank you for this opportunity, it really means a lot.” She began setting up glasses and pulling bottles out of the crate that she placed on the floor.

“Laura, please. It’s just Keith.” Laura smiled at him shyly as a nerdy younger guy ran into the room carrying more crates.

“Tommy, please try and keep up with me.” Laura rolled her eyes as she threw her hair up into a ponytail and began mixing a couple of drinks. The younger guy—Tommy—pushed up his glasses with his shoulder and clumsily set down the crates of glasses and wines next to Laura as he watched her work.

“How’s that special drink coming along?” Keith asked hoping a little friendly conversation would help to calm her nerves.

“Special drink?” Shiro questioned as he watched the young girl mix drinks with striking efficiency.

“Yeah, we decided to make a drink for Hunk’s special day. We’re calling it ‘The Hunk’.” Keith emphasized the name of the drink with a little dramatic flair.

“I think he’s going to love it.” In second Laura had produced a gorgeous golden tinted drink, complete with tendrils of lemon and orange peels. Keith accepted the drink and took a tentative sip. To his surprise, the drink was not as sickly sweet as he feared it would be. In fact, it was barely sweet at all. It had a punch of citrus and a slightly sweet tang that cushioned the blow of the liquor that followed at the tail end of the sip. Keith nodded approvingly and handed the drink to Shiro.

After Laura had whipped up a couple of more and set them on the portable chilled bar she and Tommy left to chat with Chef Leblanc. Shiro and Keith were left in a comfortable silence as they sipped their drinks.

“I think she’s sweet on you,” Shiro said between sips as he glanced at Keith from the corner of his eye.

“Who? Laura? Oh no, she knows I’m…” Keith took a sip of his drink to busy his mouth. Shiro sat in silence for a moment.

“You know, you can say ‘gay’.” Shiro took a little sip of his drink while he waited for Keith to give him some kind of response.

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t have to say it much.” Keith let the silence grow slowly before he spoke up again. “It’s not like I’m ashamed of it. I’m not. It’s just—” Keith was growing a bit flustered as he tried to defend his inability to force himself to say the word.

“I know, Keith. You know that I know better than anyone how…insensitive the corporate world can be to people like us.” Keith let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. Shiro always knew what to say, more than that Shiro always knew what Keith was going through and how to make bad situations better. The two boys sat in silence, enjoying the quiet company of each other that was hard to come by these days.

Out of nowhere, Curtis' laugh echoed throughout the hall. Shiro’s eyes searched the room until he found Curtis and Coran crowded around the robotic babies. Keith watched as Shiro’s eyes lit up with every echo of Curtis' twinkling laughter.

“Do you feel ready?” Keith asked softly admiring the love that filled Shiro’s face.

“Honestly?” Shiro asked as he took a big gulp of his drink. “I don’t know how anybody is ready for this. It’s terrifying. To be in charge of two whole helpless human beings?” Shiro shook his head and took another drink.

“You did a pretty good job taking care of me,” Keith said softly. Shiro tore his eyes away from Curtis and a soft smile came to his face. Keith nudged him with his shoulder as he saw Shiro’s eyes begin to fill with tears.

“I think you’ll be just fine. I’m really happy for you guys.” Keith gave Shiro a moment of privacy to wipe away the mixture of happy and proud tears. Before their conversation could continue, Allura popped her head back into the hall.

“He just parked! Places everyone!”

***

For the rest of the afternoon, they ate, had fun, and were merry.  Hunk was thrilled to have every one of his closest friends together even if just for one afternoon. The group drank gorgeous full-bodied wines that paired well with the amazing cuisine crafted by Chef Leblanc.

When it was time for cake, the group presented the box to Hunk, who proceeded to burst into tears. Just the fact that they went out of their way to order a cake from a tiny bakery in town that Hunk hadn’t shut up about for weeks was a present enough for him.

“You guys are great! I don’t know how you even found this place! It took me weeks of talking to different bakeries to even get them to tell me about that place.” Hunk was savoring every bite of the rich chocolate cake.

“Believe me, it was not easy to find,” Pidge said as she ate her piece of cake.

“It was difficult to locate even when we had the directions,” Keith muttered through a mouthful of cake.

“You picked it up? So, you met Lance!” Hunk’s face lit up. “Isn’t he the greatest! He’s so funny and great with the costumers.” Hunk was practically beaming as he talked about Lance.

“Yeah, I guess he was pretty cool.” Keith picked at the crumbs left on his plate as Allura and Pidge began cleaning up around the hall.

