Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Keith isn’t sure what it is that wakes him up sometime later. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. All he remembers is the warmth of Lance’s car, the smell of his coworker’s cologne, and the little car freshener dangling from the rearview in the dark being the last thing he saw before he leaned back and closed his eyes. 

But when he wakes up with a headache, those memories are hazy and distant, like they belong to somebody else, overshadowed by the ache pounding behind his eyes. Keith wonders what’s going on, agitated and ever so slightly stressed about how dark everything is, before remembering that he needs to open his eyes to see. He cradles his head while doing so, as if to carry the weight of his oncoming migraine, and looks ahead of him to see a long highway stretched as far as the eye can see. 

Keith hums, recognizing the interstate, feeling a bit better about the familiarity of the road. Only for his delayed senses to eventually catch up with him, reminding him that in order for him to be on the road, he has to be driving. And if he’s not driving then…

Keith whips his head around toward the driver’s seat, finding a pair of dark eyes already eyeing him. Keith’s stomach churns, suddenly feeling woozy as his head spins. 

“You awake, sleeping beauty?” Lance asks, eyes flitting between Keith and the road ahead of them.

Keith blinks, needing a second– and then multiple more seconds–to gather his thoughts as he continues to take in his surroundings. 

“You kidnapped me?” Keith settles on after several seconds of his mind-cogs spinning on overdrive. Which isn’t what he thinks he meant to say, but given the unusual circumstances, he doesn’t think it’s completely out there to ask. 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve already contacted your family for the ransom,” Lance jokes, except the humor in his voice sort of loses its effect when Keith feels like his head’s been put in a blender. “So just sit tight, we’ll be at the second location soon.”

“How much is my ransom?” Keith inquires, leaning back as he shuffles in his seat. The seat’s heat warmer is on, and it appears that Lance has draped his coat over Keith’s limp form. So he’s unnaturally warm, and oddly comfortable despite everything. 

“Uhhh…a bag of pretzels and a bottle of Pinot noir?” Lance answers, eyes shining with flecks of moonlight. 

“That might be a bit much,” Keith theorizes, earning a hearty laugh from his colleague. “Where are you taking me, anyway?” 

“Well, you were so very adamant about not wanting to go home,” Lance explains as he pulls off an intersection. “So options were kind of limited.” 

“So you’re taking me to the middle of nowhere?” Keith questions, feeling ever so slightly nervous. He feels weirdly safe with Lance; probably because he knows he could take him in a fight if he had to. But also because he feels…trustworthy. Enough so that Keith starts to feel guilty for thinking that Lance may have been the one to start shitty office rumors about him. But there’s still the underlying anxiety of not knowing where he’s going. 

“You haven’t eaten anything, right?” Lance questions, leaning forward as his head turns this way and that before he takes a quick turn. 

“No…” Keith responds, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought of eating something right now. 

“Figured. We’ll be there soon, so you can just nap in the meantime,” Lance says, voice warm and lax while everything within Keith feels turbulent and misguided. 

But glancing in his coworker’s direction, seeing him bobbing along to the 80’s pop quietly streaming from his radio, Keith feels…okay. Feels a stillness he doesn’t think he’s felt in a while, even with the intermittent swirling of his vision. 

“Sure,” he quietly agrees, letting his head rest against his window, and something about the cool glass paired with the softness of Lance’s humming along to his car radio, pulls him under a blanket of sleep. 

❆

The next time Keith jostles awake, he awakes with a start, reaching for the switch-blade he often carries on his person only to meet eyes with a startled Lance. 

“Easy, tiger. It’s just me,” Lance says while holding his hands up, leaning back before unbuckling his seat belt. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Keith answers in an attempt to recover from his embarrassment, before glancing out the window to see a…truck stop? “Where are we?” 

“Far from home,” Lance answers, explaining nothing at all. But he cuts his car’s ignition and meets Keith on the other side of the car, opening his door for him, so Keith figures he has no choice but to get out. Which is probably for the best; he has to pee, anyway. 

As Lance helps Keith stumble through the door and into the bathroom, all that Keith has on his mind is the nearest toilet. It isn’t until after he’s taken a leak and trained his eyes to stop seeing double that he actually takes in his surroundings. 

After staggering out of the restroom, he takes a look around the building and realizes Lance has brought him to a diner. A seemingly old one, if the shoddy tables and busted booths are any tell. But there’s a jukebox streaming Elton John in the corner of the small restaurant, and the singular waitress is dressed like a movie character, with a bright red apron tied around her waist and collared shirt covered in grease stains. 

He leans against the wall for a beat, just taking in the scene draped in harsh yellow light, as scents of apple pie and coffee waft through the room. After a second of scanning the room, he finds Lance in the corner, his cowlicks peaking over his booth as he hunches over a table eyeing a menu. 

“You didn’t toss your Christmas cookies again, did you? You were kinda in there a while,” Lance says as soon as Keith is sliding into the seat across from his coworker. 

“Again?” Keith questions, picking up the menu in front of him. It’s slightly sticky, but so is the table. The entire establishment appears to be a bit worse for wear honestly, but none of that particularly matters when Keith feels like he’s fighting for his life as he leans his elbows on the sticky tabletop. 

“Yeah…your jacket’s at the dry cleaner’s next door to the office, by the way. Can you believe they were still open at eight PM? Insane, right?” Lance states, dropping his menu onto the table to give Keith a once-over. “So, how ya feeling?” 

“Like I’m never drinking again,” Keith proses, dropping his face into his hands to block out the bright yellow light. “Where are we, anyway?” 

“Never been to a diner, Mr. Kogane?” 

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for sarcasm?” Keith asks, dropping his hands to level Lance with a measured glare. “And it looks like we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.” 

“That’s ‘cause we are,” Lance says, and opens his mouth to seemingly say something more, only to be interrupted by a gray-haired waitress that smells like cigarettes that sidles up next to their table. 

“Welcome to Benny’s, can I get you started with some drinks?” she greets, voice monotone and her words mangled by the gum snapping and popping between her teeth. 

“Crystal, nice to see you, cheery as always,” Lance pipes, his loafered feet swinging under the table as he beams. 

“Lance,” their waitress answers, drawing her lips into a tight smile. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” 

“You know it’s just not the holidays without harassing my least favorite waitress,” Lance answers with a smile. “What’re the specials today?” 

“Whatever we had yesterday but baked into a meatloaf,” she answers with a sigh. 

“Sounds delicious,” Lance comments. 

“Do you two…know each other?” Keith questions, looking between the pair, trying to gage the tone of the admittedly odd situation. 

“Lance here is somewhat of a regular. Although less so nowadays,” she explains, twiddling her pen back and forth. “Where ya been?” 

“Just…work. Spending time with my lovely coworkers,” Lance answers, eyes shifting their focus back to Keith. “Ya know, the usual.” 

“Right…,” Crystal says tapping her order pad with a ballpoint. “I’m guessing you're getting the usual. And what about you, hon?” 

It takes a full three seconds for Keith to realize he’s ‘hon,’ and another second for him to get his shit together to form an answer. “I’m…not really hungry…” 

“He’ll have anything light, thanks,” Lance speaks over him, handing her their sticky menus. “And a water.” 

