Lance’s Funeral

by RachelleFaucet

A Klance au in which Keith discovers that him and only him can see Lance's ghost.

4. Vol 4

But somewhere there's a light

A sign that it's alright

I find it by your side

~The Heydaze / New Religion

ooo

Life and death wasn't as clear cut as Keith believed.

This fact was especially prevalent with Keith's newfound... circumstances. Not only was he living with a ghost - his dead childhood friend no less - but others could hear him. Well, not directly, nor easily, but it was an indisputable fact. What to do with this newly acquired knowledge, Keith had no idea.

Keith paced back and forth across the bedroom, his earbuds blasting music, and fingers drumming anxiously against his biceps. Lance's gaze followed his movements from the corner of the room. The left half of his body was hidden behind the chipped wallpaper. An irritating habit that rattled Keith's bones on more than one occasion. Though the ghost wasn't scary as maybe he should have been, his inhuman habits weren't capable of ignoring. Despite, Keith tried, and continued weathering a dip in the hardwood with his steps.

"So... Are you going to say something, or are you just gonna keep trotting around like a drowsy pony?" Lance asked, his color changing from a blue hue, to a yellow one, and back to blue. Keith was curious what each shade told him about the ghost boy's state of mind.

"Well, what do you suggest, your majesty?" Keith rolled his eyes.

Lance's mouth shut into a thin line. He averted his eyes when he said, "I'm not sure."

"Me neither." Keith admitted.

In all honestly, Keith was at a loss. He wanted to show the people Lance cared about that he was still among them in some... odd fashion, but with the recent slip during his previous attempt, he held doubts. Yes, Lance could've explained it was him over the phone with Hunk, but who was Keith to say how Hunk or the others would react? Among the many terrible possibilities he had piled in his head, there was the chance they would take it as some cruel prank. And, in their current mental state, they didn't need another thing to upset them.

"I say we wait." Lance spoke up. He shifted his figure from the wall, much to Keith's relief.

Keith hated to say it - like, really did - but Lance was right. Until they gathered a better understanding of things, there was no use in jumping head first into the unknown. "Ok."

Keith's phone buzzed. He looked down at the contact, and promptly picked up. Lance watched impatiently as Keith listened through his earbuds, and tilted the phone back to talk into it. "Hi?" Keith greeted Shiro. It was odd for him to call at such a time.

"Hey, Keith. I just got an invite for a party, and I was wondering if you could come."

"Party? A college party? That doesn't sound very Shiro-like."

"It's not a college party, it's a dinner party."

"Oh, that makes more sense. Who's hosting it?"

Shiro hesitated for a moment. "The McClains. They're having a family reunion in honor of Lance, and they wanted to invite his closest friends."

Keith fell silent, and turned to look at Lance directly. The ghost boy raised a brow, confused. Keith filled him in by saying, "A dinner party with the McClains? When is it?"

"Christmas." Shiro answered. "If you don't have any plans, they would be delighted if you came."

Keith found it dryly humorous that Shiro would imply Keith's possible plans for Christmas. Who did Shiro he think he was? A person with a loving family, money to travel, and the ability to prepare an edible holiday feast? Hilarious.

"Yeah, ok, I'll think about it."

"Good, and I hope you feel better." Shiro concluded, and hung up. Keith's hand fell loosely to his side.

"Who was that?" Lance asked.

"Shiro. Your family is holding a Christmas dinner."

"Oh..." Lance's thin eyebrows pinched. "Are you - we - going?"

"If you want to, I guess."

Lance opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind mid breath, and shut it. Keith took a single bud from his ear, and checked the time on his superior Apple iPhone. It read eleven thirty. Keith blinked his dreary eyes, his consciousness on the verge of collapse. Previously, with all the stress he caused himself by over analyzing things, Keith had no time to worry about his fatigue. He sucked in an airy breath, announced, "I'm going to bed." and followed through by toppling face-first onto his covers. With the last of his strength, he lifted himself up, and shuffled beneath his blanket, letting his pale cheek nuzzle against his thin pillow.

Lance looked at him and frowned. "You're sleeping with your clothes on?"

With a grumble, Keith unbuckled his belt, and slid his jeans off from below the covers. He still had boxers on, but the action was enough to make Lance glow a dark shade of crimson. Afterwards, Keith weakly threw his discarded jeans from his bed to the ground. He did the same with his jacket, creating a pile of fabric on his already cluttered bedroom floor. "Happy now?" He asked groggily, only his plain black t and underwear remaining.

With a huff, Lance turned his attention to the blank wall opposite of Keith. "Jeez. Living people sleep constantly! Like, seriously. Was I this dull when I was alive? Nighttime is so boring!" He moaned, not an ounce of sluggishness in his voice. That was another annoying aspect about ghosts. They never slept.

"Well, why don't you try sleeping then, ghost boy?" Keith threw the suggestion out there, which caused Lance to scratch his chin as though it wasn't an obvious conclusion.

"I don't know... What's the point? It's not like I'm tired."

"Well, you said you were bored anyway. Why don't you try dreaming or some shit."

"I don't like dreams. They only exist to scare me or make me guilty."

"Or turn you on."

"Those are the guilty ones!" Lance complained, the words slipping from his lips before he had time to reconsider them.

Keith smirked to himself, his face hidden from Lance's sight atop his pillow. "Well, what are your other options? Creepily staring at me until I wake?"