“Huh,” Pidge exclaimed from a few feet away. Everyone looked towards her knowing full well she did not need prompting to explain the nature of her exclamation, but Pidge was silent far longer than they ever knew her to be.

“What?” Keith finally asked. Pidge sauntered over with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Seems like someone thought you were pretty cool too.” Pidge laid the receipt upside down in front of Keith. Glittery blue numbers stared back at him followed by the words, “Call me” and a cheeky little winky face. Keith was stunned. The baker was actually interested in me? He wasn’t just flirting to make a sale…he was flirting to flirt. With me?! Keith’s mind was moving at a million miles a minute. Synapses were firing but nothing was quite making sense.

As Keith continued to stare dumbfounded at the receipt, Laura and Tommy entered the room having already packed up their things for the afternoon.

“I’m glad you had a great time,” she said giving Hunk a small hug. “Happy Birthday, again!” The room filled with chimes of ‘Happy Birthday’, and Keith mumbled it too. Hunk gave out a full-bellied laugh.

“No, dude, happy birthday to you!” He said gesturing to the receipt. Keith could feel the heat on his cheeks as he pushed the receipt into his coat pocket.

The group of friends said their goodbyes and went their separate ways for the evening. As Keith waited for his car to be brought around, he pulled out the receipt and admired the neat handwriting. There was so much personality in just those eighteen little characters. There was a hard knot in his stomach, and he wasn’t quite sure how to explain the mixture of emotions he was feeling. But something felt…good. Keith thanked the kid that brought his car and tipped him generously as he drove back into the city, not the least bit upset that there were piles of reports waiting on his desk to be finished before dawn.

Chapter Text

The phone number on the back of the bakery receipt taunted Keith as he worked late into the night. He wanted to call him, but he didn’t want to seem desperate. Desperation isn’t sexy, Keith chided himself as his eyes drifted over to his jacket that hung on the stand by the door. He really wanted to call him.

Keith groaned in frustration and threw his head on his desk, the seemingly endless stack of reports cushioning the blow.

“Mr. Kogane?” Amelia popped her head into the office.

Keith raised his head to look at her, a look of dumbfounded confusion on his face. He looked down at the watch on his rest. “Amelia? God, what are you still doing here?” His watch read 11:25 PM.

“I didn’t want to leave you here all on your own. I figured if I can get the reports filed after you finish looking over them we could get things all caught up sooner.” Amelia gave him a kind smile.

Keith chuckled softly. Now that is company loyalty, he thought to himself.

Amelia shifted in the doorway, itching to collect the stack of documents awaiting filing.

“Oh, no. I can’t continue keeping you on so late.” Keith rubbed his eyes. “I say, shut her down. The world won’t come to a stop just because we take another day to file…” Keith glanced down at the unfinished report on the top of his stack. “Form FHD 2319 for the approval of office maintenance supplies.” Keith dropped his pen to the desk and sat back in his chair.

Amelia chuckled softly. “Yes, sir. I’ll start closing up.” With that Amelia disappeared back towards her office.

Keith groaned, and gave one large stretch. His body and head ached. He needed a hot shower and a warm bed--and a warm body. The thought caught Keith off guard. No, the baker--Lance--was more than just a warm body. He was...a prospect; a chance for something more. His mind ran miles in front of him. Keith shook his head to clear his thoughts as he tidied his desk to leave for the night.

Keith and Amelia made their way to her car. Although the parking garage was brightly lit, Keith couldn’t help but take the extra precaution. As they walked small talk filled the concrete garage, and Keith’s hand was planted firmly in his jacket pocket, the recipe with Lance’s phone number grasped tightly.

“You have a good night, Amelia.” Keith nodded in farewell as he made his way a few rows over to his own car.

The ride home was more relaxing than was safe so late into the night. But Keith made it home without a problem.

As he made his way into the house he had to force himself to not rip the receipt out of his pocket and call him immediately. It’s past midnight, it would be rude to call him now, Keith rationalized. So Keith forced himself to go through his routine.

Dinner was in the microwave, wrapped tightly and neatly. Although it would have been best hours before when it was fresh, it was just as good.

Martha was a saint. She had spent years caring for Keith as a young boy in his parent’s own home. As troubled as he was, she was always kind. When Keith moved into his own home she had asked the family’s permission to accompany him if he wanted her. And Keith was too happy to oblige.

By the time Keith ate and showered it was past one in the morning. He couldn’t call Lance now. Even a text message would be unacceptable at that hour. Keith would have to settle for tomorrow.

