History of Klance (klance one-shots)

Image in the Shower

There's this bad habit I've grown accustomed to.

I'm one of those odd folk who proudly sings in the shower. If you know me, this is no surprise. Out of the people in my long family lineage, you could say I'm the most 'eccentric' of the bunch. During family reunions, I was the first to volunteer for a song. My eight-year-old fingers would struggle to form the cords on my papa's guitar as I sang some melody I loved but couldn't recall today if I tried. Furthermore, in school before I joined the garrison, I was the star of every play performed and production broadcasted. Some people laughed at me. Others called me a pansy. But the loud majority absolutely adored me. They clapped, applauded, cheered my name. And I bowed back at them.

But, recently, I can't sing. Not even in the shower. I watch the water spout from the shower head and nail my chest like millions of narrow bullets. The scorching-hot water snakes down my tan skin, across my skinny arms, against my naked hips, all the way to my blistered feet.

I think of nothing. Just stare at the whirring drain.

I want something to think about, but I can't seem to find the thought.

That's when Keith comes to mind. It's a strange, new sensation as I picture Keith's face. The curve of his nose. The point of his jaw. The narrowness of his eyes, mysterious behind his long, tangled bangs.

I can't tell you why 'he' specifically came front and center. The human mind is a vast string of pictures, words, and emotion the universe has yet to completely dissect. No one can say why things happen the way they do. Thoughts shape the fabric of reality, strumming the chords of cause and effect every moment of life.

Nevertheless, that's who I think about. For the rest of my shower, I see Keith, his grim expression dower and unchanging.

After I'm cleaned, I get into bed and lay there naked and silent.

The next morning at breakfast, Keith is the first I notice. Not because he is the only one present — Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge are gathered around the table too — but because his face intrigues me. The image I projected yesterday was only a shell. It was disorienting to say the least when I caught sight of Keith's true form. The contrast of his colors. The texture of his skin. It was all so familiar yet so new.

When Keith catches me staring, he raises an eyebrow. "Lance, are you okay?"

"Just thinking," I respond and leave it at that.

That afternoon, a more vivid picture makes its way to my thoughts. Then again the next day. Then the next. Until staring at Keith's every detail becomes a habit. Until I know Keith's face better than my own. Each time, Keith becomes more motile and lively. The head grows a torso. Then from that sprouts arms, and soon Keith's entire body is present. Even under the shower head, he's fully clothed in his red jacket and fingerless gloves.

About a week into this endeavor, the image of Keith appears behind me and lays a hand flat against my back. This startles me to such an extent, I nearly scream.

Then Keith's arms wrap around my shoulders, and I melt into him. He feels safe and warm. Like my father's cooking or my mother's hugs.

The contact is far from real, but is there anything wrong with imagining?

When I tuck myself under the covers that night, I can't close my eyes. I need to feel that warmth again. To be one in the same with the thought which I can't seem to pull from my conciseness.

So I go to Keith's room.

I knock on the door and poke my head inside. Keith stirs as I approach the bed with soft footsteps.

"Lance, what are you—"

"Couldn't sleep. Can I..." I mutter, drawing circles in the palm of my hand.

Keith says nothing, and I can't read his expression in the dim light. Eventually though, he sighs and pulls the sheet back to make room for me.

I smile and get in beside him. Wrapping my arm across his chest, I lay my head on his shoulder in substitute for a pillow. I close my eyes and whisper, "thank you."

Keith doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. I feel his rapid heartbeat as he gradually relaxes under my weight.

I can feel the warmth again, and it's better than the image in the shower. I hook my leg with his and nuzzle my head against his chest. Soon, I'm asleep.