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thesirenserenity · 6 years ago

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I Never Planned on You: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Seize the Day

Musical Theater AU: Newsies

Lance is back from college for the summer and auditioning for Castle of the Lions Theater's (CLT) summer production of Newsies. It's his dream role and dream show, and he just can't wait! He never planned on finding someone who can read him so easily, who wants to know who he is. Keith is the newest (and best) Stage Manager for CLT's biggest community theater production yet. He got roped into this by his brother and found he had a knack and love for it. He never planned on finding a friend group or falling for the actor on stage who captures his heart.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIENDMATE!!!!! @thisismyfangirlface / @love-at-first-klance I hope you have a lovely day celebrating your birth and the BEST year yet! Thank you for being my other half and the bestest friendmate ever. I LOVE YOU.

For everyone else, enjoy a fluffy, cheesy, Musical Theater AU!

Lance took a deep breath, staring at the doors to the theater.

This was it.

This is what he has trained his whole life for.

All those dance lessons, gymnastics lessons, private singing lessons (coupled with belting show tunes in the car), and acting classes have lead to this moment.

His favorite show, his dream role!

The best theater company in the city, no, the state!

Working with the best actors, many who went on to get into the most amazing performing arts colleges, to Broadway even!

He could do this.

This was it.

-------

Keith rolled his eyes at all the people lining up in the lobby.

He knew that he was supposed to be helping organize the crowd but…

People. Ugh.

His clipboard dug into his side as he observed all the hopefuls sizing each other up, making weird-ass noises to keep their voices warm, being rude to all the volunteers organizing them.

What was with theater people and being petty assholes?

Shiro, his brother, was nothing but nice. Coran, the director, was even nicer! But everyone else?

Bitches. All of them.

Pretentious bitches, posturing and prideful. People like that bugged him.

They mixed up being confident and being a complete dick. Allura was confident! Shiro was confident! But being a good actor and knowing it does not mean you can mouth off to those running the show.

He rolled his eyes again and marked down another number of a person being a dickwad to one of the volunteers. If they were professional actors, they would know better than to assume that one of those running the show wasn’t watching; no one wants to cast a jerk.

Keith tore his eyes from the crowd and the line in front of him and peaked into the door to see if Coran, the choreographer, and the vocal director were ready. Coran gave him a large nod, grin, and thumbs up.

Here goes nothing.

Keith shook his head and threw open the doors of the auditorium.

He watched the throng of people stream in, audition papers and sheet music and phones with tracks clutched in their hands. They pushed and shoved, vying for the best seats for the open audition. The auditionees searched to find their number section, and all the parents, observers, and auditionees who were later in the day found an open seat.

Keith didn’t understand why open auditions were a thing for Castle of Lions Theater, but Alfor, the owner, insisted; something about CLT being a supporting program, whose goal was to provide quality entertainment through theater and foster a community of education and growth. If the actors didn’t learn to support and cheer for each other from the beginning, then they would never learn.

But it was a pain in the ass for the Stage Manager who had to run the auditions.

Coran, who was directing the show, hit the stage with a microphone in hand and gestured to Pidge, who was in the tech booth.

Keith wished he was hiding up there in the booth with them, but no. He had to go collect audition forms and sheet music and music tracks, giving them to the respective runners for the tech booth or director’s table, and then make sure the auditionees were in the right order to go on stage.

Ugh. People.

And this is why he was not an actor.

“Welcome to the auditions for Newsies!”

The director’s voice cut through Lance’s heart. He was here!

Well, kind of. He had his number and all the forms and such ready, but his audition wasn’t until later in the evening, after the break. And so he was hiding out in the tech booth with Pidge, who was currently running sound.

He leaned over and squeezed the hell out of Pidge’s arm. “So nervous,” he said through gritted teeth.

She slapped Lance’s hand away, “Hands off while I’m working! You know that.”

Lance flopped over in the spinny chair, leaning against Pidge’s shoulder. “This is my dream show! My dream role! You know that.”

“So dramatic,” Pidge rolled her eyes.

Lance looked up at her, flicking her glasses, “That’s my job, nerd!”

“Just pay attention to Coran’s instructions!”

Lance huffed, “He is just going to repeat them for everyone after the break. Besides I’ve been with CLT for a couple shows, I know how this works.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, “But I thought this was your dream show, so you should soak up every minute!”

Lance went to snark back, but Pidge shoved a finger in front of his mouth. Lance had been in the box enough to know that meant that she was getting something over the head seat she always wore.

Pidge’s finger went to the button on her cargo shorts, “Copy that, Keith. I’ll look for the first batch of music tracks. Thanks for labeling them for me.” Then she took her finger away from Lance’s mouth.

“Keith?” Lance inquired.

Pidge’s attention was back on the stage in front of them, one hand on the laptop to her right and the other on the soundboard in front of her.

“Shiro’s younger brother? I’m sure you’ve seen him at shows. Plus, I’ve told you about him before.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed. Shiro was an acting god, the best of the best in CLT, and his hero. He was a Junior at the best acting college in the state: the Garrison Performing Arts Conservatory. Lance had auditioned for their musical theater program last year but hadn’t gotten in. The directors had invited him to get more experience and try out again as a transfer in a couple years, so Lance had gone to a different community conservatory in a town a couple hours away this past year with Hunk, his best friend, who was going to school for set design. Both of them would be returning as Sophomores at the end of this summer, but Lance was going to audition again for the Garrison this next year for a transfer.

Lance had heard little of Keith’s acting, only that he and Pidge had been hanging out. Did he take over the lead roles at CLT while Lance was away at college?

His eyes narrowed, and he turned to Pidge to inquire further about his new rival for the stage.

The door behind them creaked open and Hunk popped his head in with a handful of audition sheets for Pidge.

“Here ya go, bud!” Hunk cheered, handing the pile to Pidge, who had put her hand up over her chair to grab. Pidge immediately went through, confirming that the line-up in their playlist was the same with those on the audition sheets.

“Thank god our esteemed Stage Manager had the foresight to put people who need the live accompanist for the first couple slots,” Pidge mumbled.

