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Keith yawned and stretched outwards, his limbs silently groaning in tired protest. Letting out a groan and relaxing back onto the bed, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand.
4:01 am.
He breathed a heavy sigh, irritated but not surprised. He often woke up at random times in the middle of the night, and most of the time he did not actually mind it. Nighttime was quiet, the world was asleep and it made Keith feel like he could actually think.
Sometimes would get up and write or game, or clean his room, and occasionally (honestly more often than not) he would sneak quietly into the kitchen and eat what he and Lance, Keith's dorm mate, liked to call his "moon snacks", as they were both obsessed with space.
Lance and Kieth had started as annoying acquaintances forced to share a dorm who butted heads on almost every topic, but the longer they lived together the more they settled into a routine that felt good to them both. It was almost second nature and had been for so long, it was alarming to Kieth when he noticed he felt something strange whenever they hung out, and even more so every time Lance called him "Mullet".
It wasn't until a few weeks ago Keith realized the strange feelings amounted to what had to be romantic affection. There were not many times he had recognized such feelings in his life, but this time it was different. This time it was constant and loud within him it was hard to ignore.
However he would not— could not say anything. Not just because he was afraid to admit it, but because of Lance's relationship with his on-again-off-again boyfriend of the past three years. James Griffin.
Keith couldn't help but roll his eyes whenever he thought of James.
From the moment they met, Keith had never liked James. Which was entirely character based and not at all seeded in jealousy. At least that is what Keith had told himself, though it was becoming harder and harder to believe. However, Keith still argued that he had real, tangible reasons that backed up his negative opinions on the boy.
James was arrogant, rude, and downright narcissistic in all the worst ways. Not to mention he always took any chance to belittle Lance. If Lance was over at his place, James would make him leave his phone on silent and on the table. When Lance would express interest in a new movie or video game, James would say it looked stupid and not to waste the money. If Lance didn't laugh at his jokes he would pick a fight over it and accuse him of not really loving him or some other bullshit.
Worst of all, James had an obvious drinking problem that Lance, if he was aware of, seemed to ignore. Though Kieth did have a trained eye for noticing such things due to his time in the foster system. Because of this, Keith had also noticed how James seemed to raise his voice more often than not, like he had to be the loudest in the room. Especially over Lance. Or if they were in public he would pull Lance to the side and whisper harshly to him, encounters that Lance always returned from more deflated than before.
It made Keith unbelievably angry.
Lance did not deserve to be treated in such a way. Lance was generous, thoughtful, and kind. Without James around he is bubbly, goofy, and lights up any room he finds himself in. His bright, exciting blue eyes as beautiful as a spiraling nebula—
Keith shook his head to cut off his train of thought. He took a deep, calming breath before he finally kicked his covers down and swung himself out of bed. He scratched his neck and, though he was fully awake now, sleepily shuffled through the hallway towards the kitchen. He opened a cupboard, the hinge squeaking lightly, and the smell of hot cocoa wafted out. Hot Cocoa was usually his go-to moon snack drink, though something about it didn't seem very appealing tonight. He moved on to the next cupboard. The empty space where his bag of barbecue chips would have surprised him, if he did not immediately know just where he'd find them.
Lance always accidentally hoarded the snacks in his room since he usually snacked just before bed, and almost never put them back before he fell asleep.
Keith's lips upturned in a small smile as he rolled his eyes, turned on his heel and walked quietly back down the hallway. He passed his bedroom door and stopped in front of Lance's room that sat cracked open. He knocked quietly.
No answer.
Lance was most likely asleep, so Keith slowly opened the door and stepped inside. The scent of cologne and cinnamon swirled around him. He glanced over at the pink rock salt lamp that was casting a warm orange glow over the room. Keith squinted, trying to locate Lance on the bed. No luck. He crept closer and scanned the crumpled sheets.
Lance wasn't there.
Keith looked around the room, thinking he might have fallen asleep at his desk again.
Nothing.
His heart picked up pace. Lance had told him he'd be home by 11:00 last night. He hardly ever broke his word. At least not without warning.
Keith half ran into his bedroom and practically ripped his phone off the charger.
No new notifications.
He pulled up Lance's contact and was about to press the call button when he suddenly stopped himself.
"He's probably fine." he thought out loud, trying to convince himself that he was overreacting, "he just fell asleep at James's or…" His heart sank. "Lost track of time."
He slipped his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants and walked back into the kitchen.
Mind completely absent, his body followed muscle memory and filled the kettle and leaned against the counter to wait as it slowly worked to a boil.
Still lost in thought, he mixed a hot cocoa packed into his mug and sat in the living room. The couch was cold but it grounded him. As he brought the hot mug up to sip, his phone buzzed. He shifted his cocoa into one hand and pulled out his phone, hoping to be hearing from Lance.
