Chapter Text
Dear friend,
My horoscope told me that “today is the day to embrace new horizons” and you told me that chasing dreams is the only way to go through life. So today, I’m doing just that. Scary new thing, here I come!
While avoiding details per our arrangement, I’ll just say I’m essentially going to bare my soul to a room full of strangers for their judgement. And yeah, it’s all your fault K, so you’d better wish me luck. Maybe I’ll pretend that one of those unfamiliar faces is yours, that you’re rooting for me like I know you’d be if we did meet. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to pick someone as pretty as you surely are ;)
As for your struggles with your undisclosed project, I’m sure you’ll have a breakthrough soon! Maybe take a walk to clear your head. Or better yet, get a rubber duck like engineers do and talk to it but pretend it’s me! I’m a great listener, and quite the muse ;)
If this is the last correspondence you ever receive from me, know that I’ve likely perished from nerves or embarrassment when I attempt my daring deed tonight, and know you have only yourself to blame for encouraging me.
Your friend,
L
Keith chuckles at L’s dramatics as he finishes reading his latest message. He doesn’t have a rubber duck on hand, but as he eyes the small stuffed hippo he still keeps in his room (even at 25 years old, what can he say, he’s sentimental), he considers L’s suggestion for his writer’s block. Keith had been working on the same song for hours last night when he finally gave up and messaged L to complain.
He doesn’t have time to reply right now, unfortunately, because he’s about to be late for the only regular commitment he has each week besides work. Grabbing his bag with his notebook and keys, Keith yells a goodbye to his dog Kosmo as he runs out of his apartment to his motorcycle.
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Lance pushes through the door of the restaurant, lugging his guitar case behind him. Tonight is the night. He looked up every open mic he could find in his area, and this one, other than simply being the easiest to get to, seemed like it had a very friendly vibe. The restaurant is an all-organic-food, rooftop-garden, rotating-local-art-for-sale-on-the-walls kind of hipster place and the back room where the weekly open mic is hosted feels intimate with a low stage and about 15 small tables in the space.
As Lance enters the room he immediately sees the hottest person he has ever beheld sitting alone at a table in the corner. It’s a guy with longer black hair that’s basically a mullet but somehow it totally works for him. Thick eyebrows scrunch low under his choppy bangs as he looks over a notebook on the table in front of him. He has a sharp jawline and a bad boy aura with the leather jacket and ripped jeans and Lance had never considered that he would be into that but the evidence sits before him only five paces away. If it were any other night, Lance would 100% be chatting this hottie up with his best lines. As it is, however, Lance is so nervous that it’s all he can do to look around the room for the sign-up sheet and add his name to the list.
You could be my K, he thinks as he finds an empty table himself and settles his guitar case beside him. Mystery guy in the corner doesn’t seem to have an instrument with him, and Lance wonders if he’s just here to listen.
Thinking about people listening gets Lance’s nerves going again, so he pulls out his phone and opens the app he uses to message K. He scrolls back til he finds the message that led him here, the reason he finally got the guts to try sharing his music live with strangers.
Dear friend,
I understand fear of rejection, more than I can express to you through this message. But I also know you, L. I have no doubt in my mind that whatever it is you’re scared to do, you can overcome. It’s always going to be scary opening parts of ourselves up to others, but if we never do, then we’ll never know what could be.
Damn, that sounds really cheesy. But you know what I mean. If this is something you want, you have to try. And I’d be willing to bet that whatever this situation is, you’re selling yourself short.
I know you’re going to face this fear of yours and you’re going to tell me all about it when you do. And I’m looking forward to it.
Your friend,
K
Lance practically has the message memorized with how many times he’s read it since receiving it two weeks ago. He wonders what K is doing tonight, and what it would be like if he was really here, cheering Lance on. Glancing back at Mystery guy again, he allows himself to imagine that he is K, and that this is something they’re doing together. Lance knows it’s just a fantasy though. He’s never met K, doesn’t know what he looks like, where he lives, or what he does, and he probably never will despite their daily correspondence. That’s the nature of their relationship, it’s part of what makes it special, and Lance is happy with it. Still, it’s nice to imagine that the hottie just a few tables away could be Lance’s good friend of two years now.