“Sure,” Crystal says, looking between them before sauntering off, her gray-streaked ponytail swishing behind her as she offers them one last curious look before disappearing behind the kitchen. 

“I’m really not that hungry,” Keith says as Lance begins to toy with a sugar packet. 

“Figures. But it’s a long drive back home, and you literally threw up what little you did eat today,” he explains, before leaning back in his seat, the old leather seeming to swallow him. “Speaking of, how’re you feeling? Still feeling queasy?” 

Keith stares ahead of him, trying to get a read on his coworker. But he’s either too tipsy or too blind to see what’s going on, or Lance is just too confusing for anyone to read. Let alone Keith, who sucks at getting a read on anything but books. So he leans forward, annoyed, eyes squinted as she draws all his focus on trying to make his annoyance apparent. 

“What’re you doing?” Keith questions, and Lance’s nose scrunches. 

“Um…waiting on my order?” 

“You know what I mean,” Keith continues, his patience waning. Only to have to clarify when Lance offers him a bewildered look. “Why’re you being nice to me? Taking me out to eat? Bringing my clothes to the dry cleaner’s? Ordering my lunch? What’s your game?”

“What, was I supposed to leave you alone in the gathering hall shit-faced with no ride?” 

“You could have,” Keith reasons, brows furrowed. “Everyone else did.” 

“That’s because I’m your only friend in the office,” Lance argues. “Well, as of now. But you seem to have really hit it off with Kim. She thinks you guys are future drinking buddies. Which, after tonight, I hope not.” 

“Who?” Keith snaps, irritated at the direction of the conversation. 

“Kim? From accounting? The one who had you try like five different drinks in under five minutes? Somebody should probably check on her, I think she has a problem,” Lance says with a sniff, before letting his eyes settle back on Keith. “Where is this coming from, anyway?” 

“What?” 

“Why am I being nice to you? Seriously? When am I ever not nice to you?” Lance reasons, and Keith’s eyebrows furrow. 

He wants to say that Lance isn’t that nice. But he is. He truly is sugar and spice and everything nice. Like somebody specially designed the perfect man and thus, Lance was born, with his only real flaws being his gaudy sense of humor and potentially too-high self-esteem. He can be annoying at times, to Keith at least, with his flashy smile and sharp outfits and poorly timed remarks. He can be pushy, with his expectations for Keith to show up to this or do that. And he can drive Keith insane, with his little comments about Keith’s hair and terrible posture. But by all accounts, he’s the exact opposite of mean. He’s helpful and always asking if Keith needs assistance. He looks out for others–even Keith, who no one ever takes account of. He’s the human embodiment of kindness. And instead of ever saying thank you, Keith gets defensive. Like now…

“Sorry,” Keith whispers, feeling overwhelmed with a sudden wave of shame and awkwardness. As if it isn’t bad enough, Lance leans forward, cupping a hand over his ear. 

“Sorry, what was that? It almost sounded like you were trying to apologize, but surely that can’t be,” Lane dramatically mocks, eyes comically large as his eyebrows shoot upward. 

“Shut up,” Keith says with an eye roll. “Just let me be sorry, will you?” 

“Wow,” Lance remarks, folding his arms. “It truly must be a Christmas miracle. I didn’t even know you knew how to apologize.” 

“You’re so annoying,” Keith says with a huff. “It’s just…You gotta admit it’s a little weird, though, right? You’re kinda laying on the kindness thing real thick lately. It’s…a lot for me. I’m not used to people going out of their way like this for me.” 

Keith runs a hand through his hair through his explanation, and before Keith can receive a response, Crystal is returning to their table with drinks in hand–a tall glass of water for Keith, and what appears to be a steaming mug of hot cocoa with all the fixings for Lance. 

Keith takes a sip of his drink, only to quickly realize just how thirsty he is, and is downing the cup with deep gulps in a matter of moments. He’s reached the bottom of the glass, ice cubes sliding toward his lips as water dribbles down his chin when he remembers he has an audience, and his eyes meet Lance’s. 

“What?” Keith questions as Lance tosses his head to the side ever-so-slightly. 

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been going out of my way for you,” Lance says quietly. “But if you want me to be mean to you, I could totally be mean.” 

“Oh yeah?” Keith asks, slightly amused as he places his cup back on the table. 

“Oh, absolutely. Like that coat you’re wearing? Looks terrible on you,” Lance says with a shake of his head. 

Keith looks down, having forgotten that he’s even wearing a jacket, before realizing he’s still wearing Lance’s borrowed coat. 

“This is yours,” Keith argues. 

“Exactly, it’s something only I could pull off. That green does absolutely nothing for your complexion.” 

Against his better judgment, Keith finds himself laughing, feeling uncharacteristically light and airy in spite of everything. 

“But I guess you could say I have my reasons for trying to butter you up,” Lance continues with a shrug once Keith’s chuckles have simmered down, and Keith arches an eyebrow. 

“So you admit you’re trying to get on my good side?” 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I thought I already was on your good side; at least at some point,” Lance explains, looking surprisingly nervous, which for some reason relaxes Keith. As if their feelings working on a see-saw type of axis, where one’s stress is the other’s peace. “It’s just that…I feel like ever since Cabo, you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length? But I thought for sure, afterward, we’d be closer. And yet it’s like, just the opposite.” 

At the mention of Cabo, Keith can’t help but roll his eyes, annoyed at the mention of the infamous work retreat from the past summer. Keith knows, by all means, he shouldn’t be feeling any type of way about what happened months ago. But a number of things happened on that trip that led to him seeing Lance differently. A number of things that his colleague doesn’t seem to recall. 

“You don’t even remember that trip,” Keith argues, unamused. “And how much closer are we talking here? We’re coworkers. At some point, I’m gonna have to report you to HR.” 

Lance manages a chuckle as he shakes his head. 

“I may have been wasted half the nights we were there, but I remember enough to know you pulled an entire one-eighty on me,” Lance says while taking a sip of his hot chocolate. 

“I’m not acting any different,” Keith fibs, watching the traces of condensation roll down his glass to avoid his coworker’s eyes. 

The thing is, he knows exactly what Lance is talking about. He knows that, slowly, day by day, he was opening more and more of himself up to Lance. That by the time summer rolled around, it was hard to find one of them without the other being somewhere close by. But then Cabo happened. Lance made the stupid drunken mistake of getting a little too close into Keith’s space–of skipping past the line of coworker and friend to something else. And for the night, Keith let himself caught up in the idea that Lance’s drunken words and actions could have meaning. That his soft gazes would last, and a shared kiss or two would be the first of many. 

But those were just hopes. Ideas that quickly proved pointless once the new day dawned and all memories of the night prior seemed to have been wiped from Lance’s mind. Keith couldn’t bring himself to be mad; not really. Not at anyone but himself, anyway. Because he knew better than to get caught up in warm smiles and the tang of gin on someone’s breath. He knew better than to put meaning behind drunken words. But he let himself do it anyway, because he wanted to feel something other than lonely for once. Even if he knew it’d only last for the night. 

Since then, he’s been acting like Cinderella, running from his Prince Charming with alcohol induced amnesia. He’s been gruffer without meaning to be, and holding back his smiles as tightly as possible. Lance still manages to draw it out of him–the side that he wants to keep Rsvp'd for someone that doesn’t forget they kissed him. But alas. Keith is a weak man, apparently. At least where kind smiles, and well-intentioned idiots are involved. 

