Archive of Our Own

Keith walked into the old diner he had become so accustomed to while growing up. He took it all in with little notice: the black and white checkered tiles, the worn seat covers, the photos scattered beneath the scratched glass top of the counter and pinned along the walls. 

He kept his eyes forward on his target, walking past booths lined with people — the old man reading the newspaper, the father and daughter grinning, eating chili fries, the lovers sitting on the same side of the table, whispering excitedly. 

Keith found his spot with ease. Sliding carefully onto the cracked, leather swivel seat, he perched his feet onto the footrest beneath him. His hands fumbled for something to do as he finally registered the noise surrounding him. He worked off the soft, brown leather of his jacket and rested his elbows on the counter, running his fingers through his hair, tying the wild strands into a loose knot at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of grease and home. 

It was the sound of a throat clearing that signaled to Keith the presence of someone in front of him. His eyes blinked open and met the waitress’ steady gaze. She placed a chipped white mug in front of him, and when he nodded, she filled the mug. She asked if he was ready to order, and Keith replied he was waiting for someone. 

Soon after he had finished his second cup of coffee and his eyes had traced, retraced, and re-retraced the familiar faces of strangers in the photos decorating his counterspace, there was a jingle at the door. Keith looked up, and his eyes found him . 

Lance was dressed for the cold, swimming in what had to be one of Hunk’s flannels and a thick, wool sweater. Lance’s eyes danced around the diner and landed on Keith. Keith watched his face light up, cold reddened cheeks blooming into that damned crooked smile. Keith raised a hand and tilted it in a small wave, the trace of a smile gracing his features. 

 Lance’s eyes once again swept around the diner as he made his way to Keith. They caught on the same people Keith had paid little attention to and stuck. Lance smiled politely at the old man he passed, gave a small wave to the little girl with chili smeared across her face, and looked between Keith and the young couple with amused eyes. 

 Lance greeted Keith again with his winning smile. From here, Keith could see him so much better — the gap between his front teeth, his single dimple, the little scar above his lip, the beauty mark under his eye, the crinkles adorning the sides of his eyes. Lance slipped into the seat beside Keith and drew Keith’s mug into his hands. 

 Lance took a sip, and his face wrinkled with disgust at the bitter taste. “I thought you went off to college to get smart and cultured, Keith, my God. What are you paying those people for if you’re still drinking coffee like you’ve never heard of sugar.” 

“Well, actually, I went to art school to learn how to draw hands, but I can check my syllabuses to see if they mention a unit on proper coffee drinking and get back to you.” 

 Lance let out a loud sigh. “I guess it was too much to hope that you would come home, finally, a normal boy. I was hoping they could straighten you out, but alas, you’re a lost cause.” Lance let out another dramatic sigh and covered his face with his hands, fake sobbing. 

 Keith couldn’t help but stare lovingly at the boy in front of him. After a moment, Lance spread his fingers and let one of his hands drift to the side, revealing his left eye. Keith could see the telltale crinkles from where Lance peaked out, and he reached forward to grab Lance’s wrists and uncover his face. 

Lance erupted with laughter, relenting and allowing his hands to be pulled away. 

 Keith released Lance’s wrists almost immediately, not wanting to allow himself the sensation of warm skin beneath his fingers for too long. Quickly, Keith’s hands found his lap and picked at cracks in the leather between his legs.

When Lance had calmed down, he turned away from Keith’s direction to get the attention of the waitress. Lance craned his neck over his shoulder and shielded his mouth with a hand, whispering to Keith like it was a most precious secret, “I’m so starving, Keith, you wouldn’t believe.” Lance turned back towards the waitress as she came to a stop in front of them. 

 As Keith waited for Lance to finish his small talk and order, he allowed himself to really look at Lance. It had been months since he had last seen the boy in person, and there were some differences. 

Keith’s eyes started at Lance’s brow and slid down the familiar slope of his nose to find a small, silver hoop in his right nostril. Lance had gotten a nose piercing. Keith’s eyes wandered over the curve of Lance’s cheek and noticed dark bruises — “panda eyes”, Lance would call them — underlining his eyes. Keith frowned at that and made a note to find a subtle way to ask Lance if he had been overworking himself or not sleeping enough or maybe if he was getting sick. 

Lance’s skin was lighter than when he last saw him. This wasn’t surprising since Lance had been sporting a summer tan when Keith left, but he was still disappointed to see the freckles Lance had accumulated over long beach days fade. His eyes resumed their inspection and were soon drawn up from the dip of his cupid’s bow to slightly shaggy chestnut locks by Lance’s delft fingers tucking a framing piece of hair behind his ear. 

From there, Keith noted that Lance had gotten more piercings in his ears. On Lance’s seventeenth birthday, Keith had driven him to a mall in a nearby town and offered to pay for any ear piercings Lance wanted, and Lance left with two piercings in his right lobe and one piercing in his cartilage. Now, there were several more piercings — fine, gold hoops — adorning the curve of Lance’s right ear and another in his cartilage. 

It would seem Lance finished talking because he turned his head towards Keith to signal it was his turn to order. Keith averted his eyes, having been caught staring, and recited his order without looking up from the menu. When his blush had gone down some, Keith returned his gaze to Lance and found Lance was already looking at him. Lance didn’t blush or avert his eyes, though, and just grinned at Keith instead. Keith raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘ What?’

“I just missed you is all,” Lance answered with crinkled eyes and a soft tone. He took a deep breath and continued, “So, tell me something new. How has school been? How are your teachers?” 

Somewhere between Keith’s story about the time Professor Sythme locked a wild opossum in his supply closet and the time his roommate accidentally drank two month old, spoiled milk, they must have gotten their food because when Keith lamented the thirty minutes it took to thoroughly clean his dorm’s kitchen area of spit up milk, Lance laughed so hard he squirted old coffee out of his nose and all over his dinner. 

Lance continued to completely lose himself laughing as Keith and their waitress frantically tried to dab coffee off Lance’s shirt and pants, the counter, and his plate, and then, Keith couldn’t help but laugh, too. His eyes met Lance’s, and he again felt that rush of affection he had grown so accustomed to wash over him. 

And so they stayed like that for hours, sharing stories and laughing until they were breathless and their ribs burned. It wasn’t until a lull in conversation that Keith noticed how late it had gotten. The cat clock with the pendulum tail read 12:16. Keith distantly noted that he and Lance were turned almost completely facing each other, knees bumping, and Keith, who leaned against the counter watching Lance, adjusted his palm from under his cheek to slide back and cup behind his ear.

Saturated in the fluorescent lighting of the diner, Keith allowed his mind to wander to things he usually kept for the dark hours before he slept. He looked at Lance as he rambled about Pidge and Hunk’s most recent escapades and thought about how much has changed in the months he’s been away. 

He didn’t want to go at first. 

He had resigned himself to a small town life working as a mechanic with Kolivan until he was old and grey. He had told Lance a hundred times he didn’t want to leave. Oftentimes, he chalked it up as not having the money or the talent, but the truth was buried deep inside him. It was tucked away behind his ribs and burrowed somewhere in between his heart and his lungs. It was a truth he could only recognize in the quiet stretches of time spent between this world and the next, during long car rides and hot showers: He was scared. 

He didn’t want to lose the home he had built for himself with Shiro and Adam and Lance . When he thought too much about it, his throat closed up, and his chest ached. But there Lance was, pushing Keith to apply for school and to just get the hell out of this town. Lance had convinced him he could do something more, be something more, and he was thankful that he had gone. 

But now, in the dim light of the diner, when he looked at Lance and all the little changes, he wished he hadn’t left. He wished he had stayed right by Lance’s side, stationary, in this damned town and been there to take him to get his nose pierced and see his hair begin to curl with length.  

Just as suddenly as he had mourned their lost time, the sadness disappeared. Lance turned his 100 watt smile on Keith and raved about the time Pidge singed the vice principal’s eyebrows off at the science fair, talking with wild hand gestures. It was then the thought occurred to him that years, days, made no difference.

Lance was exactly the same to him. 

       ‘Beautiful ’, his mind supplied. 

Keith watched Lance with poorly masked adoration. ‘ Yeah’, he thought, ‘ a masterpiece ’.

Lance crossed his legs and leaned his arm against the counter, breaking eye contact at the reappearance of their waitress. She refilled Lance’s coffee — decaf, Keith intervened at the last second — and Lance raised the coffee to his mouth. Keith watched his lips form an ‘o’ as he blew a soft breath over his mug, causing a wide curve in the steam that trailed off just below his brow. It was Keith’s turn to say something as Lance was taking small sips from his mug. 

Abruptly, Keith started, “Lance?”

At the call of his name, Lance, still holding the mug to his lips, looked up at Keith from beneath his lashes and made a humming noise in response. 

“You look tired.” Keith cringed at the bluntness of his statement.

Lance, for his part, blinked a little at the admission and averted his gaze. Putting his mug down, Lance sighed and rubbed his fingers under his eyes, along his purple eye bags. 

“Are they that noticeable?” Lance’s fingers rubbed harder as if to wipe away the exhaustion. “I’ve been picking up extra shifts at the bookstore, and I’ve just been swamped with school work. I’m just a little overwhelmed right now, honestly.” He looked back up at Keith and narrowed his eyes. “Also, I can’t believe you didn’t warn me about Coach Antok’s class! I’ve worked harder in his class this year alone than any other class my whole time in high school.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. Lance’s declaration of stress absolved Keith from further worry, and with the rope loosening in his chest, he reminded Lance that he actually had warned him against taking the advanced calculus course. As they bickered, Keith’s eyes wandered to the cat clock. It read 12:27. 

Standing up, Keith stretched before sliding his arms into his discarded jacket and grabbing his wallet off the counter. “I’m not entirely sure of your curfew as a Senior, but I’m assuming it’s the same as it’s been since you were fifteen, in which case you’d better be heading home soon.”

Lance sighed dramatically and spun around in his swivel seat, pouting. He tilted his head back and looked up at Keith with pleading eyes. “C’mon, Keith, let’s stay a minute longer. Mamá won’t mind if I’m late if I was with you. Please, Keith?” 

Keith struggled against Lance’s infamous puppy-dog eyes and weighed his options. He could refuse Lance and deal with him whining the whole walk to their cars, or he could spend another five (let’s be honest, fifteen at minimum) minutes in the diner with Lance and incur the wrath of Ms. McClain. It wasn’t a fair comparison. He steeled his gaze and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “No, Lance, there’s no way I’m letting you blame me for getting home late. Your mother will have my head. C’mon, let’s get going.”

Lance looked as if he was going to start up again, but Keith hadn’t waited for his response and was already headed towards to register at the end of the counter. After a moment of deliberation, Keith heard Lance’s feet tap against the tiles, and he felt him slide up against his side as Keith covered their bill.

‘Ready?’ Keith’s eyes ask, and Lance nods, pivoting on his heel toward the door. 

Keith stretched his right arm over Lance’s head to hold the door open for him, and Lance stepped out first onto the empty sidewalk. The door swings shut behind Keith, and he settles himself standing beside Lance who has his face directed towards the stars. Keith glides his hand along Lance’s back to get his attention and begins to walk backwards in hopes of getting the couple moving. Lance turns his head towards Keith and begins spouting his usual complaints about the cold October weather. When Lance starts walking towards him, Keith turns himself to walk forwards, and Lance slides his left arm around Keith’s right, ready to walk through the night. 

Keith asks Lance where he’s parked, and Lance replies that he was parked by Keith in the lot behind the theater. The two begin to walk down the sidewalk of the deserted town square. All the shops are closed at this hour, and the only source of light are the street lamps and one lazily changing stoplight.

Lance leans forward to look past Keith into the shops to their left. He reacts with awe at the buildings and displays he’s definitely seen more recently than Keith. He excitedly points out the new pansy and marigold arrangements in the flower shop, and his eyes shine with wonder at the beautiful jewelry and brooches the antique store has on display. The pair crossed the street in front of the theater, and Keith couldn’t help but notice how the shining lights of the marquee colored Lance a beautiful shade of gold. 

They turn a corner and head down the weathered sidewalk lining the wall of the theater. Lance’s fingers traced between the bricks and danced along the rough exterior of the building. The couple cross the lot where they’d parked and stop in front of Lance’s banged up, blue car. 

Lance relinquishes his grip on Keith’s arm and uses both hands to tug the hair framing his face behind his ears. They position themselves side-by-side, leaning against the doors of the car. Lance, shorter by just an inch or two, looks up at Keith with his big blue eyes and asks how long Keith will be in town. Keith answered that he was on fall break for the next two weeks, and Lance smiled that crooked smile of his. 

The two stand in silence for a few minutes, just watching their frozen breathes drift away. Lance starts, “Hey, Keith?” Keith’s hum prompts him to continue. “I know this isn’t really your thing, but I was hoping you’d come with me to a friend’s party. A Halloween party so…” Lance trails off and looks up at Keith to see his reaction. 

Keith was keeping his face carefully blank as he thought about Lance’s offer. Since they were kids, Lance had always been surprisingly sensitive. It only took one shift in his countenance for Lance to jump to conclusions, immediately backtracking or rising to defenses because of a reaction he construed as negative. 

Keith had only been to a few parties in high school, all of which Lance had begged him to attend. He was never one for large crowds or dancing or drinking with strangers, but Lance always had been.

Keith considered how much time he would be spending home and how much of it Shiro and Adam would actually let Keith spend with Lance. They’d planned lots of activities to do with Keith when he came home, so most of his evenings, it seemed, were filled. He didn’t want to go. He never wanted to go to parties, but something in his mind was telling him this might be one of the only nights he got to spend with Lance, if Shiro’s pizza and movie nights had their way. 

With every second Keith kept silent, Lance’s face fell a little more, and he looked like he was moments away from scrambling to take the offer back when Keith took a deep breath. “By Halloween party, you mean costume party?” 

Lance blinked, shocked. “Well, yeah, but I don’t think you have to wear a costume...maybe just something Halloween themed?” Lance finished with a lilt to his words that made them into a question. 

“Whose party is it?” Keith paused and continued, “And are Hunk and Pidge going to be there?” Keith didn’t want to be completely alone if he lost Lance or if Lance ended up talking to someone Keith didn’t like.

“It’s at Ryan’s house, and yes, Hunk and Pidge will both be there.” Lance leaned into Keith’s space a little and rested his head onto his shoulder. “Is that a yes?” Lance asked hopefully. 

Keith hummed. “Yeah, I’ll come,” Keith looked down at Lance with a serious expression, “but I’m not wearing a costume.” 

