Chapter Text
There's warm wind whipping around his face as he cruises down the streets, reminiscing. The car is in new condition, sparkling as he drives in the sun. A classic 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air, glossy black with whitewall tires, is what he bought on a whim with the divorce money. It had been sitting in his savings account for years, for no real reason. Maybe Shiro had thought about getting married again, having kids, even. Adopting, making a child's life better in any way that he could. The money could have easily been enough to get a Bachelor's degree in an Ivy League school. Not that there wasn't still money left over, but at this point in time, Shiro almost knows for sure that he'll stay alone for a long while. So, he bought this $80,000 dollar car that was completely worth every cent. From the white leather seats to the vintage, stiff steering wheel, it's a dream.
When Shiro divorced Keith, there wasn't much to it.
Keith was always stubborn, still is. Of course, he tried to convince Shiro otherwise. That they could work it out, maybe. For reasons both selfish and not, Shiro insisted on it. And, well, it had worked. At that point in his life, Shiro was toxic. The alcohol, that smoking habit he had picked back up - none of it was good for anyone around him. He guesses that Keith eventually saw that as well. The process was long with negotiations, but it panned out well. Keith gave money for the dog they had adopted and some more, hoping to keep Shiro out of his life. It didn't work very well, all things considered.
When he left the house, it felt more like a guest had finally gone home.
He's idly driving around when he does a double-take. There's guilt in his chest as his heart squeezes at the sight. There, in its run-down glory, is the Piccadilly where he and Lance had their first date. He stares at it for so long that he reaches the light and has to do a U-turn. Despite his better judgement, Shiro pulls into the parking lot. Another car - a Tesla - is parked there as well. He pulls up next to it, wondering if the stranger would be willing to trade memories. He would really enjoy talking to someone right about now.
Someone is hiding in the shade, sitting in front of the door with their legs crossed. They run a hand down the old wood, the gloss finish peeling around the edges. The posture of their body is loose and forlorn, almost reluctant. Their hand eventually comes to a rest and they press their palm to the door fully. Shiro walks forward some more and pushes his sunglasses up so they lie on his hair. He blinks, taking in slack curly hair, tan skin, the bottom of those old hi-tops he always wore, even from high school. Shiro wipes at his eyes, almost in denial. Lance is sitting there, he really is.
"Lance?" Shiro calls. The man in question doesn't say anything, but his back does straighten and he cocks his head just a tad to the right. Shiro climbs the steps to stand next to him. "What are you doing here?"
"She's dead, you know," Lance says after a moment, voice quiet. "Mirana and Plaxum, they - they're dead." Shiro's eyes widen as he lowers himself to the ground to sit next to Lance. He's not sure if it's his place to ask, but he does anyway.
"What happened, Lance?"
"It was after you and Keith left," Lance begins, hushed. "It was just getting dark when we decided to leave. We were almost home. Just one light away, we just needed another two minutes. As we were going through, another car slammed head-first into the right side of the car. He was a drunk driver that ran the red light. A, um, glass - " Lance clears his throat, " - went across Plaxum's neck. And Mirana, she was too small. All she did was hit her head. I nearly died, with a brain bleed and broken femur, but they managed to save me. Sometimes I wish I had passed, too.
"My sunshine is gone, Shiro," Lance whispers, taking his hand from the door and covering his eyes with it. "She was only two; just a baby."
Lance's body tenses and he curls into himself like he's about to cry, but as he drops his hand, no tears fall.
Shiro is thirty-four and Lance is thirty-two.
Lance has already been through so much.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Shiro says, trying to pour as much feeling he can into the detached apology. Lance doesn't comment on it, and Shiro attempts to change the subject. "I divorced Keith."
Lance looks at him with mild curiousity, but not surprise. "When?"
"Four years ago."
"Why?"
"I took what you said to heart, about saving the marriage. I really did. But I guess I didn't care about him enough to actually try to salvage something that we didn't really have. Kind of like putting a paper plate in a dishwasher and thinking the outcome will be fine."
Lance smiles at that, a small action of full lips stretching over straight white teeth. Shiro's heartbeat slows, then beats fast fast fast, a small hiccup in his chest tells him to calm the fuck down.
"I think that's a very appropriate analogy," Lance says. As he continues, that gorgeous smile drops. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Shiro."
"No, you're not."
The words bring him back to that awful day from years ago. Lance had practically spit it in his face, angry. It reminded him of an electric shock. He had never seen Lance so angry before.
"I can't say you're wrong," Lance says with a tiny chuckle.
They let the silence consume them, relaxed, for a few minutes.
"There's, um. There's a Piccadilly by my house," Shiro says, scratching the back of his neck. His heart rises to his throat when he hears how uncertain he sounds. Lance turns to look at him, brows furrowed in thought. It's amazing, how he still looks so young. His blue eyes still shine with vivacious color, bold and intense. Like he hasn't aged a day since Shiro last saw him. "I wanna be - friends."
