Dirty cloud of smoke curled in the gloomy space, illuminated only by the purple hue of the age-speckled bar lights. The sound of laughter and hushed conversation overpowered the loud thud of music that dominated the room. Lance crossed his legs and leaned onto the black wooden plank of the bar, drink in hand. The crowd was younger than he had expected – some students from a nearby university and men in suit who were probably not that older than him. He eyed the group before him, flaunting a playful smile at the blond young man in tight polo shirt that caught his gaze – but as he lifted his glass to take a sip, the man disappeared. As he turned around once again facing the bar, Lance sighed and slumped against the counter. Along the wall was a row of colourful liquid in their upside down bottles; Lance had to squint through the dim lightning to read the words written on each of them. He was about to raise a hand and call the server when a shot glass filled with dark-colored liquid was glided to his direction.

"You alone?"

Lance turned his head to his left, where a man – probably in his 30s – slid onto the stool next to him. He wore a professional but flirty smile, voice rough and face loose and long. Lance regarded him for a second.

"Depends." He answered just as flirty, eyes flicking from the scratch wound on the man's chin to the expensive looking pen hanging by the pocket of his suit jacket.

"You look too good to drink alone on a Friday night. Have some," the man gestured at the untouched drink.

Lance smirked. "I know." He lifted the glass, brought it to his face and as the sharp smell of drink wafted towards him, he scrunched his nose. With delicate fingers, he placed the drink back on the counter. "I'm not looking to get drunk tonight."

"Well, we could always skip the boring formalities." The man leaned in closer, but Lance was ready to hop off the stool when his wandering eyes landed on a figure; lean and thin and perfect on Lance's book. The boy winded his ways through the warm bodies of the crowd, face set on a scowl that looked too cute to be intimidating. The gears on Lance mind clicked.

"I'm sorry," Lance said hurriedly, eyes never leaving his catch. "Got somewhere else I need to be." He twisted away from his stool; from the man; and made his way across the floor to where the figure sat on the far end of the bar. He looked amazing in the purple light; glowing like he was unattainable. His dark long hair stopped just before his shoulder looked so soft and Lance itched to get his fingers buried beneath it. He was different from all the boys Lance tried to score with for the past few hours (and failing). Lance was determined to see this boy through.

Lance inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest trying to look confidence as he closed the distance between him and the boy in huge, certain steps. Even while being mildly tipsy his heart rate still rose and his face flushed redder.

"Hey!" he called, a little too loud maybe, but soon drowned out by the ambient. "What's up!"

The boy turned his head, dark wine eyes caught Lance's breath on his throat, and soon dropping momentarily to his low-cute neckline. "What do you want?" he snapped, the scowl on his face deepened.

Lance slid onto the stool next to the boy, slick like a snake on a hunt. "'ve been watching you for a while. You got no one to share such a nice drink with?" he nodded at the lone glass of whiskey sitting before the boy and grinned charmingly. "I'm willing to keep you accompany, oh, and nice haircut, by the way. You havin' the whole old school theme going on?" Lance gestured at the mullet, but only got an offending look in response.

The boy in red cropped jacket blinked his eyes in a seemingly absent-minded way and finished his entire drink in one gulp before narrowing his eyes at Lance. "Whatever it is you're trying to do, I'm not interested." He said sharply, and if Lance was as sensitive as he was 3 years ago, he'd probably deflate immediately.

"Wha – " and before Lance could rifle his brain for a witty comeback, the dark-haired boy scurried away, taking his backpack with him. Lance huffed. Another failed attempt. And this time with a really good-looking guy too.

Lance ordered a rum and coke before hopping off the stool and making a beeline towards a group in the middle of the room. Shit, alright, he was desperate. He'd got to score at least one tonight (though he wasn't against the idea of a threesome). He'd set his expectations high earlier that night, because, he damn well knew that he, Lance Mcclain, was an overall good looking man and almost exotic even. Tan skin, long legs, thin, careful fingers. It was just silly that other than some creepy old dudes – no one seemed to want him that night.

"Maybe I should just come here on a different day," he thought to himself. But he was tired. Tired of sleeping just by himself and waking up alone. Even though it'd probably be just a one night stand, Lance'd take it. At least he'd have someone to cuddle against in the cold of the night.