Lance laughed at that, and Keith felt laughter bubble up in his chest. Smiling he said, “I’m serious, Lance. There’s no way I’m dressing up for this.”

Lance's eyes shined as they locked with Keith’s. “Okay,” Lance conceded, “I won’t make you dress up, but you have to at least wear something festive. Me and Hunk and Pidge are all dressing up, and don’t ask me what I’m wearing because there’s no way I’m telling you. It’s a secret!” Lance’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “And I might have already told Mama you would take me, so I’m really gonna need a ride.”

Keith rolled his eyes with a slight smile, revealing his annoyance to be amusement. “Jesus, Lance, just what are you getting yourself into while I’m gone if you suddenly need me as an escort.” 

Lance scoffed in faux irritation. “Keith, my friend, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I am an absolute angel.” Lance lifted his head from Keith’s shoulder to tilt his chin up in defiance. “I just needed to add a little cherry on top of my party proposal for Mamá to say yes, and you just happened to be that cherry.” 

Lance shifted his weight forward to stand up straight. He took a step away from Keith and fished for his keys from his front pocket. “I guess I really should be getting home now. The party is this weekend, so don’t forget, okay?” Lance fitted the key into the lock and opened the door, slipping into the clothed driver’s seat. Still sitting with his legs out of the car and door open, he glanced up to make sure Keith heard him. 

Keith nodded. “Goodnight, Lance. Drive safe.” With a small smile, he gently patted the roof of Lance’s car and crossed in front of the car towards his truck. 

He heard Lance’s soft response as he climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck, pretending to fiddle with the radio to mask his waiting to make sure Lance’s car started okay, just like his dad taught him. He raised his head at the sound of the engine and watched Lance’s headlights switch on as he pulled away, waving his fingers slightly from his grip on the steering wheel. 

Keith’s fingers slipped the key into the ignition and turned, stuttering his old truck to life. The radio played a nondescript hum, and Keith tilted his head back against the headrest, letting his mind drift. He thought of Lance and his pretty smile, the way his fingers tap rhythms on every surface they grace, the sharp line of his jaw when he throws his head back to laugh. He thinks of the summer days when he taught Lance to drive and the way Lance always fell asleep in Keith’s passenger seat after late night movie showings. He shifts gears and drives home with Lance on his mind. Lance stays with him as pulls into his driveway and as he showers and as he collapses into bed. 

Now, in the comfort of the dark, Keith lets his thoughts run wild again, and they settle with the memory of the day he realized he loved Lance. 

—————————————

It was hot summer’s day, and the sun was peeking through the leaves, forming shapes of dancing light on the dirt. He was ten and Lance might have still been eight--going on nine in August. The two had been frog hunting all afternoon. They were wandering through the woods and by the riverbank with scraped knees and holes in their smiles. They were carrying pails and little plastic scoops, and when they came across a school of tadpoles, Lance had the clever idea to take the tadpoles home and raise them. 

They could keep them in the bathtub, and then they would have access to frogs whenever they pleased without having to dig through mud and leaves to find them (plus, it would be a valid excuse to get out of taking baths!). So the boys gathered as many tadpoles as they could with their buckets and scoops and triumphantly headed towards Lance’s house. 

It was humid that day, so the boys were sticky with sweat by the time they reached Lance’s back porch. They kicked their shoes off on the mat outside and discarded their tools. The boys ran upstairs to the kids’ shared bathroom and collapsed on the cold tile in front of the tub. Keith reached for the faucet and craned his head back to ask Lance what temperature the water should be. 

Lance put a little hand to his chin in thought. His eyes sparkled as he smiled and clapped his hands together, telling Keith they should fill the tub with hot water since his Mamá told him frogs were amphibians and, therefore, cold-blooded. Keith nodded his head and turned the water almost entirely hot, filling the tub to the rim. The boys took their pails and emptied the tadpoles into the steaming water, and Lance smiled gleeful, looking between Keith and the tadpoles in awe. 

The sun was setting, and Keith had to leave soon after the tadpoles were put into the tub, promising to return tomorrow to see their growth. Keith forgets exactly what happened between leaving Lance’s house and arriving home, but he was in pajamas, getting ready for bed, when Shiro knocked on the door with a concerned expression. He was holding the house phone to his chest as he told Keith that Lance was asking for him and that he sounded pretty upset. At this, Keith furrowed his brows and extended his hand to accept the phone. 

Keith started, “Hello?”

He could hear Lance was crying. Lance took what was meant to be a deep breath, but it was strangled and wet. “Keith?” Lance’s little voice wobbed. “Keith, can you come over?” 

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Keith couldn’t understand what was happening.

Another sob rang through the line and Lance repeated, “Keith, please, can you come over?” 

Keith looked up at Shiro who was still hovering in his doorway with a pinched brow and frown. “Can I go to Lance’s?” Shiro nodded and mouthed that he would get his car keys, bringing his fingers up to mimic holding and jingling keys. As Shiro disappeared from the door, Keith answered Lance saying, “Yeah, Shiro’s gonna drive me. I’ll be over soon, okay?”

Keith heard Lance intake another shuddery breath. Lance said, “Hurry,” and Keith could hear the ring of the receiver. 

Keith slipped his sneakers on and met Shiro in the hall. The pair called to Adam that they were leaving, and they climbed into Shiro’s truck. Keith stared out the passenger window and rested his head against the glass. He could see the reflection of the time from the radio when they pulled up Lance’s driveway. It read 9:08.

As soon as Shiro shifted into park, Keith unbuckled his seatbelt and flung his door open, racing up the front steps. He rang the doorbell twice, and it only took a moment for Ms. McClain to answer. She sent a meaningful gaze to Shiro who was hanging back at the bottom of the stairs and told Keith that Lance was in the upstairs bathroom. 

Keith charged past her and bolted up the stairs, counting doors as he finally came to a stop in front of the bathroom. The door was cracked slightly, and he could hear the sound of muffled crying. Keith pushed the door open and saw Lance sitting in front of the tub with his head in his hands. Quietly, Keith ventured into the room and hesitated before carefully sitting beside Lance.

Lance lifted his head from his hands and looked over at Keith. Keith’s eyes widened at the state Lance was in. Of course Keith had seen Lance cry before. He had been with him through many twisted ankles, bee stings, and scraped elbows. But he had never seen Lance cry the way he was crying now. Lance’s face was a blotchy mess of reds and pinks, and his eyelashes were clumped together in a sticky mess. His nose was running horribly, and no matter how many times Lance pushed the end of his nose up with his palms and sniffed, the snot wouldn’t relent. 

“Keith,” Lance started, “I am so, so sorry.” Keith looked at Lance with confusion, and Lance started to cry harder. 

Panicking, Keith asked him why he was sorry, and Lance just continued to cry, looking into the bathtub. Keith followed suit and peaked over the edge of the porcelain. Floating in the water were the three dozen tadpoles the boys had caught that afternoon, but something was wrong. They weren’t swimming or even moving. 

Keith heard Lance make a gasping noise and turned his head towards Lance. Lance began again, “I killed them, Keith. Mamá said I was wrong. Tadpoles don’t live in hot water — it kills them.” Lance crumbled again and dug his wrists into his eyes. 

Keith didn’t know what to say, so he leaned forward and tugged Lance into a hug. Lance stiffened for a moment before throwing his arms around Keith and burrowing his face into Keith’s neck, wetting the collar of his sleep shirt. 

Keith rubbed his little hands up and down Lance’s back in a way he distantly remembers his dad doing when he used to cry. Keith told Lance it was okay, that it was an accident and that they would give the tadpoles a proper burial tomorrow. 

Keith didn’t know how long they stayed curled up together against the tub, but when Shiro knocked lightly on the doorframe and asked Keith if he wanted to spend the night, the answer was obvious. After that, Ms. McClain gathered the boys up and got them ready for bed, wiping their faces with warm bath clothes, cleaning away tears and snot. 

That night, the boys curled up together under a multitude of blankets, hidden from the world. A dozen glow in the dark stars adorned Lance’s ceiling and illuminated the room in a soft green light. Keith was lying on his side, watching Lance’s eyes flutter in his sleep. His chest was warm as he watched Lance’s relaxed face take deep breaths, and he reached his little hand towards Lance’s cheek where his fingers skimmed the puffy skin around Lance’s eyes, inflamed from tears, with featherlight finger tips. 

It was that night, bundled up under thick blankets in a baggy tee shirt Marco loaned him, that he realized he loved Lance. He loved him the way his dad had loved his mom so long ago, and he loved him the way Shiro loved Adam now. He wanted to stay with Lance. Stay by his side when he’s happy and laughing; when they’re catching frogs and playing in the river and swimming in the ocean; stay by his side when he’s sad and crying; he wants to hug him when he scrapes his knees and kiss his finger when he jams it and hold his hand when the dog dies in a movie and hold a tissue to his nose when it bleeds. 

Keith knew that night that he loved Lance. He mouthed the words once before releasing them into the space between the two. 

“I love you.” Keith murmured, so softly it could scarcely be heard even by himself. 

He scrambled for words he thought could describe Lance. Pretty and smart and fast came to mind first, of course, but after a few minutes of searching for a word that could encompass all of Lance’s greatness, he remembered a word Adam liked to use when a movie was over or an album played through.

“Masterpiece,” Keith uttered softly, eyes dancing across Lance’s face with a lovestruck grin. 

————————————

Keith turned down the winding driveway of the McClain residence, high beams painting the gravel and foliage with color. He parked behind Ms. McClain’s car and shifted his truck into park. The hum of the radio abruptly died as Keith turned his car off and opened the driver door. He watched his feet walk along the stepping stone path that leads to the front porch, and he took the stairs two at a time, ringing the doorbell twice in quick succession. He glanced down at his watch and saw he was a little earlier than Lance requested. For a moment, Keith wondered if he should turn around and wait in his car, but then, the door opened and revealed the toothy grin of Nadia—Lance’s niece. 

“Hi.” The little girl beamed up at him and turned her head to the staircase, yelling, “LANCE YOUR BOYFRIEND IS HERE!” She giggled and swung the door wider for Keith to come inside. She glanced his way, and upon seeing his bewildered and flushed face, erupted in giggles again, running somewhere in the house.

Keith closed the door behind him and headed towards the joined kitchen and living room. He could hear Ms. McClain’s exasperated sigh from the kitchen area. 

“Nadia,” she scolded, “you leave Keith alone! And go get Lance yourself, don’t hollar across the house like a banshee!” There was a pause. “Keith,” she called in a cheery voice, “come on inside, corazoncito. Lance isn’t ready yet.” 

Keith peaked his head into the kitchen and saw Ms. McClain busy washing a mound of dishes. He grabbed a clean rag and picked up a plate from the drying rack, toweling the excess water and starting a clean stack. Ms. McClain dropped the glass she was scrubbing into the sudsy water and peeled off her wet gloves with that beautiful smile Lance inherited. Keith was tugged against her shorter frame and into a big hug. She pulled back and squeezed his arms. “How are you, mijo ? You can make yourself comfortable. Who knows how much longer that boy will need?” She huffed out a chuckle, and Keith sported a small smile. 

“Actually,” she continued, “I’ll go up there and hurry him up.” She winked at Keith and left out the same door he entered. 

Keith wandered around from the kitchen to the adjoining living room. His eyes took in the familiar blue couch and worn leather recliners. He dodged the sharp corner of the cluttered coffee table (it was ingrained in him after many bruised shins and knees) and inspected the photos decorating the mantle. He gazed fondly at one of him and Lance standing side-by-side, holding a huge green and black bass they had caught on one of their fishing trips with Marco and Luis. His fingers lifted to touch the frame of a photo of Lance in his old middle school soccer uniform when Ms. McClain called from the hall, “He’ll be right down, Keith.” 

Soon after Keith had refamiliarized himself with all the photos on the mantle and some of the frames adorning the walls, Lance’s voice could be heard from somewhere on the stairs or in the hall. “ Mamá ,” he called, “where is Keith waiting?” 

“In here!” Keith answered for Ms. McClain. 

Keith was busy looking at a photo of Rachel, Lance’s twin sister who took ballet, and Lance, who did not take ballet, where Rachel was standing in perfect form with her tutu on and hair pulled back in a tight bun, and Lance, with his missing teeth and squinting eyes, was beside her, trying and failing to mimic her pose. 

“Ugh, Keith, nooo. Those are so embarrassing.” Lance whined from behind him. 

 Keith looked over his shoulder at Lance, and his breath caught. Lance was dressed in a fitted, red long-sleeved shirt along with a pair of black leather shorts and fishnet stockings. Lance was walking towards him with a pink flush to his cheeks and hands tugging at the ends of his sleeves. He still didn’t have his shoes on, so his feet padded soundlessly against the hardwood floor and carpet as he made his way across the room to Keith. 

Keith still had a shocked expression on his face when Lance stopped in front of him. Lance was grinning up at Keith and did a little spin for him. That was when Keith noticed the dangling devil tail he was sporting and began to chuckle. 

“So,” Lance prompted impatiently, “what do you think? Do you like it?” 

Keith nodded his head wordlessly. He was still chuckling softly at the tail and taking in Lance’s appearance. “I especially love the tail.” 

Lance stood up straight, grabbing the tail he began to wring it loosely. Lance looked very satisfied with himself as he thanked Keith, smiling brightly. “I haven’t finished my makeup yet, so you can come upstairs to wait if you want.”

Keith nodded his head and let Lance lead him out of the room to the stairs. Lance took a few of the steps before twisting sideways to look at Keith. “I like your shirt, by the way. The cats are cute.” Lance spun back around to walk the rest of the stairs facing the right way. 

Keith glanced down at the shirt Shiro had let him borrow — it was an orange long-sleeved shirt decorated with three bejeweled kittens sitting in pumpkins. One dressed as a ghost, one as a witch, and the third as a devil. He smiled and said, “Thanks. It’s Adam’s from high school, so it’s not just vintage, it’s also cutting off circulation to my head.” Keith finished by bringing a hand up to run his fingers under the tight collar.  

He could hear Lance laugh, and he started up the steps. He was a few steps behind Lance, and when he looked up, his view was the curve of Lance’s lower back into his ass that filled out those leather shorts so well and was Lance arching his back or is that curve natural because — Keith blinked hard and quickly averted his gaze to his feet, blushing. 

‘Damn pervert brain,’ he scolded himself.

At the top of the stairs, the pair passed Lance’s siblings’ rooms. The only room that seemed to be occupied was Lance’s oldest sister Veronica’s. Keith glanced into her room in passing and saw her lying on her stomach talking on the phone, laughing at something someone said on the other line. Her eyes flitted up and caught Keith’s momentarily. She waved distractedly and looked away before Keith could do the same. 