As Keith settled into his bed, the warmth washed over him. His mind wandered farther than he ever dared to let it while conscious. Thoughts of warm, caramel-colored skin. Strong, soft hands. Those eyes.

***

Despite his late-night, Keith awoke before dawn. He forced himself out of bed, into running clothes, and out into the cold pre-dawn air.

Slowly, he readied himself for his day. He went through his to-do list, asking himself whether each was as necessary as it seemed. It was something that stuck with him from his therapist when he was one regularly. Whenever Keith was overwhelmed with the world and his tasks, he simply needed to ask himself, what if I didn’t? The realization that he could choose...the acceptance that he was in control, changed everything for him then.

What if he didn’t go to school? Then he would fail his classes. He would have to repeat them or do summer school. What if he didn’t beat the shit out of that guy? Then he wouldn’t be in trouble, but he’d have to work hard to avoid him and keep himself in check in the future.
Although the questions have gotten more complex, and the consequences have begun affecting more than just himself, the principle remained. Keith was the only one responsible for himself, and he was the one that would have to face the consequences for his choices.

The sun was struggling to shine behind the dreary sky as Keith made his way back to the house. The smell of fresh coffee greeted him at the door.

“Morning, Martha.” Keith popped his head into the kitchen to greet Martha.

“Good Morning, Mr. Kogane.” She smiled at him warmly, as she moved about.

Keith made his way up the stairs, as he continued to plan out his day. The shower was hot and soothing, as he washed away the sweat he worked up, despite the chilly morning. He moved through his morning routine quickly, hoping to catch up on the work he didn’t finish the day before.

As Keith made his way down the stairs he was greeted by a full-bodied laugh, that brought a smile to his face. Shiro. Keith hadn’t seen much of his since he and Curtis had begun to prepare for the twins. Although it was a bummer to not have him around, Keith knew he was right where he needed to be.

“Nice seeing you, stranger,” Keith said, chuckling as Shiro startled at his words.

“Oh, ha ha. I know I’ve been busy, but ‘stranger’?” Shiro arched his eyebrow as he raised a steaming cup of coffee to his lips.

Keith accepted a cup of coffee from Martha as he sat down at the kitchen bar next to Shiro. “So, did you leave your husband and kids already?” The coffee was hot and rich. Just the smell was enough to wake his entire body up.

“Nah, our program finished.”

Keith choked a bit on his coffee. “What? I thought it was like a two-month deal.” Keith furrowed his brow as he played back the timeline of events in his head.

“Apparently it was,” Shiro set his cup down and stared into it. “It went by so fast, I hardly noticed.”

“You’re telling me.” Keith took another sip of coffee, allowing the silence to sit.

“Anyways, now that I’m more coherent, tell me about this guy.” Shiro spun the barstool around to face Keith. Shiro had a mischievous grin on his face as he watched Keith.

Keith’s face was getting warm, which was ridiculous. “There’s nothing to tell. I said like twenty words to him, and then he gave me his number.” Keith left out the part where he tipped him outrageously hoping it played no part in the baker being interested in him.

“You dog.” Shiro gave him a playful shove. “You’ve got a way with the artistic types, don’t you!”

Keith laughed to himself, not allowing the tendrils of past memories ruin the moment.

“So, did you call him?”

Martha breezed by and refilled Shiro’s cup.

“Thank you, Martha.” Shiro gave her a big smile and sipped his coffee as he looked back at Keith. “So?”

Keith fiddled with the handle of his mug, not meeting Shiro’s gaze. “I haven’t.”

“And why not? What strange affliction is keeping you from calling the sweet human being that is interested in you?”

“How do you know he’s sweet? You’ve never even met him.” Keith questioned.

“If Hunk loves this guy, you know he’s got to be great. And hell, to put up with your awkward ass and still be interested in you, well he’s got to have the patience of a saint.” Shiro laughed to himself. “So why haven’t you called him?”

Keith took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he was so nervous to talk to Shiro about this. If anyone was going to give him worthwhile advice it would be Shiro. Shiro had been there for him during the darkest time of his life. There was no pretending that Keith wasn’t a troubled kid. Hell, Keith was a troubled tween and teen too, and Shiro had done more than his share in keeping Keith out of jail, and out of the grave.

“Well, it was too late last night when I got in, and now it’s far too early.” There was no other reason than that. Keith knew he wanted to message him, but for whatever reason, he just hadn’t.

