Stardust to Stardust

by orphan_account

Summary:

Keith and Lance have met a dozen times in just as many lives but always on the brink of death. However, in their 13th life, they meet again - young, dumb, and in college. With no death hanging over them, they finally have the chance to build a life together. The only problem now is that, while Keith remembers every life together, Lance seems to have forgotten him.

Notes:

This is pretty experimental for me! Just so the outline isn't confusing, every few chapters, I'll touch on one of Klance's past lives, and then the rest will be modern time in their current life. For example, this is their first life, and the next few chapters will jump back into present time. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Life I: 14th century London

Chapter 1: In the Beginning

The first time Keith met Lance, he wasn’t Keith, and Lance wasn’t Lance.

It had been in England, during the late 14th century, early on an autumn afternoon. Keith, then named Osbert, was a gravedigger, tasked with the most unsavory job of finding the waifs felled by the recent plague outbreak and disposing of their bodies appropriately.

Strolling the streets of London, Keith, overwhelmed by the stench of pestilence and death, wondered if this was all that was in store for him; cleaning corpses until he too joined them in the mass graves. The autumn wind was gentle on the nape of his neck, and, turning his gaze to the cloudless sky, he breathed out a sigh. There had to be more than this.

Keith’s thoughts, his longings, were interrupted by coughing, wet and painful, to his left. In an alley, a man was propped against a wall, struggling for each and every breath, the rise and fall of his chest growing fainter and fainter. A trickle of blood, the result of his coughs, ran down his chin, staining the already soiled white fabric of his shirt. Large blisters, painful and tender, had erupted over the exposed flesh of his arms, but his face, other than being a bit too gaunt, a bit too pale, appeared almost normal.

Handsome, even.

Ignoring the sudden tightness of his lower belly, Keith sighed once more, pulling the red kerchief from around his neck to cover his nose and mouth before making his way over to the man. This stranger didn’t seem to have much time left, and, though uncharacteristic for Keith, something within him churned at the idea of letting the man die alone.

So, he dropped to his knees beside the man, taking his sickly face in between his palms.

“Your name?” Keith asked, gruff. The man’s eyes, blue like the ocean Keith had only seen once but dreamed of seeing again, flitted up to him, blurry and unfocused. 

It seemed like he wouldn’t respond, perhaps muted by the sickness, but then, swallowing another bloody cough, he spoke with a creaking voice, saying, “Henry. And you?”

“Osbert.” Then, not bothering to soothe the sharp edges of reality, Keith added, “You’re going to die.”

“I know.” Lance, then Henry, said. His eyes fluttered shut, and, for a moment, had it not been from the faint pulse buzzing beneath his finger tips, Keith would have figured the man dead already.

“Do you fear death?”

“Not anymore.” Another painful coughing fit escaped from Lance, and he gave Keith a weak smile, blood smeared across his teeth. The bags under his eyes seemed to grow darker by the second. “I’m tired.”

Keith nodded. Voices drifted down the alley from the street, and Lance leaned his head against the wall, seeming to savor the sound.

“Do you have any family?” Keith asked. He doubted it. His own family had been ravished and razed by the fires of death spread by the sickness.

“No.” Lance opened a tired eye. Blurred and unfocused, it appeared he was looking right through Keith, but, somehow, deep within his soul, Keith knew, in that moment, he had Lance’s full attention. 

As if to prove the statement, Lance, most likely using the rest of his strength, gripped Keith’s hand, still resting against his cheek, with his own hand, allowing his eyes to shut again. “Will I see you again?”

“You’re going to be dead soon.”

“I know.” A small smile twisted Lance’s bloodied and paled features, and Keith was alive with fire. “In another life, perhaps?”

Blasphemous . Keith caressed Lance’s cheek with his thumb, promising, “In another life.”

And Keith, damning the sickness, held Lance until the man breathed his final ragged breath and grew limp in his arms.