Just then, the host of the open mic steps up onto the stage, sign up sheet in hand.
“Hey everyone, thanks for coming out tonight to the open mic here at Common Ground.” The guy is so personable that Lance feels himself relax a bit despite the time to his performance drawing near. He signed up for the sixth slot on the list, and a quick glance around the room shows that there are 8 groups at the various tables. Around 20 people in the room if you count the employees, all listening and judging the song that Lance wrote, practiced, and carefully selected for this, his debut performance. Aaaand there are the nerves again.
Lance zones back in to the introduction right as the host introduces the first performer.
“and yeah, everyone just come up here and share what you’ve got and we’ll have a good time tonight! First up, if I can get Keith Kogane to set up on stage please.”
The host immediately turns and grabs an electric keyboard that’s off to the side, positioning it center stage. This Keith guy must be a regular if the host knows his set up without asking.
Just as the thought crosses Lance’s mind, Mystery hot guy walks past his table and up to the stage. The space is so intimately spaced that the guy’s leg practically brushes against Lance’s as he goes past.
Ok, guess this was a good pick for K, Lance chuckles to himself at the coincidence (though he isn’t even sure if “k” is K’s first initial or if it stands for something else). The moment breaks some of Lance’s built up tension, and he feels more anticipation than nerves as this Keith gets set up at the keyboard, adjusting the mic to pick up his voice so everything’s comfortable.
“I’m Keith.” Damn, even this guy’s voice fits his hot bad boy aesthetic. There’s the slightest gravel to his speaking voice that Lance can’t wait to hear in his singing. Lance really hopes this guy doesn’t suck because that would just ruin this whole K fantasy.
“This is a song I’m working on. It’s a little short because it isn’t finished but I wanted to test out what I’ve got tonight.”
Without further ado, Mystery—uh, Keith starts to play, beginning with piano chords that follow his vocal line up and down as he sings,
“I spend every day in fear
that I’ll waste away my years,
All my peers begin careers
and I just write these stupid songs.
Am I staying in one place
‘cause my head is up in space?
I try to face this life with grace
but I’m afraid of being wrong.”
He begins to play the chords loosely, letting the notes hit individually, and no longer following the vocal line exactly. A grace note or two embellishes the melody.
“A hundred paths to choose
but I’m scared of what I’ll lose
when I don’t go down the other ninety-nine.
And they say jealousy is madness,
and the fastest path to sadness
is comparing someone else’s life to mine.”
And then….then his fingers dance along the keys in a melody that grabs Lance’s soul as it rises to the higher register, the notes practically stumbling out as Keith, completely absorbed in his music, combines chords with a free-spirited melodic line. As the short piece comes to an end it feels like a question lingering in the air. He said it wasn’t finished, and it certainly has that feeling of something left unresolved…but Lance loves it, just as it is.
People clap and whoop as it becomes clear Keith has reached the end of his piece, and Keith looks up like he’s shaking off the final traces of a trance. Lance can relate, he feels like he was in a trance that whole performance. He finally remembers to clap as Keith says a brief “thank you” into the mic, and promptly leaves the stage.
It’s as Keith walks past him again that Lance is hit by the realization that he may have seriously underestimated the ability level of the performers at this open mic. Oh god, Lance can’t do this. Why did he think he could do this?! That piece Keith performed was incredible, and it’s not even finished yet! Sure, everyone here seems friendly and supportive, but they’re also leagues above Lance in talent and experience level! Is he really going to get up on that same stage, where this Keith guy just took the whole room on an emotional journey with a one minute song, and play a song about heartbreak?! How basic could he get, WHY DID HE PICK THAT SONG?!
In the time that Lance has been internally freaking out, he missed the announcement of the next performer and a young woman stands on the stage with a ukulele in hand. He must have missed her introduction as well because she’s already playing, and Lance recognizes it, it’s a cover of that CCR song, Have You Ever Seen the Rain. She has a nice voice, and hearing a familiar song calms Lance’s racing thoughts.