“Hunk!” Lance whisper-shouted, throwing himself at his best friend. “Today is the day and I’m so nervous and there are so many people here and what if I don’t get my dream role and what if I completely screw up and what if my pants fall down on stage and what if….”

“Whoa, there buddy!” Hunk interrupted, pushing Lance back a bit so he can look in the boy’s worried face. “We had this conversation last month, and last week, and last night at like two A.M.! You’re going to get up on stage and do your best! And then let the directors take care of the rest. Even if you don’t get your dream role, just keep pushing forward and I’m sure there will be other opportunities. Newsies is a super popular show and will be produced many times in your acting career.”

“I know…” Lance whined, slipping into his friend’s offered embrace. “I just don’t want to botch this when I’m trying to get into the Garrison. You know how much they love CLT shows…”

Hunk scoffed, “We all know you are going to get into this show, and with the audition line-up, you know they are gonna make cuts. So even you being in the show will be enough!”

“But Hunk…”

“Shut it, fuckfaces. I’m trying to work!” Pidge interjected.

“Sorry, Pidge!” Hunk cried. He gave Lance one last quiet hug and pushed him back into the office chair, despite Lance’s protests. Winking at him, Hunk slipped quietly from the tech booth, going back to help run audition forms.

Lance huffed and turned back to the stage to scope out the competition.

------

When Coran announced the break, Keith thought he might fall over in relief. He put up a hand to the auditionees who were trying to talk to him and walked away to find quiet. They had all the instructions and information sent to them for auditions via email prior, as well as Coran’s announcement before auditions started. He was not going to deal with people who didn’t know how to listen to instructions during his break. He was good at putting up a friendly front when needed, but the incompetency of some of these auditionees were driving him up a wall.

No, he did not know how the directors selected people for callbacks. Yes, all your tracks were in order and taken care of if you sent them in ahead of time. No, he could not move you forward in an audition. Yes, just check your damn email.

Keith escaped out the back door and took the stairs two at a time to the sound booth. He pulled off his headset, set his phone to go off so he could give a warning before the break was over, and set down his supplies on the small side table before the door to the sound booth.

Running his hands through his hair to get rid of the knots that came from wearing a headset, he pulled open the door.

And came face-to-face with the prettiest dark blue eyes he has ever seen.

Keith gasped, almost running into the stranger, and then took a step back to avoid falling on his ass.

The stranger had less luck, tripping over the carpet change and stumbled into Keith’s chest. Naturally, Keith caught the boy; he wasn’t rude and it was a normal reaction. Those pretty blue eyes were staring into his own then, looking up at him. They were surrounded by long, dark lashes and tanned skin. Keith pulled back a little, taking in the boy’s whole face, a stunning face.

Keith froze up, having a bit of a mental breakdown.

Pretty boy! In his arms!

Then, the boy grinned widely, a smooth voice emerging from his mouth. “Well, it seems I’ve fallen for you!”

Keith felt his face heat up.

“I… what? You… what?” Keith stammered, flustered.

The boy stepped out of his arms and stood to his full height, smiling down at him.

Pidge’s face popped around the doorframe of the sound booth, “Ah, Lance. I see you’ve meet Keith.”

The (very attractive) boy, who Keith figured was Lance, seemed to stiffen up. “Keith? Shiro’s brother?”

Keith rolled his eyes. Of course, that is what he is known for here. “Yup. That’s me.”

Now the boy was glaring at him? That was a weird response. Flirting to glaring in no time flat.

This Lance person took two steps forward and jammed his finger into Keith’s chest. “Now listen here, bud. Just because you are the brother of one of the best actors here, doesn’t mean that you automatically get parts. I know I was gone for a year, but I’m still going to kick your ass!”

Keith’s eyes narrowed, “What the hell, man? What do you have against Shiro?”

Lance scoffed, “Shiro? That man is practically my hero!”

“Then what’s your problem!”

“What’s your problem!”

Keith crossed his arms over his chest, “I have no problem, you weirdo. You’re the one who is all up in my face.”

He made eye contact with a very amused Pidge who was watching, leaning against the doorway of the tech booth.

“Lance,” Pidge interjected, “You know that Keith is the Stage Manager, right? He isn’t auditioning, you dingbat.” A very large smirk was on her face.

Keith sighed, finally understanding. This dickwad thought he was auditioning and would be competition because he was Shiro’s younger brother. Of course.

He watched Pidge’s comment sink into Lance, his demeanor growing more flustered.

“No! What… Stage Manager?” The boy’s face grew red.

Keith rolled his eyes, “Yes, I’m your Stage Manager. Any other enlightening things to realize?”

Lance glared at him, “Yea, your hair is stupid, mullet.” And with that he brushed passed Keith, bumping shoulders with him and stormed down the stairs.

Keith threw his hands up in the air and looked at Pidge in exasperation, who was cracking up. Keith mimicked Lance and stormed passed Pidge into the sound booth, and sat down in the office chair, pouting.

Pidge was still cracking up and had sunk to the floor of the doorway.

Keith mumbled, “That was not part of my break plan.”

Pidge wiped a tear from her eye, finally standing up and leaning on the doorway for support. “That was so amazing. He got so defensive!”

“Yea, it was stupid.”

Pidge looked over at him, a smile on her lips, “You’re just mad cause he said your hair was stupid.”

“My hair is not stupid,” Keith grumbled.

Pidge walked back over to her seat, ruffling Keith’s hair along the way. Keith glared up at her as she sat down in the other chair.

Keith crossed his legs in the chair and huffed. “What the fuck was his deal? I literally caught him from falling flat on his face, and he insulted me for being Shiro’s brother.”

Pidge sighed, “You can’t blame Lance. He is just super nervous. He’s been away for a year at college and this is his dream show. He really just wants to get one of the leads and is super competitive. He thought you were a rival competitor because you’re Shiro’s brother.”

Keith rolled his eyes but understood. Shiro got super worked up before auditions too; just last night, Shiro was having a meltdown and his best friend/not-girlfriend, Allura, had to call to calm him down.

He sighed, “I get it. Shiro was the same way last night. I just don’t get why he was such a huge jerk to me.”

Pidge chuckled, “He was just intimidated. He fell into your arms, flirted, found out you were his hero’s younger brother, thought you were a threat, and then was embarrassed after finding out you were his Stage Manager.”

