#with every single kitchen appliance dying on us this past year (some more than once)

[spacecrows]

maybe being in your late 20s is really all about thinking 'hm does the kitchen smell like gas lately? i should probably call someone about that' every day for a month and not having the spoons to actually do anything about it so you're just hoping for the best really

[anactualcaseofthetruth]

Friends Can Break Your Heart Too > Chapter 3 Archive Of Our Own Link

Catch Up:  Chapter 2 Chapter 1

Summary:  Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that starts to make sense.

Chapter 3:

“Pizza!” Letty calls out as she enters the house just a few steps ahead of Mia.

Immediately, all construction noises cease, the small hand tools are dropped, and they are closing in.

“Fucking finally,” Coco says as he takes the pizzas from his daughter. “I was starting to feel like we’re working in a real fucking sweatshop, like no food or breaks until you’re done, you know?”

“Dude, you take a smoke break every fucking five minutes, calm down,” Angel instructs while freeing Mia’s own hands of the small pizza and box of Styrofoam on top without a word.

“Hey! These are for me and Letty, you each got your own pizza,” Mia complains with hands out.

“What, I’m not allowed to help? Be nice?” he questions and holds the food above his head so she can’t reach.

“Fine. Thank you, now give it back!” she whines and follows him to the kitchen to join the others, jumping for it the whole way.

“No, I don’t like your attitude.”

“Angel! C’mon, I’m hungry!” Mia exclaims with hands on her hips and a frown on her face

“Apologize first,” he says, and their audience laughs.

“I’m going to slap you,” she counters grumpily.

He looks her up and down, noting her ripped jeans and a tight, white tee matched with a black jacket and black and white sneakers on her feet. “Can you even reach without heels on?”

Mia’s eyes turn to slits before tapping him in the balls. It’s not so hard to hurt him, but enough to put him into defensive mode and lower the food. “Now, was that so hard?” she asks sweetly while handing the Styrofoam off to Letty.

“You better watch your back, Flores,” he warns, ignoring the snickers around them, and reaches for his pizza.

“Oh, but you’re so much better at it than I am,” Mia teases in return.

Angel nods as he swallows. “Can’t argue that. Hey, prospect, beer?” he asks of his brother a moment later.

EZ turns from his own pizza and takes enough out of the fridge for all of them besides Letty. She gets a bottle of Coke instead.

“Wait, you guys have beer here? While you’re working? I’m doing to die in a house fire, aren’t I?” Mia sighs while looking down at her white spinach pizza.

“Nah, there was nothing wrong with the wiring, so we haven’t had to mess with it. You’re safe from house fires,” EZ assures her.

Coco, on the other hand, makes an unsure noise and shrugs. "That’s not saying the crackheads who lived here before didn’t fuck with it. So, if you do die, it wouldn’t be on our consciences."

“That is what I was worried about, how you all would feel if something happened, not about actually dying,” Mia tells him in monotone.

“Good looking out, no worries, we’d be alright,” Coco insists, and the group laughs some more.

Upon further inspection to Bishop’s rental, her godfather decided a small remodel was in order before she could move in. “Nothing huge,” he promised her, “just some paint and maybe new carpet.” Well that was a month ago, and she has yet to move in.

What he meant by ‘nothing huge’ is repainting every single room, new molding, replacing over half the light fixtures, a few new windows, and a completely redone bathroom upstairs.  Then, after finding hardwood in good condition under said carpet he decided he wanted certain rooms without carpet at all which meant pulling up good carpet that wouldn’t have even needed replaced. The kitchen, luckily, was the best-looking room in the house when they started, having been redone before the last tenants moved in, so all he insisted on was a fresh coat of paint, a few new appliances, a couple tiles replaced, and a good cleaning.

Mia’s been told the upstairs is ‘almost done’ and they are finishing up the living room now.

She has also noticed new pieces of furniture showing up when she isn’t around. Which, that isn’t hard to do since she only stops by once or twice a day to feed the guys and ‘make sure they are doing their fucking work’ at Bishop’s request. A new queen-sized bed appeared two weeks ago, a dining set a few days later, and after commenting on how comfy his couch is one similar has taken residence in the garage, not that she is supposed to know about it.

Mia's done her best to not argue with Bishop about all of it. She knows he means well, however, when she looks around all she sees is her godfather silently pleading with her to stay, possibly forever, but when asked about long-term plans she avoids giving any real answer.

It’s not dependent on her, not really, it depends on whether her past catches up with her.

“So how much longer until you guys are finally done with this place?” Letty asks as she eats her chicken fingers. “I can’t wait to have a sleepover.”

Mia smiles at the younger girl and pushes all thoughts of her ex away. Over the past month the two of them have formed a close bond. She sees a piece of herself in Leticia—being one of the few Mayan daughters, having mothers who barely cared, and men who aren’t quite their fathers as their sole parent. Coco is actually Letty’s dad, but she didn’t know that until a couple months ago, so it’s still ‘completely weird’ according to her.

She hopes to be the female figure she needed when she was stupid teenager for Letty. Growing up around these guys isn’t easy. It’s certainly never dull, but Mia remembers how kids at school used to look at her, with that mixture of fear and pity, of jealousy and hate. She remembers what boys thought of her, that because of how women are around the MC that she would be both easy to sleep with and manipulate.

That last part wasn’t entirely wrong, but she wants it to be different for Letty.

“Well, Prez is supposed to have a walk-through in a day or two. If he doesn’t see anything else wrong with it, hopefully next week,” Gilly says when no one speaks up.

Mia likes Gilly, she likes all the guys, but these four are a package deal. Angel is the ringleader, EZ his sounding board, Coco the one who challenges him when necessary, and Gilly is the silent partner. He only really speaks when spoken to, but is always listening, and is very much a protector.

“You guys said that last week,” Letty reminds them.

“Girl, you know we had the Vegas run and it set us back. Stop pushing,” Coco warns her. “It ain’t even your house.”

“No, but we’re going to have a sleepover the weekend she moves in,” Letty tells him like its common knowledge. And honestly, she’s been talking about it so much it practically is.

“Really?" Angel questions with a playful look towards Mia, never one to pass up an opportunity to give her shit, or flirt with her. Sometimes both happen in the same sentence. "Anyone else invited to this sleepover?”

As always, she decides to play along. “Why? You need a facial? We can buy extra masks.”

“It’d be nice to be thought of, that’s all,” he insists. “Besides, it’s not me that needs the facial. EZ’s skin is shit compared to mine.”

“Hey,” his little brother speaks up and it sounds so pitiful Mia can’t help but laugh.

“Shoulda seen his face in junior high. Pimple fuckin’ city,” Angel goes on. “Our mom had to buy him special cream and everything.”

“Can we stop? Like, that’s the point of this?” EZ asks as he turns just a little red.

“The point is mine was clear and yours wasn’t,” Angel responds.

“And when we were kids you were fat and I wasn’t,” EZ says with arms crossed. “So, shut up.”

Everyone laughs as they eat, but Mia is practically jumping up and down with joy. “Oh, my God, please tell me you have pictures. I want to see pictures of little chunky Angel,” she pleads.

“Stop, it wasn’t that I was fat exactly,” Angel tries to stop her giggles. “I wasn’t! I was a little late to puberty, alright?”

“Dude, you were definitely chunky,” EZ states. “Accept it.”

“No, I just didn’t grow for, like, a year, that’s all,” Angel argues. “You, quit laughing,” he demands while staring Mia down. “I’m serious, I was pretty much the same height for a year. Ezekiel was almost as fuckin’ tall as me, and he’s two years younger than me. Then, I shot up, like, six fuckin’ inches.”

“And you lost all your baby fat?” Mia asks, still snickering.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did, and now look, all muscle, baby,” Angel says and lifts his shirt to show the abs that he knows she’s fond of. And, sadly, she’s not allowed to touch them because no one knows they are sleeping together.

“Damn,” they all hear Letty mumble and Mia can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up her throat. She would have said the same thing if she hadn’t seen them before.

“Alright, put that shit away, I got a kid here,” Coco urges and throws a napkin at Angel’s chest.

“What, this shit?” EZ asks while lifting his shirt too.

“Hold on, I gotta get a picture of this,” Letty says, her phone already in her hands.

Coco smacks it away. “Stop, they are like your uncles.”

“No, they definitely aren’t,” she counters, making the brothers laugh while dropping their shirts.

Mia gives Letty a pointed look that the girl ignores. She knows all about the younger girl’s crush on EZ, and she also knows how completely unattainable and stupid it is. Letty will grow out of it eventually, probably when she gets a crush her own age. At least, her next crush better be someone her own age.

“You’re real funny. You get that shit you needed for school?” Coco questions as he stands having eaten his whole pizza save three slices. Letty nods with her mouth full. “Good, we should get going. You got school in the morning and I got my own shit to do.”

“Yeah, what’s her name?” Angel asks innocently while picking up another slice.

“Ew,” Letty mutters as the others laugh. “Let’s go before this conversation continues. Is your car unlocked, Mia? The stuff for my project is still in it.”

“Yeah, it’s open, help yourself.”

“I’m going to head out too. I told Pop I’d stop by before he went to sleep,” EZ mentions.

“Let me know if there’s anything good on the history channel,” Angel jokes.

“Don’t worry, I know how you feel about a good Vietnam documentary,” EZ assures him and the brothers share a laugh.

Everyone starts getting up and throwing away their paper plates and saying their goodbyes. For now, anyways, since most of them will meet up back at the clubhouse before the night is over.

Mia’s just finishing up putting all the leftover pizza slices into one box for the boys to fight over tomorrow before she brings over their lunch when Angel comes back into the kitchen.

“I locked your car,” he says, and she jumps about a foot in the air. “I know it’s a piece, but you still shouldn’t leave it unlocked like that.”

She turns with a hand over her heart. “Don’t do that, I thought you were leaving,” she scolds him.

“When did I say that?” he questions with a crinkle to his eyebrows.

Mia rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe when everyone said they were leaving, and you walked out with them?”

“I never said I was leaving. Besides,” he starts while approaching her and sets his hands on her hips, “I can’t say goodbye before I get a proper hello.”

“Oh, a proper hello?” Mia asks as his head dips in closer to hers. “What would that entail, exactly?”