“You totally are,” Lance argues, leaning forward, propping his chin in his open palm. “Wait, don’t tell me–is this still about the alleged bonding moment?” 

Keith tosses back an ice cube from his glass just to avoid having to say anything, and slightly startles when Lance barks a loud laugh. 

“Keith! C’mon, seriously. How are you going to hold something over my head when I told you a million times I don’t remember?” 

Keith’s cheeks burn, his eyes gliding this way and that to avoid having to confess the truth. A part of him has wondered on multiple occasions if Lance remembers their shared moment, and only pretends to have forgotten to avoid the consequences of his lip’s crimes. Wondered this enough to have mentioned it to Lance more than once, dubbing it as a bit of a ‘bonding moment’ to avoid any uncomfortable, PG-13 details. But deep down, he knows that if Lance really did remember, he would’ve brought it up ages ago. He just doesn’t know what to do with these memories other than dwell on them, simultaneously holding them over Lance’s head just to be petty. 

“You’re never going to tell me what allegedly happened, are you?” Lance presses, and Keith frowns. 

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” Keith presumes, and Lance shrugs. 

“I guess we’ll never know thanks to you, will we?” 

“No,” Keith answers curtly, and Crystal swoops in once again with perfect timing, dropping a large platter of pancakes and breakfast sides in front of Lance. 

“Hopefully chicken noodle is okay for you, sweetheart,” she says to Keith, a piping hot bowl being nestled in front of him on the table as Lance begins to dig in. “Let me know if I can get you anything else, yeah?” 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles with gratitude, watching as Lance drowns his hash browns in ketchup. 

“Sure thing,” she offers before turning away. 

Keith watches as Lance begins to eat in silence, lacking much interest in his own meal, more interested in the thoughts behind the man in front of him. Lance initially seemed like a bit of simpleton to him when they first met. And he wouldn’t exactly call him a philosopher as of now. But there are sides to him that he hadn’t expected to ever see. Keith had been so sure, two years ago, that Lance was just like every well-liked asshole Keith had ever encountered. That he was all smiles and no substance. Now, Keith knows he’s pretty much everything but that. But even so, he isn’t sure what to make of him. He’s an open book at times, but one with so many chapters Keith can’t figure out how to summarize what he knows. Can’t get a proper read on what Lance has shown him over and over. And isn’t sure if he’s crazy for wanting to know him better, or crazy for doubting Lance’s trustworthiness. 

It’s a lot to mull over in the middle of the night while coming down from five drinks too many, but Keith tries anyway. And finds, even with all his wondering and staring, that the Lance he knows is just a part of the man he’s found himself growing ever closer with. And the remaining parts are still a mystery. But a mystery he so deeply wishes to solve, much to his own dismay. 

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Lance queries, shoveling a forkful of eggs in his mouth, and Keith shakes his head, quickly deciding to change the topic. 

“What’re you doing for the holidays?” 

“What’s this? Keith striking up small talk?” Lance questions, a smile poking through his features. “Hell must be freezing over.” 

“You’re such an ass,” Keith grumbles, spooning at his soup. “It’s a wonder you have so many friends.” 

“That’s ‘cause I save all my assholery for you, obviously,” Lance explains, wiping at his face with a napkin before picking at his plate with his fork. “And, I don’t know, I’m just kind of hanging out this year.” 

“Hanging out?” Keith repeats, dropping his spoon. “The hell does that mean?” 

“I don’t know, just-” Lance darts his eyes away before shrugging. “I guess I’ll be at home, mostly. Maybe I’ll stop by the office to get some work done. But I’ll mostly be at home, just hanging out.” 

“You mean your parents’ place, right?” Keith questions, slightly confused by Lance’s suddenly odd tone and mannerisms. 

“No…like, my place. My overpriced new condo,” Lance answers with an eye roll, taking a sip of hot chocolate. “But it’s really nice. I’ll be able to get a way bigger Christmas tree for next year, you should see how high the ceiling is. It’s real swanky.” 

Keith stares, eyes squinted as he tries to digest this information. But no matter how he looks at it, it doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t know much about Lance. And what he does know, he doesn’t entirely understand. But what he does know, are two things: A, Lance loves Christmas. Like, loves it. Like, overwhelmingly large Christmas sweater collection, singing carols all December long type of obsessed. And B, Lance loves his family. His entire desk is littered with photos of various relatives. His back splash on his laptop is a photo of his family at his oldest brother’s wedding on Varadero Beach a few years ago. Keith knows at least half of his family member’s names without having ever met them because he tells at least one story about them a day, to whoever will listen. Or, in Keith’s case, to whoever happens to be around, regardless of their willingness to listen. Because he loves his family. A lot. And Lance just loves talking in general, but he especially loves talking about his family. 

So the concept of this man–the most holly jolly family oriented person known to humankind–saying he’s staying home alone for Christmas? It just doesn’t compute. 

“You’re not visiting family for Christmas?” Keith clarifies. “Why?” 

“Oh, that’s…” Lance starts, face flushing as he flits his eyes this way and that. “It’s a whole thing. I’ll spare you the sordid details.”

Keith furrows his brows, annoyed. He doesn’t want to be spared a single specificity. Not only does he want to know all the details, but he wants to know what the hell Lance is thinking. Because for the man in front of him to declare his holiday plans include office work must mean that the end of the world is nigh. Ignoring cheesy, trashy traditions and neglecting ample family bonding time seems like a direct act of defiance of his entire genetic makeup and personality. It just makes no sense. And here Lance is, twiddling his fork and eating pancakes like it’s no big deal. 

“I’m asking,” Keith pushes, and Lance stares at him with wide eyes, pausing in all movement as he seems to assess the meaning behind his words. 

Lance either finds what he’s looking for, or decides it doesn’t matter, because he eventually drops his fork in favor of resting his face in his open palm once again. 

“I dunno. It’s just family drama, mostly,” Lance begins to explain, eyes casting toward their table. “My aunt wanted this big thing this year. Spent all of Thanksgiving talking about Disney and resorts and stuff. I didn’t think anybody would actually go along with it, but then my dad’s entire half of the family bought tickets to this cruise. And before I knew it, we’re having cruise Christmas.”

“Cruise Christmas,” Keith repeats, slightly floored, and Lance shrugs. 

“My mom hated it. Hates it present tense, I guess. But she’s been really trying to keep the peace between the two sides. My aunt made a big fuss when my siblings said nobody wanted to spend Christmas lost at sea, but they’re going through the entire Caribbean, and they’ll be stopping near my aunt’s place in Havana, so she said she’ll host. And…I don’t know. It’s this whole thing.” 

“And you don’t wanna be a part of it?” 

“What?” 

“You still didn’t explain why you’re not going,” Keith prompts, and Lance leans back in his seat. 

“Right. That.” He takes a deep breath before offering a seemingly forced smile. “So, here’s the thing about swanky condos: they’re kind of expensive? Which, is like, fine, ya know. I knew money would be a bit tight until I found a roommate. I just didn’t account for a cruise when I signed the lease. So, I’ll have a get-together with my siblings or something after Christmas. Or like a New Year’s housewarming party or something. Just…no McClain-Fuentes Christmas cruise.” 