Keith blushed, “Well, he made me go through a range of emotions too.”

Pidge’s eyebrows were dancing, “I’m sure, ya gay fool.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

------

Keith was just a tiny bit interested in the weird, flirty, annoying boy who had literally fallen on top of him earlier.

Just a tiny bit.

So when he bounded onto the center of the stage and declared his name was Lance and started belting his heart out with sparkles in his eyes, Keith watched.

He couldn’t take his eyes away from this jerkface when he was filling the stage.

Keith’s right eyebrow raised a little bit. For how nervous Pidge said Lance was, he really couldn’t tell. He could feel the energy in the auditorium change; Lance had captured everyone’s attention. Keith could even argue that his talent and charisma on stage, while different, was on par with Shiro’s.

The (amateur) Stage Manager (and secret theater nerd) in him was very impressed.

Keith felt his heart clutching as Lance’s clear Tenor rose, filling the whole room with sound. There was so much passion in his words, so much energy behind every note.

The final note of the song rung throughout the room, captivating everyone. Silence followed though Keith could swear he could still hear the overtones ringing. His throat was dry and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy who had his arms and heart flung wide on the stage, panting.

Then, Lance relaxed and bowed, cueing a thunderous applause from the audience. A wide grin spread across his face, and he bowed again, winking at anyone who caught his eye.

Keith felt like he could breathe again.

After the audience quieted down, Coran reached for the microphone next to him to ask follow up questions.

Even though Keith should really be making sure the next auditionee was ready, he still couldn’t take his eyes off stage as Lance answered ‘Ya bet I can talk in a New Yorker accent,’ with a perfect New York accent.

The choreographer leaned over and took the mic from Coran, “It says that you have ballet, tap, and gymnastics experience. Can you expand?”

A common question from her, but everyone gasped as Lance smirked, prepped, and spun like five times in a tight circle on one foot. He landed it, leaped into the air and touched his toes in the splits, landed that and promptly threw himself backward into a back handspring, followed by a backflip. Lance then had the audacity to land and take another bow, with the same teasing smirk on his face.

Keith schooled his desire to gape into a blank face of indifference. That shit was hard! He, himself, was a trained gymnast and could execute that, but still!

His eyes snapped to the choreographer, who was most definitely impressed.

Fucking showoff.

------

Keith pulled his gross hair into a pony, flinching at how greasy it was. But that’s what you get when you have callbacks the day after auditions. When he didn’t get home until like two am because the directors were debating about callbacks forever. When things started at nine am in the morning, which means he had to be there to set up at eight am.

Keith really needed another huge cup of coffee.

He looked up from his clipboard to a huge cup of coffee in front of him, and his brother smiling down.

“I thought you could use this since you left the house in a hurry.”

Keith sighed, “Oh thank god. You have saved me!”

Shiro laughed, “And I thought I was the dramatic one!”

“Well, yea. But I had a serious need for caffeine and you simply knew.”

Shiro shrugged, “It’s your first big show, of course you need caffeine. Plus, you live off of coffee.”

Keith smirked up at him, “You know I do!” He grabbed the cup and took a large sip, moaning in pleasure. “Black, like my soul. You know how I like it.”

Shiro laughed, “Of course I do, dork.”

Keith observed the scared look in his eyes. “How are you doing, Shiro. Nervous?”

Shiro looked away, bashfully, “A little. It’s not every day you get called back for the lead role of an amazing show.”

Keith scoffed, “Okay, yea. But that shit happens to you like four times a year, and you knew this was going to happen. You’re an amazing actor.”

“You have to say that, you’re my brother.”

“I’m just stating a fact, you dingbat.”

Allura came up behind Shiro and threw an arm around him. Her sweet voice rang through the room, “I’m not your brother, and I say you’re an amazing actor.”

Shiro had the audacity to blush, but that was probably because his longtime crush had an arm around him.

Keith rolled his eyes. They were both so oblivious.

Shiro stuttered, “You’re… You’re my best friend, you also are biased.”

Allura’s arms encircled Shiro’s waist, her chin propped on his shoulder. “We have worked together in so many productions. I think I can say you are a good actor without being biased as your best friend.”

“And you are going to work together in another one, once again,” Keith stated. “Now go crowd around the callback list like normal hopeful actors!”

Allura grinned and fist-bumped Keith, “And get our dancing shoes on!”

“Break a leg, guys!” Keith added, to their retreating backs. He took another large sip of his coffee and muttered, “Oblivious idiots.”

He ran his hand over his face, set down his coffee, and picked back up his clipboard, turning to face the quickly filling room of hopefuls.

A loud noise drew Keith’s attention to the door. Pidge came bursting through the door, bounded around the table, and jumped onto Keith, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Keith bent his legs to accommodate the impact and just sighed.

“Good morning, motherfucker!” Pidge shouted.

“You’re lucky I put my coffee down before you jumped on top of me, ya little brat.”

“Pidge!”

Both of them looked up at the outburst, turning their heads to the two boys walking up to the table. Keith recognized Hunk, who was working on set design, from yesterday. Though he didn’t need to be present for much of his work, Keith figured that he really just enjoyed helping out around the theater and being with his friends. After all, he is the epitome of sunshine.

Lance, who had literally fallen on top of him yesterday and insulted his hair (and who’s eyes haunted his dreams), stormed up to Keith and his leech with a threatening finger out.

“There are children here!” he chided, “You can’t just shout ‘motherfucker’ in front of them.”

“I can name seven times when you said ‘fuck’ in front of your little siblings in the past year, and you weren’t even in town for the majority of it,” Pidge deadpanned.

“It doesn’t count when it’s after I stub a toe, you buttnugget!” Lance countered.

“Still got chewed out by your mother, fuckface.”

Keith sighed, figuring he should intervene. He ran his and down his shoulder, pushing Pidge’s face, trying (and failing) to dislodge her from his body.

“Pidge, as the stage manager, I really can’t condone you shouting curse words in front of children . . .”

“See!” Lance interrupted, “Even mullet agrees with me!”

Keith shot a glare at him and then continued, “But as your friend, I say, ‘Good fucking morning to you too’ Now get the fuck off me.”