Lance paused, the sides of his mouth pointed downward. "Whatever. I guess I'll try." He closed his eyes, and leaned back mid-hover. Keith watched as he took a breath in through his nose, and relaxed his bony shoulders. The peaceful moment was cut short however when the ghost boy's eyelids flicked open irritably. Narrowing his gaze at Keith, he said abruptly, "This is stupid."

"You gave up after ten seconds! Try again, and don't open your eyes until I say you can." The command felt odd on Keith's tongue. It was as though he was teaching an old dog an old trick. A floating, talking, dead dog.

With a growl - much like a dog's, Keith noted - Lance's eyelids pinched shut. This time he didn't bother to lean back, opting instead to sit midair like a Buddhist statue. After a moment of waiting to make sure Lance wasn't looking, Keith leaned from the bed, and snatched his discarded pants from the floor. Quietly - as quietly as humanly possible - Keith took his letter from the pocket, and unfolded it under the covers.

Tossing the jeans back where the were, Keith ran a thumb over the crinkled pages. The letter consisted of two papers stapled together at the corner, and the contents of Lance's last words addressed to Keith before he died. Though it was old, Keith noticed its distinct, Lance-like scent. The living Lance. It contained all the liveliness his old friend possessed. Keith wanted to sniff it, but concluded that was next level creepy, so didn't. But what he did do is read and reread his favorite paragraph until it was seared into his brain.

'You held me in you arms, and pulled me close. I remember thinking as though it was the safest I've ever felt.'

'I want to kiss you now.'

Keith wanted to kiss Lance too - oh so desperately - but snapped back to reality and reminded himself: you can't fall for the dead. If you do, you're only hurting yourself. But Keith had always loved Lance, and he didn't know if he would ever stop. Of course his desires were irrelevant, for all Keith wanted was for Lance to be happy. And intimacy would only bring sorrow, not joy. It was difficult, but Keith had to control himself. For himself, but especially for the one he cared for.

"It's not working!" Lance groaned.

Keith, as fast as lightning, tucked the letter in the only place he could think of - his underpants - and jolted upright. Keith heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Lance's formally shut eyes blink open. Lucky for Keith, he hadn't seen the letter.

"You're sitting crisscross in midair. That's not a traditional sleeping position."

"Well, I'm kinda out of it now. How long have I been flying like this for? I don't even know! It feels like a day and a lifetime. Being a ghost is pretty weird, ok. But sleeping is much weirder. How did I even do it before?"

"Well, first off, you get in a bed." Keith explained. "Or a couch, or floor, or wherever that is connected to the ground."

"Look, flat surfaces don't really work for me anymore. I have the ability to fly, so I fly. Besides, where am I supposed to find a bed?"

Keith raised an eyebrow, and motioned to the spot beside him. To him, the answer seemed obvious, but apparently Lance thought differently. After a moment of sinking in the other's words, Lance's form flashed a bright red. It resembled blaring sirens, which made Keith smirk. He liked being able to easily read Lance's emotions.

"No way, dude!" Lance shook his hands dismissively in front of himself. "Get in bed with you? That's next level gay."

"Lance, you're the one who's next level gay."

"Bi!" Lance retorted, and Keith could tell he instantly regretted it. "Fuck, no, shit. I mean... shut up, mullet!"

"Douche." Keith shot back. "Are you getting in or not?" He pulled back the covers, opening a space for Lance to lay beside him. His bed was queen sized, so it could easily fit two people. Or, in this case, one person and one ghost.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Suit yourself." Keith mumbled. "Wither away from boredom for all I care."

With one last show of rebel, Lance crossed his arms and huffed. But, alas, he eventually crept his way into bed. First he hovered over the mattress, but gradually sunk low enough so he was touching it. His presence was enough to make a small indent, but no shadow loomed. Keith reached for the switch on the wall, and flicked the lights off. Though Keith didn't care either way, Lance was used to sleeping in the darkness.

Lance kept his eyes open, his hands across his belly, and body in a tense, soldier-like position. Keith reached for the corner of the blanket, and draped it over Lance's shoulders. His feet hung out due to his tall stature and lanky limbs. Aggravated, he said, "It's not long enough! My feet are cold."

Keith rolled his eyes. "Pull your knees toward yourself you big baby. And, turn to your side."

Lance begrudgingly obliged, moving himself so that he faced away from Keith. "It's still cold." Lance said in a snappy whisper.

"Do ghost even get cold?"

"This one does."

There was a pause where Keith took time to organize his thoughts. But, before he had time to ask what the hell he was doing, Keith shifted closer to Lance, and wrapped an arm across the other's chest. Keith's skin crawled at every point it came in contact with Lance's. He felt the ghost boy tense under him. "What the hell are you doing?" Lance demanded, biting back a gasp.

Keith lifted his arm, but only slightly. "You want me to stop?"

"N - no, but -" Lance responded, his voice a stuttered mess. "Just... don't move."

"Alright then." Keith whispered as he closed his eyes. His breath brushed against Lance's neck.

Keith noticed Lance felt warmer than normal. More... real. At that moment, Keith forgot the boy next to him was, well, dead. His physical body lying in a coffin somewhere underground. But then the realization came flooding back like a slap to the face. You can't love a dead man, Keith told himself, but tightened his grip anyways, burying his head in the crook of the dead boy's neck.

"Are you seriously going?" Lance breathed, his voice airy, soft, and sweet. Keith would do anything just to keep him talking.