Chapter 2: Empty Galaxies

Notes:

Life XIII: Current Life

Keith liked to dwell in the past. Not the past of his current body, but the centuries of history that bloomed within his soul. Laying in the lush grass, soft and vibrant, by the amphitheater, clouds drifting by, it was easy to get lost in his memories. Some were more vivid, bright and clear as if they had occurred just yesterday, while others blurred at the edges, scents and names and faces lost to time.

But there was one face, varied only by age and circumstance, that always stood out.  

“Earth to Keith!” The voice was followed by a swift kick to Keith’s ribs. “Wake up!”

Groaning and rubbing the now tender spot, Keith opened one eye, glaring up at Pidge. “I’m awake. Christ, did’ya have to kick me so hard?”

“I’ve been calling you for like half an hour. Do you even have your phone?”

Keith grunted, cheeks flushing. It wasn’t rare for him, notebook in hand, to leave his dorm and completely forget his phone in his haste to find a nice quiet place to sit outside, either working or reading. “No, I don’t.” He sat up, loose blades of grass clinging to his clothes. With sleep-addled fingers, he plucked them off. “Did you need something?”

Pidge shot him an incredulous look, pushing her glasses - he still wasn’t sure why she wore the lens-less frames, but he accepted it nonetheless - up the bridge of her nose. “Seriously? We had plans!”

Plans? Keith furrowed his brow. That’s right. He was supposed to meet her and Matt for coffee directly after his last class - which he had skipped - at least an hour ago. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at her with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry?”

“You better be! Now come on, Matt’s waiting for us, and you know how he gets when he’s left alone with Shiro.”

Keith winced. Matt was a mess, helplessly in love with Keith’s older brother, Shiro, and it seemed live every time they were alone together, Matt made a fool of himself. Shiro, finding his antics precious for some sickening reasoning, didn’t help the situation either.

Brushing the remaining grass off his clothes, Keith stood up, stretching and grabbing up his books. He came out there with the intentions of reading poems, mostly from Pablo Neruda, but must have drifted into his thoughts at some point, returning to that distant place where he was an empty galaxy with only the faintest memory of bright burning stars. 

“How’d you even know where I was?” he asked, shoving the books into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as they began walking.

“Well, I stopped by your room and you weren’t there.” Pidge shrugged. “Wasn’t too hard to guess where you were at after that.” She punched him in the arm, laughing. “You’re always off somewhere either daydreaming or reading! What goes on in that head of yours anyways?”

Rubbing his arm, he laughed, more nervous than joyful. If she only knew. “I think it’s in the English major job description to constantly be lost in thought, don’t you think?”

“Wouldn’t know; I picked a real major.”

Keith snorted, ruffling Pidge’s hair. “Real funny.” 

As they reached the coffee shop, Keith held the door open for Pidge, allowing her to lead the way to the booth where Matt was sitting across from Shiro. Soft indie music was playing, and the earthy aroma was to die for. 

The coffee shop, where Shiro just so happened to work, was in the center of campus, overlooking a small pond that turned a sickly shade of brown every time it rained. Fishing was allowed, but all freshmen were advised to not eat anything they caught. Disgusting, really, but the view from the coffee shop disguised these facts. 

“Hey, guys!” Matt said - an octave too high and a decibel too loud - when he saw them, waving frantically. His face was flushed, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, and Keith couldn’t contain his laughter at the man’s panicked state. 

“Howdy,” Keith said, sliding into the booth beside Shiro. 

Shiro slung his left arm of his shoulder, grinning as he passed a still hot coffee Keith’s way. “Nice to see you. Off daydreaming again?” He was the only one Keith had ever shared his past lives with, and it was something they had bonded over growing up.

“Something like that. Nice to see you, Matt. You feeling okay? Looking a little flush.”

“Fine,” Matt said, voice as strained as his smile. “I’m fine.”