“This,” he says and lifts her onto the island, their lips already connected and tongues threatening to meet.

His beard brushes against her chin and she reaches up to lightly scratch at it. “Mm, scruffy,” she murmurs, having admitted her liking his beard to him before. He does, in fact, use a special beard shampoo and pomade in it.

He smiles at her and lifts his chin so she can have better access. “I swear, if I was a dog this shit would make me do that kicking leg thing,” he mutters with his eyes closed.

“Hm, you’re cute,” she tells him as his chin practically sits in her hands, his face the picture of peace.

She’s not ashamed to admit that Angel quickly has become her best friend, not only in Santo Padre, but in general. Of course, she’s never been one to have many friends. Growing up other kids were weary of her, of Bishop rolling up in a Harley to pick her up from school, and their parents only saw the kutte on his back.

When it came to the club, there weren’t many other Mayan kids. Most of them, like Coco with his other two that aren’t Letty, pay for them but aren’t really involved in raising them. Sometimes, when it was a son, they’d come back around during their teen years, want to be like their biker dad, and prospect once they hit eighteen.

Her best friend was Marcus Alverez’s son Esai, but she hasn’t spoken to him since she left Oakland when her and Bishop had their big blowout. Cutting the club out of her life included Esai, and no matter how much he tried to claw his way back in she didn’t let him. That’s a bridge she hasn’t repaired yet.

“You look tired, osito,” she whispers and his eyes pop open.

Angel smiles lazily. “Is that what I am to you, huh? A teddy bear?”

“My teddy bear,” she corrects.

“Let’s keep that between us, huh?” he murmurs when his eyes slide closed again as she continues to scratch at his chin. “Wouldn’t want the guys to know how sweet I am on ya.”

Mia holds back a laugh. “As far as they're concerned the only thing you’re sweet on is my ass.”

“Ain’t no hiding that, querida,” he agrees. After a few minutes Angel’s eyes open and his face breaks out into a smile. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it shiny or is it chocolate?” she immediately asks, making him laugh and lift his chin from her hands.

“Neither it’s upstairs,” he replies and turns around to signal for her to jump onto his back, and she does, happily.

Mia tightens her hold around his shoulders. “Ooh, a sex swing? I’m in, but Bishop might be pissed."

Angel's laugh in return is loud and boisterous. “Nah, not that, but I can always add one later if you want,” he says and begins making his way up the steps. “Remember last week when Bishop told you to think about colors for the house? And you weren’t sure about what you wanted to paint your bedroom?”

“Uh, yes,” Mia confirms as they reach the top. “But Bishop said I had time to choose, that painting was the last thing you guys were going to do and I had colors for all the other rooms so you guys could get started.”

“It is, but” Angel stops at the master bedroom and lets her slide down his back until her feet touch the ground. “I got an idea. If you hate it, I can fix it, make it whatever you want, I just,” he sighs, his nerves obvious.

“Hey,” Mia says and grabs his hands so both of them are intertwined, “I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is, just because you did it,” she assures him. “Unless it’s just plain white, then that’s kinda lame and I’ll probably laugh.”

Angel chuckles and shakes his head at her. “It’s not white, promise.” He opens the door hesitantly with an unsteady breath. “Just… don’t lie if you don’t like it, okay?”

“Promise,” she echoes back to him and he flicks the lights on before ushering her inside.

Mia finds the room painted a pink-orange shade, the kind in a sunset, but it’s the ceiling that makes her gasp. It’s blue, dark blue, with slashes of different shades throughout to resemble the night sky, along with some yellow and gold. It’s very Van Gogh, but of course not Van Gogh.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers with hands over her mouth.

“And, uh, there’s this too,” Angel tells her before slapping the lights off and the ceiling lights up. There are glow in the dark stars on it. Not enough to be childish or make the room bright, but just enough to look like stars faraway in the sky.

“Angel,” Mia sniffs.

“I remembered how much you liked looking at the stars when you first moved here,” he explains. “And I woke up last week to some stupid infomercial on the TV in the middle of the night. They were selling some Starry Night knockoffs and the idea came to me. I hope you don’t mind or, I don’t know, if you don’t like it I can—”

“Stop,” she insists with a hand on his chest as she looks up. “It’s… it’s—I don’t even know what to say, Angel.”

“You like it?” he asks, and his voice is so soft, so vulnerable Mia’s heart tightens.

For a moment all she can do is nod. “I love it,” she finally manages and blinks to stop the tears from forming. “I’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me like this except Bishop, at least, not unless it was some sort of apology from a boyfriend at the time.” The lights come back on and Mia turns to face him, but Angel is looking anywhere but her. “Did you do this yourself?”

He nods and looks up at the artwork, still avoiding eye contact. “Yeah.”

“How did you—I mean, how?” she asks with a knot in her throat.

“I used to paint when I was a kid, and into high school. I, uh, stopped when my mom died,” he confesses with his eyes now on his hands as he plays with his rings. “I was rusty as fuck, but I don’t know, I think it turned out pretty good.”

“Hey,” Mia urges and lifts his chin until their eyes meet. “I love it.”

Angel nods and licks his bottom lip. “Really?”

“I absolutely adore it,” she promises, her voice low and gets on her tip toes while wrapping an arm around his neck to pull until their foreheads are touching. “And the fact that you did it yourself? That makes it so much better. You’re very talented, mi osito.”

“Again, with the teddy bear? You’re gonna fuck up my rep, querida,” he teases.

“Well, the rep you have with me is being almost too good in bed and possibly the sweetest man I know, so,” she stops with a shrug and starts backing him up until he hits the bed half-covered in plastic.

Angel falls on the bed with a laugh and shoves at the plastic covering until it hits the floor. “Almost too good? Damn, gotta step up my game then.”

Mia moves to straddle him. “Please don’t,” she replies with her hands on his chest. “I would end up ugly crying, like, all the time.”

“Ugly crying, huh?” he asks and removes her hands from underneath his shirt where she had been trying to push it up. “Now I know what the goal is.”

“I am serious, Angel Reyes, do not,” she warns and starts fighting for control of her hands so she can continue to undress him. “Let me go! I want to make it up to you,” she insists as they begin to wrestle.

Angel rolls them over and pins her hands above her bed. She tries extremely hard not to get turned on, but fails miserably. “I don’t want you to make it up to me,” he tells her once she stops struggling. “I did this out of the goodness of my heart and making it up to me implies that I did it for something in return.”

Warmth spreads from Mia’s chest down to her toes. “Okay, then, can we fuck just because I’m horny then? It has nothing to do with me being incredibly grateful for what you’ve done.”

“You sure?” he questions and tightens his hold when she begins to resist again.

“Nothing at all,” she confirms as she squirms. “I just realized why you’re so good with your hands and I want to feel them all over me.”

“Alright then,” Angel lets go and sits back on his haunches. “Strip, everything off.”

“You’re sitting on me,” Mia reminds him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll help with the bottom stuff, but I think you can handle the top,” he tells her while pulling his own shirt off. “Hurry up, I wanna see if I can get you to do that ugly crying thing.”

Mia glares at him once the top is over her head. “Do not. This mascara is not waterproof.”

“Not my problem. I’m always prepared,” he replies while flashing a condom in front of her face, “it’s time you start to be too.”

She rolls her eyes while undoing her bra. “I can’t believe you’re about to get laid after saying that.”

Angel grins and starts to take off her pants. “I’ve gotten laid after saying tons of dumb shit. It’s the pretty face that gets the panties to drop,” he says before sliding her cheeky lace underwear down. “What my mouth can do helps though. So, get up, you’re gonna sit on my face.”

“Geez, bossy,” she mumbles but readily slips out from underneath him and onto her knees.

“You’re into it,” he murmurs before pressing his lips against hers as his hands slide down her bare sides.

“Only when your mouth or dick are involved,” Mia says, breathless, when they pull away.

Angel grins as his hand slides between her legs. “We’ll see about that.”

About an hour later, Mia makes her way downstairs looking for Angel. Guys have it so much easier, she thinks. All they gotta do after sex is get dressed. Being the handsy motherfucker her boy is, Mia looks like she’s been through a tornado after they’re done, and needs put together, not to mention a moment to pee. He just throws away the condom and zips up before sauntering off.

“Angel?” she calls after not seeing him in the living room or upon entering the kitchen.

“Outside!” she hears and notices the back door slightly ajar.

Mia finds him outside on a lawn chair, the kind people lay out on next to a pool, apparently something else she has inherited from Bishop’s previous tenants. Angel is holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. “Room for me?”

Angel tilts his head back to look at her before parting his legs. “Always for you.” She lifts a leg of her own and swings it around to straddle his hips. “Beer?”

She nods and takes a sip before handing it back. “So,” she starts and stares at him expectantly.

“Sooo?” he echoes while taking a swig.

“So, you paint?”

Suddenly, the beer becomes interesting, as it’s all he can look at now. “I did.”

“Osito, you just pulled a Michelangelo on my bedroom ceiling. You paint, present tense,” Mia insists.

“I… relapsed,” he attempts to joke, but Mia shakes her head and lifts his chin.

“You know you can talk to me, right? We don’t just have sex, at least, that’s not all this is for me,” she admits with a tint of pink in her cheeks. “You’re like my best friend and I don’t say that easily. I’m not really one for friends.”

“I don’t believe that shit for a second,” Angel immediately disagrees with one last puff of his cigarette before flicking the cherry off the tip and turning his head so the gray smoke doesn’t hit her face. “But, if you gotta know, and I know you won’t shut the fuck up until I tell you,” he goes on and she grins in triumph, “my mom liked to paint. It was her thing. It was mainly religious shit, you know,” he says with a shrug, “but she was really good. She even has a piece hanging in the church we went to growing up.” He stops to smile, and Mia can’t help but mirror it, the genuine happiness coming from him infectious. “I remember when it first got displayed, my dad told everyone his wife painted it. I swear, he worked it into every single fucking conversation somehow.”

“And she passed it on to you?”

Angel puts the beer bottle down and wraps his arms around her waist, his hands resting on her ass. “Not really, I mean, not intentionally, I guess. I was an angry kid, it started in junior high, back when I was a chubby fuck. I punched a few holes in the walls, and every time they made me fix it, but that just made me angrier,” he says and looks passed her head. “I don’t know, I guess it pissed me off that they made me patch them up without really asking what was wrong? My mom tried, but—” he stops and shakes his head, “she wasn’t the one I wanted to open up to.”

