A handful of months passed of this. Lance would get Keith's attention and scribble on a notepad. Often it was some sort of outlandish pickup line, sometimes it was a sort of jab about how the other did something.
'Ewww, why do you put the milk first?'
'Who the fuck microwaves their ice cream?'
'Putting ice cubes in your milk? Really, Keith? Just when I was trying to think better of you.'
Keith always responded with a scoff and an eye roll. It was his life, and he was gonna live it the way he wanted to, regardless of a douchebag ghost.
But, their relationship didn't really go beyond that. Silly jokes, mindless conversation on Lance's end and bland ignorance on Keith's. And thrown in was a little bit of Lance's snooping and his urge to mess with other people's stuff.
Sometimes, of course, Lance would silently aid Keith. Whenever the guy left the house for whatever job he did, Lance would clean up. So what? He got bored easy now. So, he'd clean sheets, wipe down the counters, do the dishes or laundry. But if Keith noticed, he never said anything.
He'd just look at the cleaned thing with no particular emotion in his eyes, then he'd blink, and then he'd turn and continue with his day. Lance thought this was because he didn't care what Lance did or didn't do. Though, Lance also could never determine what Keith thought of things. That guy had a serious poker face.
Well, he didn't really have a poker face. He just… didn't always think to emote. Lance sometimes found this cute. Especially when his firm and borderline scary exterior would crack at the simplest of things. Weird things, yes, but still simple things. Like pretty knives, motorbikes, anything under the sun about aviation… Lance enjoyed watching Keith.
He liked to observe him, to get to know him. It was nice. Keith was interesting, to say the least. He did odd things, he liked strange things. Lance wanted to know the next abnormal action he'd take.
It was nearly four in the morning when Keith came back home. Lance was used to him having ridiculous work hours. He'd asked about it once, but hadn't gotten an answer besides a slammed door and a glare at nothing. Lance had pouted at that, but it was out of his mind quick enough.
The young ghost had been lounging on the couch, flipping through one of Keith's books when the owner of the apartment had plodded in. He looked tired, and he dropped his black duffle bag unceremoniously on the coffee table. The current inhabitant of the sofa had to jump away to avoid being in the way of Keith flopping down there unceremoniously.
Keith looked just so… done. Lance stood and leaned down, resting his hands on his own knees as he observed the other, face inquisitive and worried, eyebrows raised and lips tipped down.
"I know you're getting in my personal space. Get away." was the frustrated grumble that came from the one on the couch, startling Lance.
"Pshhhttt…" Lance huffed and stood up quickly to find his notepad and precious blue pen. He had, in fact, forced Keith to buy him blue pens; because red ones just couldn't cut it.
'I was worried, Keith. What's up?'
"Nothing's up, you idiot. I'm just tired. Leave me alone for once."
'Oh, come on. I leave you alone a lot. You don't even need to know I'm here! You can't see me or hear me. It's not like it's hard to ignore me.'
"I'm not even gonna attempt to prove to you just how false it is that you 'leave me alone a lot', and I can't just ignore you. If you get close it gets all cold and it pisses me off."
Lance paused and stepped back. He took a seat on the coffee table, his pout even larger than before. Well, damn. He couldn't very well argue with that. A sigh danced in the air as the notepad and pen were sat down. What could he do?
Oh, oh! There we go. He shot up and hurried away, running off to the kitchen, where the linen closet was. He opened it quickly, rooted through it, and found his haul as two blankets. He was fast to make his way back to the alive one of the two- even though that could be debated based on the amount of energy each had- and promptly threw all the blankets neatly onto Keith.
If he was cold, that would warm him up. The ghost backed himself up, resting his hands on his hips. What else could he do? Maybe make hot chocolate. Keith had denied that he liked it when Lance asked, of course, but Lance had watched the guy make a cup of the stuff whenever he was tired or stressed. It was endearing, in Lance's opinion. It was like coffee for the guy.
So Lance turned back to the kitchen, intent on making hot chocolate. It just so happened that he was great at making it! Hah. Thanks, Hunk. So, he went to work, and within a few minutes he had a mug of the milky brown liquid in his hands, and was carting it to the guy on the couch.
He thought for a few minutes as he set the mug down on the coffee table that Keith had fallen asleep. He hadn't responded to having blankets thrown on him, and he hadn't yelled when hearing Lance mess around in the kitchen. So, Lance had every right to figure he was not conscious. After all, Keith was usually too pissy to let Lance do any of that stuff.
But then, as Lance took a seat on the table to contemplate carrying him to his bed, Keith popped open an eye. His voice followed soon after, dull and gravely, exasperated.
"What did you do now?"
Lance scoffed, offended. He'd just made a cup of hot chocolate, jeez. It wasn't like he broke something. So, he grabbed up the mug and held it out to him. And Keith stared at it for a full minute, unamused, uncaring.
"What the hell is that?"
Lance rolled his eyes and pressed the drink closer. He didn't have a free hand to write anything down, so he just hoped Keith would trust him for once and take the damn peace offering.
Keith did, after a very, very skeptical once over of the mug. He sat up reluctantly and took the hot ceramic in his own hands. He hated the brief contact he had made with Lance, though, as he took it. It had been like sticking your hand in a bucket of ice, but only a brush of fingers.
That, and, how Lance felt wasn't completely solid. It was like running your hand through a simple syrup- smooth with slight resistance. But somehow when Lance touched him, it felt substantial. Keith didn't understand how it worked.
Either way, Keith took a tentative sip of the drink. And immediately, his nose crinkled up and he pushed his head away, looking at the hot chocolate like it'd betrayed him.
"It tastes like watery, milky cocoa powder. What the fuck did you do to it?"
Okay, so, maybe Lance wasn't so good at making hot chocolate. But he had thought he was, honest. And he had been expecting Keith to like it. Maybe he'd forgotten in two years? It'd be understandable.
Lance bit his lip, freezing. Fuck, he hadn't meant to make it bad. It'd been meant as a good thing, not something bad. He decided to ghost Keith this time, not even touching the notepad or pen. No, he was too scared to.
He didn't want to make it worse somehow.
"God, Lance." it was a groan, frustrated as Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, setting the mug down on the coffee table, "It's hot chocolate! How can you mess it up so bad?"
Lance shifted around and curled up a bit. Well, this was a mistake. And now he was being judged and accused and clearly his peace offering wasn't appreciated.
"Whatever. Thanks for trying. Just next time, ask before you waste stuff."
Huh? Had Keith just said thank you? Well, Lance hadn't expected that one. He blinked a few times, staring at the guy opposite of him. He'd totally figured Keith would wanna stab him with one of those knives of his, or maybe completely ignore him for his blunder.
But then he said thanks. Albeit begrudgingly, but still a show of gratitude nonetheless.
A smile perked up Lance's lips and relief flooded his system. He hadn't done some ultimate wrong. Thank heavens. Without further ado, he snatched up the pen and began scribbling away.
'Sorry it's bad. I haven't made anything in years and I guess I forgot? Also, I couldn't taste it, so… sorry. I was trying.'
Keith simply read the words before shaking his head and moving around to lay on the couch once more, this time curled up in the blankets. And Lance, well, he felt like they were alright.
So, he stood and walked away, off to do something or other to distract himself while he let Keith sleep. The guy needed it, at least from how he looked. That, and it was way too early morning to have stayed up to.