If looks could kill, Keith would be dead - a fact he noted with a smug grin. He sipped on his coffee, a content sigh escaping at the taste. It was early spring, bearable but still a little cool, and, after sitting outside for so long, the warmth was welcomed. “Thanks for the coffee.” Then, nodding towards Pidge and Matt, he asked, “So what are the moves for tonight?” 

Pidge rested her hand on her hands, leaning forward. “The moves? I dunno. Kappa Sigma Sigma’s throwing a party.”

Kappa Sigma Sigma was one of the more popular frats on campus. They threw wild parties with the best drinks. When Pidge started studying there, a year after Keith, the frat had thought she was male and recruited her. Once they found out that she was indeed a girl, nobody had the heart to kick her out, and thus she remained. 

‘Tonight?”

“Yeah. You in?”

“I have to study,” Shiro said, a small pout forming on his thin lips. “Test on Monday for Iverson, you know how it is.”

While Keith didn’t know how it was, Pidge, a fellow astrophysics major, nodded in sympathy. “Sucks for you, big guy. It’s gonna be a rager. Matt, Keith? You guys in?”

“I better study too,” Matt said, stealing a furtive glance in Shiro’s direction. “Don’t want to fall too far behind.”

“Uh-huh.” Pidge sounded unimpressed. Turning to Keith, she sighed, pushing her falling glasses back up her nose. “Looks like it’s just you and me. You are coming, right?” Her eyes narrowed, and, had Keith been planning on saying no, he would have been afraid to.

Thankfully, he managed to stave off death-by-Pidge, saying, “Yeah, of course.”

“Awesome. It starts at 10.” She looked him up and down, taking in his iconic jacket and ripped jeans. “Wear something a little nicer.” 

Keith looked down at his clothes, frowning. “There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.” He turned to Shiro. “Right?”

“Uh, well…” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. Keith huffed and turned to Matt.

“You think I look fine, right?”

“I’m going to have to agree with them on this one, dude. You look like you had a heaping cup of emo tea for breakfast.”

“What the hell is emo tea?” Keith asked, borderline shouting, as his friends collapsed into fits of laughter.

---

Keith dug through his closet, frowning. Most stuff fit Matt’s description of ‘emo tea’, and he wasn’t sure if Pidge would approve. Sure, he had some of his cosplay outfits, but other than that, his wardrobe consisted of mostly black. He had more style in his past lives. 19th century France had been a good life for him.

Giving up on the clothes hanging in his closest, Keith tackled the pile stacked on his chair. These were clothes that either he had tried on and decided not to wear for one reason or another or were too dirty to be hung back up but too clean to wash. While the pile mostly resembled his closet, closer to the bottom, there was a single sweater with a pop of color. The top half was orange, ending at the top of his rib, and the rest a creme color with dark stripes. Pidge had forced him to try it on a few weeks back, and, too uncomfortable to actually wear it out and about to his classes, it had resided in the pile ever since.

Keith sniffed the shirt, decided it smelled fine enough, and threw it onto the bed. Time for pants. Since he was going to wear the sweater, he was going to fully invest in the Soft Boi  aesthetic. If nothing else, Pidge would get a kick out of it. 

Digging through the too small drawers under his bed, he pulled out a pair of dark grey jeans and tugged them on, cuffing the bottoms. Then, he slipped into the sweater. 

Soft.

“Pidge better be grateful,” he mumbled under his breath, lacing up his Converse. It felt strange wearing them compared to the boots he always wore. 

Glancing at himself in the mirror one last time and fidgeting with his hair - why did his bangs have to be weird right then of all nights  - he sighed, grabbed his keys from the counter, and left to face the savageness of the Kappa Sigma Sigmas.

Chapter 3: Promises

Notes:

Past Live XII: 1977, Texas.

Did I listen to Little Talks while writing this and cry the entire time? Yeah I did.

Keith didn’t have many fond memories of Lance in his past lives. It was rare they had more than just a few fleeting minutes right before one of them died. He did, however, have one life, the most recent one, that he would say was his favorite.