“Language, mullet!” Lance gestured wildly at the children all the way across the room.

“I do not have a mullet! And my hair is up!”

Hunk sighed and intervened, “I see you’ve met Lance, Keith.”

Pidge, still clinging to Keith, interjected, “And he somehow managed to flirt and then piss off someone who sits in with the directors during casting, like an idiot.”

That shut Lance up.

Hunk nudged him, “Come on, bro. Try again.”

Lance sighed and then held out his hand, “Hello stage manager, who I’ve never met before. My name is Lance, it's fantastic to finally meet you.”

Hunk raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm, but let it go.

Keith was willing to play along. “Pidge, darling,” which earned him a scathing look, “I need my right arm.” He was hoping that Pidge would finally jump off, but instead, she just climbed around his back and latched herself onto his left side.

Keith just rolled his eyes and continued, offering his right hand to Lance. “It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard a lot about you and Hunk from this koala here.”

Keith ignored the tingle that shot up his arm when his hand touched the soft, warm hand of the other guy. Be still, gay heart.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too and are excited to get to know you this summer!” Hunk grinned at him. “We should hang out soon, outside of all this jazz.”

“And all that Jazz!” Lance shout-sang, accompanied with vigorous jazz hands.

Keith could feel Pidge huffing against his shoulder.

Hunk just grinned and gave his own little jazz hands.

And Keith hid his amusement behind a neutral face and an eyebrow raise.

“On that note, pun intended, I am going to go warm-up and check the callback list!” Lance shot finger guns. “Bye Pidgeon, bye bro-of-my-heart, bye mullet!”

“Break a leg, man!” Hunk called after his retreating back.

Keith just signed and turned to look at his leech. “Pidge, seriously. Get the fuck off me, I have to do my job.”

“Watch your fucking language,” Pidge mumbled into his shirt and just climbed to his back, clinging on by herself.

Keith rolled his eyes, and picked up his coffee and fallen clipboard, handing a pencil over his back for Pidge to hold. This was nothing new for him.

Hunk laughed at them, “I’m glad to see that I’ve been replaced as the human jungle gym while I was gone. Good to know your habits haven’t changed, Pidge. Though, I don’t know how long Keith can do his job with you as a backpack.”

“About as long as you can, Keith lifts and shit,” his ‘backpack’ answered.

Hunk nodded in approval, “Nice, man. I know how hard it is to be Pidge’s noble steed.”

Keith chuckled, “I’m more of her mysterious, dark steed than the noble steed you are.”

“Yeah, cause you’re emo as fuck,” Pidge piped in.

“Watch your fucking language,” Keith parroted back.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Hunk reached out and picked up the pile of papers on the table, “All swearing and steeds aside, what can I do to help?”

--------

About thirty minutes later, Pidge finally got off Keith’s back and climbed up to the tech booth to run sound for dance callbacks. Keith was still in the now-quiet atrium, sitting down for a moment.

Finally, some goddamn peace and quiet.

He could hear the choreographer teaching the dance for the callbacks over her mic and spurts of what he thought was “Seize the Day,” but he wasn’t positive.

Pulling his trusty clipboard over to him, he looked over the day’s schedule and his neatly-printed list of what he needed to do still as he drained the cold dregs of his coffee. He glared at the cup when it came back empty.

“Need me to make a coffee run?” Hunk asked, breaking the silence as he walked into the room.

“I’m sure the directors wouldn’t mind, they were debating callbacks and scheduling until like two A.M.”

Hunk’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s so late! And back here so early the next day. I will gladly make a coffee run now.”

Keith grinned at him, “You will save my dead soul if you do, though we should probably give them a bit longer and collect orders in the break after dance callbacks.”

Hunk smiled back, “That makes sense. Anything you need me to do right now?”

Keith sighed and glanced back down at his list, though he had already memorized it and was processing the best way to delegate. “Wanna keep me company while I copy down the tentative schedule in the holding room? There isn’t much to do until the general dance callbacks are over.”

“You got it, my man!”

They walked down the hall and through the backstage doors, to the large room that served as the secondary green room. Large sets from past productions, couches and tables, and a couple vending machines littered the room. Keith tried not to trip over some of the auditionee’s bags as he walked up to the whiteboard.

“Hey Hunk, would you please go fill up a couple water coolers in the kitchen? I forgot to grab those this morning.”

“I can imagine, running on less than six hours of sleep. I got you!” Hunk answered and walked out the door toward the kitchen.

Keith turned back to the board and uncapped a marker. Just as he was about to write, he heard murmurs down the hall, toward the stage. Which was really weird, because everyone should be on stage during the auditions.

He furrowed his brow and dropped the marker back on the holder, along with his clipboard, and went to investigate.

Part curiosity, part because it was his job to make sure people were where they needed, or didn’t need, to be.

He lightened his steps and snuck closer. Turning the corner, right in front of the doors that went to the back of the stage, he saw Lance kneeling in front of one of the little boys who was probably auditioning for the part of Les. He looked to be around twelve and was crying, from nerves Keith assumed.

Keith turned off into one of the bathrooms nearby and grabbed a couple of tissues, and then walked up to them with purposeful steps.

“You’re going to do great, Leo. I know you’re very talented and you are a natural on stage! It is totally normal to be nervous,” Lance encouraged, ducking his head down to meet the younger boy’s eyes.

Keith knelt down next to Lance, meeting his eyes and offering a small smile. The little boy, Leo, looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Hi bud, I’m Keith, the stage manager. Here,” he offered the tissues to him and then sat cross-legged next to him on the wall.

Lance smiled at him and turned back to the boy, “Leo, you were in Oliver with Shiro, right?”

Leo nodded, wiping at his eyes with a tissue.

“Well, Keith is Shiro’s younger brother. Tell us, Keith, does the amazing Shiro, who has been in many, many musicals, ever get nervous?” Lance’s blue eyes were smiling at him.

Keith chuckled, “You should have seen him two nights ago, before auditions. He had talked himself into a nervous wreck and almost threw up. I’ve actually seen him up-chuck before shows! Everyone gets nervous.” He hesitantly put a hand on Leo’s shoulder.