“That’s so stupid. Fuck your aunt,” Keith snaps, pissed on Lance’s behalf, before thinking better of his words. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken, she’s kinda terrible. Every time anyone from our side of the family tries to put her in her place, she gets hysterical, and blames us for my dad dying, saying it’s our fault he got sick. It’s just…easier to keep her happy,” Lance sounds defeated, eyes almost looking glassy as he drags through his explanation. That is, until his eyes meet Keith’s, at which point his lips quirk up. “Why do you look pissed?” 

“I am pissed. That’s literally the dumbest shit I’ve heard.”

 Keith sighs, thinking of all the grief he’s gotten over the years for being a burden. For being an afterthought, and someone who could only ever take, given how little he ever had to offer. He knows what it’s like, to be treated like this. The thought that someone would ever treat Lance this way? It’s more than a little upsetting. 

“It’s fine, I’m used to her antics. We all are.” 

“It’s not fine,” Keith argues, his face stormy as Lance just carries on eating like this all no big deal. “You’re spending Christmas alone because of some bullshit.” 

“I mean, it’s not completely her fault. My mom offered to pay for my ticket but…ya know,” Lance explains with a shrug. “I wouldn’t feel right taking something that expensive from her.”

“But it’s Christmas,” Keith says, like this is supposed to mean anything. As if Lance, who seems weirdly calm about this entire infuriating situation, will suddenly change his attitude thanks to Keith pointing out the obvious. But it should mean something. At least to Lance, the lover of all things Kris Kringle. 

“It’s fine,” Lance excuses with a wave of his fork. “I’m…not really feeling Christmas this year anyway.” 

Keith furrows his brows, unconvinced but completely disconcerted. He can see it clear as day–disappointment in Lance’s face as he delivers this news. He can see the hints of devastation laced within his features as he puts up a front. He can see, and understand it, too. But what he can’t comprehend is Lance’s stubbornness. If Lance has the opportunity to go home, why won’t he take it? Even if it means accepting a favor? What difference does it make, when it’s all that’s standing between him and his family? When it’s Christmas, and he actually has people to spend the holiday with?

“Why?” Keith presses. Why not go home? Why not spend your favorite holiday with your favorite people? Why sit in a shitty diner with a coworker when you could be on a cruise, sailing toward the Bahamas? Why tell someone like Keith, who can’t even fantasize what Lance has, that he’s willingly taking it for granted?

“It’s just…hard, this time of year,” Lance explains, his face momentarily sobering up, enough for Keith’s mind to blank as he tries to find the source for his sudden shift in tone. Only for Lance to offer him another smile, seemingly forced. “But what about you? Got any plans for Christmas?” 

“No,” Keith answers bluntly, dipping his spoon in his soup before giving it a taste. It’s salty, but not offendingly so. Not that it really matters; he’s a lot hungrier than he realized. 

“What do you mean, no? You’re not doing anything for Christmas?” 

“Says the guy who literally just told me he’s dropping by the office for Christmas,” Keith volleys with an eye roll. 

“That’s-okay, yeah, but I explained why. Surely even a Grinch like you has plans, though, right?” Lance reasons, looking genuinely shocked by this revelation. 

“No, I don’t. This Scrooge is staying home,” Keith answers flatly, opening a pack of table crackers to crush into his soup. “It’s just me, so….” 

Lance looks physically pained to hear this, like he’s just witnessed someone putting an injured animal out of its memory. Which honestly isn’t a new expression he’s directed toward Keith. But given Keith is trying to enjoy his dinner in peace, he’d appreciate it if he kept his horrified looks to himself. 

“What?” Keith snaps, knowing he’ll likely regret prompting Lance into harassing him further. 

“You’re really spending Christmas alone? Like, alone-alone? Nobody invited you to dinner or anything?” 

Keith drops his spoon, eyes squinted as he analyzes Lance’s tone, looking for hints of sarcasm. It’s moments like this, that make him wonder if Lance purposely works to grate on Keith’s nerves. Keith had offered the courtesy of not pushing further than Lance seemed willing to explain when he said he was spending Christmas alone. But for some reason Lance doesn’t have the tact to do the same. 

“My brother invited me to go with him to my brother-in-law’s place,” Keith explains with a shrug, looking at his murky reflection in his soup, his face dappled with vegetables within the yellow broth. “But I’m just going to stay home.” 

“Why?” Lance questions, leaning forward, and Keith grimaces. 

“It’d just be weird if I went. He’s not my biological family, so it just…feels like I’m intruding whenever I spend the holidays with his family. Like everyone knows I don’t really belong.” 

Keith didn’t mean to offer this much of an explanation. Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s loosened his tongue, or the unfamiliarity of the atmosphere that’s blurring the lines of boundaries that are typically there. But he doesn’t necessarily regret opening up to Lance. Even though, just this past summer, he was swearing off treating Lance like a close friend. So much for that. 

“That’s stupid. If they didn’t want you there, they wouldn’t have invited you,” Lance insists, and Keith rolls his eyes. 

“You don’t know Shiro. He’s always going out of his way to look out for me,”  Keith argues, leaning back in his chair. “He was my senior when I went to the military, and he’s never really treated me any differently since then. Like he still has to look out for me. I think he still sees me as the eighteen-year-old hot mess he met ten years ago.” 

It’s definitely the alcohol, Keith decides, because never in a million years would he be saying any of this otherwise. Even with how comfortable Lance makes him feel. Even with how warm he feels, wrapped in Lance jacket, breathing in his scent. Even with the soft look Lance is offering him; that he’s been offering him all night. Even then…it’s just the alcohol, making him spill his guts. And nothing else. 

  “You served? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a patriot, but I guess that does kind of explain the stick up your butt,” Lance states, before promptly saluting Keith with his right hand. “Thank you for your service.”

Keith rolls his eyes, shaking his head. 

“It wasn’t exactly my idea. I just…didn’t know what else to do. Once I aged out of the foster care system, my options were kind of limited.” Lance’s face sobers, his eyes growing heavy as it’s drained of all previous humor, and Keith has to fight his natural instincts to not scowl. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Lance argues. 

“You didn’t have to. Your thoughts are written all over your face.” 

“Last I checked, you aren’t psychic,” Lance says with a huff. “I was just wondering how long you’ve…been on your own.” 

“I’m not on my own. I’ve got Shiro, and my brother-in-law and my niece. That’s more than enough,” Keith corrects, picking at his cuticles.

 He knows that as a kid, with his eyes glued to the TV and his heart heavy, he’d longed for a large family and large banquets for the holidays. He wanted the opposite of what he had; had wanted everything he’d never known. But as an adult, Keith is happy to just have the small things. To have people that care about him. And maybe it might seem pathetic to Lance, who has more family than he knows what to do with. But for Keith, he’s content. Maybe he finds himself wanting more these days, but at the end of the day, he’s grateful. 

 “And yet you won’t spend Christmas with them,” Lance challenges, tearing off a piece of pancake to dip in his hot chocolate, in a way that both disgusts Keith but also irritates him because he’s never thought to do that. 