As the night grew deeper and the cute curly-haired boy he was hitting on levelled him with (yet another) uninterested glare, Lance resigned that maybe, today was just not his day. Could he possibly be losing his game already? At the age of twenty one?

Lance settled down on a couch at the corner of the room with his fifth drink that night. He heard the faint sound of a bell chime, signalling the last call. He glanced at the clock. 2.30. am. Pushing himself up on shaky legs, Lance was about to call it a night when he once again, spotted the familiar dirty mop of dark hair and red cropped jacket just across the room. The boy was talking to someone – someone too old for Lance's taste – before he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes in disinterest. With a wave of his hand he brushed the man away aloofly. Ouch. Lance watched in amusement as the man walked away.

Lance sauntered his way quietly, the crowd had thinned enough for him to keep his eyes on the red jacket guy. The boy tried talking to another new guy, but his expression soured over time, once again morphed into the same scary scowl the first time Lance laid his eyes on him.

But even with the scary look going on, Lance couldn't help but to note the desperation etched deep on his dark lavender eyes. Probably one more so than Lance's. He looked bewildered as he fled away from the last guy he was talking with – teeth biting into his lower lip rougher than necessary.

With a loud exhale, Lance muster up enough courage to approach the boy again. He was rejected once. He didn't know why he was so concerned. The cold air must've been messing with his head.

"Okay, tell me if I'm wrong, but we obviously have the same objective in mind," he began, inclining against the counter top.

The boy's eyes seemed to narrow as they settled on Lance. Rude. "You're wrong," he replied simply. "We obviously don't have the same objective in mind. Go away."

"Dude! Come on! You've been here for like, 3 hours, drinking the same fucking whiskey and brooding all over the place!" he gestured wildly at the glass on the boy's hand like it'd offended him.

The dark-haired boy raised one of his perfectly trimmed eyebrows, a silent yeah, so what?

"You do know this is a gay bar. Right.." Lance said slowly. "Do you even know what a gay bar is for –"

"I'm not looking for a casual hook up, in case you were wondering." The boy said. "You seem to excel at doing it, though." He deadpanned and waved at the empty space next to Lance, a sly smirk making its way across his face. Lance let that one slip by.

"Okay, so what are you looking for then? Or are you waiting for some dude who's never going to show up? Your secret lover or something? 'cuz if you are, then just say so and I'll be on my way."

The boy's eyes flickered with anger. "Why are you so interested in me? Just… leave me alone!"

"Because you look like you might murder someone if I leave you alone, and also the bar's closing down soon. Last call."

Keith blinked at him in disbelief before bringing his gaze to the clock. "Shit," he hissed under his breath, thinking Lance wouldn't hear. He did.

"So?"

"Look, I know guys like you, alright. Been talking to your kind all night. You wouldn't understand." He dismissed Lance.

"Try me,"

The boy eyed him warily as though he was contemplating.

"I need a place. To crash." His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. Lance had to strain his ears to listen.

"What?"

"My roommate kicked me out." He sighed. "I'm homeless. So, there. I'm not looking for… flings or whatever you perverts are trying to achieve. Happy now?"

"Why would you be looking for a place to crash in a gay bar?!" Lance shouted, forgotten to use his indoor voice for once. The boy glared at him, annoyed, before answering.

"Why? Do you think it's strange?"

"Yes, it's strange! Like there's so much more place you could – "

"I don't know where else to look, okay!?" he shouted, angrily, and for a second the bar went quiet as the patrons' attention was aimed at their direction. "Jesus, if you're just going to keep asking me all these questions… just stop. Leave me alone."

Lance flinched, drawing his arm back. He opened his mouth but anything that'd come out of his mouth would sound too intrusive, so he closed them straightaway. And judging from the way the boy had his guard up, there was no way he'd be able to get any answer out of him. So lance swallowed the nagging thoughts in his mind and relaxed his posture instead. He regarded the boy in front of him coolly, raking his eyes all the way down from his worn-out converse to his messy black hair and hummed in deliberation. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the bar counter, and the next words that left his mouth surprised even himself.

"I have a place. You can come home with me," Lance blurted out, eyes blinking repeatedly as if he couldn't believe himself.

The boy gaped at him, jaws slack, and it took him a while to school his expression back to the same pensive scowl. "Did you not hear me? I said I'm not interested in sex, so no thanks."

