Chapter Text
A soft clapping resounded around the empty beach, making its way up to Lance's ears from the stage where he was standing, his hands clutching the microphone with all their might. He opened his eyes to see the beach scattered with chairs, all empty excluding one. Lance's eyes scanned until he saw the source of the clapping: a man sitting there with a soft smile on his face.
His heart stopped for a second, and he had to catch his breath, trying not to pant into the equipment in front of him.
Someone was watching him, and that someone was really cute. He placed the microphone on the stand with a large grin, jumping over the stage quickly with a hand on it as leverage. He made his way over to the man, a smirk riding high on his face with a confidence someone who had just played to an audience of one person should not have. But then again, this was Lance, and he had confidence almost as high as his ego.
"Hey there. Lance. Lance Sanchez, but you can call me the man of your dreams," he wiggled his eyebrows, leaning against one of the chairs behind him.
Except, these were folding chairs, and really cheap ones at that. So, of course, no god out there was willing to help him as he pressed too hard with his palm and sent his entire body flying backwards. Well, that's gonna bruise. Everywhere.
When he looked up from the mess he'd made, he saw the man smile before holding his hand up to his face. Just then, he heard the man in front of him chuckle.
Oh, god.
Lance's pain numbed as he smiled, cheeks flushing in both embarrassment and interest. How cute. His hand slowly went to his heart, praying for it to still sometime within the next century.
"You're hilarious," he heard the other man mumble between soft breaths of laughter, his hand still in front of his mouth.
The man's hand was held out in front of him in a sign to help him up. He grabbed onto it and held on a moment longer after he got onto his feet. This man in front of him was gorgeous. Soft, light skin and dark hair cut around his shoulders. He had a mullet, but as was the fashion these days, Lance supposed. His eyes were like sapphires, but they held a softness to them.
"What- uh, what's your name?" Lance looked completely entranced by the other, leaning in a bit.
The other leaned back in time with his movements, muttering out a, "Keith."
"Keith," he mimicked, trying it out on his tongue.
The other shuffled back, almost hitting the back of his seat, "You- uh- you sing well."
Lance brightened at that, grin reappearing on his face, "Really? I mean, yeah! Of course, I do! Hey, wait, let me grab you a CD, a-and a shirt-"
He pulled on his hand and pulled him to his table, picking out a few things to give to Keith. And by a few things, that meant one of everything he had up there.
"Cadet Pilot?" Keith softly read the CD cover, a confused but amused look on his face.
Lance looked up from his shuffling on the table, smiling at him and winking, "Yeah, cause I'm totally gonna be a pilot, but my mother said to go for singing first since I have a nice voice, and- Well, I mean, I just love space. You heard the song, heheh." His hand was at the back of his neck by this time.
Keith smiled softly again, "Sounds lame."
Lance furrowed his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes, "'S not lame."
"A little bit, space cowboy," Keith chuckled again, again holding his hand to his face, as if embarrassed by those beautiful bell chimes coming from his throat.
Lance paused a moment before going back to his table, picking up shirts haphazardly.
"Hey, Keith, what's your shirt size?" he called behind him, trying to choose between the medium and the small sizes. "Keith?"
And when he turned around, the man was gone.
"Wha- Wait, Keith! Oh gosh he forgot his shirt, what an idiot," Lance smirked, trailing off after the footprints in the sand with a medium in his hand.