However he was surprised to read the name that appeared on his screen.
It wasn't Lance.
It was a text from James.
Keith rolled his eyes as he unlocked his phone to read the text.
4:38 am
James G. - iMessage
Is Lance at your apartment?
His breath hitched as he practically slammed his hot cocoa down and typed a fast reply.
Keith -4:39am
No. Thought he was at yours.
Three grey dots danced at the bottom corner of the chat before disappearing and an uneasy feeling seeped like sludge through his chest. Time passed agonizingly slow as he watched the dots repeatedly continue to appear, hover, and vanish.
Keith - 4:41am
What's going on?
Keith's breathing was quickly becoming shallow, hot anger spreading through him as the dots disappeared yet again.
Something was wrong, he knew it.
He pulled up Lance's contact and hit call.
Ring
Ring
Ri-
The third ring was cut off by a click and Keith's heart leapt into his throat.
"Hey, you've missed Lance. I'm not able to answer—"
Keith groaned and hung up. Knowing that his phone wasn't dead, or there would have been no rings, and knowing he didn't leave his phone somewhere, because it only rang twice.
"Dammit Lance!" Keith groaned, the nerves evident in his voice.
Growing more nervous and impatient by the second, he decided to hit the call button next to Jame's name. It rang several times before he answered, though there was only silence at first.
Keith sighed. "James?"
"Hey Keith." James responded, his voice sounding odd, "Tell— tellim t'get his ass back here 'kay?"
"What do you mean?" Keith wanted to scream, of course James was drunk, "Lance isn't here, why isn't he with you?"
There was a heavy pause before James spoke again, "Nah, I jus' forgot he ran t'the store. He'll be back." the slur in his voice becoming more evident.
Keith's stomach dropped like a stone as his eyes locked onto the kitchen clock.
4:50 am
"Seriously?" He spat.
"Yeah, man," James sounded annoyed now, "Can y'mind yourrrbusiness?"
"What happened?" Keith demanded.
"Bro, nothing happened m'kay? n'Fuckoff."
Keith practically growled, "Whatever." as he hung up.
That conversation was obviously going nowhere and only set more alarm bells blaring in Keith's head.
Something had to have happened, he did not believe James's bullshit for a single second. Plus he sounded like he was completely wasted.
He called Lance again. This time there was no ring, only a click before the voicemail message. As it played, Keith clenched his fist so hard the tendons popped over the bones of his knuckles.
"Hey, you've missed Lance! I'm not able to answer the phone right now. But leave a message if you want and I'll probably just text you! 'Kay byyeee!"
The beep sounded, signifying Keith to leave a voicemail. He attempted to keep his tone calmer than he truly felt.
"Uh.. Hey Lance, It's me, I just— James is — well I…" Keith held his breath for a moment as he searched for words to put together, his head spinning. "Lance, It's the middle of the night and I'm starting to get worried about you, okay? So— so either come home soon or call me back. Please, I… hope you're alright."
Keith hung up, dropped his phone harshly onto the coffee table and grasped his head between his hands. His ears were ringing, a tight coil of worry wrapping itself around his chest. He took a deep breath that gritted out like a groan as he attempted to ground himself and grasp the situation.
He thought back to when Lance left earlier that night. It was sometime around 7:00 PM, Keith had just gotten home and Lance was freshly showered, dressed, and fussing with his hair in the mirror. He had flashed his perfect smile at Keith and said something about a date night, which Keith missed completely because his heart had leapt into his throat and he was trying hard to play it cool.
Keith cursed under his breath. That stupid, incredible smile. He shook his head and continued playing through the events of the night.
Lance had left maybe an hour after that, throwing on his favorite green jacket in the doorway of Keith's room as he said goodbye. Keith had offered a quick goodbye as he was mid-battle in his new video game.
Now Keith had woken up and everything was wrong.
His roommate wasn't home yet with no communication and his good-for-nothing boyfriend was looking for him at nearly 5 AM before backtracking and saying Lance was at the store.
Keith groaned, the worry knotting tighter around his lungs.
What if Lance was drunk too? What if they fought and he left, or James kicked him out and he stumbled into a ditch? or got mugged? What if he was so drunk or upset he fell into the road? What if he got hit by a car?
"Dammit!" Keith shouted as he sprung to his feet.
No longer able to keep the lid on his spiraling anxieties, he decided he would just drive the route to James' house and try to find him. If that didn't work, he'd just pester James for answers in person.
Keith snatched up his phone and ran toward the front of the apartment, scooped his car keys out of the bowl he kept them in and slid into his shoes. Not bothering to grab a coat, he went to the front door and flung it open.
He jumped, heart flipping in his chest when he saw someone sitting on the floor with their back against the wall opposite of his apartment. The dim hallway light flickered lazily over head.
Their head was down, covered by a hood.
Keith instantly recognized the green jacket.