"Going where?"

"To the dinner party." Lance clarified. His hand dragged across the sheet, and ended up moments from Keith's dangling fingers. Keith wanted to hold his hand, but held back.

"Are you scared?" Keith asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"About what?"

"I - I'm not sure. My family, I guess. My mom. My brothers and sisters. They're all probably going to be there, so... you know. I don't know how they're doing now. Some I haven't seen in over a year." Lance shrugged - a hard task in their current position.

"Didn't you visit them during the funeral?"

"Only a glance." Lance lowered his voice. His arms trembled. "I couldn't bare the looks on their faces. Especially Ma. I hate seeing her upset. I thought all the costumes and things I wrote would make her laugh, but I was wrong. Maybe laughter really can't fix everything."

"You finally realized?"

Lance huffed. "You know you love my jokes."

"Mmh, yeah, keep wishing."

Keith felt Lance shift in his arms. When he blinked awake, he saw Lance's closed eyelids and long lashes; his sharp nose; his assortment of freckles and blemishes which dotted his complexion - the sort of which Keith adored; and Lance's lips so close to his - too close. Keith sucked in his breath, his mind gearing into overdrive.

Lance placed one palm under his cheek, and another around Keith's waist. Their foreheads met, and Keith couldn't bring himself to stop staring. His fatigue was suddenly nonexistent, and all he wanted was to keep watching the boy - the real feeling boy - in front of him. "Tell me about your family." Keith said, desperate to hear his voice.

Lance's mouth snaked into a grin. "What do you wanna know?"

"Everything."

So Lance told him everything. Well, most everything. He spoke of stories of the beach and the ocean. His visits to the aquarium when he was small. Each and every sibling's quirks and personalities. The way his mother smiled, and the smell of her home-cooked meals. Eventually, the words lost their meaning, and Keith found himself smiling at the sight of how Lance's face lit up when he spoke of the things he loved. At one point Lance asked, "Do you like jellyfish?"

Keith responded with, "Yeah, same here."

ooo

Why are the things that I want to say

Just aren't coming out right?

I'm tripping on words

You got my head spinning

I don't know where to go from here

~Lifehouse / You And Me

ooo

Keith scanned his song selections.

The next day, as well as the ones following, Keith analyzed his songs and their meanings; the story they told with both their sound and lyrics, and picked the ones that stood out the most. Keith wasn't one for words, but he knew a thing or two about music. He wished he could find that one, perfect song to portray his feelings. The way his heart buzzed like an electric shock the moment he touched - or, hell - looked at Lance. But, no matter how long and far he searched, none was quite so powerful. Perhaps the emotion was simply too complex for the English language to comprehend. Music on the other hand; music was universal.

Hiding his phone from Lance's view, Keith checked and double checked his playlist which was labeled, Lance's Funeral. He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't bring himself to title it Lance's playlist, or just Lance, or anything that made a resemblance of sense. He thought back to the day he first found Lance - the dead Lance. They were at his funeral - his absurd funeral - and Keith remembered not knowing how to feel. That's the same way he felt listening to the playlist on repeat. Was is sad? Sweet? Angry? Honestly, it was like that but so much more.

On the way to the Christmas dinner at the McClain's house Keith could feel his hands jittering in his pockets. His thumb ran up and down the side of his phone, adjusting and readjusting the volume of his music. Not only was he supposed to meet Lance's entire family, but he was also being let into their home. Lance's place was sacred. Restricted. It felt wrong. After all the years of being Lance's friend/rival Keith never imagined his first visit to his place panning out in such a way. Walking to his home with a ghost boy on his tail. But not just any ghost boy, no, the one this family was mourning over. Everything inside Keith was screaming: "Turn around now!"

But he continued. He continued down the sidewalk, past homes and stores, and all the way to 452 Sanders Way; aka: the forbidden realm. When he knocked on the door, Mrs. McClain answered with a bright smile. "Ah! Welcome!" She greeted in her thick, Cuban accent. "And you must be... um... Lance's friend?"

"Keith." He stuttered back, looked down at her thick curls and round features, heart stumbling in his chest. "Keith Kogane."

"Ah, yes, of course." She opened the door further, giving enough room for Keith to pass. "Nice to meet you."

Keith entered and Lance followed. The entire time Lance's eyes stayed focused on his mother's, expression unreadable.

Keith immediately noticed something. This house... it was a chaotic hell hole. Kids, teens, adults, and even elders ran from one point of the room to the other, their faces saying they knew where they were going, but their movements suggesting otherwise. Keith couldn't hear a word spoken though most everyone was shouting. All the conversations merged, and therefore drained of understanding.

Keith hated it. He fumbled for his earbuds, put them in, and focused his attention on his laces. If he honed into one, unmoving spot his head would stop spinning... hopefully. He used this tactic many times in crowded areas such as school and the mall. But this? This was nothing like Keith had ever seen. The sheer discord of it all was driving Keith to the brink of shouting. He wanted to get away and quick. All of this was a mistake. He should have never come.

"What's wrong?" Lance asked, floating from Keith's back to front. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He cracked a smile at this, but Keith's gaze stayed trained to his shoes and the music blaring in his ears. He hoped the lyrics would drain the world out, but had no such luck. Of course they didn't. They never could.