“You wanted your dad,” Mia states and Angel nods, his eyes meeting hers again.

“One day I got sent home from school for fighting and my mom had to come get me. Pop wouldn’t leave the shop, said it wouldn’t matter if he did, that I wouldn’t listen to him anyway,” he continued, “maybe he was right, I don’t know.”

Mia slips her hands under his shirt, her fingers drawing endless loops and shapes on his bare skin. “What was the fight about, do you remember?”

Angel nods slowly. “They used to call EZ Kodak because of his memory. Some asshole cornered him in the bathroom, had a friend hold him down while he pushed some sleazy magazine in his face and told him to remember it because it would be the only naked girl he ever saw or some shit. I was chubby, but EZ was as thin as a fucking rail. That kid’s metabolism is no joke,” he comments with a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s reliving the memory. “I found out and took the fucker down. I remember being pulled off him and looking at EZ, he was so embarrassed. Before they took me away, he asked me not to tell, so I didn’t. I didn’t tell what the kid did to him, and the little dick didn’t fess up to what he did either, so all they knew was that I held him down and kicked his ass.”

“That… sucks. It definitely made you look bad,” Mia points out with a stink face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m his big brother, I do what I gotta do,” Angel says easily, and she knows without a second thought he would do it again. “I expected to come home and go straight to my room or have a list of shit to do around the house. Instead, Mom brought me outside to the patio. There was this big, white canvas and a bunch of paint. She told me to paint my feelings. I thought it was stupid as fuck.”

Mia smiles, picturing little Angel looking at his mom with his ‘the fuck is this?’ expression and it’s definitely a funny image. “But you started painting?”

“I did it to just get it over with so I could go to my room, but I don’t know, it helped me get aggression out,” he admits. “My mom did religious realism, but I was super into abstract. I was throwing fucking paint around so fast my chubby ass worked up a sweat,” he chuckles at the memory. “It didn’t turn into anything, just a big shit colored blur, but it was better than punching a hole in the wall I had to fix the next day. Every time I got angry my mom had a canvas for me. I learned, I developed my own style, and I started taking classes at school. Sometimes I even watched my mom, asked her questions, and helped her a little bit. It became our thing.”

“That’s sweet,” Mia comments, her fingers now scratching at his happy trail as they often do.

Angel’s lips slowly stretch into a wistful smile. “I got real into charcoal for a while. Fuck, everything was covered in it. EZ hated it since we shared a room. My mom was annoyed because of the laundry, but she never said anything. Eventually, I settled on acrylic as my main medium. I would have so many fucking layers that it would take so fucking long to dry. I kept stealing her hair dryer to make it dry faster. She got so annoyed she bought me my own.”

“What did you do with all your work? I would like to see them, but I don’t think there is anything hanging at your place, or the clubhouse, or—”

“When she died, I quit,” Angel cuts her off. “It was our thing, and without her…” he trails off with a shake of his head, “I didn’t want to do it anymore, or be reminded of it. I stashed all my shit in the basement, it’s still there unless Pop tossed it.”

“What about her stuff?”

“It’s at the house, Pop still has a few displayed, has all her supplies exactly where she left them. I swear he turned parts of the house into a shrine. I could barely go in there right after she died and—” he falters, his voice deep and his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Um, I kept what she made for me in my old bedroom. I couldn’t look at it every day, I still can’t,” he admits. “I don’t know how Pop does it.”

Mia’s hands move to rest on his chest, rubbing softly to comfort him. “It’s okay that it still hurts, osito,” she assures him, and he drops his head while nodding. “The more you bury it, the more it hurts when it come out,” she whispers and kisses his head, her hands framing his face now.

“I didn’t—” Angel stammers and coughs to clear the knot in his throat. “EZ and I weren’t as close when we were teenagers, we had different shit going on in our lives, but I always had my ma. Sometimes I told her shit she didn’t even wanna hear, you know,” he chokes out and keeps shaking his head, but Mia keeps her hands firm. “We were closer than they know. Pop and EZ had each other, they talked all the time, but she was the person I talked to. With her gone…”

“I know,” she murmurs and kisses his forehead, his temple, anything she can while he refuses to look at her. “I’m here, mi angelito, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” she promises over and over, her voice soft and hopefully soothing to him. She knows he’s settled a bit when he takes one of her hands in his and opens it to kiss the palm, a silent thank you she accepts. “Did your dad or EZ ever mention anything about it? About you not painting anymore?”

Angel shrugs nonchalantly and picks his head up. His eyes are glassy, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she simply kisses each one chastely to let him know it’s okay. “EZ mentioned it a few times, but I told him to shut the fuck up and he did. I told him to shut the fuck up a lot when she died. He learned to stop pushing and I stopped giving a fuck about pretty much everything.”

“Is that why he went after the person who killed her, and you didn’t?” Mia asks, and instantly regrets it, but Angel doesn’t move or retreat into himself, even if he does tense up considerably.

His hands find her ass again, a way of comforting himself, she thinks. “EZ kept wanting it to be more than a robbery, more than just a senseless murder. It was like he couldn’t see anyone wanting to do wrong by her because she was like a saint.”

“But you could?”

Angel looks her in the eye now. “There’s a lot of evil people in the world. Our mother wasn’t spared because she was a good person. Good people get the shit end of the stick all the time. Ezekiel is the smartest person I know, but he couldn’t wrap his head around that. It ate at him. Sometimes I think if I didn’t push him away I could have helped him, stopped him, something. But I was too busy doing anything I could to not think about it, about her, what happened, that my little brother had to be the one to find her, that my father got his heart broken, and how fucking lonely I was with her gone.”

“Hey, everyone deals with shit in their own way,” Mia assures him. “EZ wanted to fix it, bring her killer to justice. You tried to ignore it because you couldn’t deal with the pain. What happened isn’t your fault, it’s not your brother’s either. And EZ doing what he did… he’s too headstrong to have let it go. It probably still would have gone down, but instead of your dad losing one son to the prison system, he would have lost two.”

Angel chuckles and licks his lips. “He lost me a long time ago. Ever since EZ was a toddler I lived in his shadow. He was the golden boy, the sports star, he was supposed to get out of here, be someone important. There were no aspirations for me, no dream to follow, it was all on EZ. He and Pop were always close, always reading shit, having these meaningful conversations that would stop as soon as I walked into the room. When EZ got locked up it was like Pop had nothing left because not only was his wife gone, but his best friend was too.”

“Angel—”

“It was the loneliest fucking year of my life until the club came to town,” he cuts her off, his hands pulling her closer. “I started to prospect as soon as possible. It’s a family, and I hadn’t had one since my mom died, and fuck, I needed something, anything, to hold on to. It wasn’t what my mom would have wanted, but I had to stop pretending things were gonna be different between me and Pop. I’m never gonna be like EZ and he never tried to understand me, even after EZ went away. Every Sunday I went to the house for dinner and we barely said five words to each other that weren’t about sports. Every holiday was a letdown. I’d stop at the shop a few times a week to check in, just to make sure he was okay. He’d give me meat and send me away.”

“What about now that EZ’s home?”

He sighs. “It’s better, I guess. He has his buddy back. Sunday dinners are more lively. He accepts the club a bit more now that EZ’s a prospect, but it’s still the same with me and him.”

“But now you have your brother back,” Mia insists, her voice hopeful.

At that, Angel smiles, and it’s real. “I do. I forgot how much I missed him, how much I love him. The MC kept me busy, but having him back, and prospecting? Sometimes I feel like we’ve never been closer.”

“At least you have that. Only child over here, remember?” she reminds him. “Bishop’s done so much for me that I can never thank him enough, but having a sibling is different. I would be in a room full of people and still feel completely alone. There’s just stuff you can’t tell your dad.”

“I asked Bishop what happened to your dad, to Valentino,” Angel confesses, and Mia’s eyebrows raise. “All he said was that he was shot.”

Mia looks down at their laps and nods. “He was. Eleven times.”

“Damn.”

She peers back up and shrugs. “The risk comes with the life, and my dad wanted to be part of the Mayans ever since Tio started it, Bishop too.”

“Wait, you call Marcus Alvarez Tio?” Angel asks, his face almost comical.

Mia can’t help but smile, even with their topic of conversation being what it is. “Yeah, I know you guys all see him as your beloved Padrino, but to me, he’s the guy who did something completely over the top at every single birthday of mine until I was, like, sixteen,” she explains, her lips still curved upwards. “I mean, when I was eight, he brought a pony to my party. A fucking pony. When I turned eleven, he got me a trampoline and put it at the clubhouse. It was broken before I turned twelve, but it was fun while it lasted.”

“Well, now I know what to ask him for my birthday,” Angel comments and she barks out a laugh. “Your pop was from Oakland?”

“Yep, born and raised. He and Bop grew up together, and what Bishop wanted my dad wanted too. They had similar backgrounds—immigrant parents, hard home lives, just not an easy upbringing. They came up together and quickly became part of Tio’s inner circle once they were patched in.”

“What happened?”

Mia moves her hands his chest and starts wringing them together. “There was some new MC trying to make a name for themselves,” she starts, and Angel’s hands make their way to hers, linking them together. “I guess they figured what better way to do that than to take out the president of the mother chapter of the Mayans?”

“Dumb fucks,” Angel swears with a shake of his head. “That shit doesn’t make you legit, it starts fucking wars.”

“Yeah,” Mia murmurs. “They were in Oakland doing business and my dad saw the windows go down. He pushed Tio to the ground and pulled out his gun. He took most of the hit. Bishop took one in the arm himself. My dad was dead within a few minutes, before the police even got there, or so I’m told.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel says quietly. “You were five, right?”

She nods. “Bishop insisted on being the one to tell me and my mom. I remember her screaming and falling to the ground, then Bishop coming over to me,” she recalls, blinking to keep her eyes clear. “He told me, and I refused to believe him. I started hitting him actually, and he had just gotten shot so even though I was five it had to of fucking hurt. Eventually he just bear hugged me until I started crying.”

“And then he stepped up for your dad.”