“It’s not that I won’t, I just-” Keith cuts himself off, leaning forward in his seat. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re literally in the exact same boat as I am.” Keith folds his arms, looking outside, watching trucks pull in and out of the gas station next door. “Like you said, the holidays are kind of hard as is.”

“Why do you hate Christmas?” Lance proses. Keith squints his eyes unappreciatively, and Lance holds his hands up, whipped cream stuck in his peach fuzz. “I’m just saying. You get really grumpy around this time of year. And now you’re saying it’s a hard time of year. Which, like, I know why I said that. But why are you saying that? Did somebody steal your Christmas once upon a time?” 

Keith scoffs, picking up his spoon, pushing around chunks of salty meat in his soup before abandoning it altogether. 

“It’s just…” He hesitates, wondering if what he’s thinking is really meant to be shared. But he’s still tipsy, face flushed and warm, and Lance already knows a lot more than he’s ever wanted any colleague to know. What’s one more thing? “I don’t hate Christmas. But there are a lot of bad memories surrounding the season, I guess. My dad he…died on Christmas Eve. I guess Christmas just brings up a lot of memories I’d rather forget.” 

Keith still remembers it like yesterday:  sitting at home at age eleven, patiently waiting for his dad to come home from the graveyard shift at his second job. Only for him to never come home. Keith would try to forget that empty feeling that consumed him whole when two police officers came to his door instead of his dad. His brain works overtime to not think of the sadness he’d come to know well when he met his first social worker of many. But it’s almost impossible to forget when he sees the twinkle of Christmas lights, and smiling families and fake Santa Clauses. It’s hard not to remember, and it’s hard not to dwell. And he wishes, for just one year, he could spend the holiday season not wondering what things would be like if his dad were still here. 

Keith doesn’t realize he’s zoned out, thinking about old memories, until he’s zoned back in, pulling his focus back to his coworker. Only to find Lance staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly ajar. 

“What?” Keith questions, having to keep himself from snorting. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“I just…” Lance shakes his head, looking down to stare at his plate as his cheeks tint pink. “I feel like such an asshole. I’ve been calling you a Grinch this whole time.” Lance looks up to meet Keith’s eyes, and find that the taller man has moved on from shock to something more solemn. “For the record, you have every right to steal Christmas if you so please.” 

Keith can’t help the laugh that shoots through him, Lance’s ridiculousness catching him off guard, and laughs harder as he watches Lance squirm ever so slightly, his rosy cheeks turning a deep burgundy. 

“I wasn’t saying that to be funny,” Lance mutters, hiding behind his mug as he takes a long swig of cocoa. 

“That’s exactly what makes it funny,” Keith tells him, pausing before adding, “Thanks.” 

“For calling you a Grinch? And a Scrooge, and a party pooper, and a-”

“For not saying sorry,” Keith explains, tapping his fingers against the table-top before sighing. 

“Oh…sure,” Lance replies, pursing his lips together. “Isn’t that weird? That people apologize when someone dies? Like, unless you killed them, why say sorry?” He shrugs before continuing, cutting a piece of pancake and once again dipping it in his drink, soaking it in chocolate. “I hated it when people would keep telling me sorry after my dad died. I think I wish they just…treated me like a normal person, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Keith answers, voice dry as he remembers the latter end of his childhood. Normalcy always seemed like a luxury he couldn’t afford. The things everyone took for granted were just ideas he could never grasp. And everyone seemed to know, leaving him on the outskirts because of it. Not only does Keith know what it means to wish for people to treat him normally, but he knows it all too well. 

“I didn’t know your dad passed away,” Keith says, just to say something, mostly thinking aloud. Lance oftentimes spoke of his family, in great detail and occasionally for extended periods of time. But it never occurred to him, until now, that when he spoke of his dad, he’s always used past tense. 

“Yeah, in high school,” Lance offers, eyes drawing back towards the landscape outside the window. “That’s actually how I discovered this place.” Lance shakes his head, his usual jovial temperament being overshadowed by something darker. “It just got hard being at home, after a while. By the time we found out my dad was sick, it was too late to do much, but he still went through chemo anyway. Maybe it makes me a bad person, not wanting to see him like that but…after school I’d try to get as far as physically possible from home as I could. Just so that I wouldn’t have to see the life draining out of him. And eventually I ended up here.” 

Keith can’t bring himself to say anything, his heart clenching as he imagines a younger version of the man in front of him trying to get lost in the depths of their city, running from an eminent ending. 

“Now you’re the one looking at me like you feel sorry for me,” Lance points out, and Keith frowns. 

“No, I was just…Is it weird to say I wish we’d met earlier?” Keith thinks aloud, not even knowing what he’s saying until he’s already said it. But once the words are out there, he doesn’t regret saying it. Even if he does feel a bit bashful putting his thoughts out in the air to be picked apart and analyzed. 

“Coming from you? Yeah, a little,” Lance admits, looking surprised. 

“I mean, I think it just would’ve been nice, to have known someone who understands,” Keith attempts to explain, eyes looking this way and that as he tries not to die of embarrassment. As Lance watches him, he’s quickly reminded of why he tends to keep the sentimentalism to a minimum. “Never mind, forget it.”

“No, you’re right,” Lance agrees, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he seems to drink Keith in. “I do sort of wish we’d met before now. Even if you definitely would’ve hated me as a teenager.” 

“I mean, I can barely stand you now.”

“Exactly my point.”

Keith finds himself smiling, despite himself, and tries not to let himself get caught up in the fluttering in his chest or the way Lance seems to beam at him. 

“You two about ready to wrap up?” Crystal questions, snapping Keith out of his thoughts, and Keith glances down at his mostly full bowl of soup and Lance’s half-eaten breakfast platter. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Lance answers. “Terrible customer service, by the way. I haven’t seen you in, like, an hour.” 

“I try,” she says with a phony smile before picking up their plates. “Want me to box these?” 

“If it’s not a bother,” Lance requests. “And could we have a hangover special to go?” 

“Sure thing,” she replies with a smile that actually looks genuine this time. 

“Hangover special?” Keith questions as Lance pulls out his wallet.

“Trust me, future you will be thanking me,” Lance explains while dropping a few ten-dollar bills on the table. 

“I can pay for my meal,” Keith points out, suddenly feeling antsy at the thought of Lance doing him yet another favor. He knows Lance doesn’t want him to look into it. But it’s impossible not to. The list of people who have done him solids just because is incredibly short. And as of right now, it seems like Lance is fighting to make his way to the top of that list, for reasons unbeknownst to Keith. 

“I know,” Lance says with a shrug. “But you kept me company. And you barely ate anyway.” 

Keith purses his lips, wanting to argue, but he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? That it’s Lance that kept him from sitting lonely and drunk in his cold apartment? That it’s Lance, that’s been filling the chasm of misery he’s been living in since the day his dad died? How can he put those thoughts into words for someone like Lance, who probably has no idea what these little gestures and acts of kindness mean to someone like Keith? 

Crystal returns ten minutes later, with their check and to-go boxes, and it’s only after they’ve paid and are heading toward the car that Keith realizes the bills that Lance left on the table was just a tip. 

“Are you usually such a big tipper?” Keith questions, slightly stunned. What ever happened to Lance saying money’s tight?