Lance nodded, “But what most actors learn to do is channel that nervous energy and let it fuel their acting. It helps put more energy and purpose into their words, actually.”

The boy scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and nodded. “How do I do that, Lance?”

Lance grinned, and grabbed Leo’s hand, pulling him to his feet. Keith stood on his own, using the wall as support.

“First of all,” Lance said, opening his arms, “give me a hug. You look like you need one!”

The kid giggled and launched himself into his arms. Lance squeezed him tight, even wrinkling up his face.

Cute.

“Now,” Lance continued, “Go splash your face with cold water and dry it off. Can’t have you going on stage with a red nose!”

Leo bounded down the hallway to the bathroom, and Lance turned to Keith.

“Thanks for helping me, man. He’s a good kid and honestly, a huge contender for Les from my humble point of view. Super sweet kid!”

Keith softened at Lance’s kind expression, his fond smile, and sparkling eyes.

Keith felt his lips quirk into a half-smile, “He seems like a good kid. You’re really good with him, I never would have been able to deal with that. Usually, I tell Shiro to man the fuck up and call Allura for backup.”

Lance laughed, the sound making Keith smile wider, “I’m pretty sure that would not be a good way to handle a kid being nervous, mullet.”

Keith’s smile folded into a glare and pout, “Stop calling me that!”

Lance shrugged, a smirk on his face, turning his attention back to Leo scampering down the hallway to them.

“Okay, Lance, what now?”

Lance bent over so to be on the same level as Leo. “I have a super-secret technique that helps me channel my nerves, but it is really important that while we do it, you are constantly thinking positively and about channeling the energy. You got that, my man?”

Leo nodded excitedly.

“Okay, join us Mullet-man. This is good for stress too!”

Keith scoffed, but let Lance continue to talk.

“Close your eyes and stand firm on your feet. Take a moment to center yourself on those positive thoughts. Now, tense your toes…”

Keith peeked an eye open and held back a giggle from the look of concentration on Leo’s face.

“Feet… ankles… calves… knees… thighs… booty…”

Leo giggled, like every normal twelve-year-old.

“Focus Leo, tense your abs… chest… shoulders… arms… fingers… neck… and your face. Hold it! Hold it!”

Keith was holding his breath too, his face super scrunched up.

“Now release!”

There was a huge burst of exhaling from all three of them as they entered back into a state of relaxation. Keith’s eyes snapped open, watching the relief and peace wash over Leo’s eyes.

The kid beamed up at Lance, “I don’t feel that nervous anymore!”

Lance beamed back, his eyes sparkling, “Good! It did its job then!” He offered his hand to the boy, who eagerly took it. “Let’s get back to dancing, little man. You have a call back to destroy!”

Leo tugged Lance toward the door to the stage excitedly. But Lance turned around, those pretty blue eyes smiling as softly as his lips, and mouthed ‘thank you, Keith.’

They disappeared out the door too fast. Keith was rooted to the floor, his brain floundering in the image.

His stomach was all fluttery, his heart beating fast.

Oh, no…

#muse's musings #klance #I never planned on you #inpoy #musical theater au #klance fanfic #voltron #vld #HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIENDDDDDDDDD #friendmate #stage manager keith #actor lance #newsies au

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omegaling · 7 years ago

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Allez Cuisine! ~Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: Mushrooms and Croissants

First off: many thanks to my dear friend @sleepyowlet who helped me through the tougher parts of this chapter. I was soundly stuck in some areas before she offered me her invaluable input.

Chapter Eleven: Mushrooms and Croissants

Rey did not care for Fifth Avenue.

Like many new arrivals to New York City, Times Square had been one of the fist iconic landmarks Rey went to see after she got settled in her new living arrangements. She had just turned eighteen, free from the system and out from under Unkar Plutt’s fat thumb, and it seemed only right to see One Times Square for herself, that its massive LED displays and forest of Broadway billboards, would cement the reality that she was actually there, that she had finally made it.

However, it was not long before the blaring horns and haze of exhaust fumes from the countless vehicles and taxis, the blazing advertisements for products she could never afford, and the endless crush of businessmen and roving tourists completely overwhelmed her. Ever since that day she stuck close to the NYU campus or to the Village, and other than when she went to see Book of Mormon with Finn and Poe last year for Poe’s birthday, Rey avoided Fifth whenever she could.

It was the task at hand today that brought her back, staring up at the steel and black glass monolith looming high above her. The headquarters of the First Order, Giacovanni Snoke’s empire, looked like a colossal obelisk, dominating that stretch of New York skyline. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline dancing in her veins, but Rey could almost feel a sort of nexus of energy pulsing from the edifice, commanding respect and fear in equal measures and casting a shroud over the city’s otherwise vibrant heart. It was a stark reminder of what she was going up against, but she tempered her resolve. If she could put a bunch of sneering high school boys from her autoshop class in their place by changing out a pair of brake pads in half the time they could, she could handle this.

The main foyer of the First Order headquarters was all white marble tile, chrome accenting, and black granite pillars supporting a ceiling that stretched forty dizzying feet over her head. A lone reception desk sprawled at the far end, and an intimidating-looking security guard stoof sentry between a length of velvet rope and a line of gleaming elevator doors. Although there was a steady stream of people trickling to and from the elevators, an oppressive silence filled the foyer like a palapital force, making her ears ache. She may not know much about Snoke other than what she heard from other chefs, but standing in the foyer made one thing abundantly clear, as if the building had a voice and was speaking directly to her: you are in my domain, now. The rules of the outside world need not apply.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Rey said to herself, earning a curious look from a woman in a pantsuit who passed by within hearing range. Shoulders squared and head held high, Rey marched over to the reception desk to join the short line qued behind it.

“Good morning. Please state your name and manner of business here at First Order,” the receptionist said in a tone that was equal parts professional and bored as Rey stepped up to the desk.

“Rey Jakken,” she responded, obediently handing over her ID when he asked for it. “I would like to send a message to Chef Kylo Ren.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Rey shook her head. “I don’t want to actually see him: I just want to get a message to him. Whether he responds or not is his decision.”

“Very well. Just make sure it’s brief.” The receptionist fiddled with his computer mouse and keyboard for a moment. Behind her, a man in an expensive suit heaved a sigh. “Your message?”