A wave of relief washed over Keith and he let out a harsh breath.
"Lance!? Fucking hell you gave me a heart attack!" words rushed out of his mouth as he dropped his keys back into the bowl, "where have you been, I thought you'd be home hours ago and I was about to—"
Keith froze and clamped his mouth shut as the sound of quiet sobs hit his ears.
The awkward side of him bubbled up, the utter lack of knowing what to do in that moment struck him hard. He was terrible with emotions, his own yes, but others even more so. His usual response to emotion was to ignore it or go to the gym for hours and work out until he was too tired to feel anything.
Yet as he looked at Lance, he noted how small he appeared in that moment. Keith was painfully aware that he should be moving but he wasn't, aware he needed to do something. He couldn't just let Lance sit there by himself, crying in the cold.
All he could think to do was what he did.
He walked over to his friends side and slowly sat down. He hesitated for a moment before scooting himself closer to his friend's side and wrapped his arms around him, slowly, gently at first.
Lance was trembling, his chest heaving beneath the sobs as they wracked through him.
Tears welled in Keith's eyes as he hugged slightly tighter.
"Lance, what happened?"
The question hung in the air unanswered as Lances quiet crying continued.
A heavy weight settled at the bottom of Keith's stomach. Lance was always, should always be happy. He has the brightest smile of anyone Keith had ever met, and he rarely cried, especially in front of people. Some part of his mind figured that must have been why Lance ignored his calls.
Keith had only seen him actually crying once, after he got the call that his father passed away. But still, something was different— almost worse.
His mind returned to what James had said on the phone.
"Did you and James break up?" Keith asked, voice soft, leaving off the 'again' that his mind supplied.
After a moment, Lance's chest suddenly stopped heaving so heavily as if he was trying to keep it still. He hiccuped as he lifted his head a fraction, his hood and messy hair obscuring his face.
"No. Nothing happened." Lance said in a low voice that strained to sound steady, "Sorry to worry you. I'm… fine."
The faint sour aroma of alcohol hit Keith's nose as Lance pushed himself free of the hug. He then stood abruptly and moved through the open door into their apartment.
Keith sat for a moment, dumbfounded, before he got up and followed him inside, closing the door behind himself. He turned and looked at Lance as he limped slowly down the hallway.
Keith blinked in shock, "You're limping." He stated, his voice sharp and serious.
Lance stopped in his tracks.
"T-there's something in my shoe." He said shakily, his voice betraying him.
Keith didn't buy it. Everything about this was wrong. Lance was acting strange and hiding his face and limping for fucks sake. He had to know why. He moved forward quickly and grabbed Lance's hood, pulling it back to reveal his face.
Keith gasped out a curse and immediately wrenched his hand back as if he had been burned. Lance flinched away, catching the wall with one hand, his gaze cutting down to the carpet, his breathing fast and shallow as Keith took in the sight of him.
Lance's bottom lip was split open, a previously steady flow of blood dried trailing down his chin. A round, bloody, angry gash on his right cheekbone, the eye above which was sporting a blown blood vessel, the swollen skin around it turning a sickening reddish purple.
"What—" Keith croaked, the word catching in his throat, before he sucked in a ragged breath, "What the fuck happened?"
Lances sigh stumbled out of him like a sob as he leaned farther against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.
Hell, it probably was.
"Shit, come here." Keith hissed through a frown as he brought one of Lance's arms over his shoulders, cautiously guiding him off of the wall.
The taller boy groaned as he let his weight shift onto his friend, pain signals firing angrily throughout his bones.
Slowly, they moved forward down the hall to the bathroom. Keith sat Lance as gently as he could onto the closed toilet.
Lance winced as Keith slowly released his weight entirely to ensure he would be able to keep his balance. Satisfied that he could, Keith let go and moved across the room to the cupboard that held their medicine and other first aid items.
Bottles clattered together as he shifted through the contents, searching for anything to help him tend to his friends injuries. He silently thanked the stars that Lance's mom was so overprotective and insistent they had a full arsenal of first aid, so they had what he needed. Slowly, he gathered bandages, gauze, and disinfectant.
Turning to set the items on the counter, he tried to make eye contact with his injured friend.
Lance, whether he meant to or not Keith could not tell, would not meet his gaze.
Keith's eyes found their way along his injuries again, noting the darker colors that already seemed to be blooming across his face. For the first time he noticed pale violet bruises and curved lines of reddened skin that had been rubbed raw that littered nearly every inch of his neck.
The reality of the situation that Keith had been dreading to entertain now pulled at his tongue. He wanted to scream but bit back his words as he tipped the bottle of disinfectant onto a gauze pad before bringing it up to Lance's cheek. The hiss of pain Lance let out when he pressed the compress against the tender skin caused Keith's throat to tighten. With some of the blood wiped away, he could now almost perfectly make out the shape of a fist within the bruises that marred his cheekbone. He watched Lance silently for a moment, noticing how he stared as if looking at nothing specific in the room.
