First Impression

                                    

                                          
Lance stared up at the ceiling of his dark hotel room. He placed a hand behind his head and took a deep breath. Every scenario of his meeting with Keith sped through his mind. What would he say? What kind of place does Keith live? Would Keith even remember? What if he wasn't there? Lance couldn't tone down the anxiety running through his veins. It was such a strange situation. Nothing like this had ever happened before, so he had no idea how to go about it. 
                          
He turned on his side and stared at the wall. This was something he had to do. He would go crazy if he left without going there. He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. There was no going back now. 
                          
Lance's eyes darted from the address on the sticky note to the houses surrounding him. The neighborhood was calm and quiet. Bigger, nicer houses were spread out across smooth streets. Keith lived in an area Lance's family could never afford. An older couple with a Yorkie waved as he drove by. When his eyes returned to the road, Lance spotted the house. 3371 Cramer Street. He crumpled up the note and threw it into the glovebox. He pulled into the light stone driveway. 
                          
Keith's house was two stories, accompanied with light brick and black shutters. It looked cozy, yet held a sharper tone. Like having a beautifully made coffee, but it went cold. Lance stepped out of the car and took note of the black truck and Mercedes ahead of him. He took a quick breath and started toward the front door. He tapped the doorbell and fidgeted with his clothes as he waited. Standing about three feet away, his heart beat against his ribs with the force of a hammer. His hands started sweating as they tugged on his jacket. The door finally clicked open, causing Lance to jump.
                          
It opened only enough for him to see one crystal violet eye. Shiny black hair drooped over the boy's forehead, framing his brow bone. A light blue Vogmask with pink flowers and hummingbirds covered his mouth and nose. His voice was quiet and timid, but held a sense of sharpness. "Hello?"
                          
Lance tilted his head and leaned toward the door. He lowered and softened his voice as if he was talking to a child. "Hi," he waved a hand, "I was looking for someone named Keith? Keith Kogane?"
                          
His eye widened and he opened the door a little wider to reveal his whole body. He was thin; dressed in dark jeans, brown boots, and a military-green shirt covered by a dusty-cranberry cardigan. His clothes hung off his shoulders and wrapped around his palms. He was about three or four inches shorter than Lance. His covered face was framed with a wavy black mullet. He brought a half-covered hand over his chest, keeping the other behind the shelter of the door. He stared up at Lance with sparkling eyes. "That's me."
                          
Lance admired him in stunned silence. This was Keith? The Keith? "Oh," he rubbed the back of his neck. The Keith was fucking gorgeous. Lance tapped the toe of his shoe on the stone porch, gathering the courage to say anything at all.
                          
"Who are you?" Keith's long eyelashes flickered in the cool air.
                          
Lance stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, "My name is Lance." He pushed through his anxiety and locked eyes with him, "Lance McClain."
                          
Keith stared at him for what seemed like hours. Then, his eyes widened. The parts of his cheeks Lance could see went red. Keith hopped back and retreated back inside to shut the door. 
                          
Lance stood on the porch and stared at where Keith once was. He didn't know how to react. Should he ring again? Should he leave? He almost turned around when he heard the door open again.
                          
A tall woman with a wide smile jumped out. She wore a grey t-shirt and jeans. "Hello!"
                          
Lance gave her a small wave, "Hi."
                          
She stepped out onto the porch, looking down to Lance. "Are you one of Keith's friends?!"
                          
He took a small step back, "Um, not really. I'm Lance. It's kinda a long story–"
                          
"The Lance?!" 
                          
He averted his gaze, "Maybe?"
                          
"Oh," she laughed at herself, "Sorry about that! My name is Krolia. I'm Keith's mother."
                          
"You're Keith's mom?" Lance furrowed his brows in disbelief. This girl looked like she was twenty, not like she had an almost eighteen-year-old son.
                          
"So you're Lance, huh?" She brought a hand to her chin and scanned him. "I was beginning to think I would never meet you."
                          
Lance shook his head and chuckled, "Uh, you know me?"
                          
"Well," she brought her hands to her hips, "I've only ever heard stories. You're from the hospital, right?"
                          
His eyes widened, "Yes! I am!"
                          
Krolia squealed in excitement, "I knew it! It's you!" She motioned to him as she spoke. "Oh," she stuck her head back into the house, "Keith! Come say hi!" She waited for a moment, then clicked her teeth. She grabbed a notepad and pen and propped against the doorframe. "I'm gonna give you our numbers, Keith and I's." She handed him the paper and lowered her voice, "He's a little shy." Tossing the notepad back inside, she continued to speak. "You can call sometime or text Keith. It would be great if we could have a coffee or something." 
                          
Lance gave her a charming smile and a nod, "That would be great. I would love that." He waved goodbye and skipped down the stairs as she went back inside. Lance pumped his fist and trotted back to his car. Success.