“Too early?” Shiro questioned. “He’s a baker! He’s probably up before you are.” Shiro chuckled, as he drained his cup. “You should call him. Plan to get coffee on your lunch break. Coffee’s easy.”

When Shiro said it, it sounded easy. Just call him. Keith sighed as he walked to the front door. His jacket was hanging in the front coat closet, with the number tucked safely inside. Keith brought the number and his phone back with him to the bar.

Shiro gave him a reassuring smile.

Keith took another breath and unlocked his phone.

7-0-7.

His tumb shook slightly.

2-2-5.

2-7…

Where the next two numbers should be was an unintelligible smear of blue ink. Shit.

Shiro noticed Keith’s hesitation. “What? What’s wrong?”

Keith pointed to the back of the receipt. “It’s...It’s smeared.” His voice was a whisper. This was it. The end of the line. It wasn’t meant to be. Fate didn’t want him to be happy.

Shiro watched as Keith went through dozens of phases of emotions in seconds. “Woah, freeze. We’ve got this. Give me the receipt.” Shiro didn’t wait for Keith to hand him the receipt, instead he took it from the counter and brought it to his face.

Silence followed.

“7-1.” Shiro said quickly, handing Keith the number back.

“What?” Keith looked at the receipt as if it had transformed into a magical creature in his hand. “How did you…” Keith looked up at Shiro in amazement.

“Oh, please. I’m a lawyer. I’ve got a few tips and tricks up my sleeve.” Shiro chuckled at the look on Keith’s face. “So, are you going to call him?”

Keith looked back down at his phone. “Oh...yeah.” Keith hesitated.

Before Keith could do anything else, Shiro grabbed the phone out of his hand, dialed the last to numbers and hit the call button.

Keith stared wide-eyed, frozen. “What did you do!?” Keith hissed, looking at his phone like it might bite.

Before Shiro could respond a new voice joined the mix. “Hello?”

Keith couldn’t think. His brain misfired, connections weren’t being made.

“Uh, Hello?” Lance’s voice came through the phone. Even with the second of silence, Lance didn’t sound annoyed, just confused.

“Yes. Hi. Hey. Um, it’s Keith from the bakery.” Keith screwed his eyes shut, and banged his fist to his head a couple of times.

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering when I would hear from you.”

Keith didn’t know if he was imagining it, but he swore he could hear a smile in Lance’s voice.

“So, Keith from the bakery, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Keith looked at Shiro with wide eyes. “Um...Well, I was just wondering...you know...if--” His mouth was drying out. “Well, if maybe you wanted to, like, um…” He was freaking out.

Lance giggled softly on the other end of the line.

“Coffee!” Keith blurted out. “I mean...I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee. With me. Today.” Keith hated how awkward he sounded. He looked at Shiro, and put a finger gun to the side of his head, pulling his thumb trigger.

The silence only lasted half a second at most, but it felt like forever. “That sounds great.”

Lance’s response caught Keith off guard. “It does? It does.” They sat in a happy silence for a few more moments.

“Hey, so, my morning rush is about to start. Text me what time you want to meet and we can meet up at this cute little coffee shop on the corner. Okay?”

“Okay.” Keith was breathless.

Lance gave a soft chuckle and then the line went dead.

“You did it.” Shiro cheered.

“I did it.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“You’ve got a date,” Shiro said, beaming.

Keith’s eyes went wide. “I have a date.”
***

One-thirty couldn’t come soon enough. Keith couldn’t keep his mind on his work, and when he tried to force it, his mind would wander.

Keith arrived at the corner coffee shop too early. He didn’t want to seem too over eager, so he window-shopped across the street, trying not to watch for Lance. But he was hopeless. Every flash of blue, caught his eye. Every time he looked, it wasn’t Lance. Keith was starting to worry that he was at the wrong coffee shop. Or...maybe he wasn’t going to show up. Keith didn’t want to think about that.

Keith didn’t want to think about the fact that he put on a new blazer he had never had a reason to wear, and a new red button-down, just to be stood up by a guy he was blindsided by from the second he met his eye. Keith pushed the thought out of his head. He glanced back towards the coffee shop just in time to see Lance walking through the door.

It took all of the self-restraint Keith had not to bolt across the street and into the shop after him. Play it cool, Keith, he told himself. He counted to sixty, trying to feign interest in the artistic odds and ends that were encased behind the windows.

Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer. He turned away from the store windows, took a breath, and strode across the street in a few bounds. When his hand hit the handle of the coffee shop door, he paused, just for a moment. But then he saw Lance.