Keith took a deep breath, steeling himself to break the silence.
"James did this." He said bluntly, continuing his slow care of his friends battered face.
It wasn't a question.
Lance pressed his lips into a thin line as his gaze once again fell to the floor, eyes darting back and forth slightly, as if attempting to sort through something within his head.
His silence said everything.
Keith clenched his jaw as he dropped the now bloodied gauze pad into the trash and grabbed a new one and prepped it. The silence stretched over them again as Keith worked quickly and gently to tend to his injured face.
"We should call the police," Keith broke the silence again. "How long has this been going on?"
"No, I-it was me..." Lance finally stammered defensively, "I made
h-him mad, it was nothing but,"
"Lance—"
"I should have just let him—"
"How long, Lance?" Keith demanded sternly.
The change in Keith's tone caused Lance to pause.
"How long has he been treating you like this?" he repeated, softer now, dropping the second gauze into the trash before he began to scan around the rest of his friend's body for signs of more blood.
"Since.. Uh... We got back together." Lance admitted, wincing sheepishly.
Keith's spine snapped up straight, "A year!? Fuck, Lance—"
"No! No," Lance added defensively, shaking his head and bringing his hands to hold the sides of it, "I-I mean… sorta. But he's never done anything this bad before, I promise. I just made him mad. He just-- he was drunk and-and I was drunk, and I-"
"Lance, this was not your fault!" Keith shouted.
Lance jolted, snapping his mouth shut and returning his focus to the floor.
His friend's reaction softened something in his chest at the same time it heightened his anger. Keith let out a long sigh and lowered his voice.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to yell I just…"
Small drops of blood beginning to drip on the tile floor caught Keith's eye. To his dismay, he spotted the source seeping through the right sleeve of Lance's jacket.
"You shouldn't defend him when you're actively bleeding because of him." he supplied, pointing to the droplets on the floor before he worked his jaw.
Silently, Lances eyes flicked over them before quickly moving to look at anything else.
With no reply, Keith gently touched the bottom edge of Lance's jacket with his fingers.
"I need to take this off," he said softly, "is that okay?"
Lance met Keith's eyes with his own for a long moment. Keith waited patiently, making no move to continue without his consent.
A long, silent moment passed between them before Lance gave a slow nod.
Slowly, Keith unzipped his jacket and worked it backwards off of his shoulders. He paused when Lance winced in pain, apologizing quietly before continuing. The blue t-shirt Lance wore beneath slowly emerged, wrinkled and dirty with spatters of blood littered across it. Mostly dripped down from his nose and the split in his lip from what Keith could tell. Once the jacket sleeves were clear Keith tossed it to the corner of the room.
Lance's arms only added to the narrative of the abuse he had endured that night.
Whispers of budding bruises mapped along his skin, already becoming darkest around his right wrist. The back of his left arm sported a long gash running along the length of his forearm. It didn't seem all too deep and looked more like a road rash than a cut. Keith thanked the stars silently once again for the fact that he couldn't see bone but it still caused his stomach to drop through the floor.
"Fucking hell," Keith breathed out as he frantically retrieved more gauze off the counter., "what did he even hit you with??"
Lance sighed shakily as he dared to look over to his arm. "I think that one was uh… When I was leaving.. I, um, tripped..." He said, ready to lie again before he looked up.
Keith's eyes were locked onto his.
The deep mauve shimmered with tears Keith wasn't letting fall. His face was pale and pinched tight, expressing a roiling combination of emotions Lance could not quite name. Heat welled up in his chest, tightening around his heart.
In that moment Lance found he could not lie to him anymore.
Not to Keith.
Lance swallowed hard and looked down at his hands.
"I tried to leave and.. he.. shoved me and I… the stairs..."
He trailed off, swallowing heavily, but the sentence did not have to be completed for Kieth to understand. For his mind to supply an image of the concrete stairs that lead up to their third floor apartment and know what James had done as punctuation to physically abusing his friend.
The anger boiling up in Keith's chest was reaching a dangerous level. His jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack but he could not find it within himself to care.
"That.." Keith's mind whirled with curses but he forced himself to focus, shaking his head, "That's it. I'm taking you to the emergency room."
Lance looked up at him with tearful, pleading eyes, "Wait— no! I- I can't, if James found out—"
"Lance." Keith said sternly, taking Lance's hands in his own as gently as he could manage. His voice was sharp as he continued "We can't treat this on our own. You could have internal injuries just from the fall down the stairs, let alone the rest."
Keith held the eye contact, his eyes pleading fiercely for Lance to understand.
Lance's mouth wavered open, but no words came so he closed it again.
His heart was pounding violently against his chest.
He nodded.