Mia nods. “After the funeral, I wouldn’t let Bishop leave my sight. I would throw the biggest tantrum if he left. And my tantrums weren’t just screaming and crying like other kids. I went fucking postal. I threw shit, broke whatever was in my way. I would get so worked up I made myself sick. Tio gave Bop some time off from club stuff to help me and my mom, to spend time with me so I wouldn’t turn into the Tasmanian Devil every time he left the room.”

“You know, I’ve heard you talk about Bishop raising you, what you remember about your dad, but this is the most I’ve heard about your mom,” Angel mentions. “There a reason for that?”

“There isn’t much to know about her. Personally, I think it should take more than giving birth to make you a mother, because she gave birth to me, but that’s all she ever did. She’s no mother,” Mia states.

“It was like that even before your dad died?”

“She was there? I don’t know, I mean, Bishop says she was involved, but I have no memories of it. Maybe I held onto what I remember of my dad because I knew I wouldn’t be able to make more memories. But after he died, she just spiraled. Started drinking a lot, when that stopped doing the trick she turned to pills, and then graduated to heroin by the time I was ten.”

“She never got with anyone else?” he questions, his fingers playing with hers.

“Oh, she got with plenty,” Mia assures him. “Whatever she had to do to get her fix, she did.”

“I meant, not another Mayan?” he corrects.

Mia makes a face. “The thing about my mom is, well, she’s a user. She liked being with someone in the club, the respect you got from the girls who weren’t, the looks on the street when someone knew you were an old lady. My parents don’t have this big romantic love story like yours,” she goes on. “My mom was going back and forth between my dad and Bishop before she got pregnant. She would fight with my dad then get with Bishop, when that went south she’d go back to my dad. When she got pregnant she actually didn’t know who the father was.”

“Oh.”

Mia smiles a little. “Bop used to joke that I was one of the luckiest girls in the world because most guys bail in that situation, but they fought over me. They both wanted me, and they both wanted her too. Eventually, they got a test and Valentino Flores was crowned lucky winner of the sperm race. They got married when she was six months pregnant.”

“Bish didn’t want her after?”

“He did, actually,” she answers. “But the heroin got in the way. It turns out that is my mom’s one true love, not my dad, not Bishop, and certainly not me. Bishop refused to make her his old lady until she got clean and was able to take care of me. And, with her and Bop’s history, not to mention my dad’s, no other Mayan would get with her out of respect. It kinda pissed her off because she liked being a kept woman, you know.”

“She’s still not clean now, I’m gathering,” Angel pieces together.

“Nah. She never is. The longest she’s made it is six months. Every couple years or so she comes around wanting to be with Bishop, wanting to get clean, wanting to be together ‘as a family’. He falls for it every time, but I know better. I hate it because he get his hopes up, wastes so much money putting her through rehab, getting her everything she wants when she says she’s clean, then a few weeks later she’s gone and takes everything she can with her. His cash, whatever valuables she could get her hands on. She even sold one of his guns once, one of the .45s that had the Mayan insignia on it and shit.”

“Damn,” Angel swears. “Pop and I were never close, but he was still there. I knew no matter what happened he’d bail me out of whatever jam I got myself into, that I’d always have somewhere to go, a warm meal to eat,” he goes on with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t imagine not being close with my ma. That sucks, I’m sorry.”

Mia shrugs and leans against his chest, her arms snuggled between them. “My mom needs to be the center of attention, something she stopped being when I was born. The only thing she loves as much as heroin, is herself. I was never more than dollar signs to her, the Mayans supported her because of me, and she knew it,” she exhales, content as his large, warm hands rub up and down her back. “I’ve never known different. It was Bishop who made sure I stayed in school, got me into dance classes when I wanted them, signed me up for kickboxing because he wanted me to be able to protect myself. He’s the reason I’m alive,” she admits. “Well, him and Esai.”

“Esai Alvarez Esai?” Angel asks, pulling away enough to look her in the eye.

Mia nods with a ghost of a smile on her face. “Yeah, we were raised together. I think they wanted us to be like brother and sister. I mean, we have pictures of us in the bath when we were little, but that’s not the way it went.”

“You and Esai Alvarez?” he questions, his expression dumbfounded.

“Do you know another one?” she wonders in a giggle.

“No, I just—he, I mean, he’s fucking married to the club. He’s gonna be king, you know,” he comments and pulls her back against his chest. “I’ve never seen him with the same girl for more than a couple hours.”

“That was one of our problems. I couldn’t,” she stops and sighs, “I get there are rules. What happens on a run stays on a run, he could get his dick sucked whenever I wasn’t around, that shit happens but I—I never got right with it. It’s why we were on and off for about seven years. He’d go on a run and he’d come home looking so fucking guilty and would deny it up and down, but I knew. He’d admit it, we’d break up, he’d fight to win me back, and eventually I would give in,” she goes on and shakes her head. “He was my first everything, I couldn’t let go, I wouldn’t at the time. I had only two people I truly let in my life that I knew would love me no matter what, and he was one of them.”

“Wait,” Angel says, his mind churning. “La que se escapo,” he whispers to himself.

“Oh, fuck,” Mia groans.

“You’re the tattoo on his arm, the one that got away,” he continues. “Gilly asked once, he told him to fuck off.”

“Sounds about right,” she laughs. “He got the tattoo for my birthday. My birthday, his tattoo, fucked up, right? But he didn’t get ‘the one that got away’ until we broke up for the final time. I was pissed, but—he had to do something with it. I covered mine up.”

“You had one? Of him, I mean?”

“Kind of, I had the, uh, the old lady tattoo on my arm,” she answers as she shifts to reveal her skull tattoo to him, the one that got them talking in the first place. “I covered it with the tattoo for my dads. I’d always wanted something for them, and a guy I knew said he’d be able to cover it easily enough,” she says and pulls her jacket back up. “Fuck, that pissed him off. To Sai, that meant we were really over. He refused to cover his, did that instead,” she goes on. “Told me that I would be the only woman he would ever marry, so if it wasn’t me, it wouldn’t be anyone, and so there was no reason to get rid of the tat. I’m sure he’ll get someone knocked up one day and she’ll be his old lady, and she’ll be able to accept the shit I wasn’t able to.”

“Not the life for you, huh?” Angel asks with an eyebrow raised.

“It could be,” Mia insists. “I understand being in the club, loving it, putting it above most of the things in your life, but I need to be the one thing that it’s more important than. Not that I would ever make him choose, I respect the MC too much for that, but—I need to know that I’m number one. Sai couldn’t do that, no matter how hard he tried. I realized I was trying making him into someone he wasn’t, and I loved him too much to do that,” she explains. “He really tried the last two years. He’d opt out of runs, spend every spare moment he had with me, was completely transparent, but—he would get so angry sometimes. It made him feel like I was keeping him from the club, but I wasn’t, not intentionally, I just didn’t trust him. He had too curious of a dick.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t piece this together sooner. Of course, you knew E, why wouldn’t you? And that tattoo, it’s really you,” Angel mutters more to himself than her. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“He got it when I turned eighteen and he asked me to be his old lady. I was so happy, I thought that things would be different, and they were for a little. Bishop was pissed off because I moved in with him, but I was eighteen, he couldn’t stop me. Of course, I was back and forth between break-ups,” she mentions as an afterthought.

“This relationship, it sounds great, by the way,” he teases.

Mia laughs a little. “When it was great, it really fucking was. When it wasn’t, we were toxic, and I didn’t see it until later. He never hit me or shit like that, Bishop would have killed him if he did, but I saw what he did as cheating, and he didn’t. It made me feel like I wasn’t enough even though he swore up and down it wasn’t about me,” she continues. “And, like you said, he’s gonna be king. There is nothing he would choose over the club, and even though I would never ask, I needed to know I meant more, but I never would. When I finally accepted that I ended it. There were a few hiccups, and it was one of the hardest things I ever did. He was my best friend, he knew every single piece of me, you know?”

Angel shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I’ve never been with anyone like that.”

“You’ve never had a serious girlfriend?” Mia asks, biting her lip when Angel’s hands roam across her ribs, his fingers brushing against her bra. “I don’t believe that.”

“I’ve had girlfriends, but never like you’re talking about. The most serious one was in high school, which sounds fucked up when you’re thirty-one,” he says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “But I also haven’t been looking for anything serious.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her name was Adelita. I knew her from school, we were in the same year, but I guess you could say we met at church. Mom made us go every Sunday, rain or shine, sick or healthy,” he states, but then rethinks it. “Well, if we were, like, projectile vomiting or some shit we got out of it, but that meant she had to stay home too, and we knew how much church meant to her.”

“You were pickin’ up girls at church, Reyes?” Mia teases with a rock of her hips.

“Querida, I can pick up girls anywhere,” he answers with a knowing smile. “Anyways, she helped out a lot at church, and my mom would always guilt me and EZ into helping with whatever fundraiser or cause they were involved in every few months. We were working a booth together during the end of summer carnival and I was doing more flirting than working—”

“What? I do not believe that for a second. You have to be lying—ah!” Mia stops in a squeak when Angel tickles her sides.

“It’s my love language, mi dulce, literally,” he jokes. “One minute we’re working the booth, the next my mom is there and inviting her to dinner. It just kind of escalated from there. She wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the first I think I actually loved.”

“You think?”

“Looking back, I think I was trying so hard to be someone I wasn’t for her. I tried to be into the things she was, I wanted to care as much as she did about everything she did, but—I think I just wanted my mom to be proud of me for something, to have something for her to gush about to her friends what was about me for once and not EZ,” he admits.

“I didn’t know your mom,” Mia states the obvious, “but I know she had things to be proud of you for. It’s easy to see how much you loved your mother, how you would do anything for her, you even shared a hobby with her. So, I know damn well she gushed about you, Angel Reyes, so you shush right now.”

Angel smiles and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”

“What happened? With Adelita?” she asks.

“Just didn’t work out. We really didn’t have all that much in common. I mean, I like helping people, I still donate to the church and to causes and shit, but spending every waking hour asking people for money, going door to door to give out pamphlets and shit? Man, I felt like I couldn’t fuck my girlfriend without getting money from someone else first,” he says, and Mia can’t help but laugh. “Besides, she went into the Peace Corps after high school and I knew that shit was not for me. We ended with no hard feelings.”

“And nothing since? No one serious?” Mia asks.