They reached Lance’s room a moment later. Lance sat down at his vanity and pulled out brushes and pallets and things Keith didn’t understand. Keith walked over to Lance’s desk and looked at the bulletin board hanging above it. The board was overflowing with pictures of Lance and his family, magazine clips, doodles from Keith, tickets from movies, and paper wristbands from amusement parks and fairs. 

His eyes wandered to the desk below. Textbooks and loose papers were messily organized into stacks, and Keith eyed a full folder labeled ‘college’ curiously. There were stickers of various mascots adorning the folder, and Keith traced the animals mindlessly. He almost opened the folder, but he was distracted when he spotted the framed photo on display of the two of them at Keith’s graduation. 

He bent down to get a better look at their smiling faces, happy memories of that night resurfacing. When he reached for the photo, moving some of the stray papers out of the way, he saw the wallet sized senior portrait of himself Shiro had insisted giving to everyone they know tucked into the corner of the glass. Keith cringed at the sight of his awkward half smile and mentally cursed the yearbook photographer who was clearly out to ruin his life.  

Keith could hear Lance quietly humming to himself. He wandered towards where Lance was sitting and leaned his hip against the vanity while Lance gazed into the mirror with intense focus. Keith watched with poorly masked fascination as Lance lengthened his already long lashes with mascara. Lance sat up straight and inspected his face. He seemed to be satisfied with what he saw because he tightened the lid to his mascara and began shutting pallets and returning brushes to different jam jars. Keith watched skeptically as Lance reached for a spray bottle and spritzed its contents over his face. 

Lance raised a groomed brow at Keith’s surprised gasp, and simply said, “Setting spray,” with a noncommittal shrug. 

Lance stood and stretched his arms above his head, rising to his tippy-toes. Keith cringed as he heard several of Lance’s bones crack in protest, and Lance spun around to retrieve his shoes from the closet. 

“Can you get some fuzzy socks from my sock drawer?” There was a pause as Lance shuffled through his shoes to find the pair he was looking for. His muffled voice continued, “You know, the fuzzy striped ones? Pink and white?” 

Keith pulled the knobs of the first dresser drawer and found the desired socks easily. When he shut the drawer, he turned around to find Lance sitting on the end of the bed loosening the laces of his black combat boots. Keith took a few steps forward and tossed the socks onto the bed near Lance’s pillows. Lance slipped the socks on and laced up the boots, and he stood up to search for something on his nightstand. Lance squatted down and found what he was looking for: a headband with two plush devil horns, decorated with sequins and lined with red feathers. Lance fit the headband into his hair and rested his arms on his waist, striking a few dramatic poses. 

“You look good, Lance, really good,” Keith praised.

Lance glowed from the compliment. He started towards the door of his room, walking and talking. “Since I know you’re just dying to know why I’m dressed like this,” he gestured vaguely to himself, “I happen to be matching with the one and only Hunk Garrett — the angel to my devil.” 

The pair had almost made it to the staircase when Veronica called out for Lance, asking if he was leaving. With a yes in response, he backtracked to meet Veronica at her door. Veronica hugged Lance tightly and conversed with him softly in Spanish. Keith watched the scene confused for a moment. Could this be the same Veronica who threw pillows at them and screamed bloody murder when they used to invade her room to play pirates and mermaids? Keith stared at the pair with questions swirling in his mind before looking away embarrassed when Veronica kissed Lance’s temple. With a final “be safe,” Veronica slipped back into her room and closed the door. 

Lance walked back Keith’s way, apparently not going to comment on or question his sister’s strange behavior. The pair headed down the stairs, and Keith waited by the door as Lance called out to his mom, announcing their departure. 

From deeper in the house, Ms. McClain told them to wait a minute. She appeared in the hallway and stopped in front of Lance, straightening his clothes and looking him over. As she did this, they spoke in a soft whisper, and finally, after a minute of hushed conversation and meaningful eye contact, Ms. McClain pushed Lance’s bangs back and kissed his forehead. Keith shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the second display of blatant affection. She released his hand and made a shooing motion, calling out after them to be home by curfew. 

Lance rushed to the passenger side of Keith’s car and demanded Keith hurry up and unlock it because he was “freezing his ass off out here, Jesus, Keith.” Keith turned the key in the ignition, and the truck erupted with life. Lance leaned forward to switch radio stations as Keith backed out of his makeshift spot. 

“You should have brought a coat or something, you know.” Keith commented, seeing Lance rub his hands up and down his almost bare legs. 

Keith kept his eyes trained on the road and leaned forward to turn the heat on high. “So where the hell is this guy’s house?”

Lance answered with a vague wave and said he’d been there before and could direct him. “Just keep going straight, and I’ll tell you where to turn.”

Keith nodded and shifted his left arm to perch against the window, adjusting his right hand to grip the wheel loosely. As they passed under street lights and by houses, Keith began to regret agreeing to come to this. I mean, sure, it’s fun to hang out with Lance, but he would have rather done something at Lance’s house or his own, just the two of them. He was trying to come up with a believable excuse that could get him out of this party a few hours early when he almost missed a turn Lance was pointing at. 

He murmured a sorry, and Lance just rolled his eyes. 

There were a few minutes of quiet between them with just the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Keith saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Lance playing with his fingers — a nervous habit. 

“Are you okay?” 

Lance startled slightly and sighed, still fidgeting. “Do you remember when I dated James?” Lance waited for Keith’s grunt of confirmation. “Well, I’m not sure you remember all the details, but I ended it a while before you left, remember?”

Keith definitely remembered. 

He remembered the exact moment James took an interest in Lance. It was at a Christmas party Lance drug Keith to last year. Lance had looked beautiful that night with a tight, red turtleneck and black jeans, and Keith distinctly remembers the way James would drag his eyes up Lance’s frame in the most obvious and perverted way, like he was undressing him with his eyes. He had tried to stick by Lance’s side to ward him off, but the minute he had peeled himself away to get refills for himself and Lance, James swept in like a hawk. 

Keith had left the kitchen, balancing their too full cups in his arms, and looked up to see Lance laughing loudly at something James said, tucking his hair behind his ears. James was leaned against the wall in a way that almost caged Lance in, and Keith was hurt. He knew he was too late when he saw Lance lightly shove James’ shoulder, smiling up at him with a teasing, nervous smile. Keith visibly deflated. In the back of his mind, he thought maybe he had a chance with Lance tonight. Lance was in a rare lull between relationships. He had even worn the bracelet Keith gave him as an early Christmas gift to the party. Surely, he had thought, that was a sign, but across the room, Lance was smiling so sweetly at a different guy. 

It hurt.

The night of the party was the beginning of James’ involvement in Lance’s life. From the perspective of an outsider, James never treated Lance right. He never called when he said he would, and he never made time for Lance. When Lance spoke in his excited tone, James would roll his eyes at whatever he was going on about, causing him to taper off and deflate. Everything about their relationship rubbed Keith the wrong way, but any time Keith attempted to relay his concerns, Lance would wave them off. He would always make excuses for James.

“He didn’t just forget to call, Keith. He’s been really busy with school lately. He probably just got distracted.”

“I haven’t really been waiting that long, just an hour. He’s been with his friends all day, maybe he lost track of time. I’m sure he didn’t forget our plans.”

"He’s been doing better lately, Keith, I swear. And he promised to make it up to me next time.”

It wasn’t until Lance caught James cheating that he snapped. He caught James, drunk out of his mind, kissing some underclassman girl in the bathroom at some party he hadn’t taken Keith to. Keith didn’t know exactly how the scene went down, but he knew it was loud and messy and very public. He also knew Lance had been devastated. The two had been dating for nearly six months at that point, and Lance was even planning something special for their anniversary. Lance called Keith on the drive home from the party, crying and asking if he could come over. 

Keith sat up with Lance for hours drying his tears and rubbing comforting circles into Lance’s back, reassuring him that, no, there was nothing he could have done differently to prevent this and, no, it wasn’t his fault in any way and, yes, James is a complete asshole. For once, Keith lamented the fact that he wasn’t at a party, and he wished he could have been there to beat the shit out of James for humiliating Lance and making him cry. 

Keith had helped Lance fit all his pieces back together. He stuck by his side at school like a loyal guard dog, glaring daggers at the gawking eyes and whispering mouths. He kept James’ friends from spreading too many rumors and shielded Lance from the drama as best he could. It took awhile for Lance to feel like himself again, but he got there. 

Lance’s voice started again and brought Keith out of his memories. “I’ve been avoiding parties I think he’d be at since, you know…” Lance trailed off for a moment. “I heard he was gonna be here tonight. But I’ve really been looking forward to this party, so I’m going anyway. I’m not gonna let him control me anymore.” Lance’s confidence built as he was talking, and he finished with a decisive nod. 

Keith didn’t have time to be proud of Lance as the house he presumed to be Ryan’s came into view. It was the only house on the street with every light on, and there were cars lining the road and parked in rows like sardines in the driveway. Keith found an empty spot on the road and shifted into park. 

The two got out with little deliberation and headed down the sidewalk towards the bustling house. “Are Hunk and Pidge already here?” Keith asked, glancing down at his watch which read they were a little later than they had planned.

“Yeah, I think they were planning on coming a little early to get the most out of the night.” Lance tucked his hands under his arms and sped up their pace a little, shivering. Lance’s stride didn’t falter until they got to the front door. Muffled Christmas music could be heard through the door as his hand hovered over the knob for a moment before he turned it and pushed forward. 

The front door opened into a living area where boys and girls were packed together, mingling and drinking from red cups. Lance and Keith dived head first into the belly of the beast, pushing their way into the room, music thumping loudly and rattling their chests. The furniture — a couch, some chairs, a coffee table — had been moved to hug the wall to make space for a makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. 

Lance laced his fingers with Keith’s to keep track of him, and he immediately started greeting people and making small talk while they searched the room for Hunk and Pidge. The two pushed further into the house and passed through the kitchen where Keith grabbed himself a soft drink and grabbed Lance one of whatever the hell Ryan was pouring into solo cups and distributing. From the kitchen, the pair walked down the hall, passing a theater room, and found Hunk and Pidge in the game room. 

Pidge was on the couch beside Matt surrounded by a group of people Keith somewhat recognized, and the two were locked in an intense Mario Kart race. Lance released Keith’s arm to go talk to Hunk who was fiddling on his phone in the corner. Keith sat himself on the arm of the couch, waiting for the race to be over before announcing his presence to Pidge. 

After a minute more of intense concentration on the screen and bodily swaying with their karts, Pidge finally beat Matt. Pidge cried out triumphantly and pumped their fist in the air as Matt groaned and sunk low into the couch. 

“Now, if I am remembering this correctly, you owe me five bucks. Pay up, o’ brother of mine.” Pidge demanded with a roguish smirk. 

Matt groaned again louder and fished in his pocket for the payment. “Hey, Keith’s here by the way,” Matt said when he slapped the crumpled bill into Pidge’s waiting hand.

Pidge jolted and sat ramrod straight. They whipped their head around to see Keith sitting on the arm of the couch beside them. “Oh my God, Keith when the hell did you get here?” Pidge pushed their glasses up their nose and flashed a toothy smile at Keith, wiggling their eyebrows. “And, Jesus Christ, Keith, did you seriously let Lance out of the house looking like that ?” 

Matt released a low whistle from beside them, eyeing Lance with an appreciative gaze. “Damn he looks good, Keith.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, his traitorous brain reminded him of Lance’s freshman year when he and Matt were almost a thing, dancing around each other. Nothing more than some serious eye-fucking and flirting ever passed between the two, but still, a small surge of jealousy and protectiveness caused Keith to hiss out, “I would prefer it if you didn’t ogle my childhood best friend like he’s a piece of meat, Matt, thanks. And we haven’t been here long, Pidge, just long enough to get drinks.” Keith raised his can and shook it for emphasis. 

Lance’s loud laughter drew his attention, and Keith let his eyes wander up Lance’s long legs, which were accentuated by the fishnets. Lance’s shoulders were hunched as he bent forward, absolutely losing it over something Hunk said. Keith let his eyes shift to Hunk for a moment, taking in the matching angel costume with a feathery set of wings and a halo, before returning to Lance.

“Now who’s eyeing his childhood best friend like a piece of meat?” Pidge said, leaning beside Keith to look at Lance and Hunk, too. 

Keith jolted at the teasing question and quickly averted his eyes, muttering a weak ‘shut up’. Matt just threw his head back and laughed loudly. Keith pushed against Pidge’s shoulder to get them to scoot over, so Keith could have a real seat. Pidge squinted their eyes at Keith threateningly but relented, scooching over into Matt’s space to make room for Keith. The three spent the next ten or fifteen minutes catching up. Keith and Matt shared some stories from their respective colleges while Pidge detailed some of their adventures with Lance and Hunk. 

While Pidge was detailing a time they had raced office chairs through the halls with Lance and a very reluctant and very motion sick Hunk, Keith felt arms slide loosely around his neck, and he felt a chin rest on the crown of his head. Keith was sure it was Lance (no one else would ever be brave enough to touch Keith so intimately) and glanced down at the lithe arms covered in red long-sleeves, bringing a hand up to splay along one of Lance’s forearms. 

“You look hot.” Matt states bluntly. “In fact,” he continues, “you look — ” he breaks off and starts making ‘chef’s kiss’ motions with his hands, grinning lazily. 

Keith bristled slightly at Matt’s antics, but Lance just giggled. “Thanks, babes. It’s all for you.” Lance answered, blowing a kiss for Matt to catch. Lance unhooked his arms from around Keith’s neck and circled to the front of the couch to sit down. 

“No way, Lance,” Pidge protested. “There’s no way we can fit another person on here.” 

Lance pouted and begged Pidge, claiming he’s skinny enough to slip between someone. “C’mon, Pidge, move over. Shay is here and has cruelly stolen Hunk away from me. I need a spot over here,” he whined.

When Pidge firmly shook their head, Lance turned his pleading gaze onto Keith who, unlike Pidge, couldn’t fare long against Lance’s puppy-dog eyes. Keith grumbled and relented, moving as far away from the edge of the sofa as Pidge permitted. Lance smiled and said, “I’m gonna sit in your lap, okay?” And so he did. Lance seated himself at a 90 degree angle on Keith’s lap so that his legs were splayed over Pidge and Matt’s laps, and his back was leaning against the armrest. Keith frowned at the easy view Matt would have of Lance’s legs, but the conversation started back up now that Lance was here and he had to pay attention to keep up. 