His smile lit up the small shop. He was laughing with one of the waitresses that was dropping off a cup of coffee, a real bright laugh that made his eyes twinkle.

“Excuse me.” A high pitched, nasally voice made Keith jump. “Are you going to just stand there all day?” The lady was almost a whole head shorter than him and was dragging a kid by the arm.

“Umm…” Keith hesitated.

The huffy lady was tapping her foot. “In or out, Mister?” She was practically shouting at him.

Keith took one more glance through the window and Lance caught his eye and gave him a small smile. “In,” Keith whispered. “Definitely, in.”

He made his way towards Lance, trying to keep his face from splitting into a goofy smile.

Lance reached across the empty space between tables to pull more sweet and lows from the sugar packet holder on the next table.

Keith couldn’t help but watch as Lance vigorously shook a multitude of sweet and low packets and tore the tops off, pouring an unhealthy amount of sugar into his coffee cup.

Keith chuckled. “Want some coffee with that sugar?”

Lance looked up, empty sugar packets in one hand. His face broke into a smile. “Oh, ‘Sugar’? Someone’s moving fast. Are you a ‘Honey’ or a ‘Baby’?” Lance’s eyes were fierce, fiery.

“Uh…” Keith swallowed the lump in his throat. “I didn’t...I meant the sugar.” Keith’s pointer finger was flailing about hoping that would clarify that he wasn’t calling Lance ‘Sugar’.

Lance laughed again. “I know, I know.”

Keith let out a breath. “Okay.” He glanced around, looking anywhere and everywhere but at Lance.

“Take a seat, let’s get you some coffee.”

It took Keith a moment to settle in. Lucky for him Lance was more than willing to carry the conversation as Keith tried to warm up to the situation.

“So, you are always this...mysterious and broody?” Lance leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his fist. He twirled this pointer finger across the surface of his second cup of coffee.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Keith admitted sheepishly. He looked down at his own half-empty coffee cup, trying to keep himself from being mesmerized by Lance’s hands, or his eyes.

Lance continued to look at him, giving him one of those small, sweet smiles.

Keith took that as his cue, it was his turn to talk. “There isn’t too much to me. I work at a boring job that I am oddly passionate about. I had a...complicated childhood, but I’m good. I’ve got a few close friends, and I like cars.” Keith gave an awkward laugh, wondering if he was saying too much, or not enough.

“And I obviously don’t do this a lot.” Keith sighed and took a deep sip of his now tepid coffee.

“What, a catch like you?”

At first Keith wasn’t sure if Lance was teasing him or not. When he saw the look on his face he knew that was serious. Lance’s eyes were filled with hurt. But why? Keith thought to himself.

“Oh, you’re really serious.” Lance reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Keith’s.

“Yeah, no. It’s been...a long time.”

Lance’s hand squeezed him tightly. “I know it’s bad first date etiquette, but if you want to talk about it.” Lance looked down, pulling his hand away slightly, giving Keith the option to reach out.

“Yeah, I might not go on a lot of first dates, but I know it’s bad form to talk about exes.” Keith leaned back in his chair and scooted his cup a few inches to the right, just to have something to do with his hands.

“How about his name?” Lance’s voice was gentle. His hand stayed on the table between them, offering Keith a lifeline if he should need it.

Keith couldn’t believe he was doing this. “His name was Nick.” He took a breath. “I met him at school. He was the fun, artsy type, and I was all numbers and statistics.

“I was already working at my dad’s company in my downtime, working from the bottom up. And, he was just so…” Words escaped him.

“I really thought it was love, but I didn’t know anything about love. But I knew about money. It was all I could do, I couldn’t talk about my feelings or give him a romantic night on the town. But I could have my dad’s secretary buy gifts and send flowers.” Keith scoffed and crossed his arms across his chest.

Lance felt a pain in his chest. He did all he could to keep his eyes from welling up. Why did he push Keith to tell this story? Lance shifted his hand so his palm was facing up and he reached for him. Hoping Keith would take it.

“I paid for his apartment for a couple of semesters,” Keith continued. He glanced down at Lance’s hand on the table before sliding his hand to Lance’s. “And, I went over after work one night like a year in, and he was screwing some talent scout that had come to see a play the university put on.”

“Oh, Keith.”

Keith finally pulled his gaze back to Lance. He let out a shaky breath and gave a little laugh. “Yeah, so he was just using me to keep him afloat until he could make it big or something.” Keith pulled his hand away and covered his face. After a moment he peeked out at Lance.

“Tell the truth, as far as first dates go, how bad was it?”