“No, but Crystal’s been putting up with me for a really long time,” Lance explains, holding the car door open for Keith. “Plus, her kids need braces.” 

Keith wonders what conclusions to draw from this as they pull out of the parking lot, making their way home. But he can’t really be sure. All he knows for certain is that he doesn’t want this to be the last long night he gets to spend with Lance. He hopes, against his better judgment, that this just becomes one of many. 

❆

Keith doesn’t recall falling asleep. But he appears to be sleeping a lot without meaning to lately. He remembers being in Lance’s car, listening to Billy Joel, head leaning against the cool glass. And before he knows it, he feels himself being gently jostled awake as a warm hand on his shoulder shakes him. 

“Hey,” Lance whispers. “We’re here.” 

Keith sits up slightly, lifting his head, only to find that Lance is a lot closer than he’d initially anticipated. 

“Do you need help with your seatbelt?” 

“No?” Keith says, feeling slightly defensive as he proceeds to struggle with the safety belt. Lance just watches, an annoyingly smug look on his face before he reaches over and unclicks the latch. 

“It gets stuck sometimes,” he offers in an obvious attempt to salvage Keith’s dented pride, and Keith just sighs. “Here, let me get the door.” 

Lance is already on the side of the car, opening the door and gathering Keith’s things before Keith can even think to stop him. Which is probably all for the best, when he thinks about it. He’s slightly disoriented, and the headache from earlier has made its presence known in a way that makes Keith wish he’d just black out. 

He stumbles all the way through the door and up the elevator of his apartment, Lance by his side the entire time, before he realizes he’s leaning into him, using his coworker as a crutch. Finding his footing on his own, straightening in a way that seems to catch Lance off guard, he hopes that he really will black out. That, like Lance six months ago in Mexico, he’ll find himself with a tragic case of short-term memory loss and everything from the past several hours will just be a bad dream. 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles once they’ve reached his door. He’s not even sure why Lance followed him all the way here, but now that they’re at his apartment, he doesn’t want to go in. Wishes that they could just stay here, in the hallway, faces red with the cold and the slight embarrassment of an unfamiliar night. “For everything today.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lance offers, like he hasn’t been Keith’s personal Superman for the past twenty-four hours. 

“No, I kinda do,” Keith argues. “You always…you’ve been-” Keith pinches at the bridge of his nose, irritated by his lack of eloquence. “I don’t know how to say what I mean, exactly, and maybe to you, it’s no big deal because you’re nice to everyone, but-”

“You think I’m this nice to everyone?” Lance questions, head tilted as he leans against Keith’s door, seemingly closer than he was a moment ago. Why’s he so close? And why does his breath smell like peppermint and chocolate syrup? And why is it slightly endearing?

“I…” Keith attempts, scrambling for an answer. He doesn’t know if Lance treats everyone with this much gratuity, the way he treats Keith, but surely he must, right? Surely, he isn’t showing Keith some sort of special treatment. Because if he is…then what does that mean? 

“Mr. Kogane,” Lance prompts, eyes narrowed, and for some reason it makes the hairs on Keith’s neck stand to attention. 

“Mr. Fuentes,” Keith mutters back, a deep blush brushing across his skin as he inhales the familiar musk of his coworker’s cologne. 

“Notice how I’m at your house right now. Not anybody else’s. Why do you think that is?” 

“Because you can’t be in two places at once?” Keith guesses. 

Lance exhales so hard it almost sounds painful, and Keith tears at his cuticles, wondering what Lance is getting at. 

“Good night, Keith,” Lance says instead of whatever is clearly bothering him, adjusting the collar of his suit jacket. 

Keith watches as Lance lingers closely in his space, clearly waiting on something but saying nothing. He finds himself scanning Lance’s every feature, trying to read into the secrets that Lance refuses to share. And it’s infuriating, that Keith is so close yet so far to knowing what’s on his mind. But by the time he’s tracing the outline of his cupid’s bow and analyzing the perpetual quirk of his lips, he realizes maybe he’s not much better than Lance. While Lance holds some secret reason behind his acts of kindness, Keith is holding onto the secret behind his apprehension. 

It’s a bit inappropriate, he’s more than aware, but he finds himself remembering the sloppy gin and tonic kisses they shared, Lance’s large hands tangled in his hair and gripping onto his shirt, and finds himself wondering. Wondering what might’ve been, if Lance remembered. Or if Keith just reminded him. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, those kisses perhaps came to fruition not as drunken mistakes, but as whims that just required some liquid courage. What if all of Lance’s generosity is because, given the opportunity, he’d kiss Keith completely sober? 

It feels like a bit of a reach. Like some sappy, wishful thinking. But with Lance standing so close, idling in his doorway even after saying goodnight, it feels like a highly probable possibility. 

“Do you…” Keith begins, not knowing where he’s even going with his words until he says them. “Do you want to come in?” 

Keith’s offer takes both of them by surprise, Lance’s eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and Keith’s cheeks tinging red. 

Keith dares to meet the younger man’s eyes, watching himself in the reflection of Lance’s pupils, heart hammering as he awaits what he worries may very well be a rejection. But he never gets to find out what it is that Lance intends to say. 

Just as Lance opens his mouth to answer, Keith’s apartment door swings open, a familiar face popping his head out to stare at Keith with bewildered eyes. 

“Keith!” Shiro says as the door swings on its hinges, causing Keith and Lance to jump apart so quickly their foreheads knock together in the process. “Where have you been?” 

“I-” Keith starts, looking between a confused Lance and a seemingly hysterical Shiro. “What?” 

“It’s one in the morning,” Shiro states, like this is supposed to mean something to Keith. Which, maybe if he had work in the morning, or some other engagements to attend to, it would. But all he cares about is the fact that Lance was possibly about to enter his apartment. And now he can’t. Because of Shiro.

“So what?” Keith hisses, rubbing at his aching forehead, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “What’re you even doing here?” 

“You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried,” Shiro explains, before seemingly noticing Lance for the first time since his outburst. “Who’s this?” 

“None of your business,” Keith snaps through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll see you later, Keith,” Lance says, somehow looking twice as embarrassed as Keith feels, his hands shoved deep in his pants pockets as he looks between Shiro and Keith. “Um, nice to meet you.” 

“You too,” Shiro replies, looking genuinely delighted to be acknowledged, seemingly none-the-wiser to Keith plotting his demise from a few feet away. 

“Oh, uh, bye,” Keith responds awkwardly, face so flushed he feels as though he’s been lit aflame as he pathetically waves Lance away, his diner leftovers hanging limply in his other hand as he tries not to die of embarrassment. 

“He seems nice,” Shiro voices as soon as Lance has made it down the hall and to the elevator, eyebrows quirked as he stares. “Is he that guy from work you told me about?” 

Keith just shoots daggers in his brother’s direction as he makes his way into his apartment, not gracing him with a response. 

Keith’s pissed at Shiro, but more than anyone, he’s upset with himself for getting his hopes up. 

❆

“I said I was sorry,” Shiro states from the millionth time as Keith pours himself a glass of water in his tiny kitchen, peeking over the couch and seemingly watching Keith’s every move, as he’s been doing since Keith entered the apartment. “How was I supposed to know you had company?” 