“After Mom died, I didn’t want serious. I just picked up girls to fuck ‘em. And ever since I’ve been in the club, I’ve been happy to sleep with whatever hang around was paying attention,” he answers honestly. “Besides, it takes a lot to be with someone in the club, you gotta deal with more than the average bullshit a guy puts you through.”

“Oh, I know,” she confirms.

“You also don’t know who actually wants you for you or because of the leather,” he adds on. “Like your mom, being an old lady is all some chicks want, it doesn’t matter who gets them the title.”

“So many girls hated me when I was with Esai, even after we broke up because they knew how much we still meant to each other. None of the girls understood, to them I had everything. If Esai was going to be king, I would have been queen, but being an old lady wasn’t my end goal. Being with Esai was. This one particular puta, Bianca, fuck, every time she could she was tryin’ to get her nails in him. When we broke up, she thought it was like open season. I was in more than one fight with that bitch,” she says with a vengeful look in her eye.

“I would pay to see that shit,” Angel insists, and Mia pushes on his shoulder as he laughs. “What? I know you can fight, Bishop’s gone on about it, how many matches you won when you were in kickboxing.”

“Yeah, that’s why they guys were always quick to hold me back, they knew I could do some serious damage,” she mutters grimly. “All I wanted was five minutes alone with her, still do. She was all talk and I hate that.”

“You’re still close with E, then?”

Mia looks down, mostly out of shame. “I was. When Bop and I had our falling out I wanted away from all things having to do with the MC. I was so sick of him bailing out my mom and never taking my side with her. Esai tries to stay out of shit when it comes to my mom. He fucking hates her, but he respects Bop’s feelings about her, so he didn’t back me up. I cut him out too and haven’t had the lady balls to reach back out. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since we broke up. I needed time away from him then to get over him, you know. That, and every time we hung out right after we ended up fucking.”

“I don’t know if I want to be in love like that,” Angel admits and starts to light another cigarette.

“Like me and E?”

“Maybe, I guess, more like my parents,” he answers before inhaling. “I saw what happens when it ends. My dad still isn’t the same, almost ten years later.”

“That’s where we differ—you don’t know if you want it, but I don’t know if I’m capable of it,” Mia confesses.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Angel comments.

Mia’s eyebrows raise as she makes a face at him. “I loved Esai, but—I never trusted him so I never completely let myself go with him. I trust him with my life, but my heart? I barely trust myself with that shit,” she stops and shakes her head in shame. “The relationship I ended when I came out here…” she trails off and holds her face in her hands so he can't see her shame.

“Hey,” Angel pulls on her wrists softly, but they don’t budge. “Hey, talk to me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “You’re my best friend too, you never have to be afraid to tell me shit.”

“It was bad,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “It didn’t start that way, and—fuck,” she swears while trying to hold back tears, hating herself for getting so upset. “When Bishop and I had our falling out, he was brought into the fight.”

“Your ex?” he questions while finally removing her palms from her cheeks.

“Yeah, his name’s Jay—Jason, actually,” she corrects herself. “We had just started dating when my mom OD’ed, again, and we weren’t serious, but,” she stops and shakes her head, “I mentioned it when we got into it, how the guy I was dating was a normal law-abiding citizen and being there, trying to figure out what detox program to get my mom in, it shouldn’t have to be my normal, his either.”

“What did Bish say?”

“That it didn’t matter, she’s family and you do what you have to for family,” Mia recites from memory. “I said that she wasn’t my family, and she didn’t give a shit about him, and until she decided to get help herself nothing he did would matter,” she pauses to wipe at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to rid the pool of tears. “And he said he raised me better than to not care about my own mother and he was ashamed of me.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Angel coos when tears start to fall. “It’s alright, c’mere,” he murmurs while pulling her into a hug.

“He’d never said that before, that he was ashamed of me,” she manages to get out in between shaky breaths. “I’d been arrested, kept in holding cells, tried drugs I told him I never would, made so many bad decisions he found about after the fact, but he’d never said he was ashamed of me.”

“He wasn’t, he’s not,” he assures her. “You don’t hear the way he talks about you when you’re not around, the joy in his eyes, how excited her gets. He loves you more than anything, mi dulce, please believe that.”

Mia nods against his chest, sniffling. “It hurt. What he said hurt, it hurt that it felt like he kept choosing her over me hurt, that he continued to believe her and not even listen to me, it really hurt. And I wanted to make him hurt too, so I said that I was done with it all—her, him, the MC, and that I would be better off with my cookie-cutter new boyfriend who would be able to give me a normal life.”

“It was a fight, everyone says shit during fights,” Angel responds in an attempt to console her.

“Yeah, but I made good on it. I stopped going to the clubhouse, I ignored Esai’s calls and texts, I didn’t check in with Bop the way I used to. I dug my heels in, and so did he,” she sniffs. “I fucked up. I made Jay out to be like Captain America and he wasn’t, I was just so angry, and so I tried everything to make it work to prove I was right. I gave in way too much, let him make me feel like I was crazy, isolate me, and control everything, and I mean everything,” she stops as her eyes well up again. “Fuck.”

Angel holds her tighter and presses kisses against her hair, shoulders, anywhere he has access to. “I’m right here, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

“If Bishop knew what happened between me and Jay,” Mia says while wiping her cheeks, “he would be ashamed of me, it wouldn’t just be words.”

“Why do you say that?” Angel asks after a silent moment, his voice firm, cautious.

Mia shakes her head. “Never mind, forget I said anything,” she says and makes a move to get up, but he holds her down.

“No, I ain’t forgetting shit,” he tells her. “Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” Mia insists and pulls free from his hold. “I got out of it, that’s what’s important. I’m here and made things right with Bishop and, and,” she falters and looks him in the eye, “I met you. My best friend.”

“I know you want me to let this shit go, babe, but—”

“No, no buts,” she cuts him off. “I need you to trust me when I say I handled it.”

Angel takes in a deep breath and stands with her. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” Mia asks, surprised.

“We’re best friends, right? If you say you handled it, then I believe you. That’s what best friends do,” he answers. “Especially ones that sleep together.”

“See, this is why we’re perfect for each other,” she insists while wrapping arms around his middle. “We’re best friends, we trust each other, and you don’t want to fall in love while I don’t think I ever truly can. We get the fun without the responsibilities of the relationship.”

Angel smiles softly before kissing her. “Well, when you put it that way…” he trails off and kisses her again.

They are interrupted by Angel’s phone buzzing in his pocket. He tugs it out and answers it immediately after looking at the caller. The conversation is quick, one she’s heard too many times before, but understands all the same. He’s needed at the clubhouse.

“I gotta go,” he sighs, but makes no move to let her go. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Mia asks, her chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him.

“Thanks for listening,” he whispers before kissing her gently. “I haven’t—I don’t talk about my mom, it’s just something I avoid, but it felt good talking about her with you.”

“Any time,” Mia says and pushes her lips against his in a barely-there kiss. “Me and Bop talk about my dad all the time. It was hard at first, but it makes it easier, I think. It helps keep your memories too.”

He nods. “Noted. You coming to the clubhouse?” he asks as they start to make their way back through the house and to their vehicles.

She shakes her head while leaning against her car. “Nah. If you got called in that means you guys are gonna be in templo for a bit and I’m tired. I was running around with Letty all day, remember?”

Angel puts his helmet on as he nods. “That girl does tire you out. Her mouth alone never stops moving.”

“Shut up, she loves you guys,” Mia scolds him with a smack to his chest.

“I never said she ain’t family, she’s just a teenage girl. I stopped being interested in them once I hit twenty,” he replies.

“Coming from your current sex partner, that’s good to know,” she jokes in return.

“Ooh, sex partner, I love it when you talk dirty. Say it again,” Angel instructs.

“Sex partner,” Mia says in a sultry tone.

They start to move closer to kiss again, but his phone goes off. “Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” he swears and pulls his phone out and declines his brother’s phone all. “Such a fuckin’ pissant.”

“You love him. Go, they’ll start to wonder where you are,” she encourages. “Thank you, again, for my ceiling.”

Angel’s leg swings over his bike and with a kick the engine roars to life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just made the call to get it done when you asked, remember?” he says with a wink.

Mia nods with a knowing smile and watches him pull away while berating herself for even bringing up Jay, let alone talking about what their relationship was like with Angel.

She makes a mental note. It will never happen again.

CHAPTER 4

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[the-miss-mousie]

He’s Home

Angsty Klance fic. Also on Ao3.

The weather is scorching hot, but, regardless of how hard the sun beats down on, he has work to do. Besides, it has been raining the past few days, and he hasn’t been able to work in the garden because of it. He isn’t about to risk wasting another day, especially when the clock is ticking.

Lance stumbles out of the old, large, log house that once belonged to an elderly couple that he had worked for (they were practically family in a way). They have been long gone now and weren’t ever returning. After winning a lottery, the elderly couple decided to live in a fancy house somewhere in the tropics. They had generously gifted the house and land to Lance.

As soon as he was able to, Lance took up residency here. He was familiar with the property due to his time working for the elderly couple, so it was easy to make it home. He was surprised, however, when his friends ended up moving in too.

Said friends had taken a trip to town this morning and would not be back until just before noon. That meant it is up to Lance to hold down the fort and get to work in the garden, along with some other chores.

Lance could hardly tell that it was raining yesterday with how dry the dirt is, only a few, stray damp places remain but would soon be sucked up by the heat. There’s a faint wind that rustles the large, pine trees that surround the yard, and only brings a touch of coolness to his skin. The sky has just a few small clouds, but those little clouds could very quickly be replaced by larger, grey ones. He doesn’t want the rain to come back, but he’s no rain god, and he doesn’t know any dances to scare away the ran.

As he approaches the gate to the garden, he tugs his shirt off and tosses it onto a fence post. Honestly, he isn’t sure why he came out wearing a shirt to begin with.

Grabbing a set of gloves from the shed and a few tools Lance figures he’d need. Although Lance doubts he’ll actually use them. His primary focus today is to get rid of the weeds and fertilize the plants. He’ll have to check for any diseased plant as well, but he doesn’t need to be concerned with watering them. He’s got some of his work cut out for him at least.