When he finally had enough strength to move, Keith pushed past the guests. Short guests, tall guests, thin, and round. It made no difference. They all looked and sounded the same as Keith scrambled to a secluded corner far, far away. When Keith got where he was going, he leaned on the wall, and let out a sigh, his breath hot and shaky. Lance raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously? The first thing you do when you come to a party is go hide in a corner?"

"Ana on my shoulders and we'll laugh away." Keith mumbled the lyrics blasting in his ears.

"Keith! Can you hear me?" Lance frowned. He reached out to push Keith's arm, but instead phased through. Keith shivered. "Why are you such a loner?"

Keith put a palm in his forehead and closed his eyes. His cheeks burned as the music hollowed. This wasn't reality. I couldn't have been. The chaos was too otherworldly. "Ana hear me, Ana baby, I'm not crazy." Keith continued, ignoring Lance's sour look.

"Keith!" A voice came from the crowd.

When Keith looked up Lance said bitterly, "Oh, so you answer him but not me?"

Shiro and Allura approached Keith, their arms linked and clothes extravagant. Allura wore a mask of glamorous makeup, and Shiro's eyeliner - as always - was on point. Keith - in his baggy jeans, and stained, red hood - blinked dumbly at the two. Taking a single bud from his ear, he attempted to focus on the pair and nothing else. It was difficult. Something familiar usually eased Keith's anxiousness. Not a lot, but it was something. "Hello." The greeting came in a small, sudden burst from the back of Keith's throat.

"I'm so glad you decided to attend!" Shiro grinned his bright, toothy grin. "I was a little worried because, well, you haven't been yourself lately."

"Oh, uh huh." Keith nodded, sporting a plaster smile.

"But, what are you doing by yourself all the way back here?" He placed one hand on his hip, and pulled the other - along with Allura - closer to his side. "I want you to meet someone."

Keith shrunk back, his shoulders providing a protective barrier for his neck. It wasn't as if he could say no. It was Shiro after all. But he really - and he meant really - didn't want to meet anyone new. Despite, he obliged with a nod.

Shiro and Allura smiled, their pearly, white teeth bright enough to blind any untrained eye. Allura snatched Keith's hand, and dragged him foreword. From behind him, Keith saw Lance pout at where their palms touched. Keith's heart pounded as Lance averted his eyes. No, suppress it. Lance is dead. Whatever this is, it doesn't matter now.

The four maneuvered through the busy living room past friends, siblings, aunts, and cousins. Keith knew Lance's family was huge, but he never imagined it being this monstrous. When they finally got where they were headed, Shiro turned back to Keith, and gestured to the family beside him. It consisted of one freckled woman, a redheaded man, and two little girls.

It was obvious which one of the parents were related to Lance. With her brown complexion, and long, straight brown hair, the woman was the perfect picture of a true McClain. She looked so much like Lance, it was scary. Other than the freckles, If she cut her hair and put on some masculine clothes, Keith wasn't sure he could've told them apart. "Hello." The woman said, extending her hand to Keith. "You must be Keith."

"Oh, uh, yes." Keith nodded, awkwardly took the hand and shook it, suddenly self conscious about how dirty his fingerless gloves were.

Keith looked at Lance. The ghost boy seemed to understand what he was trying to ask because he answered with, "That's Penelope, my oldest sister."

"This is Penelope, the McClain's oldest sibling." Shiro answered directly after. "And this is her husband, Fred, and their kids, Kate and Gabrielle."

Keith looked down at the two kids. One of them - the one with black hair - stuck her tongue out. Keith widened his eyes in shock. The younger, redheaded kid looked away, uninterested.

"Sorry about them." Fred's shoulders tensed. His country accented voice was low, and hard to hear over the festivities. "They're a bit tired after the long trip."

Keith nodded, once again unsure of what to say. He hated conversation, especially when he didn't know what to say (which was ninety nine percent of the time).

"So, I hear you're in college." Penelope said, "What major?"

Keith opened his mouth, and was about to speak when a sound interrupted him. A ding rang out across the house, shutting up the rowdy crowd. Everyone turned in the direction of Mrs. McClain who held a musical triangle in her hand. An odd way of getting attention, but an effective one. "Dinner time!" Lance's mother announced in a singsongy fashion.

Keith felt a burden lift his shoulders. A meal was much preferred over mindless wandering through a sea of strangers. "Yay, food!" Lance's ghostly outline shimmered a golden hue. "I hope they have empanadas! Ha, who am I kidding. Of course they have empanadas!"

"Why do you care? You can't eat any of it."

"Um... pardon?" Penelope raised a brow.

Keith's head snapped to Penelope and her family. His face glowed red in embarrassment. "Sorry, just the song I'm listening too." He lied, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He pointed to the one earbud which was still in place.

"Oh... ok." Penelope responded, her tone polite, but with an underlying touch of disbelief.

Everyone headed to the long, long, long table which held more chairs than Keith had seen in his lifetime. Desk chairs, stools, lawn chairs, an entire assortment of crazy sitting accommodations. Keith assumed most of the guest brought their own seats and food, for he couldn't imagine the McClain household being able to afford such a grand display.

Keith sat down at the very end of the table. He was greeted with the familiar, friendly face of Hunk. "Hey, Keith!" He exclaimed, his eyes sparkled, and mouth drooled. "Look at all this food! Isn't this magical?"

"Yeah, totally." Keith muttered, glancing at the pots and pans scattered across the table. He didn't recognize anything. Granted, he didn't know much aside from fast food and microwave dinners. "What is it?"