Keith lost track of how long they had been sitting, his arms wound around Lance’s middle and his nose filled with Lance’s familiar scent, but apparently, it had been enough time for Lance to finish his drink and start on Pidge’s. 

Pidge didn’t put up with the offense for long, though, and began to shove at Lance’s legs and demand he get them a refill. Lance obliged and pulled against Keith’s grip around his waist to stand. 

“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Lance promised with a wink. He plucked Pidge’s now half empty cup from their hand and sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen. 

It didn’t occur to Keith at first to be worried. Lance went off on his own at parties all the time, and he always made his way back to Keith by the end of the night. Keith relaxed against the couch, extending his arms to lay one behind Pidge’s head along the back of the couch and the other against the armrest. There was another lull in conversation after Lance left, and a minute passed in a comfortable silence before Matt suggested they play another round. 

Keith watched as the siblings played race after race. The group crowding around the couch dwindled occasionally and ended up settling into seven or ten people. Keith was so entranced by an argument between the siblings — it had started with smack talk and escalated to clamoring on top of each other and covering each other’s eyes — that he didn’t notice someone calling his name until he felt a hand jostle his arm. 

He whipped his head around in surprise to see an equally startled Hunk looking down at him. “Hey, man,” Hunk started, carefully removing his hand, “have you seen Lance lately?” 

Keith furrowed his brows. “No, he left to get refills a while ago.”

“Yeah, I noticed he left.” Hunk bit his lip and shifted, crossing his arms and then dropping them to rub his hands together nervously. “I’m kinda worried about him, dude. He said he didn’t want to be alone tonight, and I really thought he would come right back…” Hunk trailed off, his eyes trained on the door as if he was waiting for Lance to magically reappear. 

Keith’s eyes widened as the conversation from the car flooded his mind. He sprung up with a curse and told Hunk he’d look for him. He ignored the outraged cries from Pidge and Matt as he crossed in front of the television. Keith dragged his fingers through his bangs, and his chest began to tighten with panic. He pushed his way through the hallway, keeping his eyes peeled for Lance’s red devil horns. He squeezed through people with little regard to his shoulders and elbows, garnering several slurred ‘heys!’ 

From the hallway, Keith found his way to the living room. It was harder to get through the crowd, but luckily, Keith stumbled into a group of girls he recognized to be Lance’s friends. Ignoring their confused stares, he asked them if they had seen Lance anywhere, and a blonde girl with blue highlights in her hair — Plaxum, Keith’s brain supplied — told him she had seen Lance a couple minutes ago. She pointed Keith in the direction of the kitchen, explaining that was where Lance told her he was heading. Keith thanked her and steered himself through a small archway into the kitchen. He knew the kitchen was a bust right away. The only people in there were a couple lazily making out against the counter and a bored looking thirteen year old who must have been someone’s younger sibling. 

Keith’s heart started beating faster as he jogged out of the kitchen and back towards the living room. His eyes found the stairs, and he frantically took them two at a time, dodging people left and right. At the top, there was a long line for the bathroom curling around the banister, and Keith squirmed through the line to head down the hallway. 

Relief flooded his chest as he saw a flash of the red sequins and feathered lining of Lance’s headband, but the context snapped Keith into motion. A looming body was pressing Lance against the wall forcefully, ignoring Lance’s pounding fists and squirming. The figure’s head dipped down and started moving against the side of his neck, and Keith saw Lance’s flushed and blotchy face sobbing over the figure’s shoulder. 

Keith was there in an instant, pulling the body he now recognized as James away from Lance’s shaking frame. His movements were fluid as he grabbed James’ shoulder and punched him across the cheek. James’ head snapped back, and he stumbled backwards into a small table, knocking snowmen figurines onto the floor — it was a massacre of broken carrot noses and top hats. James looked up at Keith with a hand cupping his jaw and a disbelieving laugh.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Lance? Don’t tell me you’re with this fucking guy now.” 

Keith moved in front of Lance, partially shielding him. “Don’t talk to him,” Keith hissed. 

“Don’t talk to him,” James repeated incredulously. His eyes looked past Keith’s shoulder to Lance. “This is the guy you’re fucking now?” James scoffed. “I always knew there was something going on with you two. What, were you fucking him back then, too, Lance?” 

“I said don’t fucking talk to him,” Keith growled, tugging Lance farther behind him.

Again, James ignored Keith, continuing to address Lance instead. “I knew you were a slut when I met you, but I didn’t know you’d start whoring yourself out to just anyone after you fucking humiliated me,” he spat. “So how long have you two been an item,” James asked mockingly. “Hopefully not in the summer when you were still running to me desperate every time I wanted to get my dick wet.” James turned to Keith, his smirk widening. “How’s it feel to have my sloppy fucking seconds, Kogane?”

Keith snapped at that, launching himself at James. It was mostly a blur as he tackled him and started swinging. He kept punching, fighting against the incessant arms that were attempting to pull him off, until he heard the satisfying crack of James’ nose breaking. He allowed himself to be dragged away, then, spitting insults at James’ bloodied form. 

When the arms had dragged Keith far enough away, they surrendered him to Lance who was, again, tugging a distracted Keith further away. Lance, furiously wiping his eyes, led him by a tight grip on his wrist down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back porch. 

His heart was pounding and his ears were ringing, but the freezing night air had an immediate effect on Keith. He released a long breath and relaxed his hunched shoulders; the reality of what had happened hit him all at once. Limply, he let Lance guide him to a porch swing that overlooked the backyard. 

Lance still hadn’t spoken to Keith, and the silence was starting to eat at him. He looked at Lance out of the corner of his eye, and his heart ached at the state he was in. 

Lance had curled up where he sat, bringing his knees up to tuck under his chin, making himself as small as possible. With a pinched face, Lance allowed the tears to flow freely, leaving messy streaks of black eyeliner down his cheeks. Keith squirmed a little. At a loss for what to say, he remained quiet. 

“He’s right, you know,” Lance murmured. Keith was too startled to respond during the pause Lance left. “I am a slut.” Lance’s voice cracked, and he burrowed into his arms, releasing a string of sobs.

“Lance—”

“That was really fucking scary, Keith. I didn’t even make it to the kitchen before he grabbed me. He had my wrist so hard, it felt like it was gonna snap .” Lance shivered before continuing, “He told me he missed me, and he just wanted to talk, and I just went with him, Kei. He was pulling me so hard.” Lance’s voice cracked, and he sucked in a wet breath. “And then we were upstairs, and he didn’t say a word to me. He just pulled me towards the bedrooms, and when I asked him where the hell we were going — because, God, I thought we were just talking — he laughed at me,” Lance sobbed, digging his palms into his eyes. “He laughed at me, Keith, and he told me he was gonna fuck me. He told me he was gonna fuck me. God, I’m such an idiot…” Lance tapered off and just cried for a moment. “And, you know, I think he was gonna fuck me whether I wanted to or not, Kei, I think he really was,” Lance finished with a sob. 

“Lance, no,” Keith started softly, tears burning his eyes, “you’re not a slut — ” He brought his hand up to hover over Lance’s arms before he persisted and softly laid his hand on Lance’s upper arm. 

Lance shook his head minutely. “ Yes I am, Keith ,” he choked out. “He wasn’t lying when he said I kept going back to him. I’m a fucking slut,” Lance finished with a shuddering breath.

“You’re not a slut, okay?” Keith paused. “You just fell for the wrong guy,” he finished lamely. 

Lance’s eyes crinkled, but not in the good way. His face crumbled, and he huffed, “So, what, I’m not a slut. But I am an idiot? Some kid who can’t — ”

“Lance,” Keith stopped him, his voice hushed but stern, “you’re not a slut, and you’re not an idiot. You dated him for a long time, and he treated you like shit. And he’s a complete asshole for that, but you can’t choose who you have feelings for, Lance. It just doesn’t work like that. He shouldn’t have cornered you, and he shouldn’t have touched you, and he shouldn’t have lied to you. He was drunk and jealous and talking out of his ass. 

“You’re a great guy, Lance, and someday you’re gonna find someone who loves you completely and unconditionally, and you’re gonna be so happy .”  

Lance was quiet for a long moment, just sniffling softy. He lifted his head and peaked over at Keith meekly. “You really think so?” 

“Of course,” Keith said, leaning forward to brush Lance’s hair aside and kiss his temple lightly. 

Lance smiled wobbly and threw himself forward, nearly crawling into Keith’s lap. Keith tucked his face into the crown of Lance’s head and rubbed his hand up and down Lance’s spine, soothing him just as he had done all those years ago. They sat like that, curled up together, until Lance’s tears subsided, and his breathing had evened out. His breathes came out in warm puffs against the juncture of Keith’s neck and shoulder. 

When Keith felt Lance shiver and shift closer, he pulled back a little to look down at him. “What are you up for?” Keith asked. “Do you wanna go home or stay for a little while? If you’re ready to leave but you don’t want to go home yet, we can head to the diner or somewhere quiet...” Keith paused. “The beach, maybe,” he added softly. 

Lance hummed against Keith’s shoulder and peeled himself back. He looked up at Keith with red rimmed eyes and smiled. “Let’s go back inside, I wanna stay a while longer.” He took Keith’s hands and skimmed his fingertips lightly over his knuckles, bloodied and swollen. 

Keith kept his eyes trained on Lance’s face, watching for any signs of discomfort as the two stood and escaped back inside the house, out of the biting cold. He kept Lance close with a hand hovering over his lower back and steered them towards the game room. From the doorway, they saw Hunk pacing spastically and whispering with big gestures to Shay. He didn’t seem to notice their presence, too focused on his rant. Shay placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and nodded toward where the two were entering the room. 

Hunk gasped out, “Oh thank God, Lance,” and he rushed to greet them. His hands raised to cup Lance’s face in his palms and tilt it left and right, checking for damage. “Are you okay? I was so worried. You said you didn’t want to be alone, but you left so long ago, and I didn’t know what to do ,” Hunk breathed out in a relieved jumble. 

Lance brought his own hands up to hold Hunk’s and gave him a weak smile. “I got into a little bit of trouble, but everything’s okay now. Keith helped me sort some things out, and I’m okay, really okay,” he reassured. 

Hunk was wiping at the dark tear tracks, clearly wanting to know more, but he dropped it with a small smile of his own. “Okay,” he agreed. His eyes drifted to Keith, flicking quickly over him before spotting his red stained knuckles. A look of understanding passed over his face, and his eyes connected with Keith’s in a meaningful gaze. ‘ Thank you ’, it said. Hunk took a step back, dropping his hands from Lance’s face, fidgeting them mindlessly. “Do you want me to try and find a first aid kit, and some makeup wipes?” 

Lance nodded and said that would be great, and Hunk disappeared out the door. The two ventured further into the room. It had cleared out a lot since they had left, and the thinning crowd mostly consisted of Pidge and Matt, a couple of Shay’s friends, and a few other stragglers. Keith made to walk to the couch, but Lance stopped him with a tug at his sleeve. Lance looked hesitant as he observed the loud cries erupting from that side of the room. 

“I don’t think I can go over just yet.” Keith’s eyes were drawn to his lips as Lance bit them nervously. “They’re gonna see me and ask questions that I’m not ready to answer…” Lance tapered off after that, looking up at Keith to garner his reaction. 

Keith just nodded and nudged Lance to the wall. The two stood together and chatted about anything they could think of — school, albums, memories, and Keith tried extra hard to make Lance laugh, keeping his dry humor and comments coming. It took a while, but eventually the tension in Lance’s shoulders released and the wrinkle between his brows loosened. His smile reached his eyes as he met Keith’s comments with their usual banter. 

Suddenly, Lance’s eyes widened comically, and he gasped excitedly. Keith raised his eyebrows in a question, but Lance ignored his expression in favor of grabbing his hands and dragging him from the wall. 

Keith immediately tried to halt their footsteps, digging his heels into the carpet in protest. Lance looked back at Keith as he tried to tug him a little further, but he relented when he realized he was getting nowhere. He shrugged a little and reached his other hand out to grab Keith’s empty one. He pulled Keith closer to him, swaying slightly. His big blue eyes stared up at Keith with unbridled joy, sucking the air from Keith’s lungs. 

Keith verbalized his question now, breathless and giddy, “What, Lance?” 

Lance’s smile stretched, crinkling his eyes. “Listen,” Lance said, quirking his head to the door, “they’re playing our song.” 

Keith paused and listened. The song clicked, and Keith groaned. Laughter spilt from Lance’s mouth at the sound. 

The sound of a harpsichord and snaps signified the start of The Addams Family theme song. 

——————————

The Addams Family was one of Keith’s obsessions as a kid. He can’t remember exactly when it began, but he must have been very young because he has vague memories of his dad, standing so far above him, putting well-loved VHS tapes into the living room VCR. His dad would look down at him with crinkled eyes of his own and swoop him up high, nuzzling their faces together — one prickly with salt-and-pepper colored whiskers and the other round and smooth. His memory gets fuzzy during the walk to the couch, but he remembers sitting in his dad’s lap as the first episode began, the snaps reverberating from old speakers. The black and white image of the old mansion ingrained itself into his mind from these early days. 

After the house burned and his dad died, he remembers being in front of the remains, seeing the aftermath of the flames. He can still smell the ash and see the untouched stone of the foundation. He remembers Shiro’s hand on his shoulder as they walked through the skeleton of his home. They walked past the kitchen and into the ruins of the living room. The couch was gone and so was the coffee table; there was broken glass scattered along the floor — from the windows and picture frames. He found them in the remains of the bookshelf, the melted plastic and scorched film. When he caressed the ruined tapes, he couldn’t stop the tears. His dad was dead. His home was gone. He smeared soot across his face as he cried, and that’s where Shiro found him — face pressed uncomfortably into the warped plastic, sobbing. 

When he moved in with Shiro and Adam, they met him with nervous love. He could feel them walking on eggshells around him and giving each other concerned looks when they thought he couldn’t see them. 

He overheard hushed arguments, their fear morphing into anger during their fights. The men had been worried about a thousand things — how are they going to pay for school and feed an extra mouth; how are they supposed to raise a kid, they’re so young; how can they help him cope properly when they’ve never experienced anything close to this; what will they do when he misses his home? — and Keith heard these muffled shouts, from outside the kitchen door and through the bedroom wall. Sometimes after these fights, Shiro would come into his room and sit on the edge of his bed. With tears in his eyes, he’d brush Keith’s bangs back and murmur a soft ‘ I love you ’ to Keith’s still form, pressing a kiss to his brow.

It was a day of little remembrance. Keith had been home from school for a few hours, lying on his bed reading, when there was a knock at the door. He called for them to come in, and Adam opened the door, hovering awkwardly. He and Keith had always gotten along, but Adam was never entirely sure how to act around Keith alone. 

