#whoever notices my favorite line to write I’ll high five bc… 👀 it’s good guys 👀

[bluemantics]

Ring, a small bell tinkled, signaling the entrance of someone into the bar.

“We’re closed,” Lance called from behind the bar, rubbing it down with a cloth. Cream-colored towel smoothed alcohol stains off of the deep mahogany, and Lance stepped back for a moment to take a break and admire his work.

“Do I not get an exception?” a thick western accent drawled. Lance’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Keith,” he murmured. There he stood, just in front of the door, his whole outfit white and black save for his red boots. Lance loved those. They were proof that Keith could be sentimental, if anything.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lance said into the silence. He couldn’t help but notice the contrast between his accent and Keith’s, the irony of him telling Keith to leave. “It’s not safe, Red.”

“Pfft.” Keith sidled up to the bar, a dangerous gleam in his deep purple eyes. Lance shuddered. “Since when has danger ever stopped me… or you, apparently?”

Lance froze, halfway turned to clean up the back wall. “Sorry, what do you mean?”

Keith reached over the bar to grab himself a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass, staring at it and swirling it under his palm, gaze now turned down to the drink instead of Lance.

“What would the people of this sweet ol’ town say if they knew that their kindly bartender was not just hangin’ round with the fearsome outlaw Red, but was an outlaw himself?” Keith quickly looked up to see Lance, expression flint, waiting for the other foot to drop. “Ain’t that right, Blueshot?”

BANG.

Keith stumbled back, hands scrabbling for purchase in his coats, but Lance hopped over the bar in a smooth motion and grabbed his collar. He quickly shoved Keith back to the wall, pressing his back to the dark blue paint. Keith’s hands came up.

“That,” Lance hissed, pointing to the hole in the wall next to Keith’s head. “Was a warning shot, got that? I’m living a fine life right now, alright sweet cheeks? Don’t need anyone screwin’ that up for me. We clear?”

They were barely an inch apart. Lance’s measures breath mingled with Keith’s fast panting, but despite Keith’s obvious distress Lance stayed stock still. Keith’s eyes snapped to the pearl-handled revolver in Lance’s left hand.

He’d shot that with his left hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” Keith huffed. “Yeah. We clear, Blue, just get off, Jesus Christ.”

Lance just hummed, looking down at Keith with an expression he’d never seen on the previously peaceful bartender.

“I dunno,” he purred. “I kind of like you like this.”

Keith’s jaw dropped, failing to form a coherent word.

After a far-too-long (short?) pause, Lance pushed away from him. The gun vanished somewhere at his side. Keith came away from the wall, collecting himself.

“So now what?” Keith demanded, rubbing at his collar.

“Now,” Lance said easily, rolling up his sleeves to clean up more. “Maybe I’ll let you come back if you keep it a goddamn secret. And maybe I’ll see you around more now that we got somethin’ in common. That is, if you don’t get caught.”

Keith looked down to his forearm. A blazing symbol was on his skin, right below his elbow, a… V, just like his own but in blue.

“Alright.”

“Now get out of the bar, Kogane.”