It was the only death that had been soothing. Calm. It had also been one of the very few times that Keith and Lance hadn’t been the same age. 

It was in Texas, the exact city gone from Keith’s memory, in 1977, and, in that time, his name was John - one of his least favorite names. He was older, maybe early 60s? Late 50s? 

It didn’t matter.

He was in the hospital, body ruined by a stroke, and, feeling utterly exhausted, he understood what Lance had meant when he was Henry. Keith was ready to rest. He laid in the hospital bed, head lolled to the side as he watched out the window. 

Waiting.

A knock at the door.

“Mr. Williams?” A young nurse asked, walking into the room. He was tall, curly dark hair and a warm smile. 

Blue eyes like the ocean.

“Henry,” Keith breathed out, weak hands clasping the sheets beneath him. He had waited a lifetime for this moment. 

The nurse chuckled, setting his clipboard down and sitting beside Keith in the empty chair. The chairs had been empty the entire time he was there.

Keith had married a nice woman named Susan, who, sadly, was unable to have children. They lived an average life, more as friends than lovers, until she passed years earlier. Other than her, there was nobody else to visit him.

But Lance was here now, and everything was okay.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” the nurse said, a crooked smile brightening his features. “My name is Miguel. I’ve just started here - it’s my first day actually. I’ll be your new nurse.”

Not for long , Keith thought, chuckling to himself. He had lived enough times to know that Lance was like his very own grim reaper, an omen of death. Even now, he could feel himself slipping away.

Just a few more minutes, though.

“I lived a good life,” Keith said softly, leaning his head back into the pillow. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Lance. It was nice seeing him healthy and alive, especially since he had been the first to pass on in their past few lives. 

Lance laughed, the sound just as melodic and warm as Keith remembered. It flooded him with the same rush of adoration and love that it always had. Like Lance’s eyes, his laugh was something that never seemed to change too much from life to life. Then, sober but not solemn, he said, “Tell me about it.”

Keith wondered if Lance felt the pull between their spirits as well. Instead of indulging in a tale of this life, though, with as much of a smile as he could muster with his rapidly fading strength, he, for the first time in his spirit’s existence, asked, “Do you believe in past lives?”

Though confusion flashed through his eyes, Lance’s smile never faltered. “Past lives? I think it’s something interesting to think about.”

Keith breathed out the faintest signs of a laugh. Not much longer now. “I’m going to die soon. Care to hear an old man’s secret?”

Placing his hand into Keith’s and holding tight, Lance nodded. “Sure. I’m all ears.”

“I remember my past lives,” Keith breathed out. The edges of his vision were beginning to blur and darken. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then, nearly holding his breath with the anticipation, he continued, saying, “You were there. In every one of them, you’ve always been there.”

Lance’s eyes widen, smile nearly slipping off his face. “Me?” He cleared his throat, using his free hand to rub the back of his name. 

Keith nodded. “We...we first met in England. 1349. Your name was Henry, and you were dying of the plague. My name...my name was Osbert. I held you in my arms while you died.” The heart monitor had begun to beat erratically, and Lance’s grip had tightened, but Keith had to get the words out. Barely able to breath, he collapsed into the bed. “Do you remember me?”

For the first time, Keith watched the blue eyes he loved so much well with tears, a few stray ones managing to escape and roll down flawless cheeks. Time seemed to stand still. When Lance finally spoke, his voice was weak. “I remember something. But I don’t know what. I’m sorry.”

It was okay. Keith never expected him to remember. 

“Promise me,” Keith gasped, fighting for just a few more seconds. His entire life had been good, and just moments ago he had been ready to die. But he needed more time with Lance. There was so much he wanted to say. “Promise you’ll find me in another life!”  

And Keith wasn’t sure if Lance was just already good at his job, had already perfected the loving compassion of a nurse, or if he felt the centuries of history between them, felt the magnetic pull of their spirits, but he linked their pinkies together, and, as Keith breathed his final breath, Lance, voice water yet filled with unmatched determination, said, “I promise.”