Keith watched Adam gather his thoughts with an inquisitive tilt to his head. “I got you something from the store,” Adam paused, and shifted something behind his back. “Shiro mentioned you used to watch this with your father and that it was lost...I could only find the first season, but, um, yeah,” Adam finished lamely and thrust his hand forwards, a nondescript, brown, paper gift bag dangling from the ends of his fingers. 

Keith extended his arm and took the bag. Hesitantly, he reached in and pulled out the worn paper sleeve of a VHS tape. Keith’s eyes danced along the cover and a big smile bloomed across his features. His eyes jumped around every inch of the print, taking in the familiar mansion and the large, white script that read: The Addams Family . 

He whipped his head up to look at Adam and lunged off the bed, wrapping his arms around Adam’s center. He babbled his thanks and squeezed Adam close. After the initial shock dissipated, Adam smiled fondly and held Keith just as tightly, patting his shaking shoulders as he felt a wet spot against his stomach. 

That night, Keith heard Shiro come home from classes and work, the jiggling of keys and the shuffling of shoes signifying his arrival. It had been a few hours since Adam presented Keith with the tape, and Adam had readily complied to Keith’s request to watch it in the “big bed.” Keith heard the knob twist, and he watched Shrio’s eyes take in the scene — his sleeping fiancé and Keith, curled up together on their bed. Shiro met his eyes and grinned, and Keith brought a finger to his mouth in a shushing motion before making grabby hands. Shiro’s smile widened, and he quietly slipped into the bed, snuggling up beside Keith. 

The house was quiet save for the hum of dialogue from the speakers and Adam’s soft snoring. Keith could tell Shiro was still awake because he would chuckle sometimes at the television. Keith felt a warmth in his chest, and for the first time since his dad died, he felt at home. 

—————————-

Lance’s voice drew him from his memories. Giggling, he asked, “Do you remember when you wanted to be Morticia for Halloween? And you begged me to be Gomez?” He looked up at Keith with fond eyes. “And Adam tried so hard to do your eye makeup? He worked on it for hours, and then you smudged it like right away.” 

Keith’s face lit up red, and he groaned again. “Oh God, Lance, stop,” he cried, dragging out the ‘o’. “I was like nine, don’t make fun of me.” 

Lance threw his head forward and rested his forehead against Keith’s chest, laughing unabashedly. “Hey! You made me watch hours of that show, I think I’m allowed to tease a little.” Lance relinquished his grip on Keith’s hands and snaked his arms to rest around Keith’s neck instead. They were pressed together chest-to-chest now, and Keith wrapped his hands around Lance’s waist, bringing him that much closer. The couple swayed together, barely moving, slow dancing along to faster tunes. 

Fingers threaded through the hair at the base of Keith’s neck, causing him to sigh and rest his cheek in Lance’s curls. Keith returned the sweet sentiment by rubbing his thumbs in delicate circles against Lance’s waist. The intimacy of the actions filled Keith’s chest and stomach with a warm fluttering feeling, and he wondered if Lance was feeling the same swell of unbridled affection he was. 

“Keith?” Lance said in an undertone. Keith hummed in response. “I have something I need to tell you…” He paused for a moment, sucking in a breath against Keith’s clavicle. “I — ”

Before he could finish, Hunk returned, calling to them from the door. Lance’s hands drifted from Keith’s neck to his chest and pushed away slightly to look at Hunk. Keith watched Lance for a beat longer, wondering what he was going to tell him, before averting his gaze to Hunk who was coming towards them. 

“Hey, guys,” he said, waving a small first aid kit and package of makeup wipes. He stopped in front of them, his eyes trained on Lance in a question. Keith noticed Lance’s rising blush as he shook his head slightly. “Here are the wipes,” he handed Lance the packet, “and here are the band-aids and things.” 

“Thanks, Hunk you’re a lifesaver,” Lance cried with a small smile. He used both hands to draw out a wipe and start scrubbing his cheeks furiously. He talked to Keith as he folded the wipe and started again at his forehead, “I’ll help you with the band-aids in a sec.” 

Hunk began detailing the story to the “insanely long line, dude” for the bathroom and listing how many people he saw making out and how he actually witnessed someone vomiting into a potted plant. Lance’s nose wrinkled in disgust at that, and he made a gagging noise in unison with Hunk. They laughed loudly before Hunk’s eyes drifted to Shay, and Lance nudged him, permitting him to leave. 

Lance turned to Keith, then, and grabbed his hand, leading them to the couch. Matt had gotten up at some point, leaving a mostly vacant couch with just Pidge lying on their side along the middle and side cushion. The two stopped in front of the couch, and Pidge raised an eyebrow before sitting up to make room. 

“Matt’ll be back in a minute,” they warned, “so you’ll have to make room when he comes back.” If they noticed the first aid kit, they weren’t concerned enough to mention it as their eyes looked back to their phone. 

Lance opened the kit and took Keith’s hand softly into his own. He cleaned his knuckles with an alcohol wipe, humming sympathetically at Keith’s quiet hiss in pain. He dabbed Neosporin on the clean cuts and dug around the plastic container for band-aids. He giggled lightly, pulling out Keith’s choice of a princess or alien design. With much deliberation, Keith settled on a mix between the two, having them juxtaposed along each knuckle. Lance leaned back, surveying his work with a proud smile. He brought Keith’s hands up and kissed the bandages, sighing out whimsically. He looked up at Keith from beneath his eyelashes and breathed, “My knight in shining armor.” 

Keith stared at Lance dumbfounded, with a bright red blush erupting in his cheeks and bleeding down his neck. He was gaping at him when Lance suddenly turned his head to the side, coughing in a crescendo into his elbow. Keith’s brow furrowed in worry. He lifted his hand up to rub at Lance’s back. From behind, he heard Hunk’s worried voice ask Lance if everything was okay. After a few moments, his heaving cough died down, and he panted for air, tears beading down his nose. 

“Jesus, Lance, are you okay?” Keith asked in a panicked tone. 

Lance lifted his head and nodded, giving him a weak smile. “Yeah, completely,” his voice was scratchy and wrecked. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

Keith looked at Lance for an explanation but was interrupted by a loud screech. Matt was standing at the far end of the couch holding several beers, his eyes red and puffy, looking particularly high. “Pigeon, I left you with the explicit instructions to not give my seat up, and what did you do? Give my seat up ,” he whined. 

“Oh my God, Matt,” Pidge said, wrinkling their nose at the smell of weed permeating off Matt. They turned to give Lance a look that screamed ‘ Move before he has a meltdown ’. 

Lance sat up and surrendered the middle cushion to Matt, making himself comfortable on Keith’s lap again. He was at less of an angle this time, positioning himself to lean mostly against Keith’s chest instead of entirely against the armrest. In this position, his legs were hanging at a slight angle, but mostly splayed along Keith’s lap, barely touching Matt’s legs. 

Matt then seemed to notice the beers in his arms and distributed them. Lance turned to Keith with an embarrassed face and mumbled something about needing help because he’d never had to take the top off himself. Keith chuckled softly and shifted Lance more securely in his lap, leaning forward to pop the tops off against the coffee table. Lance settled himself more comfortably against Keith who had his arms wrapped snug around his waist. 

Conversation sparked again with Matt back, and the four laughed loudly through Matt’s rambling stories. Keith zoned out of the conversation soon after and focused instead on Lance. The coughing fit from earlier burned at the forefront of his mind as he watched Lance throw his head back and drink. 

He itched to ask Lance if he was okay or if he was coming down with something, but the more he watched Lance, the more convinced he was that the fit was a fluke. His eyes traced Lance’s face, taking it all in. His face was a little red from the alcohol and possibly the temperature of the room, and without the makeup, Keith could see some blemishes scattered along Lance’s cheeks and jawline. Keith absorbed his features with a fond smile, and he distractedly splayed his hand along Lance’s thigh, stroking it with his thumb lightly. Lance relaxed impossibly further against him, and seemingly finished with his beer, he began to snag sips from the one Keith was nursing. 

The room had gotten crowded again, and Keith shifted to look over his shoulder at the abundance of people scattered around the room. Lance seemed to take his squirming as a sign of restlessness. “Am I too heavy?” Lance asked, searching Keith’s face for discomfort. “I know I’ve got a bony butt, I can find a chair to pull up if your legs are falling asleep.” 

Keith startled at Lance’s question, processing it for a moment before grinning. “Lance, you weigh like 10 pounds, you’re okay, really.”

Lance bristled at that and pouted. “I’m definitely heavier than that, Keith,” he whined. He moved to get up, but Keith yanked him back down and hugged his arms around his waist to keep him there. Lance looked surprised for a moment before turning a deeper shade of red and weakly uttering, “Fine.”

Lance zoned back into the conversation as Keith closed his eyes, feeling leather and the heat of Lance’s skin against his fingertips. Time escaped him as he breathed Lance in, focusing on the warmth of the weight in his lap. He felt the softness of Lance’s thighs and traced the diamonds of his fishnets. 

Lance rested his head against the hollow of Keith’s neck and tilted his chin to whisper in Keith’s ear. “Ready to get out of here? This place smells like piss and beer,” he finished, biting his lips to contain a smile. 

Keith huffed out a laugh and murmured an agreement, patting Lance’s thigh and waist lightly. Lance squirmed out of Keith’s hold and announced to their friends they were leaving. Keith stood behind him and twisted left and right to pop his back. Matt opened his arms from his spot on the couch, and Lance bent over to give him a discoordinated hug. Matt smacked his ass teasingly, and Lance yelped, making a scandalized face. Keith frowned at that and grabbed Lance’s wrist to tug him along. He could hear Matt and Lance’s laughter as they walked away. 

Lance waved at people as they pushed their way to the front door. They opened the door and were met with a freezing gust of air. The pair shuffled down the stairs and with a moment of deliberation, started sprinting to Keith’s truck. He patted his pockets quickly and found his keys, hitting the unlock button as they came upon his makeshift spot. They whipped the doors open, and Lance cursed, urging him to “start the damn truck, Keith, I swear to God.”

Keith turned the key, and the truck rumbled to life. He shrugged his coat off and tossed it to Lance who happily slid it on backwards to cover himself like a blanket. Keith checked the time displayed on the radio. 12:07. He pulled off the curb and onto the road. 

“Do you wanna go anywhere?” Keith asked with chattering teeth. “We’ve still got time before you need to be home.” He glanced over to Lance who had unlaced his boots and brought his socked feet up to his dash, slouching down in the passenger seat. 

“I don’t wanna go home yet.” Lance looked over at Keith with hazy eyes. “Can we just drive around for a while?” When Keith nodded, Lance turned his head to look out the window, bringing Keith’s coat to rest under his chin. 

There was a lull in conversation as they drove along back roads, Keith’s headlights the only source of light. Keith asked if there was anywhere particular Lance wanted to drive, and he replied no, resting his head on the cool glass. So the pair drove in comfortable silence with the only sound being the rumbling heater and quiet radio. Keith was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Lance stifling a cough with the back of his hand. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Keith asked. “You had kind of a coughing fit earlier at the party.” 

Lance nodded mutely. For a moment, Keith thought that was the only response Lance would offer, but then, Lance breathed deeply and said, “Maybe it’s from sitting outside earlier. I don’t feel particularly sick, though, so don’t worry yet.” Lance averted his gaze from the window and gave Keith a playful smile. “You’ll know when I’m sick, I promise.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, how could I forget you’re infamous whining,” he teased. 

“Rude,” Lance cried, feeling jilted. “You’re gonna be sorry if I really do end up being deathly ill, and those are some of your last words to me,” he joked. “Seriously, though, there’s no need to worry. I’m okay.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, again, at Lance’s dramatics, but nodded to relay he understood. 

“Hey, Keith?” Keith hummed in response. “I changed my mind. Let’s go to the beach, like you said earlier.” Keith looked at the clock and reasoned that they had plenty of time to watch the waves for a bit. Lance cheered a little in excitement when Keith turned in the direction of the beach. 

It only took a few minutes for the pair to arrive at a quiet beach they used to frequent. Keith parked some distance from the sand, and the two headed out, Lance without ever putting his boots back on. Keith felt the sand sink beneath his shoes and barely noticed the slight difference in effort it took for each step. Lance ran ahead of him towards the water, kicking up sand under his feet. The beach was poorly lit, only illuminated by sparse light poles and the moon and stars. Keith could see Lance well when they were side-by-side, but he soon became a more indistinct shape as the distance grew. 

Lance’s figure ran into the water and twirled around, spinning his arms in a wide circle. Keith smiled fondly at his antics as he got close enough to make out the details of his figure again. Lance bent down and scooped up some water to toss in Keith’s direction, giggling. 

Keith, of course, took it for what it was: an act of war. 

Keith kicked his own shoes off and hopped on one foot, beginning to work his socks off. He stepped into the licking tide with Lance and hunched down to splash his legs with icy water. The pair played in the water, splashing and flicking mini-waves at each other until Keith surrendered, calling “uncle” as he laughed unbridled. 

He reached forward and tugged at Lance’s wrist, telling him they needed to get out of the water before they both caught colds. Lance resisted, trying to twist from Keith’s grip and go further into the water. Keith grinned wolfishly at the challenge and darted forward, wrapping his arms around his waist and hoisting him up, carrying a squirming and giddy Lance out of the tide. 

The two were laughing wildly, and Lance turned his face towards Keith when he let him down. From this close, Keith could count Lance’s lashes and pick out the varying shades of blue in his irises. Their breathes mingled, and Keith saw Lance’s eyes flick down to his lips. He licked his lips quickly, tasting salty water, and watched Lance’s eyes follow the movement. 

Very carefully, as if to not frighten a small animal, Keith leaned his head down, almost imperceptibly, in an offer. Lance’s eyes blinked owlishly, and he gasped before surging forward, connecting their lips in a searing kiss. His hands flew up to caress Keith’s jaw and cheeks, and Keith tilted his head to deepen the kiss, bringing his own hands to rest at Lance’s waist. Keith wondered for a moment if Lance could hear his rapidly beating heart, or maybe if the vibrations were reverberating from his chest and buzzing against Lance. 

Lance pulled back first, although only leaving a small space between them. The two stood together, gasping. Lance’s hands moved up from Keith’s jawline to push his bangs back and comb through his hair. Still breathless, Lance leaned in again to press kisses all over Keith’s face--his cheeks, his temples, his eyes, the tip of his nose. Keith wrinkled his nose with a delighted smile, and laughter bubbled up from his chest. It felt like a million tiny stars, placed in his chest by Lance so long ago, were erupting from his mouth with each giddy exhale, and he brought one of his hands up from Lance’s waist to wrap behind his neck, tugging Lance in for another passionate kiss. 