Rey took a deep breath. “Let him know that I’ve reconsidered his proposition. He can contact me here.” She pulled a three-by-five card from her purse and handed it to the receptionist. Her name and email address was printed on one side. She had decided against adding her cell phone number; she did not want to give him the power to contact her whenever he wanted. The receptionist typed on his computer for another full minute before asking her if he could help her with anything else.

“No. Thank you very much,” Rey said, her fingers trembling slightly as she replaced her ID in her wallet. Though the whole exchange had taken less than five minutes, by the time she walked away from the reception desk her legs were shaking so badly she was surprised she was able to stand at all. A part of her wanted to fly back to the desk, shoving aside anyone in her way so she could tell the man there to disregard her message, to do whatever he could to delete it while she took her card back and ripped it up into a hundred pieces. But she forced herself to walk on, keeping her eyes fixed on the large revolving door that would take her back out to the street.

This warring of emotions - the mad urge to take back the proverbial die she cast clashing with a steely determination to push forward - was not an unknown feeling to her. She had experienced it when she submitted her application to NYU; when she bought a bus ticket to escape from Unkar Plutt once and for all; when she answered Finn’s ad for a roommate; on her first day flying solo as BB8’s new prep cook. Each event carried its own classification of stress, sometimes to the point where the anxiety made her sick to her stomach, but each one ended up being one of the most rewarding decisions she ever made. Rey felt her mood perk up a bit. Who knew, maybe the events that stemmed from today would turn out the same.

Rey was almost to the revolving doors when something caught her attention: two sets of additional elevator doors she had not noticed until now, near the front of the building’s foyer. Ropes of burgundy velvet, hung with a plague that read “no entry,” barred people from getting too close to the steel doors, and a reception station stood to one side, a woman in a smart black uniform typing busily away at a flat screen computer. Rey went over to have a look, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but reservations for Vader are full for tonight,” the hostess said crisply. “The head chef recommends that to guarantee a table, please plan on reserving a table at a minimum of six weeks out. Availability is subject to change at any time.”

Christ, did his arrogance know no bounds?

“I would just like to see the menu, if that’s all right.”

The hostess gestured to a frame mounted to the black marble wall and went back to her typing, Rey completely forgotten.

Kylo Ren’s menu boasted some of the usual crowd pleasers such as escargot and a foie gras appetizer, oysters on the half shell, filet mignon and lobster, but that was where the similarities to any other restaurant ended. His unique style was infused into every item, promising a dining experience of unprecedented levels: Chinese-style dim sum with abalone and topped with caviar; charcoal grilled wagyu ribeye with a red wine and bone marrow sauce; Chilean sea bass poached in French butter; a dark chocolate cake with a molten core of Tahitian vanilla and cognac syrup. The devil himself could not have come up with a menu more exquisitely sinful. Rey was only halfway through reading the menu before she realized how much her mouth was watering, and how imagining how each item tasted ignited a slow-burning fire deep in her belly.

She had to make herself leave then, before guilt and her nerves once more compelled her to doubt her decision to come here.

He might not even return my message. I probably missed my window of opportunity the first time I turned him down, Rey thought as she stepped back into the noise and rush of Fifth Avenue. She couldn’t see Ren being the type who gave second chances, nor to possess the patience to wait for a smartass rookie to change her mind. In all likelihood, all this stress would be for naught, and the only thing she’s ever see of Kylo Ren again was in magazines and on social media.

Two days later, he proved her wrong.

Rey was in the middle of prepping a simple mushroom soup for lunch when her phone pinged to inform her she had a new email. She looked up from her growing pile of chopped shiitake, chanterelles, porcini and oyster mushrooms (pricey, yes, but when it came to making mushroom soup regular white buttons just didn’t cut it), wiped her hands off and picked up her phone.

It took her a full thirty seconds to process what she was reading. Then she set her phone down, took a swig from the bottle of wine meant for the soup, and picked it up again. The message was still there, unchanged.

Sender : Kylo Ren

Subject : Your Apprenticeship

Rey put down her phone for a second time, then set about scooping her mushrooms into a bowl and put them away along with all the other ingredients. No matter what his email said, she already knew that she was going to have zero appetite by the time she was done reading it. The only thing she kept out was the wine, which she took to the living room with her. She made herself sit down on the couch with her laptop, took another pull of wine for fortitude, and opened his message.

Ms. Jakken:

I am pleased to hear that you have finally decided to put your pride aside in order to further your career. That being said, I feel that I should warn you that I have no interest in moving forward unless you’re willing to be fully committed in return. I have rejected requests to apprentice top graduates from the most renowned culinary institutes around the world, as well as a number of James Beard Foundation nominees and winners, so this is something I do not offer lightly. Baring that in mind, you’ll understand that my standards and expectations are exceedingly high, and if at any time I feel that you are not meeting them I will terminate your apprenticeship immediately.

If you still believe you are up to the task, contact me at this email address within 48 hours so we can establish the details of your first lesson.

K. Ren

Rey was halfway through writing a scathing response when she realized what she was doing and forced herself to stop. With great effort she stood up from the couch and walked away from her computer, gripping the wine bottle so hard that she was surprised the neck didn’t shatter in her hand.

In retrospect, she didn’t know why his email enraged her like it did; she knew he was an arrogant asshole from the start, so she should have expected the condescending nature of his response. He was one of the top chefs in the world, and she was a nobody. However, even with knowing all that his email still managed to thoroughly rankle her, each sentence causing red to bleed into the edges of her vision. It almost felt like he was intentionally trying to piss her off, his every word hitting a nerve like an acupuncture needle.

One thing was for certain, and that was she needed a clearer head before she decided if she was going to accept his offer or tell him to piss off. Luckily, work promised to provide the distraction she needed. There was a music festival happening in Washington Square that weekend, which meant that the Village would be crawling with people looking for a quick bite to eat. During such events, Poe liked to open BB8’s lounge so it operated more like a tapas bar found in Barcelona or San Sebastián, where patrons were encouraged to indulge in the little appetizers as much as they wanted just so long as they had a drink in their hand. For the past year Poe put Rey in charge of making sure the tapas were always replenished. It was intense work, especially when stacked on top of all her other duties, but she welcomed the challenge. The fact that Snap always split a portion of his tips with her was a nice little bonus as well. Maybe chopping fish for ceviche and slicing vegetables to ribbons was just the outlet she needed. If she decided to take his offer then maybe she’d be less inclined to pull a knife on him the first time his ego manifested.

