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Keith had two lists for everything: useful and useless.
He prided himself on his ability to pick out everything but the important details. Anything, or anyone, that didn’t serve his purpose was removed. And for twenty years of his life, that philosophy had worked out.
School? He studied only what would be tested, and his grades had paid off. People? Everyone’s opinions were ignored. No, Keith didn’t have time for pointless thoughts. He’d struggled already to get to where he was, and he would not waste his time on senseless nuggets of life.
And then, one day, when Lance was running late for their friend group’s study session at the cafe, Keith found himself at the counter saying to the barista, “I’ll take one large, iced macchiato.”
His eyes widened after the words left his mouth. The barista took no note of his emerging existential crisis, asking if that was all and handing him his receipt. He hadn’t realized he knew Lance’s usual order. He didn’t even like coffee. Despite multiple attempts, his taste never adjusted to the bitterness, and it was replaced with mugs and mugs of earl grey tea. Yet, here he was, spouting off Lance’s coffee order like he’d always known it.
He didn’t even like Lance all that much. Pidge was friends with him, and they’d introduced him and Hunk to Keith a few weeks ago. He was loud and kind of obnoxious and flirted with any sentient being, but he was also empathetic and considerate, and Keith admired the unwavering determination and passion that he reserved under the surface. Their sniping little arguments were actually fun, once Keith realized that his teasing was just teasing and not actual insults. He'd grown into the cracks of Keith's life, the coffee Lance always had on him etched in his mind.
Huh. Maybe he did like Lance.
Come to think of it, he knew all of their usual drinks. Pidge always had some kind of disgusting energy drink on them that would definitely give them a heart attack someday; Allura drank sparkling water more than actual water; Hunk made a different flavored matcha latte every morning like the freaky connoisseur he was; and Shiro was the weirdo among their friend group who actually drank water, but he added strawberry electrolytes when he went running (well, he’d known Shiro for longer than the others, but still).
The barrage of information left Keith reeling as the nice guy handed him Lance’s coffee. When the hell had he absorbed all of this? Why had he memorized all of this? This fell firmly into the useless category. The only person he really knew from the group was Shiro; the others he’d known for a year or less. They’d leave him, too, just like his mother had (cancer took her), his father had (fire took him), and all the “friends”, caring teachers, and foster parents had.
(He still remembers his mother’s last “I love you” on her deathbed and his father’s laugh when Keith told him a joke. It replays in his head every night. He dunks it into the ocean of useless, useless, useless only for it to resurface.)
It’s so stupid. But when Lance’s eyes widen as Keith slides his coffee across the table, only for them to crinkle into half moons as he grins, glittering higher than any sea, he thinks he might keep this information around for a bit longer.
His brain has got to have holes in it. Because there’s no other way, or reason, for it to absorb so many useless details.
Shiro, he understands. Shiro saw him in a way no one had and stayed with him like no one had. (His brain still tries to convince him that he’s leaving soon. A thought that once was useful has gradually become a nuisance little voice in the back of his head.) So, it’s no surprise that he knows that Shiro goes for a run every morning, regardless of the weather. His mom taught him how to do his eyeliner. He has a record player where he plays jazz music while he tries to cook. He’s terrible at cooking. People see him as an ideal role model, but he makes far too many dad jokes and horrible decisions (like asking Adam out in a McDonald’s parking lot) for that. His air of optimism covers up the dark humor and mental breakdowns he has. He still has nightmares from when he lost his arm. It’s hard for him to admit to that pain (they’re similar like that).
There’s no excuse, though, for anything else. Why does he know that Pidge listens to EDM unironically? Why does he understand that they show affection through teasing and sending random reels at three in the morning? Why has he had enough conversations with them to know that they’re more fluent in vines than in English? He’s seen Matt and them have rap battles to decide who rides shotgun. They watch everything at two times speed. Peanut butter is their favorite food. The only reason they run on virtually no sleep is because of the ungodly amount of RedBull and Monsters they drink. They ask questions on anything and everything. They’ve done stupid amounts of research on government conspiracies (Keith and them have had many a night where they make murder boards about alien invasions). They have an entire color coded schedule that they’ve never once followed. Their blunt nature hides the uncertainty they still feel about being non-binary and aroace, but Keith’s seen them grow more and more confident in who they are. He’s never had a younger sibling, but Pidge is family.