"Cuban beef, rice, beans," Lance answered for him, his eyes wider than Hunk's. "picadillo, roasted pork with mojito - oh, and look! Empanadas! Hell to the yes!"

"I have no idea, but it smells delicious!" Hunk grinned, rubbed his round belly, and licked his lips.

When the food was passed around, Keith grabbed only enough to appear polite. Hunk stacked his plate so high he couldn't see over it to the other side of the table. Lance couldn't eat, but he did gush over the food by telling stories of him and his cousins learning and cooking Cuban specialties. Keith liked listening to Lance's stories. It calmed him. And even though he wasn't a fan of the food, at the end of the meal he felt wholeheartedly satisfied.

From the other end of the table, Mrs. McClain heaved onto her chair, triangle in tow. She rang it once, and, once again, everyone fell silent. Lance stared at her, his excitement from earlier stifled. "Welcome guests, and I hope you enjoyed the main course. There is more to eat, but I would like to make a toast."

"That wasn't the end of it?" Hunk whispered, clutching his nearly bursting belly.

Mrs. McClain began talking. Keith looked around. With everyone's attention drawn, it was a good time as any to slip away. "I'm heading to the bathroom." Keith whispered to Hunk, who raised his tired arm to give a thumbs up.

Keith sneaked from his chair, and crept out the dining room to one of the halls. Though he did need to go to the bathroom, Keith mostly wanted some peace and quiet. Because he didn't know where he was going, he asked Lance, "Where's a bathroom around here?"

"Seriously? You had to leave then?" Lance huffed. "I wanted to hear Ma speak."

"Well, sorry. I can't control my pee sack."

Keith halted. Lance followed his gaze. "What? You see another ghost?"

"Um... no." Keith stuttered. "It's nothing. I just - thought I saw someone move."

Lance squinted. The passage they were walking down broke off into another hall that held the bedrooms; three in total. Keith assumed one was for Mrs. and Mr. McClain, but he couldn't imagine how the others fit in the other two. How many siblings did he have again? Twelve? Though they were probably all out of the house now, Keith didn't want to imagine the point where all fourteen of them lived under one roof. Maybe more. Lance did mention a woman named... Chloe, or something like that.

"I don't see anything." Lance frowned. He reached to touch Keith's shoulder and it phased through.

A chill ran down Keith's spine. "You need to stop doing that." He shuddered.

"Someone's watching." Lance turned his head every which way. "I can't touch you."

Keith's heart sank to his shoes. Great, that was exactly what he wanted to hear. Someone spying on him from the shadows. Yeah, not creepy at all. And, to top off the shit stack, the person heard him talking to himself, and doubtlessly deemed him crazy. "Uh... Anyone there?" Keith called, his voice hoarse.

"Besides your ghost buddy?" A voice came from behind.

Keith jumped, and swiveled on the balls of his feet. He was greeted by a brown skinned, freckled face child. At first, Keith didn't recognize who it was, but then remembered back to Lance's funeral. "Hey! You're that brat in the dragon suit."

"Well, yes. But I'm not in my costume anymore, and I'm also not a brat."

Keith crossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah. What do you want, kid?"

"What do you think? I want to talk about your ghost friend."

Keith sighed. He was not a fan of kids. Especially snarky kids such as the urchin before him. "I don't have a ghost friend."

"Then who were you talking to just now?"

"My imaginary friend. There's a difference."

"Somehow I don't believe you." The child placed his hands on his hips, and squinted at the spot directly next to Keith. For one terrifying moment, Keith thought he was meeting Lance's gaze directly. Thankfully he wasn't, and was instead staring at the 'empty' space behind the ghost boy's head.

Keith sighed, - much louder this time - and eyed Lance. "You know this kid?"

Lance shrugged. "I don't think so."

"What? How do you not know one of your own family members?"

"I don't know, dude. You know how far my family tree stretches? It's like a fucking sequoia. Flipping gigantic. Besides, he's probably like a second - third - cousin or something. He does look like a McClain though."

Yeah, that last part was true. There was no denying that this brown skinned, freckled face kid was related to Lance in some form or fashion. How was the question.

"Are you done talking to ghosty?" He asked, cocking his head to one side. Keith couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or was genuinely curious. If the former, he was quite the little acting protégé. "My name's Jordan. And you're Keith, right?"

Keith startled. "How the hell - I mean heck did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things, sir." Jordan puffed his chest out proudly. "And don't worry, you can curse around me. I'm not as young as you might think."

"Oh really? Are you actually ten instead of nine, or some crap - I mean crud?"

Lance let out a snort. Keith shot him a nasty scowl.

"Much older." Jordan huffed. "So, what's your buddy's name? Do they have a name?"

"It's Lancey Lance," The ghost boy smirked, his ego expanding to an uncomfortable size. "the most handsome, most coolest, most skillful sharpshooter of the universe."

"His names Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe." Keith shot back.

"Hey! No it's not! You better take that back, mullet."

"Sorry, that's a no bueno, sharpshooter. Can't change the past. Already happened."

"So... He has the same name as Mr. Coran?" Jordan looked confused. "That's weird."

"Yep, it is." Keith agreed.

Lance put a hand to his chest and gasped. "I can't believe how cruel you are!"

"Why, no, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, I can't ask Ms. Glenn out for you."

Lance gasped even louder. "I'm going to fucking strangle you once we're alone."

