Klance - Beat Drop (Complete)

Chapter 12 The Lance-vestigator

After the speeches were over, large bonfires were lit on the giant green, and the speakers were set up, playing chillout and indie music that only Hunk knew. Keith held hands with Lance on the spread of flannel picnic blanket, big enough for the group, Allura and Shiro looking adorable, Hunk nodding to the beat awkwardly, but he knew the words, Pidge with the stars in his eyes.

The sun was setting, and Keith looked over at Lance. They had agreed that they were officially together, but Lance hadn't kissed him again so Keith felt slightly hollow, like he had ruined something, then managed to put it back together but it wasn't quite right again. As a perfectionist, he hated this feeling, but he knew that he was the one who was imperfect, while the Spanish-speaking boy next to him was, in fact, the epitome of perfection.

Chris, the organizer, was over with them too, taking a friendly interest in Shiro as they talked about adult-y stuff. Keith wondered if he and Lance would ever be mature enough to discuss politics or the social-economic structure or taxes. He hoped not.

As the sparks became more and more visible in the night sky as they lifted up, a middle-aged man with orange hair and a mustache approached the group.

"Allura?" He said, a hopeful smile under the bush of mustache.

The woman looked up, surprised, then overjoyed. "Coran!" She jumped up from Shiro's arms, who stood up too, standing slightly behind Allura and to her left. Allura threw her arms around Coran and laughed, bouncing with excitement.

"Look at you, gallivanting around at a Parade," he said in a teasing voice.

"I know! It's been such a fun day, too. I'm glad I came." Allura turned towards the group. Chris had stood up too, and was talking and slowly drifting away with another group of people.

"Everyone, this is Coran, my... well, he's a family friend, but basically my uncle." Coran was wearing casual slacks, a button up. He looked like an uncle. "Coran, this is Hunk, Pidge, Lance and Keith."

"Ah yes! I saw you two up earlier. Quite an interesting and touching story, if I do say so myself," Coran said, his accent identical to Allura's.

"And this is Shiro." Allura gestured to Shiro, who looked confident and strong but Keith could tell by the way he subconsciously wiped the palms of his hands of his jeans that he was nervous.

"Shiro..." Coran scrutinized the tall, muscular man, sizing him up, evaluating him like a father would to the boyfriend of his daughter, about to go to prom together. "We'll talk later," he said, and Shiro didn't even flinch, and instead managed a charming smile. Keith groaned internally; he had been weird and awkward when meeting Lance's family, and they hadn't even been intimidating! Shiro was a natural... Keith made a mental note to get advice from his best friend on how to act around Lance's family.

...

"If I'm losing a piece of me, maybe I don't want heaven..." the lyrics of the song drifted up into the night sky, now alive with stars and deep blue and green, as if the universe was prettily bruised upon the dome of cloudless atmosphere.

Keith didn't lift his head from Lance's shoulder as they swayed slowly, holding onto each other as other couples danced to the sweet song, soaking in the starlight as they lingered by the heat of the fire. Cool, damp evening air settled over the ground as people began to pack up their blankets and chairs and bags. Lance smelled like grass and sweat, but not the bad kind. He smelled sweet. Keith nestled his lips closer to the heat of Lance's neck, but refrained from touching the warm skin, not wanting to scare Lance away now.

Long, tan arms were wound around Keith's waist like a belt, and their chests and torsos were pressed against each other, Keith's arms around the small of Lance's back, comfortably clasped. Lance's chest lifted against Keith's, and when he exhaled, his breath tickled. Keith felt high on Lance, high on the sweet, funny presence. He wanted to stay here forever. Maybe the fumes of weed were getting to him.