“I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain coming down on a sunny day?” She sings and strums the chords, her technique is unrefined but it really is a lovely performance regardless of the more basic skill level.
Ok, ok, I can do this. I told K I was going to this. He believes in me. I’m already on the sign-up sheet, it would be weird if I just left now. I’ve been practicing my song, it’s a good song, I play it well, it’ll be fine. Lance takes a deep breath and claps with everyone else as the woman finishes her song. The other people at her table cheer particularly loud.
Lance had considered asking Hunk or Allura to come with him, and he knows either of his friends would have been more than happy to. But this first time, he wanted to come by himself. He wanted to just be an anonymous performer among strangers. He maybe regrets that a little bit now, but there’s no time to dwell on it as the fifth performer leaves the stage and the host says, “Can I get Lance McClain to the stage please?” and it’s time.
Lance pulled his guitar out when he got here so it could acclimate to the temperature of the room, and managed to tune it while some of the performers were getting set up, so all he has to do now is walk up to the stage, stand under the lights, and sing into the microphone. Easy peasy. No big deal at all.
Lance gets up on the stage and steps up to the mic. Keith is still in the back corner of the room, looking up at him along with the everyone else in the room. It’s K, he’s watching and he’s cheering me on. I’ve got this.
“The name’s Lance, and this is a song I wrote called I Don’t Wanna Be In Love Anymore. I hope you like it.” Lance adjusts his guitar strap and begins to play.
The song starts with a simple melody on the guitar, then a dramatic pause, then three hits of his palm on the guitar and the melody pics up again with intermittent chords and Lance’s hand slapping against the body of the guitar for a percussive element.
“I don’t wanna be in love anymore,
I’m done being heartbroken for sure,
It hurts in my head that I’m a stupid guy,
Cuz I don’t wanna hurt you or make you cry.”
Lance is really proud of the jazz elements he was able to work into this song, from the chords to the melody, and he’s always felt that his voice sounds really smooth singing it, especially when he moves to his higher register in the chorus.
“Please don’t make me fall in love with you
Cuz I don’t even know what to do.
Please don’t make me fall in love again,
But I hope we still see each other in the end.”
Now though, Lance can’t help but feel the lyrics are weak and maybe he shouldn’t have chosen the song he wrote about his ex-girlfriend from college for his first open mic performance. But he knows this song really well, and he (usually) feels confident playing it. He keeps going, trying not to pay too close attention to the audience and dissect their every reaction.
“Oh dear, don’t be sad cuz I’m right here,
With an open shoulder for you,
So don’t worry about me cuz I’m fine, at this time
I’ll be a-okay, cuz it’s all over for me,
Just please don’t make me fall in love again”
After the second chorus, Lance begins to whistle. When writing this one, he liked the juxtaposition of the bouncy melody and jaunty whistle with the sadder content of the song. Maybe it’s a bit indicative of Lance too, hiding sad emotions behind an outwardly happy attitude, but the audience doesn’t need to know that.
He finishes his song, and everyone claps. He even gets a few whoops of his own, which make his lips quirk up involuntarily in a smile.
“Thank you so much,” he says into the mic before heading back to his seat at the side of the room.
His legs feel a bit like jelly, but he did it! He played his own song for a real live audience at his first open mic! He can’t wait to tell K all about it.
Lance sneaks a glance back at his fake K as the last performer gets set up on stage. Keith is hunched over his notebook still, though he’s courteous enough to look up and pay attention when someone starts playing. Lance wonders if tonight has given him any inspiration for finishing his song (even though Lance thinks it’s kinda perfect as is).
When the performances for the night are all finished and the host gives his final thank-you to everyone for coming, Lance makes a decision.
He grabs his guitar case and heads toward Keith, who is standing by the table he’d been sat at, looking at his phone with those scrunched eyebrows that make up 90% of his facial expressions if tonight is anything to go by.
“Hey man, your song was amaz—” Lance starts, but cuts off as Keith straight up ignores him and heads briskly for the door.