Lance doesn’t have a problem with getting down in the dirt, although it is annoying to clean the dirt from under his fingernails only for more to reappear. His hands have become a disaster since he started living here. They’re calloused and scarred, but stronger. This non-stop work has been taking a toll, and he finds himself more tired with every passing day. He doesn’t stop working though. It keeps his mind occupied.

Some of the weeds are difficult to tug out and even poke at him through his gloves, but he is able to rid the garden of its weeds. Luckily, Lance finds no diseased or dying plants too. In fact, everything looks better.

He used to have a lot of issues with the garden – like a lot. There were almost always several dead or wilting plants and every time he’d uproot them more weeds would sprout back up in seconds. Last year was incredibly rough, resulting in only a single bucket of decent potatoes and about a large bowl of carrots. He was ready to throw the towel in last year.

That was also the year his friends had decided to move in with him too. Well, Hunk chose to move-in first. He had practically kicked down the front door, a bag thrown over his shoulders, and a look of determination. He and Lance had a solid thirty-second staring contest after he said he was moving in before Lance had shrugged and said “okay.” Hunk sleeps in the spare bedroom across from Lance’s.

Within a week after Hunk had settled in, Pidge was kicking down his door with a suitcase in hand. She sleeps in the bedroom next to Hunk’s.

Not even a week after Pidge arrived, Matt, Shiro, and Allura knocked on Lance’s door. Lance simply just told them that there were two spare bedrooms left and someone would have to share.

Luckily, Coran, the blessed man, didn’t move in but he had taken up residence in a neighbouring house. By “neighbouring,” Lance means it’s about a 20-minute walk away. He visits every now and then, generally with a pie or something else he cooked up.

While it was nice to have friends so close by, it can often be a little overwhelming. When it gets too crowded, and he feels like he might suffocate, he just heads down to the beach, digs his feet into the sand, and listens to the waves. Sometimes, though, the others will notice and give him some space much like today.

There are times where Lance can’t help but feel… guilty. Like he’s a burden or that he’s only causing trouble. He’s not the only one here still hurting, yet he acts like he is. They all are all in the same boat. All Lance really needs to do is remind himself that they moved in on their own accord, and not just to help him, but to help themselves too. This living arrangement benefits all of them.

They’ve become a family that relies on each other, one that stands sturdy together. It’s likely that they’re the reason why the garden isn’t terrible this year.

Yeah, they’re definitely the reason, he thinks while he puts the tools away. The garden shouldn’t need any tending to for a while now.

As he pats his jeans clean, he notes that the knees of them are starting to wear thin and are stained beyond repair. No cleaning detergents will save them now, but that’s why they’re his work jeans.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the yard. The grass has gotten longer. Mowing the lawn has never been his favourite chore. He hates the lawnmower they own because it’s old, rusty, and pretty much a death machine.

“I leave it for someone else to do,” he says to himself. He grabs his shirt from the post and pulls it back on, grimacing as he realizes just how sweaty he feels. A shower will be needed.

The house is cool and air-conditioned as he goes back in. Kicking his shoes off next to the door, he steps into the kitchen.

The kitchen is just how one would imagine a kitchen would look except it lacks the pile of dirty dishes because Shiro is a gentleman and better than those other “hoes” who try to sneak in dirty plates while you’re washing the dishes… Lance can’t deny that he, in fact, is one of those “hoes,” except he’s not sneaky.

They had recently done some minor renovations after Hunk accidentally tore one of the cupboards doors on its hinges. So, all the cupboards are new as well as the countertops even though there are already dents and scrapes in some places. They also got new appliances as demanded by Hunk who nearly had a heart attack when he saw the old range. So they have a new, sparkly range, microwave, and refrigerator. Lately, they’ve been considering on getting a dishwasher.

The dining room used to be closed off from the kitchen, but the increase of roommates made it a little too crowded. It was Allura who had taken the pleasure of busting down the wall, merging the dinner area with the kitchen in a more modern, open-concept style.

There’s a small pile of mail on the wooden dining table. Lance flips through the envelopes looking for the bills, and when he finds none, he curses Allura. She got to them before him and is most likely paying them as we speak. Didn’t they all agree to split the cost amongst them?

Sure, sure, Allura, you’ve got the money, but this ain’t even your house?

Lance sighs and drops the mail back onto the table. None of the letters are addressed to him, so he’ll leave it there for the rest of the gang to snoop through.

His next stop is the laundry room which contrasts the kitchen as it is piled up with laundry. The clean, dry clothes are tossed into a basket which is shoved out of the crowded room. He tries to push as many clothes as he can into the washing machine but makes sure to not overload it. The last thing they need is a broken washing machine. The room is neater when he leaves it, picking up the basket and heads into the living room.

The room is quaint with a warm glow. There’s a clean fireplace in the corner of the room, and on the wall adjacent to it is a big TV that Pidge had brought with her. Next to the fireplace is an old armchair, and next to that is a large, antique bookshelf that was left behind by the previous owners of the house. He was actually surprised that it was left behind and even contacted the elderly couple about it, but they just told him to keep it. Lance only had a few books to place in it, but the others definitely put it to use.

Lance places the basket of clothes on a coffee table in front of a long couch that is parallel to the Television. Adjacent to the long sofa is a loveseat that is covered with a large blanket that has a picture of a roaring lion printed on it – Allura’s blanket. Lance grabs the sheet and folds it up, setting it on the arm of the loveseat, before sitting down on the long couch and begins folding the laundry.

Geez…

When did Lance become such a mom?

He honestly can’t remember the last time when he did something completely irresponsible, like the immature little shit Lance was, and now here he is folding laundry and cleaning the house. If he had to guess, last time Lance did something wild was probably… his 20th birthday which had gotten way out of hand – the silver ring on his finger is proof of that.

Lance pauses a moment to stare at the ring. He hasn't taken it off since he received it. It’s precious to him – always has been and always will be. But lately, he’s been thinking that it’s time to let it go. Time to move forward.

But he doesn’t. He stares at it for a long moment before continuing with his task. It doesn’t feel right to let it go just yet. Not today, at least.

The laundry is folded and placed neatly back in the basket for the others to go through. Lance picks out his clothes and takes it up to his room. His room is the master bedroom of the house because it’s his house.

You know those beds that look like they popped out of a fairy-tale (the canopy beds)? Well, Lance has one of those. It’s one of the comfiest bed’s he’s ever slept on and owned. He remembers shopping for that mattress too; the classical montage of jumping on all the beds in a store without a care in the world. He’s wasn’t alone then. Keith was right there with him when they nearly got kicked out of the store.

There are photos of to prove it too, one of them is sitting on the dresser that is on the other side of the room. Lance approaches the dresser, shoving his clothes into it quickly, eyes stuck on a particular photo of himself with Keith at a park.

He was with Lance during a lot of things. Keith was with Lance during high school – they were best friends. Keith was with Lance when they both went to the same college, and they were together when they dropped out. Keith was there when Lance got kicked out by his family, and when everything seemed to fall apart. He was there to help Lance get back on his feet. Keith was with Lance when he moved into this house – they moved into their house. For what seemed like forever, Keith had been a firm fixture in his life. But…

Then Keith chose to leave.

And he didn’t come back.

Lance… Lance was a mess, an absolute wreck. It took a long while to get over it, but even now the ache still lingers. First, he was in denial, and then he cried, mourned, and then he got angry, resentful, and he hated Keith for everything. Eventually, he accepted it and tried to move forward with his life. He’s still working on it.

He looks down at the silver ring, twisting it around on his finger. He should really take it off. Should let go and carry on.

Taking the picture from its place, he stares at it for a good few moments before placing face down back on the dresser.

A roaring of an engine comes from outside. Looking through the window, Lance sees an old, rusty, red pick-up truck pull into the driveway. The others are pilled up into the back of it, with Shiro driving and Matt on the passenger side. They start unloading themselves from the vehicle, groceries in hand.

Lance leaves his room to meet them at the door. He comes to the entrance just in time to catch part of a conversation that instantly grabs his attention.

“Like hell will I ever do that!” Pidge yells as she opens the door for the others whose hands are full of groceries.

“Do what?” He asks with a smirk.

Pidge snaps to look at him with wide eyes. She glares at him and says, “Nothing.”

Matt is the first to come through the door with two massive grocery bags in both hands, concealing the large head of his. “She wants to ask a girl out, but won’t listen to any of our advice,” he supplies.

“Ah, need some help with that,” Lance asks, reaching out to snatch one of the bags.

“Nope! I got this!” He slips past Lance quickly, nearly stumbling over his feet as he heads to the kitchen. Lance shrugs and looks back to Pidge.

“So, a girl, huh? Is this the same girl that saved you from nearly being blown to pieces?” Lance inquires as they both move out of the doorway to let the others throw. Shiro and Allura come in with just as large groceries bags as Matt had.

“Maybe,” she says, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “They all keep telling to do dramatic things or to just walk up to her and tell her how I feel. I’m not going to do that! Both of those are just asking for embarrassment.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Why don’t you invite her out the Summer Festival that’s happening this weekend? Hang out, have some, and then make her swoon with your made carnival game skills.”

“See, now that’s a good idea!” Pidge says, directing her speech to the others.

Hunk stops on his way to the kitchen to look back at the two of them. “I still think you think a candlelight dinner is the way to go.”

“Hunk, that’s for when you’re already in a relationship. Pidge is still clearly in the warming up to the possibility of a relationship stage. You have to go with subtle flirting,” Lance counters.

“Sorry, Hunk, but I’ll have to side with Lance on this one,” Pidge says. “But I’ll let you help with candlelight dinner when we get there.”

“Yes!” Hunk smiles and continues to the kitchen. Lance and Pidge chuckle.

“Are there any more groceries that need to be brought in?” He asks Pidge as he goes over to the door.

“Nope that’s everything.”

“Thought so. Those were some heavy looking bags they were carrying in,” Lance comments and closes the door.

“Lance?” Allura calls from the kitchen, her head peaks out from the side of the archway.

“Yeah?”

“Coran’s coming over tonight for dinner. Also, we might get a visit from Kolivan,” she says.

“Really?” Lance frowns. The last time he saw Kolivan was… two years ago. Why would he be coming for a visit?

“Yeah, Shiro invited him. We thought we could do some catching up on things,” Pidge explains.