Their mouths moved against each other uncoordinated, but they were both too happy to care, blissed out emotions running high. Lance tightened his hand in Keith’s hair into a fist and pulled him back. He was looking at Keith with dazed eyes and shiny lips. His breathes were coming out in wet puffs against Keith’s lips. He gasped in a breath and said, “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” 

“I think I might have some idea,” Keith answered, meeting Lance’s eyes with a gooey look of his own. 

The two ended up sitting together near the edge of the water, letting the tide overtake their feet with every exhale. Keith told Lance about the day he realized he loved him, and Lance moaned out a cry in protest, telling him he couldn’t realize he was in love with him on the day he murdered three dozen tadpoles. 

Lance buried his face into Keith’s shoulder and confessed that he had always had a crush on him, but it took him being gone to realize what he was really feeling.

“I knew it made sense for me to be missing you more than everyone else — we’re best friends — but I felt so alone, Keith. You were on my mind every second of every day,” he confessed, blushing profusely. “And I know that sounds cheesy and exaggerated, but I’m being so completely serious. Everything reminded me of you, it was debilitating,” he finished, smacking Keith’s arm lightly. “How dare you monopolize my thoughts,” he teased, leaning forward and pecking a kiss on Keith’s lips. “You have no idea how happy I am that I can finally do that,” Lance said, his eyes closed, his single dimple making an appearance. 

Keith stared at Lance, unabashedly taking in the shadows cast by his long lashes and the defined curl to his wet hair. “I love you,” he murmured, intertwining their fingers. He leaned forward to kiss him again when, suddenly, he remembered: Lance’s curfew. 

He sprung into action, scrambling to stand and dragging Lance up with him. Lance asked Keith what the hell he was rushing for, and he replied with a jumbled response of “curfew” and “your mom’s gonna kill me.” 

The two ran like hell, kicking up sand in their haste. Keith clumsily grabbed his discarded socks and boots, and he hurriedly slipped his sand covered feet in his boots, cringing at the unpleasant feeling. Keith guided Lance by the wrist towards his truck, and the two broke off when they hit asfalt, finding their respective doors. 

Keith’s fingers fumbled as he tried to get the key into the lock, and he cursed. Finally, his shaking hands relented, and he swung his door open, unlocking Lance’s in the process. 

His headlights illuminated the beach as he shifted into reverse and sped off in the direction of the road. The truck was filled with their loud pants and the rumbling of the heat. 

Keith rubbed his eyes and glanced at the radio clock. “Fucking hell, we’re so late. Your mom’s gonna murder me. She’s gonna strangle me and string me up as a warning for your next suitors.” 

Lance huffed out an amused sound. He raised the pitch of his voice and thickened his accent, “If you don’t want to end up like the last guy,” Lance gestured to Keith with his thumb, “bring my mijo home before the clock strikes 1:00!” He smiled teasingly at Keith’s horrified and betrayed face. 

Lance adjusted himself to sit sideways, with his back against the door and his feet in Keith’s lap. He patted around for Keith’s jacket and laid it over his lap, releasing a content noise. Keith dropped one of his hands down to hold one of Lance’s ankles, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the diamonds of his stockings. 

Lance drew in a breath and lifted his hands in the air, arching his back in a stretch. He relaxed again and started, “Mama is forgiving, Kei. We can tell her the truth. We just lost track of time, she’ll understand.”

Keith scoffed disbelievingly. “She’s gonna mount my head on a pike.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Just relax and let me do the talking,” he boasted, smiling roguishly. 

Keith opened his mouth to retort, turning his head to look at Lance. He took in Lance’s crinkled eyes, his dimple, his smile and thought: ‘ My masterpiece ’. 

Suddenly, blinding lights appeared behind Lance, casting shadows over his face, and Keith didn’t have time to fully process what his brain distantly supplied (‘ headlights ’) before a horrible crunch, and ringing filled his ears. 

It felt like there was cotton stuffed in his ears as he heard the muffled sounds of mental crushing and alarms sounding through the persistent ringing in his head. He felt like he was floating as the world spun before his eyes, flipping and turning over and over. He was seeing so much. There were reds, yellows, and greens blurring together in a torrent of color, but he couldn’t understand what was happening.

It was too much: the color, the ringing. He closed his eyes and tried to scream, ‘ God, please let me be screaming,’ he begged.

The noise didn’t stop but the movement did. His head felt heavy, and he dared to open his eyes. His whole body was screaming at him, and the alarms were still dinging. His eyes tried to make out what was in front of him, but it was disorienting. 

There was something wet dripping on his face. It was warm and he squirmed at the feeling, blinking as the liquid stung his eyes. His lips were dry, and his tongue darted out to wet them. He tasted iron and salt on his tongue and realized the liquid was blood. Fear stuck him, and he remembered: Lance.

Panicked, Keith tried to speak, “Lance?” He startled at his rough voice. He tried to turn his head to where he knew Lance was sitting, but sharp pain shot up his neck at any attempt to move. His breathing was heavy, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his heavy head. 

He tried to move again, but the pain was too much. He released a strangled cry, and instead, he called out for Lance again. When there was no answer, only the steady dinging, he glanced to his right to the passenger seat. 

Keith was met with the image of Lance’s limp body suspended beside him. There was blood, so much blood. His skin was ashen, and his lips were blue. His eyes were closed, and he looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping. Keith’s vision blurred with tears, and he blinked hard, trying to keep a clear image of Lance. He called out for Lance a third time, his voice hoarce and pleading. 

“Lance,” he begged. “Lance, baby, wake up. Please, please, open your eyes. Lance !” His cries rose to a crescendo, but Lance didn’t even flinch. Keith panted, out of breath, and tried again to turn his head, but the pain was too much. It burned up his neck and spread at the base of his skull. 

“Dammit,” he sobbed. “Can anyone hear me? Help us! Please, help!” 

He screamed until his raw throat. His tears were flowing liberally, now, and when his croaking voice gave out, he prayed to any god who would listen to help . Keith’s breath was ragged, and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. He fought, trying to keep his eyes open, keep his eyes on Lance, but his vision was growing dark. 

He tried to take a deep breath, but it was short and strangled. He choked out a final, desperate “help” before giving into darkness. 

———————————

When Keith woke up, the color came before the sound. He opened his eyes — or at least he thought they were open — and he was met with again with blinding white light. It was different this time though, he understood. His eyes adjusted, and he began to identify what he saw: white ceiling tiles, white fluorescents. 

Then came the noise. He could hear the faint beep of a machine somewhere around him — was it to the left or the right? Discerning where the noise was being admitted from was harder, but his mind quickly moved on. 

Where was he? 

Why was he here?

He wanted to move, but his body was so heavy. As he slowly regained awareness of his body, he twitched his fingers and toes, trying to will his bigger limbs to follow suit. Eventually, he gathered enough strength to move his head, and he looked to the side, towards the natural light of the window. 

Keith drew in a sharp breath when his eyes landed on a sleeping Shiro sprawled out in a chair beside him. Keith tried to lift his arm to reach out to him, but he could only twitch his hand. He tried to speak, but when he opened his mouth, he could only make a choked, rasping sound. 

He huffed, frustrated, and tried again. This time he swallowed and cleared his throat before uttering a weak, “Shiro?”

Shiro’s form jolted at the call, and his eyes sprung open, startled and tired. He blinked a few times in quick succession and a watery smile overtook his features. “Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” Shiro asked softly. 

Keith felt the tension leave his body at the sound of Shiro’s voice. He shared a weak smile and tried his luck with speaking again. “Tired,” he started simply. There was a pause before he continued, “What’s going on?” 

Shiro’s face fell, his eyebrows furrowed and his smile wilted. “Well, there was an accident, and you got pretty banged up,” Shiro hesitated before amending, “you and Lance got pretty banged up.” 

Keith’s eyes widened and searched Shiro’s face, confused and panicked. “What are you — ” His voice stopped abruptly as memories resurfaced, overwhelming his thoughts. 

He remembered the lights — those damned lights — the colors, the ringing and, my God, he remembered Lance hanging there, unmoving, like he was already —

Keith squeezed his eyes closed, trying to banish the thought. He raised his head up to meet Shiro’s worried gaze. “Lance,” Keith rushed, “oh my God, Lance. Is he okay? He was — he was so — is he?” Tears welled up in Keith’s eyes and spilled, his breathing was labored and too fast. 

Shiro pushed himself off the chair and settled carefully on the side of Keith’s bed. “No, no, no. He’s alright, kid. He’s hurt, but he’s gonna be okay,” Shiro murmured soothingly, pushing Keith’s bangs back in a petting motion.

Keith released a shuddery sob and leaned forward to rest his head in the juncture of Shiro’s neck. “You said he’s hurt? What’s wrong with him? How bad?” 

Shiro ran his fingers up and down Keith’s back, sometimes switching to a circular pattern. “He lost a lot of blood, so he’s had some transfusions. He’s got some broken ribs — none of them pierced his lungs, so that’s good. His right arm is broken along with his clavicle. Fortunately, they’re clean breaks, so we’re confident they’re going to heal nicely.” 

Shiro paused and took a breath, “What’s most worrying, though, is that his doctors are concerned he might have some internal bleeding in his brain. They’re got him in a drug induced coma right now to hopefully give his brain time to rest and recover. The trauma surgeons have been running some tests today to make sure everything is okay.”

Keith pulled away from Shiro with an expression of silent horror. His face crumbled, and sobs racked his whole body. Distantly, he realized he could move again as shoulders hunched and his hand clenched in his blanket. With his head facing his lap, he watched his tears wet the sheets below, and his mind was blank save for the constant loop of ‘ this is all my fault ’. 

He whispered it at first, soft and barely audible. Shiro put his prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder and made a humming sound in question. Keith repeated himself louder. 

“This is all my fault,” he said numbly.

Shiro’s breath caught, and he shook his head ‘no’. “No, kid,” he cupped Keith’s face in his palms and lifted it to meet his steadfast gaze. “This is not your fault.” 

Keith shook his head in return, his eyes big and sad. “Yes it is. You don’t understand. It was my idea to go to the beach,” Keith admitted. “We were there because of me . And I was driving. If-if I hadn’t wanted to go and if I had been paying better attention, none of this would have happened. And we were — we were out past his curfew when I knew we shouldn’t have been out, and Shiro, ” Keith sobbed, “ this is all my fault. ” 

A few tears escaped from Shiro’s eyes and he said, “Keith, you were hit by a drunk driver who was too cowardly to even stay. This is not your fault. You couldn’t have known any of this was going to happen, and no one is blaming you. Don’t let this weigh on you, kid.

“Lance is going to be okay, and so are you.” Shiro learned forward and kissed him on the forehead, wiping his tears away with his thumb.

Keith paused and nodded shakily. He made a move to get up but hesitated when he realized he couldn’t feel his leg. He looked down and was shocked to see his right leg lifted in the air, covered in a thick cast. His wide eyes bounced between the cast and Shiro, flighty and questioning.

“I’m sure you forgot,” Shiro sighed in fondness and exasperation, “but you got pretty banged up, too. Your leg was crushed by the interior under the wheel, breaking it in several places. You tore a ligament in your wrist, so they’ve got that in a cast, too. And your ribs are bruised.”

He brought his prosthetic up to hover over Keith’s left cheek. “You got a pretty nasty cut here from the glass,” he said with a distant look as his prosthetic thumb brushed lightly over the bandage. 

Shiro’s gaze came back into focus and he apologized, saying he was a little tired. With an apologetic smile, Shiro dropped his hand from Keith’s face and leaned out of his space. 

Keith suggested he should take a nap, but Shiro just laughed and waved him off. “You’ve been asleep for almost an entire day. I’m not going to make you sit alone.” Shiro smiled and stood, moving back to his old seat on the bedside chair. “They, uh, gave me a remote to use to switch the channel, if you wanna watch something.” Shiro offered the remote to Keith, but he refused it with a shake of his head. 

Shiro shrugged and started flipping through the channels. “Now, I know you just love your scary movies, but my old heart can’t handle something like that,” Shiro said, scrolling past several horror films. 

A comfortable silence settled between them, and Keith leaned back against his pillows, closing his eyes for a moment to ground himself. He listened to the beeping of the machine--on his left, his brain supplied — and pretended he could hear the drip of the IV in his arm. A few minutes passed before Shiro took a sharp intake of breath. Keith opened his eyes slightly to discern the reason behind Shiro’s breaking of their quiet. Shiro was looking back at Keith, and sporting a soft smile, he gestured toward the tv with the remote. 

Keith averted his gaze to the small tv at the corner of the room. His eyes widened and then teared up. On the screen was the familiar intro: Gomez sharpening the spikes on their iron fence, Mortricia’s doll-like face snipping the heads off roses, Lurch playing the piano. 

His brain couldn’t settle on a fond memory — there were too many. Sitting with his dad, cuddling with Shiro and Adam, dressing up for Halloween with Lance, and, most recently, dancing with Lance. 

Keith turned to Shiro with watering eyes, “Shiro, I — ” But he tapered off when he saw Shiro’s already sleeping form laying lax in the chair, the remote resting on his chest. Keith couldn’t stop the fond grin that spread across his face at the sight of Shiro fast asleep — his hair tousled, his glasses askew, and his mouth agape. 

He looked back at the tv, lamenting the fact that it was still on mute. He thought of Shiro’s tired eyes, though, and resigned himself to reading the captions. 

It was several episodes later that Keith heard the doorknob turn. He glanced over, curious to see who was there. Adam appeared from behind the door carrying too steaming coffees. 

“Takashi,” he whispered into the dark room, his eyes trained on the coffees as he hip-checked the door shut. “I brought — ” He faltered as he looked up and saw Keith awake with his finger over his mouth in a ‘shh’ motion. Adam noticed Shiro’s sleeping form on the chair, and smiled at Keith with a fond eye roll. 

Quieter this time, Adam said, “I brought some coffees. This was supposed to be for ‘Kashi, but you can have it instead,” his eyes flashed with uncertainty, “I think…” He trailed off. “Maybe I shouldn’t give the recovering patient horrible, horrible , addicting caffeine, though,” Adam said teasingly. 

It was Keith’s turn to roll his eyes this time as he made a grabby motion with his good hand. Adam relented and tippy-toed to Keith’s bed, handing him one of the coffees. Adam glanced at the tv and asked Keith if this is what he thought it was. Keith smiled and scooted over, gesturing for Adam to lie down beside him.