"Why, no, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, I don't think Ms. Glenn is into strangling."

"I swear to - screw you, mullet. Screw. You."

Keith chuckled under his breath, forgetting about their young, fascinated audience. "Whoa! Do you think I could talk to Ghost Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe if I use an... ouija board or something? That's what it's used for, right?"

"Yah, I doubt the ouija board would work." Keith said.

"Why not?" Jordan asked with a pout. "I saw a video on YouTube about it once."

Keith was about to speak, when another, unfamiliar voice said the exact thing he was thinking. "The ouija board is a farce."

The three people (two people and a ghost) spun to where the speaker slouched behind the stray sofa lining the hall. Keith nearly jumped from his shoes. Not only was there a completely unnecessary couch in the middle of a passageway, but a man watching from its shadows. His pale skin accentuated his light blue eyes, which peeped from behind his messy, black bangs. If Keith had to imagine what a demon in human form would looked like, this guy would be it. With his malicious glare and dark eye bags, Keith got an awful feeling in his stomach.

"Hey! It's Nics!" Lance grinned. "Being creepy as always, I see."

"Nics? What kinda name is that?" Keith asked, forgetting that the aforementioned Nics was in earshot.

"My name is Nico, you rash."

"Rash?"

"Don't question me, mortal." Nico scoffed.

"So... Like the singer Nico, or Nico Di Angelo?" Keith asked.

"Yazawa Nico, fool." He growled. His black nails bore into the thin, blue couch cushion. Keith was still bothered by the furniture's seemingly illogical placement. Nico continued, "But that's not the matter at hand."

Keith crammed his hands into his pockets, and waited with his palm on the soothing plastic of his iPhone. He had switched off his music a while ago, and was now seriously regretting that decision.

"I'm in your head. I feel what you feel. I hear what you hear. I know what you see, mortal" Nico raised his right hand, which held - terrifyingly - what looked like an extremely sharp butter knife.

"O - ok..." Keith inched away.

"Don't worry, he's harmless." Lance assured. "To humans anyways... I think."

"If you want to know too, you know who to find." Nico raised his other hand, which - even more terrifyingly - held a mutilated stuffed hippo. Keith's heart faltered. He loved hippos! How could this guy perform such a wicked feat?

Stabbing his knife into the hippo's chest, Nico gave Keith one last glare before sinking back behind the couch.

"Who the fuck?" Keith started, then quickly correcting himself, once again forgetting about Jordan. The boy felt like a fleeting memory. "Frick. I said frick."

"Yeah, that's cousin Nico for you." Jordan grinned. "He's really friendly once you get to know him."

"Nah, he's just more bearable once you get used to him." Lance corrected. His transparent body hung lazily upside down in the air. "But that's Nics, Nics, the crazy nimrod for you."

Keith's eyebrows scrunched together, the line between them more prevalent than ever. Lance's brother's words rang over and over again in his mind. If you want to know too, you know who to find. But, did that mean... Was it possible? It seemed insane, but, then again, everything in this story has been insane.

"See, Mr. Keith." Jordan pulled on Keith's hoodie sleeve. Keith turned, his long, black bangs brushing past his eyes. "You don't need to feel sad anymore. Not everyone will believe you, but I do. And so does uncle Nico, and probably a whole lot of other people once you tell them."

Keith fell silent. Like in so many other situations, he didn't know how to respond.

Jordan let go of Keith, and smiled a gap-toothy smile. "I don't think you're crazy, Keith."

ooo

Tell me pretty lies,

Look me in the face,

Tell me that you love me,

Even if it's fake,

~Blackbear / IDFC

ooo

Jordan left into the kitchen.

Keith and Lance were alone once again. Well, besides Nico who still lingered creepily from behind the hallway couch. The sight of that scruffy, hollow faced man gave Keith the chills. Keith was pretty mangy himself, but Nico McClain was on another level. And, to make matters worse, he couldn't get those words from his mind. If you want to know too, you know who to find. Could he be the answer they were looking for?

"Well then." Lance said, snapping Keith from his daze. "That was a strange encounter, but are we going to go, or are we just gonna keep standing around like dazed cattle?"

"Huh?"

"Hello. Earth to Keith? You've been staring at your shoes for five minutes now."

"Right... yeah." Keith shook his head, waking himself up. "What did you say?"

"Bathroom? Party? You're fucking out of it, man."

Oh yeah, Keith forgot he was supposed to release his pee sack. Honestly, he didn't need to go. Especially now, as his mind was whirlwind of unanswered questions. This was getting nowhere. Instead of answers, more and more mysteries piled before him. Every second it thickened in size and complexity. Circling his pointer finger around his palm, Keith nodded once before following Lance in the direction of the supposed bathroom.

A few doors down, Lance passed through one of the closed passageways with his ghostly abilities. Keith paused to watched the paint-chipped door in wonder, when the ghost boy appeared before him in a flash of light. The aforementioned Lance looked stunned for a second, then annoyed. "Are you following or not?"

"Unlike you, I can't phase through walls." Keith explained. "Is this a bathroom?"

Lance rolled his eyes, and pushed the door open via doorknob. "No, it's my bedroom - old bedroom. There's a bathroom connected to it."

Keith and Lance entered. Immediately, Keith was hit with a burst of nostalgia. Though he had never seen the room before, something about it struck him as... wistful. A fantasy world filled with memories both good and bad.

