Rosemary- Klance

Chapter 4

Keith would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved the show was over. As a singer, of course he got the thrill of performing live in front of an audience, but sometimes it was just nice to finally get off a hot stage.
"Good job out there, dude. The crowd seemed to like us," Romelle said. She was changing out behind one of those stand up wall changing rooms. Keith shoved his items into a bag, since he didn't mind what he was already wearing. For on stage performances, Romelle and Keith had mutually decided that they didn't care what they wore. As long as it wasn't inappropriate, of course.
"Yeah," Keith mumbled. Romelle walked out from behind the wall, fixing her hair.
"That stage was crazy warm. I mean, what the heck. I'm sweating balls over here. How are you literally perfect? I hate you," she stated, glaring at Keith, who had yet to sweat at all.
"We've talked about this."
"Ah yes, of course. You're a reptile. How could I forget," she said, quickly touching up her lipgloss.
"Fool," he mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the room with Romelle in his stead.
"You hanging around for a bit? I want to see if I can find that girl I saw earlier," Romelle grinned.
"I guess. I could use a drink," Keith agreed. They walked into the busy crowd after talking to the manager. A few people slurred about how well they performed, along with a few catcalls for both parties. Gross.

"Guys, Lance is moping again." Pidge exclaimed, poking Lance's head, which was on the table. Hunk swatted her hand away.
"I'm not moping." Lance said, and even he knew how pathetic he sounded. He got up, heading towards the bar after telling them his mission. Get drunk and avoid crushes. Words to live by. Shiro apparently disagrees with that statement but who cares, he's married. He lost the rights to opinions when his crush actually liked him back, the prick.
"Something sweet," Lance said to the bartender once he was free. He nodded, moving to start mixing his drink with a strange array of blues and yellows.
"Rough night?" The bartender asked. Lance must've looked as confused as he felt, "You look sad," he explained.
"People keep saying that, but I'm actually doing fantastic, contrary to popular belief," Lance said, putting on his best fake smile. The bartender eyed his pants, raising and eyebrow, but having the decency not to comment. Good man.
"Alright. Here you go. Party on, friend." He said, handing Lance his drink. Lance sent a cheers his way, taking a sup through the straw. Fancy. He decided to hangout at the bar for a few more minutes, giving Pidge the chance to tease someone else for a while.
"One beer and a margarita," someone beside Lance spoke. He was too lazy to look, staring down at his drink. He was busy thinking. Why was he even sad? Nothing has even happened. He's never even spoken to the guy. Sure, he was super cute. Like, really cute. But wasn't it a bit creepy that he'd come out with his friends with the pure intention of seeing him live again? Oh god. Surely Keith didn't think Lance was stalking him. He can't be the only person who's been to multiple shows. Right? Whatever. Lance knows he's not a stalker, so it's fine. Probably.

"Here you go. Cool show, by the way," the bartender said. Lance froze, shaking his head. No way was this dude right beside him. The chances of him being that unlucky were basically shooting through the roof at this point. Goddammit. Before Lance could even process his own stupidity, he threw his attention to the man approximately a foot and a half away from him. God, Keith could at least have the decency to not look like a bloody model. The lighting was horrible, but he made it look like he planned it to be this way. How annoying.
Lance also took that moment to realize he still had vodka all over his pants. He had mostly dried it off a while ago with some napkins Pidge had been hoarding, (for unknown reasons). He looked disheveled and sweaty. This is quite an unfortunate situation. Lance grumbled, turning away, and with a poor attempt at hiding his face. Keith hadn't seen him yet. That or he has, and doesn't give a rats ass.
Lance wagered to himself. He's probably one in the hundreds who have instantly crushed on him. Of course, Lance knew not to assume but the chances of Keith even having the ability to be attracted to Lance in any way were already slim. This was so annoying. Lance had mostly dated girls in the past, but it was never very interesting for either participants. It was complicated.
Lance had made if through half his drink, and despite him being able to handle his drinks well, the few from before have started to make him feel the inevitable buzz. Sitting there alone was putting a toll on his mood, but he'd rather mope alone in peace than be bullied by his friends. He wanted to call his mamá. She always comforted him. Lance finished off his drink, probably faster than he should've, and swirled around in his seat to look at the crowd. Maybe bullying was better than being lonely, he thought. He moved to get up from the barstool he had been sitting on, when he felt a pair of unrelenting eyes on him. Damn. Spotted.

It was probably inevitable. You know, being in a bar at the same time as someone else would arise the possibility of running into that other individual. But why did Keith have to stand there and painfully watch this bastard puff out his lip as he drank his- whatever that is- and somehow know how to cope? Completely unfair, if you asked him.
He could've walked away after getting his and Romelle's drinks. She can wait a few seconds. Mysterious Handsome Guy suddenly finished off his drink and swung around in his chair, obviously with the intent of leaving. Keith doesn't move to stop him, but that didn't stop him from staring. A mistake, apparently, because this guy stops and turns.
And suddenly, Keith is gazing right into his eyes. They're blue. God, he felt so weak right then. He couldn't even blame it on any drinks.