Lance purses his lips and looks away, staring at the door. His legs bounce lightly on the floor. "Maybe; I don't know, Shiro. That chain has kinda been ruined for me. The fact that it was the same food we had on our first date..."
"Oh, really? I didn't know."
"Shut up," he says with a small grin. "I just don't think it's the best idea, you know?"
"New beginnings, right? It doesn't have to be romantic, and I don't expect it to be." His tone becomes a little desperate, but he doesn't really care.
Lance chews on his bottom lip and rubs the back of his neck before sighing heavily. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Fine."
"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Shiro teases, a beam aimed at Lance. The other man smirks at him, albeit mildly reluctant. They stand in unison, Lance cracking his back loudly and shaking out his legs.
"You're driving," Lance says lightly. He looks around the parking lot, confusion muddling his features. "Where's your car?"
Shiro points to the car next to the Tesla. Lance simply turns to face him, squinting.
"How're you going through a midlife crisis when you're barely in your mid-thirties?" he asks breezily as he starts towards the car. Shiro follows after him, shrugging.
"Divorce money."
Lance hums, "I guess it's fine to kidnap me in such a lovely car."
A laugh as Shiro unlocks the car. He watches as Lance practically purrs at it before slipping into the passenger's seat. He looks like he belongs in it, as if the car was made for him rather than Shiro.
The car brought him a certain tenderness that he had lost. The mere fact that he needed to care for it so made him realize that he needed to take care of himself as well. He succeeded in quitting the smoking and only occasionally drinks.
He wants to take care of Lance, too.
"Where do you even live?" Lance inquires as Shiro climbs into the low car with ease. He starts it and Lance hums with the engine.
"Downtown," he replies with a slight smile. Lance grunts, raising an eyebrow before it drops with an unspoken question.
"D'you think my car'll get towed?"
"It's likely."
"That's tragic!" Lance cries.
Shiro laughs at Lance's melodramatically despondant tone.
As they cruise through the city, Lance grins all the while. It's clear that he enjoys riding in the car, though he had gutted at the few things Shiro changed about the original. For example, he had it altered with an auxiliary cable. Come to think of it, that was the only thing that changed. Lance still looked at him like he murdered a kitten.
When they arrive, Lance's face brightens even further. He rushes to the line, bubbly, and looks as if he's short circuiting. Shiro shakes his head with a grin and stands behind him. He watches in amazement as Lance picks up four trays and stacks them up with every dish they have. Theres a gooey, pink pie that doesn't have a label. But Lance squeals when he sees it, coos as he loads it onto the last clear part of the plate.
Shiro simply picks up cheese and broccoli rice, chicken fried steak with creamy gravy, and a slice of cherry pie.
Lance insists on paying for his own food because of the considerable amount. Easily, he pulls a hundred out of his pocket and gives it the clerk. She gapes when he tells her she can keep the change if she helps him carry the trays. Shiro watches as the woman only carries one while Lance holds three.
Shiro raises his eyebrows as Lance sits in his seat, waiting. He looks at his food hungrily for a moment before gazing at Shiro. The woman asks for twelve dollars and seventy-seven cents and Shiro hands it to her, making sure to take his eyes off of Lance.
He strides to the large table Lance is residing and places down his tray. Immediately, Lance digs into his pink pie. He catches something that looks like celery in it and cringes
"How the Hell are you even eating that?" Shiro hisses. Lance happily devours it anyway. "That's disgusting."
"You've never even tasted it," Lance points out, his mouth clogged with pie. It sounds like it might be packing his throat soon. "I bet you'd like it."
"Can I try some of yours?"
"No, it's too good," he says before swallowing the food. "Get your own."
"Lance, it sounds so gross."
"There is nothing gross about strawberry rhubarb pie," he says around a pout.
"Oh, it's rhubarb," Shiro mutters, thinking aloud. Then, he scowls again. "That's still an entire vegetable in a fruit pie."
"C'mon, man. It's as sweet as me!"
"Why would I want to try a sour strawberry pie."
"Rude. Ah, man, you'remissing out," Lance smiles, finishing the pie. "You can't get more southern than this."
"I got country fried steak and apple pie."
"Your apple pie can go take a bath with a toaster bathbomb," Lance spits playfully. Shiro laughs at the word choice, then hesitates.
"Hey, Lance."
"Yeah?"
"Why aren't you more guarded around me?"
Lance looks up from his where he began to stuff macaroni and cheese into his abyss of a mouth.
"Because I don't have feelings for you anymore and I don't care." The statement has Shiro's abdomen cramping. "I haven't forgiven you, and I doubt I ever will. But I always liked your personality, Shiro. That won't change."
Shiro grins tightly, a bittersweet feeling settling in his chest as he says, "Right."
