If Lance McClain was to be perfectly honest with himself, at that exact moment in time, he'd probably rather be anywhere else in the world than sitting in the back of a too-warm mini-bus driven by his Art History teacher. Well, maybe anywhere in the world except Art History class itself, but it was a slim difference.

For any other subject he'd love to get a day out of the classroom, and museums were usually fun on the few times he'd been dragged by his family. He'd snapchat the shittiest paintings he could find, flirt with any cute staff members, maybe even enjoy some of the more decent artwork. But not this trip. His teacher had to pick a gallery that specialised in crusty old paintings whose artists had been dead for longer than he cared to count, and no phones were allowed. Not that Lance would normally obey rules such as that, but notes must be taken. They'd be collected at the end of the trip and evaluated. And Lance didn't really want to miss out on %30 of his final grade.

He regretted taking the whole class, really. He had never been good at art, nor history, and didn't think he'd be good at them combined. Turns out he'd been right. But his brother had said he'd pay him $20 if he took the class, and Lance wasn't gona let his 17 years of unbroken dares down that easily.

The bus came to a halt and he and the other students piled out. It was cold on the brief trudge between where they parked and the entrance to the museum, and not a lot warmer inside. The building itself was plain, not as extravagant as most other museums Lance had visited, but he felt there might be a certain charm to it. Maybe it was something about how the ivy clung to the chipped sandstone walls, or the balcony that overlooked the entrance. Now that he properly took it in, he rather liked it.

Lance was shaken as out of his architecture-admiring daze when he realised his class had made its way inside and that one kid, who Lance was sure was far too young to be in this class and who always seemed to be watching him, was gesturing somehow both wildly and discreetly, for him to follow before their teacher noticed.

He dashed in and skidded to the back of the, luckily rather small, group, in time to catch what the man he presumed was his tour guide was saying. Or at least, he would have heard it, if the man didn't abruptly stop and stare at him and the kid he'd run in with for a good five seconds before coughing and resuming his speech. 'Sorry, sorry,' he said, glancing sheepishly at his small audience, 'As I was saying, this building was built in 1804 by the-', Lance zoned out again, squinting and trying from the back of the crowd to get a look at the mans face. He looked familiar somehow, but Lance was sure he'd remember the weird white fringe accompanying his otherwise black hair, and the scar across the bridge of his nose. He tried to listen to his speech again. '-After they died their youngest son took over the house and lived here until his death, upon which he left the house to one of his friends, who sold it to the state, though many of the sons paintings still hang here,' the man finished. 'Once again my name is Takashi and my brother, Keith, will be following us on this tour as part of his training, feel free to ask him any questions you may have if you don't want to ask me. He's the moody looking one in the back.'

Lance looked around to see another a boy, who couldn't have been much older than he was, leaning against a pillar and glaring daggers at his brother as the entire crowd turned round to stare at him. He broke his gaze, looked down nervously and coughed, and the group went back to listening to his brother.

This guy, too, seemed familiar to Lance. Maybe he'd met these two before? Lance didn't know many guys with mullets though. He shrugged it off and began to follow the tour group.

The tour was pretty standard, look at a painting, hear some info on it, jot it down, and repeat at the next painting. But the whole time Lance had an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was the eerie atmosphere in the museum. You could tell it hadn't been built as a museum, though they had tried their best to renovate it without taking away it's 'natural charm'. But the corridors were too tight for everyone to properly crowd around a painting, and for some reason, 'central heating' didn't seem to be on the list of things they had added to the old building. Or maybe it was the fact that the kid who was always watching him, was again, watching him. But this time they were joined by Keith.

The two of them were standing a bit back from the crowd, but not too far due to the aforementioned lack of space in the hallways. They were now standing next to each other yet trying to look anywhere but at each other or Lance himself, though they were clearly whispering to each other. Lance flattened his hair, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he had something in his teeth?

Lance brushed it off as they moved onto the next painting. The hallway was even narrower here, and since he was at the back of the crowd, it took a lot of shuffling for him to see the painting itself. When he managed to stand at an angle just right for him to actually glimpse the artwork, almost crashed into the person standing next to him. But Lance barely even noticed that, as he was too busy staring at the painting. That thing was freaky. The guy in it looked almost exactly like him, except the shirt he was wearing had more ruffles on it than he'd be caught dead in.

He tried to listen to what Shiro was saying about it. 'This painting is the final one on our tour, and was done by the previously mentioned Kogane familys youngest son, Keith. It was painted of the friend whom he left the house too after his death, Lance McClain.'

Lance nearly laughed. This was ridiculous. The dude looked exactly like him, and shared his name? He almost couldn't believe it. Then he looked behind him. Keith and the kid were still staring at him, this time even more wide eyed. He awkwardly shuffled towards them, and rubbed the back of his neck. 'It's not just me then, huh? Man, this thing is creepy'.

They both continued to stare at him. 'You really don't remember…' whispered the kid. 'Excuse me?' ask Lance, unsure if he should be mildly offended. Pidge. The kids name was Pidge. How did he know that? He'd probably heard it in class.

And Keith, Keith seemed taller. Was he wearing heels? Seems like something he'd do. Wait, taller? He'd never met the guy before, that he knew of, how would he know how tall he was?

Keith turned to Pidge. 'I thought he would have remembered by now,' Keith whispered, 'He always remembers late but this is ridiculous.' 'Hey, we'll just get him to remember, okay?' whispered Pidge. 'Hey, you are aware I can still hear you, right? What are you even talking about?' Lance whispered, leaning in.

The two pulled back. After a few moments, Pidge hesitantly muttered something. 'Excuse me?' Lance asked. 'I said, we don't look at all familiar, do we?' they repeated. 'I mean… Kinda?' said Lance, pulling a face, 'I mean, you have been in my class all year and he's kinda got one of those 'See them everywhere' faces.'.

'Yeah that's… Not it,' said Keith, 'How about this place. Is it familiar, at all?'. 'I guess,' said Lance, shrugging, 'I swear I've never been here before though.'. Pidge and Keith glared at each other. 'And my brother Shiro, is he familiar?' Asked Keith. 'Sure? Though I mean, it's pretty evident if you're asking me this that I should know who you are. So come on. Did we used to be neighbours? Go to school together? Did I… Shit, dude, did I hit on you somewhere? Because look, I am so sorry-' 'NOPE, NOPE IT WAS NOT THAT,' interrupted Pidge, putting their hands up.

'How about that painting,' Keith said, quietly. Lance turned around. The tour ground had disbanded and was now mulling around the general area and gift shop, which gave him a better view of the painting. It did look just like him. 'Well, yeah. It looks just like me. Creepily, like me…,' Lance said, matching his tone. 'And you have no idea why?' Asked Pidge. 'No? Just tell me what's going on, please-' Keith shut him up by kissing him. And he remembered.

Lifetimes. So many lifetimes. Lifetimes of laughter, and sadness, and joy, and despair. And there were people. Recurring people. Sometimes some would recur only a few times, most appeared only once. But Pidge, Pidge was there most of the time, sometimes they weren't but they'd always re-appear. And Shiro, Shiro was there too. And Hunk! How did he not remember his best friend, always his best friend, having been there in more life times than he could count.

But Keith. Keith was always there. Always. In every life. In every cycle, even if only briefly. He and always loved him. And Keith always loved him back.

'Do you… Remember that?' Keith asked nervously, breaking away. Lance nodded.