Lance scrunched up his nose, annoyed. "Dude. I'm – I'm trying to be nice. There's a vacant room in my place –"

"Well, what a fucking coincidence."

"I'm serious!" Lance stepped in closer, startling the boy in red. "I… I'm not even in the mood for sex anymore! So I'm just gonna ask you one last time before the offer flew out of the door. You coming home with me, or are you gonna sleep outside the shop, with nothing but cardboard on?"

The boy looked taken aback, his walls crumbling. There was a glimmer of hope in his violet eyes, one Lance couldn't help but to notice. His lips were trembling as he quietly said, "…Really?"

"Like I said, one last time…"

"OKAY – but – I mean –" he cut in hurriedly, eyes wide and hopeful. "until… 'til I earned enough money to be able to afford a place on my own…"

"Yeah, whatever dude, I have class all weekdays so it's not like we'll be seeing each other a lot. The room has always been empty lately anyway." Lance brushed his fingers against his nape and shrugged. "Anyway, I'm Lance,"

"Keith," the boy introduced himself awkwardly, ducking his head down. He looked at the hand hanging awkwardly at the space between them, torn between offering his hand and keeping up with his standoffish demeanour. Lance didn't seem to care that much.

"Alright Keith, let me show you the way to my ride."

Keith's eyes flashed with uncertainty, eyes big and round as he stared at Lance through his dark bangs. The smooth purple glow from the subdued lightning only adds to the softness of his pale skin and the pink of his cheeks. Lance gulped, swallowing the knot in his throat at the sight. Keith tightened the grip on his backpack as he nodded and the two of them escaped the loud music, shot glasses, and drunken conversations behind them.

And that was how Lance somehow ended up with… this moody ass rude retro-looking dude as his new roommate. Or flatmate. Both work.

Perhaps a couple years ago he'd flipped out at the idea of sharing a place with anyone outside of his family or his closest friends, but right now, 21 years old and affection-starved, Lance really didn't give a shit. Even though his initial idea of having a one-night-stand seemed to fail miserably, at least now he didn't have to spend the night alone. Not literally, anyway.

Lance's flat wasn't impressive per se, but it was a handsomely decorated place adorned in white, old faded tapestry panels. It wasn't big but modest, and not too empty. At least he thought it looked homey – like it was taken care of. The couch was cream and small, but enough for at least three people to squish into. The window panels and curtains were also white; making the room seemed brighter than it really was. There was no dining table – only the stools arranged beside the U-shaped counters in the connected kitchen. Keith couldn't look more impressed. Lance prided himself on that.

"This…" Keith closed his mouth once before he continued, "It's a really nice place." He breathed out, his eyes practically glowing.

Lance snorted, held his chin high. "Thanks, I know,"

Keith brushed off the way he'd involuntarily fed Lance's stupid ego. "You've had roommate here before?"

"Nah, just family. My sister used to live before she moved out with her boyfriend. It's closer to her workplace too, so, well,"

"I see," Keith stepped into the kitchen, fingers grazing against high polished wood countertops, free of dust and clutter.

"So." Lance said, breaking off Keith's daze. "I hope you like it here,"

Keith's eyes flickered, like he just still couldn't believe this was all happening to him. "Uh-huh. You're uh… you're not going to ask me to sleep with you in exchange… right?" he asked carefully, voice neutral and devoid of any malice.

Lance looked horribly appalled. "What the? Dude! Come on! I'm not that much of an ass!"

Guilt washed over Keith's expression. His eyes fell. "Okay. Thanks, uh, Lance," It didn't sound at all that genuine, told through gritted teeth, but Lance could live with that. This Keith guy seemed a tad difficult anyway. Lance sauntered to the kitchen, pulling a stool with his foot before taking a seat on it. He patted at the stool next to him in invitation.

"Since we're going to be roommate and all," he began as Keith took cautious steps in his direction. "You wanna tell me why you got kicked out?"

"Not really…"

"Yeah? I wanna know anyway,"

Keith sighed. "It's just that. My roommate found out about me… being gay."

Lance outwardly gasped. "Whaat? No, that's cold, man."

"He's very old-fashioned. Very traditional upbringing. I thought I was pretty good at hiding it though. Sucks."

"How did he found out then? Did you – oh man – did you ask him out?"