A bunk bed was lined on the far end of the bedroom. Its mattress was short and narrow, and Keith had a hard time picturing Lance of all people fitting on it. His long limbs would dangle from its side, especially because he acted like a sporadic starfish while sleeping. Keith had known him long enough to gather that fact. It didn't help that Keith found himself on the floor with Lance sprawled across the covers when they slept together. When he went to the mirror that day, he spotted a red mark on his cheek with the same pattern as the bottom of Lance's shoe.

"This one's mine." Lance patted the only other bed in the room. The stiff mattress didn't flinch at his touch. It was another child-sized bed, with navy blue sheets, and two thin, white pillows. It looked as though it hadn't been used in awhile. Like a meat pantry in a house of vegan advocates.

The walls of the room were lined with sky blue and pearly white striped wallpaper, as well as black shelves containing random crap. Ancient soccer trophies, old photos, books (though Keith doubted Lance read any of them), and a bunch of weird candles, masks, and voodoo dolls. He was about to question them, but remembered Nico. "Hey, does Nico still live here?" He asked, placing a delicate hand on one of the masks that vaguely resembled an animal. Was is supposed to be a bunny? A fox? It was impossible to tell.

Lance clicked his tongue. "Last time I was alive, he was. Dude's kinda a hermit. He doesn't like to venture from his safe space much."

Yeah, Keith could definitely see that. He ran another finger along one of the book's leather bindings. The cover was black, and showed a red, five pointed star nested in a circle. Keith raised an eyebrow and drew his hand away. "Lance, I think your brother is a satanist. Did you not know?"

"Oh, yeah." Lance answered. He jumped up and down on his old bed, its springs not making a single squeak. "I've lived with him for, like, how many years now? You should see what he does at night. It's some scary crap. Summoning demons and shit."

"Riiggghhtt." Keith made a mental note to watch himself around both Lance's brother and his demonic playthings. Though he felt he was going to be seeing him in the near future, he wasn't particularly looking forward to the encounter.

Lance hovered back off solid ground, and glided to the shelves. He was glowing a baby blue, which Keith noticed brought out his childlike wonder. "Wow! I can't believe they kept all my stuff. Wait a second..." Lance pulled the shelve from the wall, causing a file to fall from it. He picked it up, flipped it open, - making extra sure Keith didn't catch a glimpse - and smiled profusely.

Keith eyed it suspiciously. Lance's color turned from blue to a bright shade of red. The malicious smirk remained as he went over the contents. Keith wondered if it was some sort of prank or inside joke. Perhaps it highlighted uncovered secrets he and Pidge kept for blackmail. Knowing Lance, it could've be anything. "What is it?" He finally asked.

"Thank god they didn't find it." Lance heaved a sigh before closing the folder. "That would be embarrassing. It's my porn."

Keith's shoulders tensed, then gradually eased. Of course it was. Why would Keith think of anything else? "Why the hell do you keep physical porn in your room? There's something called the internet, grandpa."

Lance frowned, shoving the packet back in its spot behind the shelve. "You know well this place doesn't have an internet connection. Besides, weren't you the one who said, and I quote: 'Maybe you juveniles should look up from your technology once and awhile, and appreciate real human interaction.'"

"And porn is real human interaction?"

"Whatever, shush it you Apple cock sucker."

"Blackberry." Keith shot back, not needing to add anything more. The word was insult enough.

Lance scoffed, and flipped his middle finger to the heavens in all its bony glory. Keith chuckled back, which caused Lance's cheeks to brighten a fire truck red. Averting his eyes, Lance drifted to his bed and the nightstand beside it. "Oh, hell yes!" Lance exclaimed, eyes round as frisbees. Expecting another crude possession, Keith was pleasantly surprised when the ghost boy's hands didn't come back with an adult toy, but a stuffed animal. "Kalternecker!" He yelped, nearly suffocating the shark between his noodle arms and chest. "You haven't abandoned me!"

Though he attempted to sound condescending, Keith couldn't help but smile. "You have a stuffed shark named... Kalternecker? Why?"

"Because reasons." Lance squeezed Kalternecker under his arm. All the stuffing ran to its head, its button eyes black and motionless. "Maybe it's because sharks are cool. Unlike hippos."

"Hippos are the best!" Keith gasped, voice wavering.

"You're so weird." Lance tossed Kalternecker aside. With a thunk, it landed belly up on the bed. Its undead eyes stared daggers into Keith's soul. "Let's see what else we got here." Lance continued, opening one of the nightstand drawers. He scavenged through the cluster of objects which consisted of dumb, random shit such as yo-yos, colored sharpies, and empty tic-tac containers. His fingers wormed its way to the bottom, and yanked out once he found something interesting.

Lance presented a cardboard bound notebook, papers overhung from its insides, and spine snapped in half. It looked used, but not well kept in the slightest. "It's my journal!" Lance said, and flipped to the first page. Imminently, a packet worth of content dropped to the floor. "It's still as crappy as I remember."

"What's it for?" Keith asked, as he bent down to read one of the fly-away papers. He scanned over it, and smirked. "Is this a love poem?"

"Hand it over." Lance's palm waited face-up. When Keith gave it back, he read over the messily scribbled words, and grinned. "Oh, I remember this beaut."

"Who's the lucky lady?" Keith crossed his arms, chin up.

"Shay Kimberly. The light of my life in elementary. I never once talked to her, but somehow I knew it was meant to be."