Lance puts the food away entirely too fast.
Like, Shiro knows he's a slow eater. But the fact that Lance finished his food the same time Shiro did says something. He remembers that Lance always had a black hole of a stomach. But, geez, he's older! How is he doing that?!
Then, of course, it catches up to him as he shovels the last bit of collard greens of his meal into his stomach.
"Oh, God, I hate myself," Lance groans, cheek resting on the table. Shiro attempts to keep a straight face but doesn't succeed, based on Lance's glare.
"Drama queen alert. Someone come help her rest her feet."
Lance whimpers and Shiro can't find it in himself to feel bad for him.
"I'm probably gonna die," Lance complains. "Tell my family I love them."
"Your family hates me," Shiro mutters, glancing at every empty plate.
What an animal.
"I haven't had their food in, like, eleven years," Lance bites out, sitting up in his seat before he promptly gags. "Aw, heck. Why didn't you stop me?"
"I tried to," Shiro responds flatly. "To which you snapped, 'I'm an independent man who don't need no calorie counter.'"
Lance glares at him and slowly stands. "I need some water."
"Are you sure you don't want some more pie?"
Lance heaves again and runs past Shiro towards the bathrooms. He laughs to himself as he watches Lance's quickly retreating back.
He emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, shoving a bunch of the complimentary mints into his mouth. He sits down with a huff, bits of drool leaking out of the corners of his mouth. He wipes it off with a napkin, scowling.
"Are you okay?" Shiro laughs as Lance gives him a deadpan stare. He shakes his head, then spits all of the mints out. "That's revolting."
"I'm hungry," he whines, resting his cheek on the table again. "Like, all of my stomach contents emptied out."
A busboy had come by the table while Lance was gone and cleared their plates. Lance stares longingly at the line near the food.
"I'm really glad that you haven't changed," Shiro says fondly, smiling at Lance's taken aback expression.
"Yeah, well. I am who I am," he says quietly, pushing himself back up. "It's tragic, really."
"I still have that picture in my wallet," Shiro says after a beat. He pulls it out and holds it up, putting it beside Lance's face to compare. Yup, almost exactly the same. He cut his hair differently, and the only visible change was the slight crows feet near his eyes when he smiles.
Lance raises an eyebrow then begins to giggle when a song starts playing on the speaker system. He hums along to it for a while, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"What's so funny?" Shiro asks, pocketing the picture.
"This - this song? It's called Hung Up." Lance laughs again, then sings along with the song. "Everybody knows I'm hung up on you."
Shiro looks away, a bright flush covering his cheeks, "Whatever."
"Man, this song is old," Lance muses, finger tapping along to the beat on the table. "From, like, 2013." He peers at Shiro with a slightly suspicious look in his eyes; it's a little too intense.
"How, exactly, do you plan on being my friend when you're - " He points to a speaker when the words hung up play. " - on me?"
"It's been - painful, for me. I've felt empty since you left, Lance," Shiro says, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. Lance'sface adopts a knowing look. "And maybe being your friend will, I don't know, fill that emptiness. I just need to see you - talk to you."
He spots a faint flush on Lance's cheekbones and thinks maybe, just maybe, they might be able to rekindle their relationship. Then again, it had always been easy to make Lance turn red.
"I can get behind that, I guess," Lance says quietly, gaze shifting to the line for food at the stand. "I'm gonna go get some - "
"Lance, no."
"Lance, yes," he says mischeciously, then smiles devilishly at Shiro before bouncing out of his seat and towards the end of the line. Five minutes later, he comes back with two plates of that horrid pie.
"Do you really need two slices?" Shiro asks, rolling his eyes. Lance pushes a plate towards him after eyes that scream, you're on thin ice.
"Nope," he says brightly, popping the P. "You're gonna taste it."
Shiro is about to refuse, but sees the open and oddly earnest look in Lance's eyes. He blushes and rubs a hand down his face, cursing himself. Maybe they shouldn't be friends. Especially if he's going to become a mess every time Lance shows him even a bit of kindness.
"Fine," he says with a very put-upon sigh, taking the fork Lance is handing him. He takes a small bite and chews making sure his expression is impassive. "Eh."
"Oh, please," Lance scoffs, crossing his arms. "I still know you. Something's telling me you really like it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Shiro murmurs as he stuffs a larger piece of pie into his mouth. It's admittedly delicious; the kind of dessert you wouldn't ever get tired of. "I hate it."
"Here I thought you weren't a liar anymore," Lance laughs out, a hint of displeasure in the sound.
And, yikes, that stings.
"All right, fine. This is really good. I enjoy this. Yes."
Lance beams at him, obviously pleased at being right, and Shiro sort of felt like melting.
He doesn't know why he thought he could just be friends with Lance.
Pining isn't an easy thing to do, and that's exactly what he signed up for.