Lance scoffed, leaning back in his own chair, glad to see the small smile playing on Keith’s lips. “Oh, please. I went out with one guy who completely removed his shoes and socks in the middle of the restaurant.”

“No.” Keith wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” Lance swore. “Cross my heart and hope to die, this man removed his shoes and sock from his feet, and just lounged around in a restaurant. Like a nice one. With those little fake candles on the table.”

Keith laughed, and Lance watched his smile reach his eyes once more.

“Well, if after all of that, you’re still into this…” Keith hesitated. “Maybe I can take you to a restaurant with real candles on the tables. I’ll even keep my shoes on the entire time.” Keith drew a quick ‘x’ across the left side of his chest.

Lance burst out laughing. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he couldn’t tell why he was crying. It took him a few minutes to catch his breath again. Keith’s phone buzzed harshly on the table in quick bursts.

“Looks like someone needs your attention,” Lance said nodding towards Keith’s phone.

“Yeah, I have a new intern who is taking their sweet time learning the ropes. It’s like working two jobs because I have to redo everything that he fucks up.” Keith had picked up his phone and was quickly reading through the memo Amelia had sent him.

“If you have to go, that’s fine. I should probably be getting back for the after school rush anyways.”

Keith glanced up from his phone. “I’m sorry. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Lance smiled at him. “I can wait ‘til dinner. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.” Lance gave him a little wink, and relished in the way Keith’s cheeks reddened slightly.

The waitress had good timing, and Keith didn’t waste a moment handing her his card. As she walked away she wiggled her eyebrows in Lance’s direction and he stifled a giggle.

Keith looked back and forth between them. “Do you know her?” He asked point as she made her way behind the coffee bar.

“Of course I do, small businesses on the same block really have to watch out for each other.”

Keith nodded, as the waitress made her way back to the table. Keith signed the receipt with a quick flourish and tucked a twenty underneath his coffee cup. “Can I walk you out?”

The street in front of the coffee shop had cleared out significantly.

“Don’t be fooled, it’s just the calm before the storm,” Lance said, gesturing to the empty street. “Everyone is off picking up their kids, and they will be swarming this place in waves starting in about thirty minutes.”

“And something tells me that your shop is at the eye of that storm?”

“Yup, between me and the park, there will be a wave of tiny humans with very tired parents all over this street.” Lance looked a little wistful at the thought of the swarm of children that would be screaming through his shop soon.

“You’re a big kid person, huh?” Keith asked.

“Oh yeah, I come from a big family, and I just got so used to having the little ones running around. It’s one of the things I really missed when I moved out here.” Lance took a step closer to Keith, their arms touching as they continued to survey the empty street.

Keith’s phone buzzed once more and the spell the quiet street had cast was broken.

“Well, this was a lot of fun, and I look forward to dinner, and real candles, and shoes the entire time.” Lance gave him a brilliant, contagious smile.

“I can’t wait.” Keith returned Lance’s smile. He tucked his hands into his pockets and made to head off in the opposite direction. At the last minute, Keith turned around.

“I’ll call you.” The words came out more forceful than he meant them to. “I mean, if that’s okay, I’d really like to call you later.” Keith’s hands fiddled around in his pockets, and his eyes darted around Lance’s face, trying to avoid his intense stare.

Lance gave him one more gorgeous smile. “Later it is,” Lance said with a smirk. Having had the final word, Lance turned on his heel and walked down the street.

Keith watched Lance make his way down the block for longer than was proper, before turning and heading to his car.

It was going to be a long rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Lance woke up in the dark again.

As he shifted into a sitting position, he winced as his wrists rubbed against the duct tape, the raw skin stayed wet, blisters breaking and reforming with every movement. 

He wasn't aware of himself anymore, he couldn't tell where the chill of the floor ended and his body began, but he could feel the pain. His body pulsed like a bruise, and he wondered if he looked like one too, black and blue from the cold and the blows he was subjected to. He wondered if anyone would recognize him if they saw him. If Keith would know who he was if he ever saw him again. 

If. 

That word was new, but it haunted his thoughts. All he could do was sit and think these days. Think about Keith. Think about death. Think about Keith and dying. Axca was only good for small pleasantries–how funny to think of the four-sentence bickering with Axca where she told him to stop talking, and he asked how she was, and she told him to shut it, and he asked her how she got involved with a creep like Lotor, and she huffed off and slammed doors leaving him all alone as pleasant–and apart from Axca, Lance's only other visitor was Lotor. 

Lotor. 