Notes:

Hey all! Thanks for reading! For updates on this, as well as my other work, you can follow me on Twitter (@megkatwrites) or on Wattpad (@missyfloral13). Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4: The Thirteenth Time

Notes:

Life XIII

Keith hated parties.

Hated all the people, hated the loud music, hated the sickly sweet musk of sweat, beer, and weed.

Yet, time and time again, nearly every weekend, he found him in the Kappa Sigma Sigma house, elbow to elbow with wasted strangers and longing to be anywhere else. It would like to say it was all Pidge’s doing, but even he couldn’t deny that, despite the fact he claimed he hated it, something drew him there each and every party.

Like the lulling breath, the stillness, of the waves right before they begin their never ending pursuit of the sand, over and over. Fully devoted to some intangible idea. 

“Keith! Hey, buddy!” Pidge shouted, elbowing her way through the crowd, beer in one hand. Her face was flushed, a rosy shade of pink scrawling across her freckled cheeks and upturned nose.

“Hey, Pidge.” Keith laughed, pushing through to reach her. 

“You look great,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose where they had fallen askew in her quest through the Drunk Sea. “I knew you were a big softie. I love that sweater. The orange? Great.” She sniffled, eyeing his shirt. “I think I’m going to steal it from you.”

Keith blinked. “Okay.” It wouldn’t be the first shirt she stole from him. In fact, the hoodie she was wearing right then seemed awfully familiar…

“Hunk is here!” Pidge said suddenly, grabbing Keith’s hand and pulling him through the crowd. “He’s in the kitchen making drinks. Did you pre-game?”

“Nah, didn’t want to get too drunk.”

“Lame.”

Keith rolled his eyes. 

The Kappa house was identical to the other frat houses in every way but spirit. Unlike the other houses, which tended to be a bit more bare, a bit less lived in, the Kappa house was almost cozy, with frat stitch and pictures and memorabilia on every surface. When there wasn't a party going on, it was actually a nice place to study. So nice, in fact, that Keith often found himself tucked in a corner, reading some Neruda or Plath.

Or writing.

Once they were in the kitchen, Hunk spotted them and waved with his free hand, cocktail shaker in the other. While some people - read: Pidge - were okay drinking beer, Hunk was a man of refined taste. He was a Kappa, too, and had the entire kitchen stocked with everything he needed to make the best drinks. Keith normally could plug his nose and drink enough beer just to get drunk - and by that point the taste was the least of his concerns - but sometimes he liked to indulge in a mixed drink as well. 

“Hey, guys!” Hunk said. “I sent Lance down to the basement to get a bottle of vodka, and then I’ll make us all a Moscow Mule like last time.”

Keith hummed to himself. The drink was refreshing, not as heavy as beer. Much better tasting too. Then again, he would drink anything that didn’t taste like piss. He went to say something, but then the foreign name caught his attention, and he tilted his head. “Who’s Lance?”

“Some new recruit.” Pidge jumped up, sitting on the counter and swaying her feet while still nursing her bottle of beer. "Transferred in as a freshman this year, but he has junior credits."

"Real nice guy!"

"Uh-huh." Keith quirked a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. "So you're using him as a workhorse? Isn't hazing against the rules?"

"It's not exactly hazing," Pidge said, meek. Keith gave her an unimpressed look, and she continued, “It’s not! Just…”

“Him lending a helping hand,” Hunk added, smiling. A bead of sweat was forming on his brow, and his smile was shaking.

Bastards, they’re using the poor boy , Keith thought. Instead of calling his friends out, though, he just shook his head. “You’re both going to hell.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Pidge leaned forward with a wicked smile and a dangerous glint in her eyes. “We knew that anyways.”

“Alright guys, I got the vodka! Are you ready to party or what?” A loud voice came from the doorway, and Keith, startled spun around. 