“You know you could’ve just not broke into my apartment, right?” Keith states after chugging his glass, staring at his brother with a fiery glare. “Either way, I’m gonna kick your ass.” 

“It’s not breaking in if I have a key. Besides, I was worried! You always get weird around this time of year,” Shiro explains, his face coated in an annoying amount of genuine concern. “I’ll admit my imagination started to run a bit wild when you weren’t picking up your phone.”

Keith purses his lips, his grip on his glass tightening. He’s never told Shiro about his father dying on Christmas Eve. He’s never told anyone about it, in fact. Until tonight…

He sighs, realizing that he can’t exactly blame Shiro for worrying when he’s been all but left in the dark. 

Keith fishes his phone out of his pants pocket, only to find that the small device is completely dead, unable to even turn on. 

“My phone died,” Keith offers, settling beside his best friend on the couch, resting his head on the back of the sofa as he struggles with his post-drinking headache. “I just went to the company Christmas party and Lance ended up taking me home. That’s all.” 

“You went to a Christmas party? Willingly?” Shiro questions, eyebrows ached. “And it ended at one in the morning?” 

Keith only responds with a scowl, causing Shiro to put his hands up in surrendering, shrugging while doing so. 

“Alright, forget I asked,” he continues. “In the future, I’ll send a telegram before breaking and entering.” 

“Stop trying to be funny, I’m not in the mood,” Keith retorts, rubbing at his eyes as the desire to sleep pushes against his senses. 

“Long night?” 

“Long day,” Keith corrects, before thinking over his words once more. “But it wasn’t all bad, I guess.” 

“Well,” Shiro begins, before reaching under the coffee table, pulling out a red gift bag, overflowing with wrapping paper. “Maybe this might make it a little better?” 

“What is this?” Keith asks as Shiro drops the gift bag in his lap, a goofy smile on his brother’s face. 

“Open it,” Shiro prompts.

Keith hesitates, uncertain of what to expect, before inevitably digging into the bag to reveal a wooden box, covered in intricate gold detailing. Keith sends a questioning glance Shiro’s way before opening the box to reveal a black dagger sitting in a plush velvet pillow, its holster littered with violet elements. 

“What…” Keith starts, taken aback as he unsheathes the dagger, his stunned face reflecting back at him from the weapon’s blade. “I’m…” 

“That’s the one you were eyeing online, right?” Shiro asks, seemingly reveling in Keith’s awe. 

“Yeah…” Keith answers, twisting the blade this way and that as he tries to come up with words to express his thoughts. “How did you know?”

“I have my ways,” Shiro answers with a shrug, a wide smile overtaking his face. 

“Thank you,” Keith states, unsure of what else to say. Keith’s been collecting various knives and blades from an early age, but a majority of the hobby is just looking at online listings of products he could never afford. The fact his brother somehow came across the listing he’s been staring at for months and actually bought it for him is… Keith doesn’t have the words. “Seriously, thank you.” 

“It’s no big deal,” Shiro answers with a shrug. “Adam and Lily also picked out gifts for you. But they wanted to give them to you in person, so you’ll have to wait until after Christmas for that. That’s actually the real reason I stopped by, but Adam had to take Lily home once it reached past her bedtime.” 

“You guys didn’t have to…” Keith attempts, overwhelmed by the focus on him. 

“Well, yeah, that’s the thing about gifts; they’re optional,” Shiro says with a chuckle, earning him a nudge from Keith. “We just wanted to surprise you one last time before we left. It was Lily’s idea, actually. She’s pretty upset her uncle Keith isn’t going to be spending Christmas with her.” 

“Is that your way of trying to make me feel bad?” Keith questions, unimpressed. 

“That depends. Is it working?” Shiro returns with an easy smile. 

“Kind of,” Keith admits, dropping the weapon in his hands back in its box. 

“Ya know it’s not too late for you to come with us,” Shiro offers.

“I know…” Keith answers, closing the box, staring at the golden latch concealing the contents before shaking his head. “But it’s just…weird, being at Adam’s parent’s place.” 

Keith omits the fact that when surrounded by extended family that isn’t his, he can’t help but feel like he stands out in the worst way. Like he doesn’t belong, and never will. 

 “Weird,” Shiro repeats, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” 

“You’re not,” Keith says with a shake of his head before standing, dropping his gift on a couch cushion. “Wait here. I’ll get your gift.” 

Keith hurries out of the room, eager to remove himself from the conversation at hand before Shiro can ask too many questions. Entering his tiny office that doubles as his walk-in closet, Keith enters the corner of the small room and nabs the Christmas gift he’s found himself intermittently working on for the past several months. He never knows what to get people for Christmas–lest of all people he actually cares about. But he figured, if nothing else, Shiro deserved something that actually took effort. 

“It’s not the best,” Keith begins before handing his gift over, gripping its edges tightly to keep the tarp covering it from slipping. “So just…don’t judge, alright?” 

Keith hands over the oil canvas in his hands with hesitation, wanting to take it back as soon as Shiro has it in his hands. But soon enough, his older brother is removing the burlap tarp, revealing the oil painted family portrait Keith’s been working on in his free time. 

“Keith…” Shiro says, his breath seemingly escaping him as he takes in the painted faces in front of him. 

The painting is a recreation of a photo Shiro posted on Facebook ages ago. When Keith had first started the painting months ago, he’d been nervous, worried that painting for the first time in forever wouldn’t be an adequate gift for his brother. But every time Keith would try to bring up Christmas gifts, his brother would simply reiterate that all he wanted for Christmas is for his family to know how much he appreciates them. Having a giant painting to hang of them over the living room mantel seemed as good a way as any, Keith figured. Still, he hasn’t brushed up on the skills he learned in college in a while. So as he watches his brother take in the portraits, he can’t help but feel uneasy. 

“Like I said, it’s not my best work or anything,” Keith excuses, almost wishing he could take the painting back. 

“Are you kidding me?” Shiro voices, holding the canvas closer as he takes in the little details. “This is amazing. I didn’t know you still painted.” 

“I don’t, usually…” Keith explains, readjusting in his seat, unsure what to do with the compliment. 

“Thank you, seriously,” Shiro says, his gratitude evident by his lit up face, a smile stretched from ear to ear across his face. 

“It’s nothing,” Keith excuses, scratching at the back of his head. 

“Nothing? Really?” Shiro questions before dropping the canvas on Keith’s messy coffee table and entrapping him in a tight half-hug. “It’s not nothing.” 

“Okay, alright, it’s not nothing,” Keith agrees, trying to wriggle his way out of Shiro’s grip. “Now let me go.” 

Shiro obliges, glancing back at the painting on the coffee table while Keith fixes his messied hair. 

“Just one question, though,” Shiro starts, glancing between Keith and the photo. “Why didn’t you pick a reference picture with you in it?” 

“What?” 

“I just mean-” Shiro seems to flush, eyes flicking back and forth before settling on living room rug. “I have plenty of pictures of all four of us. Not that I don’t love this one, but I was just wondering why you didn’t include yourself.”

“It’s supposed to be a family portrait,” Keith explains, assuming that this should be enough of an explanation. But Shiro’s eyebrows only furrow, a slight frown etching into his face. 