Lance is left mid-sentence with his hand extended where he’d been hoping to… shake the guy’s hand or something? He doesn’t even know, but now he never will because this jack ass is the rudest person in the world and completely blew Lance off as he was trying to COMPLIMENT HIM! The sting in Lance’s chest may be amplified by the fake emotional connection he had made pretending this guy was K, but either way Lance feels the indignation building in him at Keith’s dismissive behavior. Maybe Lance should find a new open mic to try if this is how it’s gonna be.
Before Lance can really work himself up over this guy, a voice sounds from behind him.
“Excuse me?”
Lance turns around to see the young woman who’d played the ukulele CCR cover. She’s probably a few years younger than him, and a full head shorter.
“Hi, I just wanted to say I loved your song! Your play style is so cool, I hope I see you around here again!”
Lance feels a warmth build in his chest as he thanks her and compliments her cover. Ok, maybe this place isn’t all bad. One mullet haired jerk isn’t gonna keep me away.
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Keith doesn’t usually run out of the open mic that quickly but a text from his neighbor and friend Pidge that Kosmo was whining in his apartment had him running out the door as soon as he got it. Kosmo never whines unless he’s sick. Keith told him not to eat that mystery crap on the sidewalk during their walk earlier but did he listen? Of course not.
Now that Keith has gotten Kosmo’s stomach to settle, set him up with his favorite stuffed animals and pillows, and gotten the mess cleaned up, he pulls up his messaging app to finally respond to L.
Dear friend,
I know you will do great tonight and you don’t need it, but good luck anyway. Let me know when I get to say I told you so.
I might take you up on that “rubber duck” suggestion. I’m pretty sure you were kidding but it’s honestly not a bad idea. I gave my project a test run tonight. Sometimes I feel like I can’t trust other people’s opinions because I can’t know if they’re saying what they really think or just what they think I want to hear. The feedback on my test run was pretty positive, but what if they’re just doing what is expected of them, how can I ever really know how someone really feels?
Sorry for the cynicism, but your insight has always helped my worries in the past.
Hurry up and tell me I was right about tonight, I know I was but the confirmation will prove you haven’t perished from some horrible and surely preventable death from your over-dramatics (that’s right, I said it, don’t even fight me on this you know it’s true).
I’m gonna go talk to an inanimate object and hope that Kosmo doesn’t think I’ve finally lost it.
Your friend,
K
Keith sends the message and turns to his open notebook. He’s stared at the same five sentences for so long now, he’s pretty sure he still sees them when he closes his eyes. Before he’d gotten the text about Kosmo at the end of the open mic tonight, he’d felt so inspired. That’s not uncommon when he gets to perform and see others share their music as well, but there was this new guy there tonight that Keith had never seen before.
The guy was tall and slim, tan, with bright blue eyes. He played guitar like his hands were born doing it, making it look so easy as he played a melody, chords, and added some percussion all seamlessly. His song was a simple verse, chorus, verse, chorus structure, but in a way it just aided the song, a song about heart break, about trying to make a relationship work in a different way after what it had been has ended. A simple structure with a relatable concept played like a friend comforting you. The smoothness of his voice certainly added to the comfort, Keith had gotten a little lost in his singing. Doesn’t hurt that the guy was handsome, like he walked straight out of a magazine.
Keith always admires songwriters who can write simply but effectively. Making something seem easy is the hardest thing you can do. Keith has a habit of making everything he writes complicated in an attempt to make it interesting or feel worthy to him. This new song started as his attempt to keep things simple, but the instrumental part after the lyrics got away from him a bit. He’s only one minute in and he already feels like the whole thing is fighting with itself, between the simpler chords and vocals at the start and the faster paced piano melody at the end. Plus, he can’t think of a single lyric for the next section. He just feels like he already said what he wanted to in the first five lines. If he’s honest, he likes what he’s written so far, but he has complete writer’s block and what kind of song is just over a minute long? The audience reacted really positively but everyone at this open mic is excessively nice and supportive. He can’t take their applause at face value.
Sighing, Keith grabs his stuffed hippo and heads to his keyboard. May as well make sure he wasn’t lying to L in his message.