"Cliché," Keith snorted. "But, God no. Actually I'm kinda crushing on our neighbour instead… probably not too subtle about it too. But anyway, he found my stash of porn – that piece of shit even though I told him not to clean my fucking room – and so, here I am. He was scared nonetheless. Kicked me out like he'd just known me yesterday. I mean, I don't get why straight people thought I'd want to fuck every single person with a dick hanging between their legs. That makes no sense. I have a type."

"Really?" Lance noted with amusement. "And what's your type?"

Keith's eyes narrowed slightly at him. "Why would you want to know? Are you… you know… you like guys too?"

"Buddy! I was in the bar too in case you hadn't notice! A-And I like both girls and dudes!"

"Hmm." Humming contently to himself, Keith tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, not looking at Lance as he continued, "My type is… someone who is tall and bulky, preferably with dark hair and undercut. And strong thighs. And prosthetic arm."

"P-Prosthetic arm?! You are describing a person, not your type!"

When Keith finally looked at Lance's face, a smirk was apparent on his smooth, pale face. Probably the closest of a smile Lance will ever coax out of him. "So what? Obviously you are not my type. So you better pull whatever perverted thoughts you have out of that tiny head of yours, buddy." He said mockingly. Lance flushed embarrassingly red, his eyes glinted with shame and anger.

"Wh-Wha… What!? You – you're not my type either!" He jumped off the stool, pointing an accusing finger at Keith. "You… you stupid mullet! It's 2018… go get a haircut!"

"Leave my hair alone! And you were obviously trying to hit on me back in the bar!" he said as accusingly, rolling his eyes for emphasize.

"Did not! I hit on everybody! I treat everyone equally! So don't think you're special just because I was trying to pick you up!"

Keith let out a snort in mock amusement, fuming Lance's infuriation even more. "Yeah, that went well."

"You…" Lance hissed, deepening his frown as he balled his hand into a fist on his side. "If you gonna start living here I suggest we learn to respect each other, or you could freeze to death outside on the park benches for all I care!"

Keith's smirk faltered, and the gleam in his eyes switched back to the same frail and guarded state they were in back at the bar. "Fine."

With a last exhausted huff, Lance stepped outside the kitchen area and gestured to a door on his left. "This one's your room. Go to sleep." His voice was full of censure. He didn't wait to hear Keith's reaction before he reached for the one on his left and shut the door behind him.

Keith's bare skin looked paler here, surrounded by the moonlight. The tiny moans and gasps emitting from his cute little pink lips could send Lance to the moon. Wherever Lance touch felt smooth and cold, even though his own fingertips was burning like a furnace. He could hear the bed creaking whenever he bucked up his hips, searching for the tight heat that enveloped him like a cocoon.

"Lance," Keith groaned, on top of him, but he couldn't see his face. "Lance…"

Lance woke up with a gasp. (And a wet, sticky sensation inside his pants.)

It was almost 11 when he checked his phone. The sky had darkened and the rain had grown heavier. It was a rather gloomy way to start the day. Lance thought had the weirdest dream ever. Something about meeting this hot old-school looking dude in red leather jacket that hung above his waist, hair unruly and greasy but still unbearably hot, and he brought him home to stay with him and they fuck slowly on his bed until it was morning.

He laughed at himself for being so sexually deprived he started making this Keith person up. Keith wasn't even a good name. Sounded stupid.

Lance opened his door, the alcohol still throbbing in his head. The sight that greeted him made him jumped to his feet in horror. Keith was there – the Keith in his dream – was sitting on his counter, no longer in his dumb cropped jacket but a black v-neck and red boxer, eating his Cap 'N Crunch using a spoon right from the fucking box. Lance did not shriek like a girl. No he didn't. (he did.)

"Mornin'" he said leisurely with a mouthful of cereal. "Hope you don't mind me eating this way. I'm lactose intolerant."

Of course Lance fucking minded! It was so gross! He could at least fetch himself a bowl or something, fucking uncultured hog!

Lance was still gaping though, no sound escaping his lips while his mind still going miles a minute. "Wait, wh- what, Ke – Keith…?"he stuttered.

"Huh?"

"Wait… did we sleep together?"

"Uh, no." Keith's eyes fell to Lance's soiled pants, and he shot him an unimpressed look. "Please do not ever bring that up again,"

"Shit." He hissed. So the best part of his dream turned out to be just a dream indeed. But everything else? Not so much. He tried not to look too disappointed.