Lance hated to think of the man. Even more, he hated that bile didn't rise to his throat like it used to when he thought of his name. When he thought of his hands, warmer than the cold air around him, warmer than the concrete underneath him. Lotor's breath was sour, and his face was too smooth, and his teeth were too sharp when he used him. His nails dug into all of the soft parts of Lance in unpleasant ways. But the heat of his body took away the chill, although it left ice in his chest. 

The door to the space that Lance was kept scraped open and he listened as Axca and Lotor walked in. 

Showtime.

"Well, it's about time." Lance's voice was high and sharp, a customer service voice that was only needed in places he wasn't welcome. It wasn't a voice he needed to use in the little home he had made for himself. His customers loved him. Sure, he would get the odd bigot that strayed into the bakery, but the stares of the regular crowd kept them in their place. 

Lotor and Axca's footsteps faltered at Lance's tone and his outspokenness. This was new. 

"Is it? Our flower is impatient this morning, hmm?" Lotor's voice was a purr, he was quick to adjust to the change in the routine. 

Too quickly, Lotor's hand brushed the side of Lance's cheek and he jumped back against the concrete. 

"Tsk, tsk." Lotor didn't have to say anything for his thoughts to be understood. 

"You leave me here to freeze overnight and you don't expect me to wilt!" Lance tried hard to give just enough anger that it was appealing, a predator like Lotor couldn't resist the playful anger and the banter it would lead to. 

“Ah, the rose has thorns.” Lotor gave a throaty chuckle as he walked away, further into the space that Lance hadn’t been able to map out in his head.
“Well, how can we make our flower more comfortable?” 

“I could think of a thing or two.” Lance wiggled his wrists as loudly as he could bare hoping that Lotor was looking in his direction. 

“Now that wouldn’t be very smart of me. I think you still mean to cause me harm, Pet.” There was a tinkling of metal against glass, and Lance became aware of the gentle notes of chocolate and hazelnut. Coffee. 

“Something appealing to you, Pet?” 

Lance hadn’t noticed he was leaning toward the smell. He might even be salivating. Coffee. He’d been without it for days, weeks? He really wasn’t sure. Without sight, Lance couldn’t tell the days apart. Time didn’t have a place in whatever basement he was being held in. There was too much going on to worry about caffeine withdrawals. 

“A cup of that would be heaven.” 

“I’m sure we can grant that request.” 

Lance heard the pour and the tink of metal on glass as the spoon made its laps around the cup. Lotor’s slow, measured steps made their way to Lance. The air seemed to part as Lotor knelt in front of him. 

“Mind yourself, flower.” Lotor’s voice was low and dangerous, one of his slender hands snaked around Lance’s throat and squeezed. Time stopped, this was not what was supposed to happen. Lance could feel his breath halting as Lotor’s hand squeezed. Panic. The feeling was panic that Lance felt. Almost as suddenly as it had started, Lotor’s hand moved upwards to clench Lance’s jaw and he brought the steaming cup to Lance’s lips. 

The coffee was scorching against his chapped lips, but he greeted the sensation. 

“Slowly.” 

Lance was brought to life. A funny thing to think as he sat on the cold, concrete floor of an unknown location, filthy and disheveled, clothes soiled with bodily fluids he couldn’t place. The heat from the coffee scorched his throat and grounded him in the moment. Lance would not die here. 

“See how nicely these interactions can go?” Lotor pulled away abruptly taking the cup with him. Lance couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped his mouth at the loss of sensation. 

“Please.” 

Lotor stopped in his tracks. 

“Don’t leave me here. Please.” 

Silence lingered around Lance and a new chill gripped his throat. 

***

“There are rules to this, Pet.” Lotor’s voice was firm. There was an unspoken threat that spoke of violence, the kind that Lance had only seen the tip of the iceberg of. 

Lotor was a weapon in and of himself, not the first thing that one would think of the businessman. But he was deceptively lethal, his body lithe and spry, his grip strong, and his slender fingers bruising with every grip. 

The apartment wasn’t large, but it was lavish. Everything in it cost more than any piece of decore that Lance owned. Did he still own things as a captive? Lance ran his hand across the wooden entertainment unit, feeling the dense, whole wood under his fingertips. This wasn’t the dense particle board furnishings that Lance had splurged on from warehouse stores when he moved out on his own. This was pure wood, chiseled from the body of a tree grown to be this very shelf. 