"So, what happened?"

"I wrote her this, of course!" Lance got on one knee, still inches off the ground, perhaps out of habit. Facing Keith, he placed one hand on his chest, and the other - sonnet in hand - before him. In a low voice he read, "Oh Shay. You make my day. You are pretty. Please be with me. Your smile is cool. Promise I'm not a tool. You are a princess. Even if you become skinless."

Lance lowered his head in a bow, and Keith clapped nice and slow. "Wow, how romantic. Really proves to me you're not a tool."

"Wait!" Lance stopped. "There's more! Shay, please date me. We can hold hands under a tree. We can get married. In a white dress you will be carried. Have a family of our own. And stay together till we're grown."

Keith laughed, which made Lance beam. "Wow. Already thinking of the future? That's pretty good - for a elementary schooler."

"I was quite the lyrical genius back in my day." Lance puffed his chest proudly. When he got back upright, he paused and looked down at his shoes. He didn't seem troubled, but deep in contemplation rather. After a moment, he met Keith's eyes again, and said, "Come here, I wanna try something."

Keith raised an eyebrows suspiciously. "What are you scheming?"

"Who said I was scheming anything?"

"That face. Your malicious scheming face is showing."

"Oh, come on. You're just making stuff up now." Lance's feet flew behind him as he maneuvered to Keith. Hesitating only for a second, Lance placed his hands beneath Keith's armpits, and used a great deal of strength to lift his large mass from the ground.

Keith gasped, then sucked in his breath. Lance's body radiated a soothing, humanlike warmth. His dark eyes met the other's transparent gaze. They held their stare for a moment, before Lance's arms faltered under Keith's weight. Carefully, the two descended to the floorboards. They had went up a few inches at most, but Keith felt as though he had ventured across the galaxy and back. Just staring into Lance's eyes gave him the thrill of an epic guitar solo, or riding top speed through the city landscape, engine revved.

Lance's hands slid down Keith's sides, but he did not remove them. When they reached the leather of his belt, they stopped. Lance's eyes darted left, right, up, down, not knowing where to look. Lance's fingers tapped anxiously on his jacket's fabric. Keith wanted to grab them, and entwine them in his own.

"That was pretty pathetic, huh?" Lance said in no more than a whisper. His long eyelashes fluttered above his averted eyes. They were narrow, yet wide. Old, yet kiddish. A layer had been peeled from his divine exterior that Keith had not anticipated. Beautiful as always, but of a different sort. "I should start working out so I can lift you higher."

He hadn't realized it until then, but Keith was still holding his breath. He let out a sigh, which relaxed his shoulders. His sides tingled, the weight of Lance and nothing but Lance on a loop in his mind. How was it that the brown haired boy looked even better up close? His crooked features and imperfect skin had otherworldly powers; the kind that melted his brain to a gooey slush. Keith wanted to know every inch of his perfect, flawed body.

Keith raised his hand - it shook - and placed it gently on Lance's cheek. Lance bit his bottom lip. His transparent skin faded and reappeared as Keith's thumb ran back and forth across his cheekbone. The two boy's eyes met once again. Silence swelled and consumed them. Keith's entire body trembled. Why was he trembling?

"It's weird." Keith murmured. "I want to hate you. I should hate you."

"But you don't?" Lance guessed. "Me neither." He paused, laying his hands flat on Keith's sides. "It's weird. I tried my best to not feel anything for you, but..."

"But you do? Same." Keith's lips curved up. "Does this mean you're going to write me a poem now too?"

Lance laughed once. It was a soft, fleeting thing, but one that Keith adored. Almost as much as his boisterous cackle that both charmed and terrified. "If that's what you want."

Keith's body moved before his mind could. He lifted his arms, wrapped them around Lance's neck, and pulled the ghost boy in for a hug. Dragging him down from the air, Keith's chin fell on Lance's shoulder, and fingers dug into the material of his jacket.

Lance was numb for a moment, before tentatively placing his hands around Keith in return. He squeezed him tight, sinking all the way to the floor; dark brown hair tickling Keith's cheek. His wet cheek. Keith moved a finger below his eye to find a trail of tears. How strange. Keith didn't remember the point they had appeared.

Keith sniffled, and hugged so hard it nearly suffocated the other. "Don't kill me!" Lance gasped.

"You're already dead." Keith mumbled. "Why do you have to be dead?"

Lance froze. His body temperature dropped greatly as though he remembered: yes, I am not part of your world. He existed in a reality neither among the living nor the dead. What was he supposed to be? And why was Keith caught between the threads of his narrative? "You're right." Lance said, voice low and sad. "I'm sorry."

"I wish it was me." Keith confessed.

"I don't." Lance shot back. "I wish when I died, I could've just... stayed dead. You know, so you wouldn't have to fall for someone like me. Could this ever work?"

But that was ridiculous. Keith had always loved him.

"Honestly," Keith drew back, keeping his hands on Lance's bony shoulders. "I don't know. But I do want to pretend. Pretend, just once, that this world isn't complete shit."

"That's a good idea." Lance nodded. "But there are some good things in it too. You really can't appreciate the world fully until you've been ripped from it. For example, there's you."

"And there's you, but you're not part of this world."

"But, when I'm with you," Lance leaned forward. A shiver ran down Keith's back, hairs standing on end. Lance's lips were centimeters from his ear. "I feel alive."