Life was a precious thing, Keith realized long, long ago. It’s full of many pleasures and sorrows which, when handled carefully, tenderly, becomes pleasure. Joy could be derived from many things. It could be fruitful, or fulfilling, or even orgasmic. 

But nothing compared to the overwhelming peace that flooded Keith’s very being like seeing those eyes.

In a single moment, he remembered everything . The memories that blurred into sepia, the names and faces he had forgotten - his own, strangers - it all rushed back to him. And, for a split second, the minuscule moment it took for their eyes to meet, Keith wasn’t Keith anymore. He wasn’t John, wasn’t Osbert, wasn’t any other name either. 

He was a galaxy, alive and flowing and busting at the seams with endless colors, and blue was his favorite .

The boy, Lance, cocked his head to the side and watched Keith with narrowed eyes. “Why’re you looking at me like that? Who’re you?” He handed the bottle of vodka to Hunk before slipping his hands into the pockets of his aviator jacket. Dressed in the jacket, a NASA t-shirt, and a pair of plain jeans, he looked so different from the last time Keith had seen him nearly 50 years ago. 

Realizing he was still staring, Keith, flushed, dropped his gaze, snapping his gaping mouth shut. “I’m sorry, you just...you looked like someone I used to know.”

Lance’s expression softened, and he flashed a brilliant smile. Returning the smile came as easy as breathing to Keith.

“Oh wow,” Pidge whisper - loudly - to Hunk. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Emo Tea smile.” 

Hunk gave a quick nod. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then, “Did he have too much to drink?”

“He hasn’t even drank yet!”

Keith cleared his throat, giving them a weak glare. “I can hear you. I’m just trying to be nice to him since you two are tryin’ kill him.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Lance said, waving his hand. His ears had turnt just the faintest shade of pink. “I like helping out.” He stuck his hand out for Keith to shake. “I’m Lance, by the way.”

His grip was firm but gentle, palm fitting perfectly against Keith’s as he introduced himself. Was he going to die soon? Was Lance? In a dozen lives, they’ve never been able to meet early enough for a normal conversation. 

With a sheepish grin, he pulled his hand away, discreetly wiping it on his pants leg. He prayed Lance hadn’t noticed how much he was sweating. “It’s nice to meet ya. Don’t let these two work you too hard, alright?” Keith leaned in close, as if to whisper, but then continued to talk at the same level while eyeing Hunk and Pidge. “After all, hazing is against the rules , right guys?”

Pidge gulped. “Yep!”

While Hunk set on fixing them some drinks, Keith nudged Lance, smiling. “So, what brings you to the Garrison?”

Lane beamed, and, with grand hand gestures, explained, “I’m studying astronomy, with minors in Spanish and Fine Arts.”

Fondness was bubbling within Keith’s chest. How sweet. He could die now and be satisfied with just seeing that smile as many times as he had already that night. “That’s neat. Very...you.”

“Oh, wow.” Lance laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks colored. “Thanks that means a lot. Mama says that I’m a bit too hard on myself, but I like what I do. I made it a lot easier by spending some time at a community college before coming here.”

Keith could listen to him talk for hours, years, lifetimes , but, sadly, the conversation was interrupted by Hunk setting down two glasses of drink on the counter in front of them. “A Hunk speciality, for ya!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Lance said, grabbing the drink and sipping on it. He coughed a bit. “Oh wow, gotta bit of a bite, doesn’t it?”

“Not much of a drinker?” Keith asked, leaning against the counter and  drinking his own. Alcohol never seemed to have much of an effect on him.

“No, not usually.”

“Well I am,” Pidge announced, jumping off the counter and wrapping an arm around Keith’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, you still going to help me write that paper for class on Tuesday?”

Keith rolled his eyes. Part of him had been hoping she would forget. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re a good writer?” Lance asked, propping his head up on one elbow. 

“Oh, Keith’s the best! Tell him, Keith! About your book!” Hunk exclaimed.