But she made herself no promises.

Katy Perry’s “Roar” was reverberating off the steam-streaked bathroom walls when Rey suddenly realized why Ren’s email hit such a nerve.

Rey quickly finished rinsing out her hair, shut the water off and made a mad dash out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing more than her towel. Finn and Poe jumped up from their reclined positions on the couch at her sudden and partially-clothed appearance, hair still dripping as she grabbed up her laptop from where it was charging on the end table.

“Jesus, Rey, are you okay?” Finn asked, pausing their current episode of Orange is the New Black. “The last time I saw you move that fast was the Shrimp Incident.”

Rey pulled a face. The now-famous “Shrimp Incident” that originated when a line chef dropped a partially-thawed prawn down Rey’s back and she chased him around the kitchen with a meat tenderizer was now a favorite story among the Village chefs. Even her friends enjoyed bringing it up whenever they could. “It was cold and disgusting and Tio got exactly what he deserved for it.”

“Is everything okay?” Poe asked.

“Yes, fine. This clothing store I like is having an online firesale and I forgot today was the last day.”

“Must be a damn good sale then,” Finn said as he lay back on the couch, pulling Poe down to recline against his chest as they resumed watching their show. Breathing a silent sigh of relief that they bought her story, Rey unplugged her laptop from its charger and took it to her room.

Perched on the end of her bed, Rey opened her laptop, clicked on her email server icon and read Ren’s email again, scrutinizing each sentence as she went. A second read-through confirmed that she wasn’t imagining things: Kylo Ren was challenging her. Each snide comment, each insinuation that she would somehow fail to meet his standards had garnered the exact reaction she was sure he was aiming for: a sudden burning desire to prove him wrong. She knew she should have been outraged that he managed to play her like that, but the emotion would not manifest.

Now the question was, where did she go from here?

Poe said she had the potential to become a great chef in her own right. Wouldn’t that mean taking advantage of whatever means were available to her to achieve it? But before that was to happen, though, she felt it was within her rights to lay down a few ground rules of her own…

Before she lost her nerve, Rey hit the “reply” button and began to type.

Rey pushed the cloud of foam topping her hazelnut latte to one side of her mug with her spoon, then back to the other, turning the creamy fluff into a muddy slurry. Her hand twitched toward her phone, but she quickly pulled it back to tug at the bill of her baseball cap instead. She knew she was must have looked ridiculous, sitting in this seedy little coffee shop in one of Finn’s old jackets and a well-worn Mets hat like she was some undercover agent about to turn over viable information to enemy hands. In a way, that was exactly what she felt like she was getting ready to do.

Her email back to Kylo Ren had been painstakingly composed, each word carefully chosen as to not betray how much turmoil he caused her, as well as to not give him any more fodder to use in his favor. Simply stated, Rey told him that there would be no first lesson until he heard and accepted her own term of conditions, which would take place face-to-face at a third party location well away from both the Village and the First Order headquarters.

His answer was waiting for her when her shift ended that night. She expected a brusque “my way or the highway” kind of response, that there was no reason to move forward if she did not agree to his terms right then and there. Instead, Ren provided a short list of dates and times he was available and asked her to choose which one worked best for her. The only thing he requested was that he be the one to choose the place of their meeting, though he assured her it would be well away from both their places of employment. Caught off guard by the polite tone of his email and this unexpected turn of events, Rey selected the following Monday at eleven AM.

Rey was even more surprised by the location. She was certain he would have chosen some ritzy bistro in SoHo or TriBeCa, but at 10:45 she found herself standing in front of an unassuming coffee shop in a neighborhood well removed from the beaten tourist path. The interior was in desperate need of an update: the sea-green formica countertops clashed with the faded and warped laminate floors, and no two tables and set of chairs were the same. The corner of the pastry case was bisected by a nasty crack. Rey personally loved places like this. It had a well-established, homey feel, and the scent of fresh-ground coffee warming the air made it all the more inviting. It was also the kind of place she assumed Kylo Ren wouldn’t be caught dead in, and she had to double-check his last email to make sure she got the address right.

All at once her previous misgivings began to well up again. Was she being set up for some kind of sick joke? She quickly pushed the thought aside. Ren may have been a lot of things, but she couldn’t imagine him stooping to that level. Instead, Rey ordered a latte and settled into a cracked vinyl booth to wait.

Eleven o’clock came and went. At first Rey was not too put-off - punctuality in the City was a hard thing to come by, especially on a Monday morning - but when the clock hit 11:15 she was starting to get antsy. She didn’t have any new emails from him saying he was running late or he needed to cancel; their brief email exchange gave her the impression that he wouldn’t just stand her up. That did not stop her from constantly checking her phone and growing increasingly annoyed when she saw only a few minutes passed since she last looked at the time. She decided to give him until 11:30, and if he didn’t show then she’s put this whole thing behind her and move on with her life. At least that way she could stop imagining the looks of shock and betrayal on Finn and Poe’s face if they ever found out what she tried to do.

“Though I understand your desire for discretion, I think you might be taking it a little over the top.”

Milk and espresso sloshed over the side of Rey’s mug as she jumped, then cursed at the resulting mess that spread across the table. “You need to start wearing a goddamn bell or something,” she grumbled, attempting to wipe up the remains of her latte with a wad of napkins.

Ren chuckled, a sound that originated deep within his chest as he set down his own mug and a plate well away from the spill. “My apologies. Just a moment,” he said before walking away again. Rey was swiping the soiled napkins into the trash when Ren reappeared with a damp washcloth. Rey expected him to hand it to her, but instead he cleaned up the remaining coffee himself.

“Some habits die hard,” he said by way of explanation. With the mess efficiently taken care of, Rey returned to her seat, Ren sitting opposite of her. She declined his offer for a replacement drink; evidently she already had enough caffeine today.