Keith’s memorized Allura, too. He didn’t think they’d get along at first, but somehow he knows that her favorite store is Hollister and that she loves shopping only in-person. Her favorite color is pink because it was her mom’s favorite. She’s got an entire schedule, and she actually follows it. Books fill up every corner of her room. She does every assigned reading, no matter how important it is. Her perfect day is a rainy day where she watches 2000s movies. She makes fun of Keith’s taste in men (and he makes fun of the way she acts around Romelle). She has a journal for everything, but her favorite one is her travel journal. She also lost her mother and father (Keith and her may or may not have had several trauma bonding sessions over that). Her Uncle Coran helped her the same way Shiro helped Keith, and he gave her a photo album of her and her parents for her twenty-first birthday that she keeps in her nightstand. They’re opposite sides of the same coin.
Hunk may seem like a sweetheart, but he’s completely Gordon Ramsey when he’s cooking. He shows love through making food. He will not judge you for anything except your taste in food (Keith’s lost count of how many rants he’s gone on about pineapple on pizza). He gives the warmest hugs. Cleaning is like therapy to him. His dorm is filled with plants. He has a cookie jar that’s always full because he stress bakes. He calls his moms every weekend. If you’re in an emergency, always call Hunk first. He always answers on the first ring. He speaks four languages (English, Samoan, Spanish, and ASL). His love of engineering came from a childhood love of Legos. He can bench press any of the members of the friend group (that was a fun night). Car rides make him sick. He tripped and fell when Shay first smiled at him, a tale he boasts proudly that makes everyone laugh every time. If sunshine was a person, it’d be Hunk.
And Lance. Weeks turned into months into years of being acquaintances with him, to friends, to…something. It should be illegal to know this much about someone. He doesn’t even think he knows himself this well. Lance takes pictures of everything. His lock screen is a picture of Keith right when he woke up (a fact Keith has desperately tried to submerge to the trenches of his mind). He belts out songs from musicals or trending audios at random, and it drives Keith insane because it’s so annoying but also because his voice is angelic. He loves the ocean and anything to do with it. His mom made him and his siblings take dancing lessons as a kid. He plays guitar, though he’ll never show anyone his original work. He cries during animal movies. Spanish is his first language, and he’s always cursing in it under his breath. His poses consist of peace signs and / or finger guns. He spends all his money on his niblings. He has a hat collection. His hands flail everywhere when he’s talking about something he has a passion for. He spends months on everyone’s birthday gifts. He has absolutely no concept of a sleep schedule. Cuban flag pins decorate all his belongings. He’s ridiculously disciplined with his skincare, but that originated from doing face masks with his sister. He can cook random recipes handed down from his mother, but has burned cookies several times. His love of space originated with his father. He’s the hardest worker Keith knows. All his overconfidence and flirting hide the insecurity he feels. Most of his jokes are actually self-deprecating. Keith hates it, how someone so full of love can’t direct it towards themselves. He is life in a person. He makes everything feel so worthwhile that it makes Keith feel like he’s worthwhile too.
It terrifies him, how in just a few years, his mind is a mosaic of everyone he cares about. He tries to drown every single fact, to throw it away as useless information. It terrifies him that he clings onto them anyway, like he's keeping them forever. It terrifies him because everyone he has ever loved has always left.
(Because it’s love, isn’t it? Loving someone is remembering their smile and their laugh and the crinkle of their eyes and their humor and their favorite food and their lists and their hugs. To love someone is to know them, to wrap every piece of them around your soul until the fabric of where you end and where they start bleed together into one.)
So, yeah, he's used to casting away everything that will leave his life someday. But right now, they’re here. They’re here in his apartment, laughing in the warm light around the dining table. They’re here, in the pouring rain, holding an umbrella, pressed up close next to him. They’re here, under the sea of stars, together in the vast universe.
Keith only keeps track of one list now: the people he loves. And he will remember that list forever.