That doesn’t surprise Lance that Shiro was the one to invite Kolivan. They’ve remained in contact with one another for some time. After all, it was Ulaz, an old friend of Kolivan’s, who got Shiro out of that wreckage of the base down in Olkarion. Shiro would be dead if it hadn’t been for Ulaz, but, unfortunately, Shiro still lost his arm. Sadly, Ulaz is no longer with them which had been a harsh blow to many especially Shiro.

So, Lance supposes that it makes sense. He can also guess that there’s more to inviting Kolivan over. After all, Shiro is well aware of how Lance feels about the Blade of Marmora.

Lance simply shrugs and says, “Okay.”

The way Pidge and Allura seem to relax doesn’t slip past him.

“Oh! By the way, Allura, you wouldn’t happen to notice what happened to the bills, would you?” Lance asks, eyes narrowing at Allura who smiles innocently.

“What bills?”

“Wait, were those the papers you had when we left?” Lance hears Hunk ask from wherever he is in the kitchen.

“Allura,” Shiro says in a disapproving tone.

Allura looks back at Lance with a glare. “Snitch,” she hisses.

Lance smirks and gives her a fake-apologetic shrug. He turns to Pidge, and asks, “Want to watch some TV? I think the Revival is on soon.”

“Oh my stars, I can’t believe I nearly forget about the new season!” Pidge exclaims and vaults of the couch to snatch the remote.

“Hey, you aren’t starting it without me!” Matt says, and he slides into the living room, launching himself onto the couch.

Lance snorts he face plants into the cushions. “Stars, you’re like an excited puppy.”

Matts sticks his tongue out at Lance. Lance sits down on the couch, and Hunk comes in, making his way to sit next to Lance.

“Wow, you guys are such nerds,” Hunk comments.

“Takes one to know one,” Pidge says.

“That is true.”

**

Shiro’s hand on Lance’s shoulder shocks him out of his daydreaming. He jolts and looks up the other who gives a small, apologetic smile.

They finished watching the new episode of the Revival a while ago and had all separated to do different things. Hunk and Allura decided to work on getting the preparations for dinner done, and Lance has no idea what the Holt siblings are up too.

Since it had cooled off a bit outside, Lance decided to take a nap on the porch swing. It’s nice when you aren’t doing any work out in the scorching heat. He thinks he managed to get about 20 minutes of rest until it had been disturbed by a sudden firm hand.

“Yeah?” Lance asks, rubbing his eyes.

“You ready to go?” Shiro asks. Lance frowns and gives the older man a quizzical look. Shiro returns his look with that of tentative surprise. “It’s the 21st today.”

Oh.

“I guess I lost track of things,” he says quietly.

Shiro nods, understanding, and says, “I’ll go start the truck.”

Lance hums and looks down at his hands. The ring feels heavy on his finger suddenly. It’s been officially two years now. He honestly can’t believe it. It almost seems like a weird dream. He never expected to end up at the two-year mark. Then again, he figures that his friends would have ensured that he would make it – by any means necessary.

Lance gets off the porch-swing and makes his way through the house to the front door. Shiro’s leaning against the driver’s side of the truck, and when he hears the front door close, he turns to see Lance. They give each other a silent nod, and then they climb into the truck. There’s a small bouquet of flowers resting on the passenger seat that he takes and set on his lap.

It looks like he made a smart choice in changing out of his work clothes before he took a nap. He’s in cleaner, more appropriate attire, for where they’re headed now.

“Let’s make it quick so we can get back before dinner,” Lance says. Shiro doesn’t say anything, but Lance can tell that he’s giving Lance an odd look.

Shiro pulls away from the house and drives out of their yard, heading down the road that will take them into town. It’s a twenty-minute drive that Lance spends staring out the window until they finally come to their destination.

The pick-up truck pulls up to the sidewalk. There’s a large, metal fence on the other side encasing the well-kept land. The cemetery is practically empty save for the same, few people who are here annually as well. Lance hops out of the truck with the bouquet in hand while Shiro sets the truck in park and quickly follows.

Lance could guide through this place blind if he needed to and he’s willing to bet Shiro could too. So, they take their time, keeping to themselves and letting the other mourners have their peace.

They come to a small headstone. In large letters, the name ‘KEITH KOGANE’ is etched into the dark marble. Under the name are a few words: “BOM, 2080-2103, A LOVED SON, BROTHER, AND FRIEND.”

It was short, not too complicated, but sometimes Lance wishes more could have been written. The short phrase doesn’t nearly grasp everything that was Keith.

Lance frowns tiredly at the grave. It’s been another year. Lance still can’t believe that it has been two years since Kolivan came knocking on his door with news that had left him in shock.

He had been told that it had been a great sacrifice. One that was key to ending the war. Keith took out a crucial weapon that left the strongest part of Daibazaal defenseless. But it had cost Keith his life.

The massive war that had wracked the country left thousands in despair. Even though Altea had won in the end, everyone paid the price, not just Keith.

Keith had chosen to join the Blade of Marmora, a rebel group that worked undercover in Daibazaal. Since Keith had Galra heritage, he was able to join the Blade and fight for Altea from the inside. Little did he know that it would cost him his life.

Sometimes, Lance doubts that Keith would have changed his mind if he knew he was going to die. He’d always had been the sacrificial hero type. If it meant saving thousands of lives, his didn’t matter. And logically that made sense, but sometimes Lance wished Keith had been more selfish.

It hurt when Lance came home from work that day, three years ago, and found that Keith had his bags already packed. Keith had avoided making any eye contact with Lance when he told him what he planned on doing. There are times when Lance wonders if he could have stopped Keith and convinced him to stay, but Keith was just as stubborn as Lance could be. Lance convinced himself that there would not have been any talking Keith out of it.

In the end, Keith has been gone for three years and has been dead for two of them.

Shiro rests a hand on Lance’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. Shiro mumbles an apology, giving Lance a sympathetic look. Lance’s eyes flicker up to Shiro before gluing themselves onto the headstone. He can’t bring himself to say anything, mostly because there’s nothing to be said. Everything that has haunted him has been spoken of already, and they’ve worked through.

Even so, Lance still feels bottled up.

“It’s going to better,” Shiro says.

He knows how Lance feels. They’ve gotten to know each other more since they lost Keith. They talked, they mourned, and they worked together. The others did too, of course. They were all friends with Keith, maybe they weren’t as close to him as Shiro and Lance had been, but they had seen him as family. It’s why they all came together, after a year of fooling themselves into thinking they could handle it.

Keith’s death had hit them harder than any of them could ever anticipate. There’s a hole now, and it hasn’t been replaced because it can’t be. A puzzle piece is missing, and it won’t ever be found.

Lance sighs and kneels down in front of the headstone to place the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

It’s time to head home.

**

It’s another hot day, but he’s sure that it’s hotter than it was yesterday. Then again he thought the same thing yesterday. At least, it was not raining harshly like had been a while ago. That was annoying to deal with.

His feet hurt, he’s sweaty, tired, and his back is even getting sore from carrying the bag over his shoulder for so long. But, he doesn’t stop moving not when he is so close to home.

Keith has been hitchhiking for the longest time now, and he has been putting with some of the wildest shit to get to where he is now.

Vaguely, he recognizes this dirt road, but he can taste home in the mist of coming off of the lake just across from him. Keith knows the way from where he is right now, but home is still ways away. If he’s right, he should just be outside of town.

But, it’s been a long three years.

The gunfire still echoes in his head every now and then, but it never compares to the cold-sweat he wakes up in almost every night. The nightmares have been weakening him emotionally, physically, and mentally. The explosion, the camp, the torment and humiliation, and then finally tasting freedom only to have it tainted with blood.

Besides that, there’s another thing that has been bothering him, even more, the closer he gets to home. He’s not sure if there’s even still one to go back to.

Keith has no idea what the others know or have been told. They might think he’s dead, they might have left, and he might still be alone and lost. If Keith could have contacted the Blade, he would have, but they’re not ones to be open about their presence. They might have disbanded now that the war is over.

Keith’s been shut out of the world and thrown out of the loop. He has no idea what exactly is going on. Not to mention, it’s hard to get help since no one really likes talking to a Galra. People glare at him. Even though he looks more human than Galra – they seem to just know. So, he’s been alone for this long, agonizing journey.

The land around him doesn’t seem to have changed, which is honestly a relief to him. He’s changed so much, so it’s nice to have something familiar and consistent be present.

A sharp pain travels up Keith’s foot, and he stumbles. Cramp. He moves to lean against a nearby tree, pulling his show off to massage his foot and get the muscles to loosen. The throbbing fades after a minute or so, and Keith drops to the ground.

Might as well take a small break. Grabbing the water bottle from his pack, Keith drinks it all in a single gulp. He’ll have to stop in town and get some more. For now, he relaxes against the barky surface of the tree and sighs, eyes closing. The fresh is air is nice, and the shade provides refuge from the heat.

After about five minutes, Keith gets back up, puts his shoes back on, and carries on down the road.

He follows the road around the bend, and he can see the small shapes of houses and building mixed in with the forestry. It’s about a 40-minute walk from the looks of it. The road is in between the shore of the lake and the forest, so it’ll lead him right to the edge of the town. He's not sure if it’s sweat or tears, but he wipes his face clean of it with the back of his hand.

The sound of a truck engine makes Keith instinctually move to the side of the road, out of the vehicles way. It comes up the slope of the road, towards him. He pays it no mind because like most others it won’t be picking him up for a ride. It’s a red pick-up truck, an old rusty one probably on it’s last few legs, and it passes him quickly.

Keith is still walking when he hears the loud screeching of the brakes. He glances back to find that the truck has stopped. The driver door opens, and Keith stops in his tracks.

Shiro.

“Keith!?”

He stumbles out of the truck, and they stare at each other in shock, disbelief. Then Shiro’s running over to him, and Keith barely has the chance to steady himself as they collide. Shiro’s firm arms wrap around Keith tightly. It takes Keith a moment to gather himself, and he tentatively returns the embrace. That’s when he notices the tense trembling of Shiro’s form.

“Stars, please tell me you’re real and that this isn’t some fucked up joke,” Shiro says – begs.

“Shiro…” Keith says. His mouth hangs open as he tries to find the words, but nothing comes to mind. So, he lets his actions speak for him, and he holds Shiro tighter.