Adam’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment before a soft smile spread across his face. ‘Okay’, he mouthed, carefully sitting down beside Keith and lying back. 

“Jesus,” Adam complained, “we need to ask for some better pillows. These are awful, absolutely unacceptable for my poor, suffering baby.” Keith made an amused noise, but gave no further response as he rested his head against Adam’s shoulder.

Keith closed his eyes — ‘ just for a second ’, he thought — and Adam kissed the crown of his head, taking the still full coffee from his slowly relaxing hand. 

——————————

When Keith woke again, it was light outside. Adam and Shiro were talking to someone who must have been Keith’s doctor. Keith tried to listen to what they were saying, but his sleep muddled brain refused to cooperate. He felt a tug on his arm and glanced down to see a nurse removing the IV from his arm. She wiped the blood away and taped a cotton ball to stop the bleeding. 

Keith looked up at the lady with what must have been a very amusing, dazed look because the woman giggled softly and patted his forearm lightly. The lady walked away to stand alongside his doctor who was now reading from her clipboard. Keith gave up on listening, and instead, let his mind wander.

How was Lance? 

When could he go see him?

Have his tests come back? 

Keith focused back in as he saw Shiro walking the nurse and the doctor to the door, waving to them ‘goodbye’. Shiro turned to his bed and saw Keith awake. He smiled, and Adam looked back at him to smile, too. 

“Good morning,” Shiro beamed.

“You feeling okay?” Adam asked, sitting down at the foot of Keith’s bed.

“Yeah,” he slurred, “I feel good. A lot better now that I’ve got that damn thing outta my arm.” He raised his arms over his head in a stretch. He flinched at the pull in his tight chest, and didn’t hold the position for long. 

Perceptive as ever, Shiro worriedly hovered by the bed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Keith nodded. “I’m sure. I just forgot about my ribs for a second.”

Adam huffed out a laugh, but before he could speak, Keith interjected, “Actually, though, Shiro, I am pretty hungry. When am I supposed to get my breakfast?” 

Shiro hummed in thought and answered that he would go ask the nurses’ station. After Shiro left, the two sat for a minute in silence before Keith turned to Adam with the full force of his nervous energy. “How’s Lance doing? Is he okay?” He asked in a rush, “Can I go see him today?” 

“Woah, slow down, Kei. Lance is doing okay. They did some tests yesterday, and they found signs of bleeding in his brain. He went into surgery last night, and the surgeons successfully stopped the bleeding.” Adam paused when Keith let out a relieved ‘oh thank, God’ . “They aren’t taking him out of his coma just yet, though. The doctors want to give his body time to heal. 

“As for going to see him, your doctor, Dr. Altea, cleared you to visit him today so long as you don’t push yourself too hard. But really, it’s entirely up to Lance’s family. Knowing Maria, though, she’ll welcome you right in,” Adam assured.

Before Keith could reply, Shiro opened the door, a proud smile adorning his face. He stepped in the room, very obviously holding something behind his back. “The nurses said breakfast won’t be served for another hour, but I got you something special from the vending machine.” Shiro came to a stop by Keith’s bed, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Ta-dah!” He exclaimed as he revealed his gift to be a king sized honey bun. 

Keith couldn’t help but smile at Shiro’s endearing display. “Thanks,” he laughed, accepting the snack. 

Adam wagged his finger. “Now don’t you ruin your breakfast of yummy, delicious hospital food, young man,” Adam admonished teasingly. 

Keith stuck his tongue out petulantly before taking a bite of the sugary treat. As he ate, Keith’s mind again wandered to Lance.
He smiled happily to himself, vaguely listening to Shiro and Adam’s banter. His spirits had been lifted at the possibility of seeing Lance and getting out of his stuffy room. He finished a few more bites before offering the rest to Adam and Shiro who excitedly tore into his leftovers. 

‘ Old buzzards ,’ Keith laughed.

————————

After Keith ate what Shiro deemed a sufficient amount of his breakfast, they called for a nurse to bring a wheelchair. There were a few minutes of deliberation before two nurses arrived with a wheeler in tow. They smiled politely at the three and made a beeline for the bed. 

One nurse — Nyma, her name tag supplied — worked to carefully unclasp the sling suspending Keith’s leg in the air while the other — Rolo — guided his leg to rest on the blankets. 

“Let’s get you up,” Rolo said with a relaxed grin. He positioned the wheelchair to sit alongside the bed, and held his arm out for Keith to balance on as he sat up. From Rolo’s other side, Nyma held Keith's other arm steady, and together, they helped him slide into the waiting chair.

The two nurses smiled at each other in what appeared to be excitement over a small victory. They noticed the stares of the others in the room.

“Today’s our first day, so we’re a little excited,” Nyma revealed bashfully, her face flushed a rosey pink. 

“Yeah,” Rolo agreed, stretching out the ‘h’ and rubbing his scruffy cheek with his knuckles. 

“Aww, that is exciting. I’m happy for you two,” Shiro beamed genuinely as he positioned himself behind Keith and grabbed the wheelchair handles. He started pushing Keith toward the door, leading the whole group to follow suit. 

“Thanks for your help,” Adam waved as they reached the hallway and parted ways. 

Keith looked around curiously at the walls that were decorated festively for Fall and Halloween. There were bulletin boards with photos of the different day and night shift    nurses, their pictures glued on construction paper clouds or stars. Other walls were lined with posters about washing hands and covering coughs. 

Busy doctors and nurses smiled and nodded at him as they scurried past him, usually holding pagers or clipboards. They passed the nurses’ station positioned in the center of a rotunda, and Keith didn’t have time to wonder which corridor they would turn down before Shiro angled them left. 

Adam’s voice startled him. “Hey, Keith,” he started hesitantly as they began to slow down. “I don’t want to scare you when I say this, I just want you to be prepared. I want you to remember that Lance was hurt pretty badly, okay? He’s hurt, but he’s recovering.” Adam looked to Shiro for help.

“What we’re saying is that he doesn’t look so hot right now, but he’s strong. He’s gonna be okay, Kei.” Shiro placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder in a comforting gesture as the three came to a stop in front of Room 209. 

Keith nodded slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart was beating out of his chest. He tried to take steadying breaths as Adam knocked on the door.

The door opened to reveal a tired looking Marco. He offered them a sad smile and a nod in greeting when he processed their faces. “It’s just me and Mamá in here right now. Everyone else went to the cafeteria to get breakfast,” he paused for a moment before continuing. “ Mamá isn’t asleep, but she’s resting. She hasn’t slept these past few days, so please stay quiet.” He opened the door and stepped aside, ruffling Keith’s hair affectionately as he was wheeled in. 

The room was dimly lit, the only source of light filtering in through the partially opened blinds. Keith blinked his eyes to adjust and gasped at the sight before him.

Lance was laying completely still on the bed save for the steady rise and fall of his chest, facilitated by the clear oxygen mask pushing air in his lungs. His skin was pale just as it had been in the car, and bruises and cuts were littered across what skin was visible to Keith. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, covering his scalp, and his right arm was positioned across his chest in a cast. 

Sitting in a chair beside the bed was Ms. McClain. Her form was crumpled, bent over the bed and cradling Lance’s free hand between her palms and her forehead. Despite Marco’s request to let his mother rest, Ms. McClain looked up with no prompting. Her red rimmed eyes crinkled into a smile at the sight of her son’s visitors. 

She kissed Lance’s hand and gently laid it on the covers. She stood from her chair to properly greet the three. She brought her arms up to wrap around Adam and Shiro’s shoulders and drew them into a loose embrace. In a hushed tone, she expressed her gratitude to them for stopping by and for thinking about her son.

Keith watched their interaction with wet eyes. He felt his throat constricting and his chest tightening. For the first time in his life, Ms. McClain seemed small. Her voice was unsteady, and her body seemed frail, shaky. 

There was a creeping voice in his mind that reminded him this was his doing. He made her feel this way. He made her small. He did this. 

His breath hitched when Ms. McClain turned her attention to him. Her face was an unreadable blur of sorrow, and Keith began to panic.

He drew in a choked breath. “I am so sor — ” His eyes widened in shock as Ms. McClain cupped his face and silenced him with a kiss on his forehead. 

“ Mijo ,” she began, “you have nothing to apologize for.” She continued to cup his cheek with one hand while the other combed his bangs out of his eyes. “I know you love my son and would never — could never — do anything to hurt him. You’re incapable,” she laughed wetly, continuing to pet his bangs back. 

Keith took a gasping breath and let out a sob. Ms. McClain got to her knees in front of him and hugged his shaking form, shushing him and rubbing soothing circles along his shoulders. She murmured soft reassurances into his hair and waited for Keith’s tears to dry.

She pulled back a little and wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks. She rose to her feet and grabbed hold of the handles of his wheelchair, pushing him towards the bed.      She positioned him on the side opposite to her and gave him a final pet on the head. 

As she moved to leave, Keith caught her sleeve. His eyes never straying from Lance’s face, Keith asked, “Can he,” he chewed his lip nervously, “hear me?” 

Ms. McClain made a humming noise in thought. “The doctors say no, but I believe mi hijo is listening.” Keith nodded in understanding and relinquished his grip on her cuff. 

She turned away from the bed after giving Lance a final glance. She joined the men standing a short distance away at the end of the bed. She placed herself by Marco and linked her arm around his. 

“Well, gentlemen,” Ms. McClain started with a smile, “shall we join my family in the cafeteria and let our boys have some time alone together?” The men smiled and nodded, following her lead towards the door.

At the door, Shiro worriedly glanced over his shoulder and called out, “If you need anything, or if anything starts to hurt, call a nurse!” And with that he latched the door quietly. 

Keith didn’t say anything for a long time. He just watched the mechanical rise and fall of Lance’s chest, willing it not to stop. 

The room wasn’t silent by any means. There was the steady beep of Lance’s pulse being monitored, and the loud pumping of oxygen through his mask. The vent seemed louder in Lance's room than his own, but he supposed his only seemed quieter because Shiro and Adam held a constant stream of banter to cover it. 

Despite all the sounds, Keith felt like he was drowning in the quiet. When he was with Lance, there were never moments like this. It felt so wrong to be in a room with Lance, and it be so dreadfully quiet. 

Keith’s voice sounded harsh, brutal, as it shattered the deafening silence. “See this, this quiet, this is just another thing I need you for, Lance. You’ve always been happy to talk enough for the both of us, and I don’t think — no, I know I’ve never thanked you for that.

“Not a lot of people want to shoulder the burden of carrying a conversation with me, but you’ve hardly ever minded.” Keith paused his siloquee, wiping away stray tears. “You know, I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t give for you to answer me right now.” He choked out a wet laugh, “I never really realized how hard this whole carrying a conversation thing is, but damn, I’m sorry if this is what you have to deal with every time you talk to me.”

Keith paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He had so much to say it felt like his thoughts were bursting at the seams. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted. Breathe for four, hold for four, release for four, hold for four — just like Shiro taught him so long ago. The longer he waited, though, the more the silence began to gnaw at him, snaking its way down his throat and gripping his words like a vice. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, closer to Lance’s still form. 

“I’ve never told you this before, but I’ve got a sketch book, several sketch books actually, dedicated to drawings of you. God, that sounded way less creepy in my head than it did out loud.” Keith cringed but plowed on, “I’ve been trying to draw you for years, but I just can’t get it right.

“Charcoal, ink, lead: they’re incapable of doing you justice. No matter how many times I try, no matter the photo, the lighting, the pose, the medium — I just can’t capture you. I can’t express the oceans in your eyes or the stars in your smile. I can’t express my love for you. 

"You are so much more than my muse, my love, my forever. Lance, you are my masterpiece.

“And,” Keith's next words were strangled and breathless, “I guess what I want to say the most is that I miss you. God, Lance, I miss you so, so much.” Keith splayed his fingers over Lance’s heart, counting the beats. “I need you to come back to me.” 

Keith waited for a response he knew wouldn’t come. He waited, watching Lance’s face, looking for any sign he heard what Keith had said. There was no sign.

He refused to let the silence return — it felt wrong. For the first time, he needed to be the one talking enough for the both of them. So he did. 

It was strange at first — being someone who detests small talk trying to make it. He started small with the temperature of the room and the weather outside. When he exhausted  those subjects, he moved on to telling Lance about shows he had recently been watching and albums he discovered in the music store near campus. He racked his brain trying to remember songs to explain and hum to Lance. He promised he would get Shiro to bring them up from his truck before he remembered his truck and CD collection were likely totaled. He amended his promise and said he would try to convince Shiro to buy them instead.

As the time passed, Keith grew more comfortable, and he allowed his mouth to run absentmindedly while he delicately thumbed along Lance’s jawline. He was midway through a story when he heard a rap against the door. His eyes caught the shadows of two distinct figures beneath the door before it was pushed open, revealing Hunk and Pidge. 

Their eyes were wide as saucers as they took in the sight before them. Hunk sprung into action, his eyes bloodshot, ringed in purple bruises. He was by the bed in a moment, his hands fluttering around Lance’s head and body in a flurry of aborted motions. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and his frantic movements came to a halt as his hand landed on Lance’s chest. It seemed the rise and fall of Lance’s chest gave him the reassurance he needed to release the breath he had been holding. 

Pidge, on the other hand, was frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights. They were completely still save for their pinched brow and quivering lip. In their hands, Pidge held a stuffed cat that must have been from the gift shop. It had a blue shirt and a ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon tied to its plush arm. In that moment, Pidge looked so incredibly young. It was easy to forget they were younger than the rest of the group. Sixteen is too young to see one of your closest friends look so vulnerable, so mortal. 

“We met Shiro and Adam and the McClains downstairs. They said you were sitting with Lance, so we figured you might want some company,” Hunk said with a distant smile. He sat down in the empty chair across from Keith and took Lance’s hand in his own. 

“How’s he doing?” Hunk asked. 

Keith’s eyes wandered back to Lance’s form as he explained his condition. He didn’t want to see their reactions to what he was saying. He kept his eyes on Lance through the gasps, the sniffs, the shaky intakes of breath. It didn’t take long for him to finish his explanation, reluctantly tearing his gaze away to gauge their responses. 

Hunk was staring at Keith with a devastating expression. His eyes were a muddled mix of emotion as he seemed to experience the stages of grief in record time. His eyes were wild, desperate, as he looked down at where his hands were encompassing Lance’s. Trembling fingers traced and studied the lines in Lance’s palm intensely, like he was reading his future. Finally, his misty eyes met Keith’s again, and he offered a weak nod and smile.