“As I was saying,” Ren continued as though nothing had happened, “you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you here with me. Celebrity chefs don’t have the same paparazzi draw as actors and musicians. Besides, I’ve been coming here long before Vader opened and no one but the locals ever come here. And if someone does happen to come up to bother us, Heather will chase them away, so you can relax.”

“I...appreciate that,” Rey said slowly, glancing at her surroundings again.

Ren must have read the skepticism on her face because he cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m assuming you thought you were at the wrong location because a place like this would be too far below me?”

The back of Rey’s neck became uncomfortably hot beneath the thick collar of Finn’s jacket. She tried to convince herself it was because she was embarrassed that he called her out on her shallow assumption, and not because of the fleeting twinkle in his dark eyes or the slight upward curve of his full lips. “Seems like something a five-star chef might think,” she responded, and instantly regretted it. So far he had been nothing but civil to her, which she was admittedly not been prepared for, so of course she had to open her mouth and muck it up.

“That’s to be expected, I suppose,” Ren said, pulling his plate toward him. “And it might be true if Heather didn’t make the best croissants in the City.”

For for first time since he arrived at her table Rey noticed the fat, golden brown croissant sitting on his plate, accompanied by a small ramekin of whipped butter. Rey watched, entranced, as he tore off one end of the croissant with his long fingers, exposing fluffy layers of pastry still steaming from the oven. Ren smeared a pat of butter over it, then, to her astonishment, proffered it to her. “My first piece of advice: keep all your favorite places to yourself. Otherwise the self-proclaimed foodies -” he said the word as though it was an insult - “will overrun it and you’ll never get close again.”

Rey plucked the piece of croissant out of his fingers and popped it into her mouth. The pastry immediately melted over her tongue, its texture delicate but unbelievably butter-rich, its interior almost creamy. Rey’s eyes involuntarily rolled back, a reaction that felt downright vulgar with Ren watching her. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, hoping to hide the way she could feel her face flushing under his gaze.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d agree to meet at all,” she said, hoping to divert his attention. “Your first email made everything sound pretty final.”

“Anything can be adjusted until the moment a plate leaves the kitchen,” Ren replied, applying more butter to his pastry.

Rey smirked. “Are you going to talk only in food metaphors this whole time?”

“Call it a side effect of my childhood. Food columnist and critic for a mother, traveling TV personality for a father, eccentric yet revolutionary chef for an uncle. My mother always said I may as well have been born with a chef’s knife in my hand.”

Rey winced. “Good thing you weren’t. Your poor mother.”

So Kylo Ren wasn’t just a talented chef: he was a goddamn child prodigy. Rey itched to ask him more about his family, but his eyes suddenly hardened, like ice forming over dark pools of water. Even though he was the one who brought them up, Rey decided it was best to let the subject drop. That was not why they were here, anyway.

“Just so we’re clear, me being here does not mean I’m agreeing to your offer.” Rey kept her tone neutral, maintaining a fine line between holding her ground while not sounding overly assertive.

“And just because I said I’d hear your conditions doesn’t mean that I will agree to them,” Ren said cooly.

“Okay, then.” Rey took a deep breath. “First and foremost, I want this to be completely off the books. Especially from Snoke.”

“Like I said before, Snoke only noticed those worthy of his attention.”

“But I got your attention, didn’t I? You said yourself that you’ve refused to tutor chefs with James Beard credentials. Your restaurant is located at the epicenter of Snoke’s business empire. So if you noticed me, he’ll notice, and I’m telling you now: I don’t want to be noticed, by Snoke or anyone else.”

“That’s not unreasonable.” Ren’s tone implied he had expected that particular request.

“Second: my job at BB8 comes first. I’m typically off Mondays and Tuesdays, so whatever you have in mind is going to have to revolve around that. So if you suddenly get a wild hair and decide that I need to learn how to make a duck liver terrine or some other fancy French dish on a Friday night I won’t even dignify you with a response. The same goes for Finn and Poe. They’re my best friends, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Again, that’s to be expected,” Ren said, taking a bite if his croissant (Rey had to remind herself not to stare). “But now I get to present an ultimatum of my own.”

Rey blinked, her heart doing a weird little skip behind her ribs, her anxiety spiking in her chest before she reminded herself that she was still not obligated to agree to any of this. It actually disappointed her a little that this might be the deal breaker, especially how unexpectedly well their meeting was going so far. “Okay. I mean, that’s only fair.”

“The lessons are to take place at my penthouse.”

If Rey’s heart skipped before, now it tripped and landed flat on its face. “What?”

“It’s the only logical location.” Ren said, thankfully not reacting to the way the color must have drained from her face. “I could swear my staff to secrecy in order to use Vader’s kitchen, but I’m not keen on the prospect of wasting my time while you’re constantly looking over your shoulder. Asking another chef to use their kitchen is out of the question, and I’m sure you don’t want anyone in your building curious about me making regular visits to your apartment.”

Rey blanched. Never mind the neighbors, what would it look like to Finn, coming home one day to find Kylo Ren standing in his kitchen? The thought alone was enough to make her feel sick. She racked her brains for reasons to refuse, for her instincts to scream what a bad idea this was at her, but surprisingly she came up with nothing. She had more than enough self-defense knowledge and street smarts to look out for herself, so unless Ren turned out to be a real life Hannibal Lecter she shouldn’t have to a reason to worry. But to be alone with Kylo Ren in his home… The thought gave her a thrill of nervous anticipation without an accompanying feeling of dread. Considering that it was trusting her instincts that got her this far in life, it would be dumb to ignore them now.

“Okay. Your place it is.”

“That’s all I had to add. Do you have anything else?”

Again, Rey took a moment to go over her mental checklist to make sure all her bases were covered. Other than the unforeseen arrangement of the lessons’ location, everything worked out in her favor, which was certainly not the outcome she was expecting today. There was, however, one final detail she needed to address before they reached an accord. Although Ren had been civil during their meeting, she had not forgotten the condescending tone that laced that first email and ultimately spurred her into action. Even now the memory of it gave her a surge of boldness.

“Just one last thing. Don’t ever underestimate me.”

Kylo Ren smirked, the expression sending an electric tingle down her spine. “I wouldn’t dare even for a moment, Miss Jakken.”

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo chef au #allez cuisine!

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