The apartment was sexy. Rich jewel towns from the curtains to the wall color made the space feel warm. The tv was bigger than it needed to be, the black screen seeming to suck all of the light into it. Art surrounded them on all walls, tasteful, close-up nudes that brought a sense of je ne sais quoi to the living space. 

“You are expected to follow my rules. You are expected to behave.” Lotor stepped towards Lance, and there was no wall for Lance to retreat against. Lance stood still as Lotor’s breath brushed his face, fighting every muscle that screamed at him to run as Lotor’s slender hand caressed his neck to grab at his jaw. 

“You are expected to be grateful.” Lotor pulled Lance to the ground by his grip on Lance’s face, and he allowed himself to be led to his knees. Lotor’s blue eyes pinned Lance to the spot. They were filled with challenge, daring Lance to do something, anything, that would warrant the kind of punishment Lotor was itching to dish out. 

Lotor loosened his grip on Lance’s jaw, his thumb tracing Lance’s bottom lip before pushing its way inside. The command was simple. Suck . 

Lance pinned the man’s thumb gently with his teeth, giving his tongue the space to slowly explore before Lotor grew impatient and pushed more of his thumb into the young man’s mouth. 

This was the chase, the game, and Lance watched as Lotor’s eyes glinted with hunger. 

***

Loneliness was not a feeling that Lance expected to feel. He was alone in the new apartment–his apartment? Lotor’s apartment? He wasn’t sure how ownership worked in a situation like this. He was alone, without even Axca to keep him company. 

His hands kneaded the dough against the marble countertop. 

Push, pull. Push, pull. His hands went through the motions, his fingers flexing ever so slightly as they gripped the dough and felt its flesh beneath the pads of his fingertips. Lance missed this, the smell of the yeasted dough, the pain and the pleasure that came from the repetitive kneading, and then the taste of freshly baked bread, butter dripping down his arm as he took the first too-hot bite. 

His bread hadn’t tasted the same lately, half-eaten batches of rolls and loaves were tucked against the other kitchen counter, waiting to make their way to random breakrooms and soup kitchens across the city–if Lotor could be trusted. Something was missing, or something was wrong. 

Once he had found himself in a position of power, with the bargaining power of his sex and his goading, sensual smile, Lance negotiated for the things that made life a little more bearable. 

The balcony to the apartment looked out over the city. It was shaded and spacious and a lounge chair and an obnoxious little pool were brought in just for him. The kitchen was kept well stocked and was every baker’s wet dream. Lance spent the better part of his days trying out new and familiar recipes, dusting the rust off of the mixer in his head as he got back into the groove of baking. He watched crappy reality tv and cried to sappy romcoms that were played in the middle of the day for housewives and little old ladies. 

Lance was–on the outside–a kept man. 

He continued to knead the dough against the rough countertop, not caring that he was over-kneading, developing more gluten than was necessary. This bread had to turn out. It had to feel like home, something had to. The tv droned on in the background, the newscasters' voices mumbling and murmuring throughout the apartment. The sound help Lance feel less alone. The one-bedroom apartment wasn’t that big, but it was big enough and empty enough to make Lance feel the loneliness deeper than he ever did tied up in the warehouse he had spent his first few weeks with Lotor in. 

Lance focused on the gentle tug of the dough on the marble letting stray words from the news make their way to him. Droughts and traffic. Accidents and sale’s tax. Inflation and debt. 

“Please.” The strangled plea caught Lance’s attention, the word floating to him, disjointed in the jumble of thoughts and the quiet murmur of the tv. 

“Whoever you are, please bring him home.” That voice. 

The smooth surface of the dough deflated under Lance’s grip. His eyes unfocused on a spot far in front of him. 

Keith . 

“Lance,” Keith’s voice was strangled, thick with emotion. “Hold on. Just hold on. I am going to bring you home.” 

The ball of dough lay abandoned on the countertop, and floury hands found the remote, dustings of unbleached flour powdering the suede sofa. Lance rewound the broadcast, his eyes glancing quickly over the headlines that rolled across the top of the screen:

LOCAL BUSINESS TYCOON MAKES PLEA TO BOYFRIEND’S CAPTOR. TO REPORT ANY INFORMATION CONTACT CRIME STOPPERS AT…

Keith’s face came into view, every hair perfectly disheveled, his strong jaw set with indignation and anger. 

Keith .

Lance couldn’t bring himself to say his name. He sunk into the couch, clutching the remote to his chest.

Lotor found him that way, frozen on the couch, staring at the frozen image on the tv, over-proofed bread coating the counter and a fine dusting of flour seeming to mark every surface of the kitchen.