“Holy shit…” A familiar voice says. Keith looks over Shiro’s shoulder to see Matt staring at them in shock. Keith can’t help but notice how different the Matt looks. He is missing his glasses, but he eyes are still as wide as ever when he stares in shock. “Keith?”

“Hey, Matt,” Keith says, and gives him a little wave. Unfortunately, Shiro takes that as a signal to move away from Keith. But just as Shiro moves, Matt is instantly there in his place. He pulls Keith into a hug that doesn’t last as long since he pulls away to ogle at Keith’s face.

“You look different,” Matt says. “Dude, where the hell have you been?”

“Um, it’s a long story…” Keith replies, shifting on his feet. He’d rather not relive any of it.

“That’s fine,” Shiro says, hooking his arm around Keith’s shoulders in a mock hug. “What matters is that your alive and here now. You can fill us in some other time. Let’s just get you home; that’s where you were headed, right?”

Keith nods, “Yeah.”

He almost can’t believe it when he’s ushered into the truck. Matt hops into the back, and Shiro returns to the driver’s side. Shiro turns the truck around and heads back down the way they came, towards home.

It almost seems to good to be true. Keith’s going to be home in just a few minutes. He can relax. He should relax. He’s going home.

Home.

This can’t possibly be real. This has to be some dream. Keith’s going to wake up and find himself back in that hell hole. This is probably another twisted mind trick.

But the way Shiro keeps looking over at him, as though he’s making sure he’s still there, makes him feel… reassured. He’s not the only who’s not sure if any of this is real.

Then Shiro reaches over to rest his hand on his shoulder, giving it a little shake that brings him out of his shock.

“It’s good to have you back,” he says. His eyes are glassy, and Keith’s feels a pang of guilt for being the cause. But he’s pretty sure there are some tears in his eyes too, so they’re even.

It’s been way too long.

The ride, thankfully, doesn’t feel long as they pull up to an old, log house in a matter of minutes. He stares up at the house and is almost shocked how it looks the same from the outside as it did when he left three years ago. Something tells him the interior will be different though especially when he notices Hunk outside, chopping firewood.

Hunk used to visit all the time, but he sure never helped with things like chopping firewood. He looks up from his work to give them a confused look, no doubt wondering why they are back so early. Keith see’s Hunk gaze look over to Matt in the back and then look back to the passenger seat. His brows furrow even further.

Shiro moves to get out of the vehicle and Keith takes that as his cue to follow suit. The second he steps out of the truck he makes eye contact with Hunk whose eyes widen in shock. He goes pale and rubs his eyes as though they were playing tricks.

“What. The. Fuck!?” He yells, and Keith winces. Clearly, Hunk has gained quite the potty mouth since he’s been gone. “No. No way.” He’s shaking his head but walks forward to stand right in front of Keith. Suddenly, large hands are holding Keith’s head, moving it around as Hunk checks him over.

“It’s him, Hunk,” Shiro says with a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“Trust us, we checked,” Matt comments.

“It’s really you?” Hunk asks, ignoring both Shiro and Matt.

“Yes, Hunk, it’s really me,” he huffs. However, that reply seems to snap something in Hunk because in the blink of an eye there are tears in his eyes and then Keith’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

“O-oh stars! We all thought you were dead!” Hunk chokes out.

Keith stiffens in Hunk’s hold.

Dead? They were told that he died? That can’t be right. Keith tries to remember the last time he came in contact with his allies. He tries to think of the what happened that gave them that impression that he was gone. The only thing that comes to mind is when he took out the Galra’s weapon by flying one of their crafts into it…

Okay, so that would definitely have them thinking he went down with the plane. But he didn’t. Instead, Keith had jumped out of the plane last minute, parachute in hand, and ended up landing, unarmed and alone, in Galra territory. The second he was spotted by Galra soldiers he was taken to a prisoner of war camp. He doubts that Altea is aware that those camps are still running and holding their lost soldiers.

Hunk’s babbling turns into downright sobbing, so Keith starts to reassuringly rub his back.

“I’m alive, Hunk,” Keith says, “Not dead. But could you loosen your grip a bit? I’m having trouble breathing here, bud.” Thankfully, Hunk’s death grip loosens up. Otherwise, Keith would surely be dead. Death by hugs sounds a lot more pleasant than a fiery explosion.

“What happened, man?” Hunk manages to ask, his sobbing finally turning into little sniffles.

“Long story. I’ll explain later,” Keith answers. He just wants to see everyone. He just wants to relax and feel safe again.

“Okay, but you better not forget,” Hunk says, and he finally moves back out of Keith’s space. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll whip you up something to eat. Seriously, you feel like nothing but a pile of skin and bones right now, and that can’t be healthy.”

Keith lets himself get pulled along by Hunk into the house, and Matt and Shiro follow them. It’s been a while since Keith’s had a home-cooked meal. Most of his food has been consisting of things he could scavenge or buy when he managed to get some spare change. The idea of eating Hunk’s cooking makes his stomach growl.

When they enter the house, he notes that he was right in that fact the interior changed, although not by much. That TV’s new, and he doesn’t remember there being that many books in that antique bookshelf. The house looks more lived in than it had before.

What surprises him the most is that Allura and Pidge are relaxing on the couch, watching some movie that Keith doesn’t recognize. Pidge look back at them as the door closes.

“You guys are back early-” Pidge says, and then, like everyone else, is speechless. Her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open. Allura looks at Pidge, perplexed, and then looks back at them. Her reaction is more sudden.

“Holy fuck!” Allura vaults over the couch which, honestly, surprises the hell out of Keith. She grabs his shoulders and looks him up and down and then she forces him to spin around because apparently, she needs to look at his back to make sure that he’s real. “What?! How?” She says after she brings him back around to face her.

Hunk and Matt laugh at Allura’s reaction. Look’s like Keith’s not the only shocked by her.

“Long story,” Shiro says for him. “We’ll get it later.” Shiro and Matt sit down on the loveseat, and Hunk heads to the kitchen to make something up for Keith.

“Um, no. I’d like to know right now,” Pidge says from her spot on the couch.

“Pidge,” Shiro gives her a look and Pidge slumps.

“Fine, but I need it in detail,” she says.

Internally, Keith thanks Shiro for cutting in. He’s not sure if he’s ready yet. A lot has happened, and a lot of it he would rather them not know.

“Come on, sit down with us,” Allura says, and she moves to guide him to the sofa. But Keith frowns. Almost everyone’s here, except Coran and Lance.

Where’s Lance?

“Garden,” Pidge says and gives him a knowing look. Oh, he said that out loud.

Keith nods and says, “Okay, thanks.”

He leaves them in the living room, and where they’ll patiently wait. He passes through the kitchen where Hunk gives him a small nod. He lets the drastic changes of the kitchen pass him as he exits through the back door. The lawn has been freshly cut, he notices, as he heads to the fenced up the garden.

As he gets closer, he can the soft humming of a song that helped him fall asleep at night for the longest time. Over the fence, he can just see the to top of a head with shiny brown hair.

He opens the gate and steps into the garden. But then he stops just a few feet behind Lance.

What should he say? ‘Honey, I’m home! And not dead like you thought?’ No, that doesn’t sound like him. Something tells to just call out Lance’s name, but his throat closes-up on him.

Lance doesn’t even notice his presence, completely entrance on picking small weeds. He wonders how much Lance has changed. He wonders if Lance still loves him. A voice hisses, no, he hates you. You left him. He wouldn’t blame Lance for hating him. For wanting nothing to do with him. He’s probably moved on.

Something sparkly on Lance’s finger catches his eye. First, he wonders why Lance isn’t wearing work gloves, but then he remembers that their work gloves always liked to disappear on them. Second, he realizes that that ‘sparkly thing’ on Lance’s finger is.

It’s his ring.

The one he gave Lance on his 20th birthday when he drunkenly thought that Lance was the man he wanted to die for. He still thinks that except he’s sober now rather than drunk. But that’s not the point.

The point is that Lance is still wearing that ring.

He hasn’t given up on him yet.

“Lance,” his voice comes out soft, and quieter than he intended. But Lance hears it anyway, and his movements freeze.

He stays still for a long moment. Not moving, and he doesn’t even appear to be breathing.

“Lance,” Keith says again, louder this time, and he ignores at how it cracks.

Slowly, Lance stands up. He moves like he’s being held at gunpoint, slow and cautious. He turns around and looks at Keith with scared, wide eyes. His eyes are still as blue as ever, but he hates how they look at him.

“Keith,” Lance whispers. He eyes are searching, rapidly moving over Keith’s figure. Keith can only imagine what Lance is thinking, but he’s pretty sure that Lance’s doesn’t believe that he’s here right now.

Keith takes a step forward.

Lance takes a step back.

Keith sighs and stays in his spot. They’re at a standoff. He’s not sure what’ll happen if he tries to push against this barrier between them.

“Lance,” He says again. He gathers all his courage and continues, “I know you were told that I was… dead, but I’m not. I’m really here.”

Lance says nothing.

“I know you that you’re mad at me,” he says, “and I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me right, now. I can leave if you want me too-”

“Don’t!” Lance chokes out. He looks panicked like Keith leaving is the worst thing right now. Frankly, Keith feels the same. He doesn’t want to leave again. “Don’t… Please,” Lance says.

There are tears in his eyes. Oh so desperately does Keith want to wipe them away and hold Lance. He doesn’t even notice that he’s moving forward again.

Lance doesn’t move away from him this time, but he does tense up when Keith cups his face, running his thumb over Lance’s cheekbones. Shaky hands reach up to cover Keith’s, grabbing a hold them and squeezing them tightly.

Lance eyes wide and he meets Keith’s gaze. “Oh, stars. You’re – you’re…!”

“I’m here.”

Instantly, Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders, bringing him into a tight embrace. That’s when the sobbing starts, and at first, it’s just Lance, but then everything comes crashing down on Keith and finds himself trembling Lance’s arms.

Lance pulls away, only slightly, to presses kisses to Keith tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re home,” he cries. “You’re home.”

With desperation, he kisses Lance. He kisses him until he can’t breathe. It’s been three years without so much as an embrace, and he’s finally safe and sound, in the arms of someone he loves, surrounded by his friends.

Finally, he’s home.