Keith flushed, running a hand through his hair. Sometimes Pidge and Hunk were so embarrassing - almost as embarrassing as Matt. Though, some of his embarrassment faded when he saw Lance looking up at him with wide, awe-filled eyes.

“You’re writing a book? That’s amazing!”

“Oh, well, I mean…” Keith laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. It was weird talking about his work, even if he was talking to Lance, his...were they soulmates? There had to be a reason they found each other every life time, but soulmates? It didn’t matter. He was just happy they were together again, and so, to indulge in the childish curiosity brightening Lance’s warm features, he explained, “It’s not a book, well, not really. I mean, it’s a chapbook. Of poetry.”

Lance, so close now that Keith could see the freckles across his cheeks and the small scar on his lip, smiled, soft and gentle. “I love poetry. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Oh God, Keith was going to die, and this time it would be Lance’s fault. His poor heart couldn’t take this, and, spluttering and blushing a comical shade of red, he said, “If you really want. It’s not that good or anything.”

Lance tilted his head back and laughed. “I’m sure it’s great. After all, nobody has a mullet that thick unless they’re protecting some great ideas.” For emphasis, he tapped his fingers, once, twice, three times on Keith’s head. 

“Yeah, Keith, we’re all sure it’s great,” Pidge teased, draping herself over his back.

Keith scowled, more out of embarrassment than anger. Thirteen times now, and he still hasn’t managed to have a good first impression with Lance . 

But, hey, at least they were both alive this time.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Sorry it's short! I needed this transition scene in but wasn't too sure how to go about it. Might come back an edit later, might not. Either way, we'll get back into some better, longer chapters soon. Thanks for reading!

“So, you found Henry again?” Shiro asked Keith later the next day after the hungover had faded and Keith was willing to dwell in the land of the living. Shiro was laying in his bed, tossing a paper ball in the air and catching it while Keith sat at the foot of the bed.

Keith, nursing his fourth water bottle pitifully, nodded. “Yeah, he’s a freshman. His name is Lance.”

“Lance, huh?” Shiro rubbed his jaw. “That’s a big leap from a name like Henry.”

“Oh, but he’s just the same,” Keith nearly swooned. It was true. His name had changed, face a bit more fuller with ruddy, round cheeks and full lips, but he was the same, through and through. Keith had met other spirits that he had known before, though it was a rare occurrence, and they all seemed to change drastically. Different personalities, different features - the only thing unchanging was their essence. 

“And neither of you died.”

“Right-o.” Keith pressed his hands to his cheeks to quell the blush forming. He actually was able to get to know Lance and talk almost all night. They even exchanged numbers, with Lance making him promise to read poetry to him some day. It was often that he found himself pinning after anyone, and even then he never felt so overwhelmed with emotion like this.

Soulmates.

He buried his face in his hands, smiling.

The bed creaked, and Shiro sat up on his elbows, a gentle laugh escaping him as his features softened. “Oh, wow, you’re really into this kid.”

“How could I not? I’ve known him for like 600 years.”

“600 years of slow burn,” Shiro said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his prosthetic hand. He sat up, sitting criss-cross in front of Keith. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“You know. About everything. Past lives.”

Keith shot him an incredulous look. “Of course not, I don’t want to scare him off.” He played with a strand of hair, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “This is my first chance to really get to know him.”

“Then you should text him. See if he wants to hang out. Maybe look over your poetry?”

Keith hadn’t shown much of his poetry to anyone. Most were dumb haikus, and others were a bit too personal. Some were even about Lance - back when he was Henry and Miguel and all the other names he had adorned over the years. 

And, thanks to the fact the Keith had receded into his anxious thoughts, he missed Shiro picking up his phone and texting Lance off of it.

“There, you just asked Lance out to coffee tomorrow after class. With a promise of bringing your chapbook for him to look over.” Shiro tossed Keith’s phone back into his lap, laying back down. “Thank me later.”

“I’m going to kill you.”