Pidge was no longer frozen in place. They hovered near the end of the bed, their eyes trained on Lance. Pidge distractedly sat the present beside Lance’s uneaten breakfast tray on the table. Tears were rolling down their cheeks as they carefully sat down at the foot of the bed. Their fingers nervously picked at their cuticles, occasionally drawing them to their lips to bite their nails. 

Pidge’s face morphed into a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Hey, dummy,” they croaked, addressing Lance. 

From there, Pidge seemed to wake from their trance. They wiped their tears and caught Hunk’s concerned eyes. Pidge flashed their braces-clad smile and told Hunk to “tell Keith about the absolute horror of the gift shop.” 

The three fell back into a routine that felt normal. They caught up, reminiscing and laughing, and Keith found himself feeling at ease. The knot that had tangled itself in his chest from the silence loosened as he listened to Hunk and Pidge’s lively voices. 

Of course, there was a piece missing, a cog out of place, in their dynamic. 

They had all noticed it in the rare pauses in conversation as if they were waiting for someone’s input. There was an absence of infectious, snorting laughter and ill timed ‘That’s what she said’ lines. They were missing the glue that had connected them from the start. 

They were missing Lance. 

———————————

As his time in the hospital was nearing a week, Keith was starting to develop a routine. 

He would wake up and eat breakfast before visiting Lance for a majority of the morning and afternoon. Lance’s family members were intermittently taking leave days to sit with Lance, so sometimes he would be sitting with Luis or Marco or Veronica. Other times, he would be sitting with an aunt or uncle he was less familiar with who he had met in his childhood at a birthday party or cook out. Either way, they always welcomed Keith with a smile and chatted with him pleasantly. 

Keith always stayed until the late afternoon when the sun was setting, painting the room an orange hue. He idled in the room until Ms. McClain arrived, and he would sit with her until it neared dinner time. 

He had convinced Shiro and Adam a few days ago that he was okay to be alone and that the two of them could return to work. They reluctantly agreed, promising to visit in the evenings. When they came, they would collect Keith and bring him back to his room for dinner. The three would eat together, sharing stories from their day. 

They had turned the tv on for background noise one night, and the channel happened to be playing a hospital soap opera. Entirely by accident, the three became engrossed in the show, trying to figure out the plot from midway through the season. It became a small sort of tradition for them to watch it as they ate. 

Shiro and Adam always stayed until a nurse knocked at the door and told them visiting hours were over. They would give their goodbyes, and Keith was left alone. 

He spent his nights sketching with a notepad and pen he had snagged from the nurses’ station. His experience drawing using ballpoint pens was mostly limited to scribbles on napkins and placemats at restaurants, but he made do. He drew faces, flowers, and still objects in the room, but the face he kept returning to night after night was Lance’s. 

Keith had come to accept this as normal, as routine, but today was going to be different. Lance’s recovery has been going phenomenally. The swelling in his brain is steadily decreasing, and the doctors believe he is well enough to wake up. Yesterday, the doctors started the process of flushing the drugs from Lance’s system. They couldn’t guarantee when he would wake up because it takes time, but at Keith's insistence, they gave him the loose timeframe of a day or so. 

He woke excited for the first time since he had arrived at the hospital. He half-heartedly picked at his breakfast before rushing to Lance’s room. When he pushed the door open and wheeled himself inside, he was met with a completely unfamiliar character. 

There was a man sitting at Lance’s side. His face was a dark tan with wrinkles adorning the sides of his eyes and mouth and above his brow. His hands were large with calluses and scars littering his palms. His hair was a shaggy mess of black and white waves. His shoulders were tense as they hunched up around his neck. He was leaned forward, arms resting against his thighs, and watching Lance. 

He turned his head to see who came in, and there was no flash of recognition in his dark eyes when they met Keith’s. ‘So we’ve really never met,’ Keith thought, perturbed.

“Are you a friend of his?” the man asked with furrowed brows. 

It took a moment for Keith’s brain to kickstart. He nodded dumbly before responding, “Yes, yeah, I’m Keith. We’re friends.” 

The man nodded in understanding. “Antonio,” he replied simply. 

The name didn’t ring any bells either. Keith stared at the man for a few moments more before he settled himself on the opposite side of Lance’s bed. He shifted awkwardly as his eyes flitted between Lance and the man. His presence and blatant staring didn’t seem to concern the man as he hung his head again.

“So,” Keith started hesitantly, “what’s your relation to Lance? Are you a relative or family friend or…” Keith tapered off, his voice ending in a lilt that implied a question. 

“I’m a,” there was a moment of hesitation, “family friend.”

Keith waited, but it appeared that was the only response he was getting. Feeling unsatisfied, he tried to distract himself. He pulled out his sketchpad and ballpoint pen and began to work on a landscape he started last night. Keith soon became engrossed in his work, the outside world fading into a distant blur. 

He was trying to recreate a scene from his and Lance’s childhoods: the forest they played in. His hand flew across the page, scribbles slowly forming mossy trees and wildflowers. 

Memories resurfaced from hot summer days spent playing in the woods. His hand tried to find a place on the page to add the babbling creek, but there was so little space. 

He didn’t notice when Antonio stood, or when he left the room, and he didn’t notice when he returned, sporting two steaming coffees. It was only when he leaned back to examine his sketch from a different angle that he noticed the man wasn’t in his seat . He felt a presence to his left and flinched away from the man in surprise. 

Antonio gave him an amused look and offered him one of the coffees. Flustered, Keith panicked for a moment, unsure of how to grab the coffee, before his mind caught up to  him. He dropped the pen and took the coffee. He settled himself back in his chair. 

“You’re very talented,” Antonio said. He had returned to his seat opposite of Keith. 

Keith’s eyes widened at the compliment, and he smiled in thanks. He explained that he went to school for art, and Antonio looked impressed by that. Keith took Antonio’s expression as permission to talk more about school — his classes and workload. 

The two got along surprisingly well. They kept their conversations surface level and polite, but they were a lot alike personality wise. Antonio confessed that, when he was younger, he was something of an artist as well, but he had never considered doing anything with his talent. He was part way through a story from his high school years when the door to the room swung open. 

It was Ms. McClain, looking frantic and disheveled. Her usually gentle eyes were darkened with anger when they landed on Antonio who had stood upon her entry. She marched up to his towering form, her face red and her brows pinched.

“Who do you think you are?” she hissed. “You think you can come see my son? You think I would just let you see him?” Her voice was rising. “After everything? Do you take me for a fool, Toni?” she spat.

Antonio met her anger with his own. “ Our son is in the hospital, and you didn’t call me. I didn’t know until my coworkers started coming to me giving me their condolences and saying they were praying for his health . Goddamnit, Maria, do you know how terrifying that was? I thought he was — ” He stopped, hands rising to scrub over his face. 

“Were you ever gonna tell me, Maria? I would have come.” His eyes looked pained for a moment before the anger returned in full force. “Some fucking dumbass almost got him killed, mi hijito killed, and you want me to stay away? I need to be here for my boy,” Antonio cried indignantly. 

“‘You would have come,’” she parroted with a scoff. “How could I have possibly known that? We gave you every chance to be there for him. Toni, we gave you every opportunity to show him you love him, that you want to be his father, and you threw them all away,” Ms. McClain spat, hatred dripping from each syllable. 

Her eyes met Keith’s briefly before she jumped to his defense, “And you watch your mouth. You know nothing of what happened, so don’t speak on what you don’t understand.” 

Confusion was evident on Antonio’s face. “How can you be defending the man who did this to…” He paused while he distractedly looked back at Keith, apparently remembering his existence. His eyes widened in realization, and he spun around completely to face Keith. 

“You bastard,” he growled, “you come in here, sit in here, after what you’ve done. You almost killed my boy, and you come in here to, what, make amends?” He made a movement like he was going to lunge forward, but Ms. McClain grabbed his arm and jerked him back. 

From there, the argument morphed into rapid-fire Spanish that was too fast for Keith to understand. He picked up on a few words, but he mostly used context — hand gestures and body language — to gauge what was happening. 

Ms. McClain caught Antonio’s arm again and pulled him out of the room. Their voices were muffled outside of the door before they ceased entirely — the two having taken the fighting elsewhere. 

Once again, the room was empty save for Lance and himself. In the quiet, he took notice of his anxiety. His heart was pounding, and his fingers were clenched around his sketchpad in a steely grip. His breath was coming out in labored puffs, and it felt like he would never get a deep enough breath. 

He began counting his breaths, trying to steady himself, but his mind was working too fast. His throat was constricted, and his chest was getting tighter with each choked breath. Desperate, he scrambled for something to help. His mind conjured the memory of a technique Luis taught him when he was little. 

—————————

It was the day Luis and Marco were fulfilling their promise to take Lance and him out fishing. The sun was beating down on Keith’s neck, and his stomach was twisting in knots. He had never been on a boat before, and suddenly, the ocean looked so big and so deep. His eyes were stuck staring over the edge of the peer into the blackness of the water.

His little fingers were clenched tight around the wooden rails of the peer, and his heart was beating too fast. Marco and Lance were already on the boat, oblivious to Keith’s panic, but Luis was bringing some final supplies from the car and stopped by Keith.

“You ready, bud?” He reached his hand out to usher Keith along by his shoulder, but Keith was frozen in place.

He shook his head furiously. “I’m not coming.”

Luis’ brows furrowed. He crouched down to Keith’s height. “Why not? I thought you and Lance were excited to come out today.” Luis took notice of Keith’s strangled breaths and wide, fearful eyes. 

He shook his head again and repeated that he wasn’t coming. His eyes felt hot, and his cheeks were growing wet. He couldn’t catch his breath. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Luis’ eyes widened, and he spoke softly, “Okay, it’s okay, Keith. We won’t go. Let’s sit down, okay?” He guided Keith to sit beside him on the peer. He encompassed Keith’s shaking fists in his big hands. “Let’s play a game, just you and me,” Luis said. “Can you tell my five things you can hear?”

Keith cocked his head in confusion. “Five things I can hear?” 

“Humor me,” Luis smiled. 

He paused, listening to his surroundings. “I can hear the water, the boat, the cars from the road, and Marco and Lance.” He looked up to Luis, puzzled.

“Very good. Now, tell me four things you can see.”

Sensing a pattern, Keith didn’t question Luis’ instruction. “I see the wood, the trees, the sand, and,” he hesitated, “you.” He glanced up to Luis shyly.

He gave Keith a reassuring smile. “Name three things you can touch.”

Keith extracted his hands from Luis’ and listed his clothes, his legs, and his hair.

Luis continued the game through the remaining senses. By the end, Keith’s breathing was normal, and he could think again.

“Feeling better?” Luis asked. At Keith’s nod, Luis continued, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Keith bit his lip and looked down at his lap, fingering the hem of his shirt. “I got scared,” he mumbled.

“Scared?” Luis prompted.

“Yeah, of the water.”

Luis made a noise of understanding. “You know, I used to be afraid of the ocean when I was your age. I wouldn’t swim let alone go on a boat, but you know who helped me overcome my fear?” Keith shook his head, his eyes wide in wonder.

“My mamá . She took my hand and led me into the water. She promised me that there was nothing to be afraid of and that she would never let anything happen to me. And you know what happened next?” Keith shook his head again, leaning forward, listening intently.

“I believed her.” Luis’ blue eyes were twinkling. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise, so will you believe me, bud?” He stood and held his hand out to pull Keith up.

Keith carefully laid his palm along Luis’, letting himself be lifted. They approached the step to the boat, and Luis squeezed his hand reassuringly. He got down first and helped Keith onto the boat, holding his hand until Keith made a move to pull away. 

——————————

Keith brought himself back from his memory with a slight smile. He focused and began counting his senses like Luis taught him. His pounding heartbeat slowed, and his stomach unknotted itself.

His eyes found Lance, just as they have always done. 

His face had regained some of its color, and there was a healthy pink glow to the apples of his cheeks. There was no longer an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, so Keith could take in his features more clearly — the slope of his nose and the curve of his cupid’s bow. 

Overcome with bubbling affection, Keith looked down at his crumpled notepad and flipped to a clean page. His hand began to work, gliding across the page, sketching the features he’s had memorized for so long. 

Keith didn’t notice it at first. The movement was almost imperceptible — a twitch of his fingers and brow. A deep intake of breath is what drew Keith’s eyes up from the paper, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock. 

He took in the image of Lance’s squinting eyes and scrunched nose. Lance blinked at him blurrily, confusion evident in his gaze. “Keith,” his voice hoarse with disuse. Lance’s brows furrowed at the sound of his voice, and he looked to Keith for an explanation. 

Relieved tears pricked the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill. He was smiling wide — unadulterated, happiness radiating from his countenance. “Hey, Lance,” he rested his hand on Lance’s arm, thumbing the cotton of his gown. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I got hit by a double decker bus.” Lance yawned. His free hand came to thread through his hair, but he flinched when he brushed a sore spot under his bandage. “What happened?”

“Well, you weren’t too far off with the Smith’s reference,” Keith replied. “I was taking you home from the beach when we were t-boned by another car. I don’t remember much from the actual accident, just flashes, but Shiro told me we barrel rolled down a hill while the driver took off. We’ve been here,” he gestured to the room, “for almost a week.” 

Lance froze, his face contorted in thought. The two sat in silence as he sorted through his memories, snap shots of the night flitting across his mind. There was a snap of recognition, and his gaze shot up to meet Keith’s. He bit his lip as a pretty blush spread across his face. 

“I remember,” Lance spoke slowly, uncharacteristically shy. “Do you remember what happened on the beach?” His eyes shrouded in hesitant hope as they searched Keith’s face.

“How could I forget?” Keith laughed, his gaze filled with unbridled adoration.

Lance took in Keith’s face with crinkled eyes. He leaned himself towards Keith and brought his free arm up to cup his bandaged cheek. He tilted his head in offering, and Keith surged forward, meeting his lips in a long-awaited kiss. It was close mouthed and sweet, their lips moving together softly. 

Keith held Lance’s neck, keeping him close as their lips met over and over in a flurry of messy affection. Their noses bumped, and their lips were unaligned, but they didn’t care. They were too giddy to kiss properly.

Somehow, Keith managed to settle himself beside Lance on the bed. He planted fluttering kisses along Lance’s hairline before drawing back to meet his eyes. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he confessed.

Lance’s eyes were blue and red, tears rolling down his cheeks and that damn crooked smiling stretched across his face. “I love you, too. I love you so, so much.” 

With that, their lips met again in a more coordinated kiss. They broke apart, panting, and bumped foreheads affectionately. Keith took in Lance’s face — his crinkled eyes, his single dimple, his beauty mark — and thought:

‘My masterpiece. ’