“Exactly,” Shiro says. “You’re part of my family too, is what I mean.” Shiro seems to hesitate, contemplating his next words carefully before adding, “Do you…not feel like part of the family? Is that why you don’t want to come with us for Christmas?” 

Alarmed by his brother’s perceptiveness, Keith shoots up and meanders into the kitchen to grab himself another glass of water, unsure of what to say to this. Truth be told, he doesn’t feel like part of Shiro’s family. Not really. But that’s because he isn’t part of his family. They could call each other brother, and act as familiar as they wanted. But at the end of the day they weren’t really related. 

Shiro would continue to grow up, and they’d eventually grow apart. And maybe it won’t be on purpose, but before he knows it, Keith will be the last person on his mind. Because he has his own family–people he’s actually expected to care about, who care about him back, and there’s no question about if they belong. Maybe it’s a little pathetic, to be as old as he is and still hung up on the fact that he doesn’t truly belong anywhere–not even with the people who insist he’s one of them–but it’s at the back of his mind often enough that he knows his place. He’s self-aware enough to know not to push his luck, and try to fit in where he doesn’t really belong, even if they say it’s okay.

Not that Keith will say any of this, or even allude to it. Especially not to Shiro. 

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Keith informs him, hoping his voice sounds nonchalant as he brushes his brother off. “I just thought it’d be weird to paint myself.” 

Shiro stares at him for a beat from over the couch, eyes squinted as he seems to think over Keith’s words. 

“You know I know you, right?” 

“You only remind me as often as possible,” Keith responds with a sigh, leaning against his fridge. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about getting too close to Shiro at this point, and giving his true feelings away. With the night he’s had, he doesn’t think he could hide how he’s feeling. Though, with the way Shiro’s looking at him, he gets the feeling Shiro already knows. 

“Which means I know when you’re lying,” Shiro points out, before releasing a long sigh. “I won’t push you, though. Just…if you have anything on your mind, know you can tell me.” 

“Thanks…” Keith says in reply, holding onto his glass tightly as he struggles to maintain eye contact. 

Just when the tension in the room seems to reach the height of unbearable, Keith hears Shiro’s phone ring from the coffee table, putting a natural end to their topic of discussion. 

“Ah, it’s Adam. He’s probably wondering when I’m getting home,” Shiro says before picking up the call. Shortly after, Shiro confirms it’s just as expected–his husband concerned about his whereabouts–and Shiro begins to gather his gift and belongings before seeing himself out. 

“Don’t forget what I said,” Shiro says from the doorway, his gaze intense as he seems to hammer it home his intentions. 

Keith swallows, feeling weirdly guilty about holding his emotions off, preferring to keep them to himself. 

“Bye, Shiro,” Keith says, hoping to encourage his brother to leave sooner. 

Seeming to catch the hint, the older man simply smiles at him before shaking his head, allowing the old door to close behind him with a thud. Keith makes quick work of locking the door after him, hoping to lock away any feelings that Shiro might’ve disturbed in the process. It had already been along night as is. Keith doesn’t need Shiro trying to psychoanalyze him on top of everything else. 

But as Keith trudges to his bedroom to turn in for the night, he realizes that Shiro may have been unfairly right in his assessments about Keith. And with that, comes the shadows of loneliness that Keith knows all too well, making his empty bed and warmth-deprived apartment all the colder by the time he settles under his sheets alone. 

❆

Keith doesn’t think he has a particularly weak immune system. It’s actually pretty strong, all things considered. So when he wakes up sick the next morning, he knows he can’t blame it on his T and B cells for not doing their job. He knows, as seems to be the trend lately, he’s just incredibly unlucky. 

When Keith wakes up and writhes under his comforter, late morning sunlight streaming through his blinds, he feels the familiar weight of a hangover pressing against his membranes and making him wish he was never born. But as he struggles to go back to sleep, too uncomfortable to be met with the Sand Man, he realizes it’s not just a headache making his life hell. He can only breathe through one nostril, his eyes are dry, and his throat is so tight it feels as though someone’s shrank his larynx. By the time Keith hobbles into the shower, hoping the hot water might be what he needs to feel a tiny bit better, he’s swaying. 

It’s a miracle he doesn’t pass out in the shower–feeling both hungry and sick as a dog. 

The shower’s steam does help open his nasal cavities, and warms him up from his quite frankly frigid apartment temperature, at which point he realizes it may be the reason he got sick. Figures. 

Holding himself to cling to the warmth from his shower, Keith enters the kitchen, and finds the leftovers from the night prior, simultaneously finding that Lance was right: hangover him would be thanking past Lance for the food. The ‘hangover special’ turns out to be a grilled cheese with tomato soup, alongside a slice of Boston cream pie. Which isn’t exactly ideal food to eat while sick, but he’s too hungover and hungry to care, and ends up wolfing it all down in record time. 

Once he’s no longer hungry, he’s quickly overcome with exhaustion that has been becoming more and more obvious. After shooting back two shots of NyQuil and grabbing an extra blanket from his hallway’s closet, he tosses himself back in bed to crash for the next several hours, his last thought before falling asleep being thoughts of Boston cream. 

❆

The first thing that comes to Keith’s attention when he finds lucidity several hours later is the pounding headache behind his eyes that floods his senses like an angry tsunami of pain. Moments later, it’s the fact that he’s covered in sweat, so much so that his bedsheets cling to him and his hair sticks to his forehead in sticky heaps. When he goes to swipe some of the excess liquid from his forehead, he realizes that he’s sporting a fever. And from the way he appears to be sweating it out, means that the double dose of medicine he took is at least doing its job. 

A little too late, he’s able to perceive something other than his discomfort: his phone buzzing aggressively on his nightstand, so assertively that it’s at risk of vrrrbt-ing right off the wood surface and onto the floor. 

He grabs it before it gets the chance to do so, at which point the phone decides to simultaneously quit its racket. He clicks it on to find a handful of missed calls from varying members of his small circle, with the most recent being seconds ago from Allura. 

While running a hand through his bed-messed locks, he returns her call, worried that she may have called him for something important. It isn’t quite like her to contact him on the weekend unless they’ve made plans ahead of time. And as far as he’s concerned, the only thing on his schedule at the moment is rotting in bed while trying to get over his cold. 

“Hello?” he asks groggily once the call connects, sounding like a zombie that’s only been brought to life a mere few seconds ago. Which, with the violent chill running up his spine despite his insistent fever, doesn’t feel too far off. 

“Oh, God,” Allura says in response, her voice so animated he can practically see the look of worry she’s likely sporting. “You sound terrible.” 

“Thanks,” Keith responds with a snort, rubbing the sleep out of one of his eyes while peering at the digital clock on his bedside table out of the corner of his other eye. The time reads to be a little past six, though with the way winter nights like to tuck away the sun prematurely, it feels later. “Did you have a reason for calling other than berating me?” 

“I just wanted to check in,” she explains with a bit of shuffling on her end. “I texted earlier, and got a bit worried when you didn’t respond. Last time I saw you, you were plastered doing the Cupid Shuffle. For all I knew you could’ve shuffled your way into a ditch somewhere.” 

Keith doesn’t even know how to do the Cupid Shuffle, he’s pretty sure. The name doesn’t particularly ring a bell. But then again, limitations like that hardly seem to matter when inebriated. With the right amount of liquor, Keith thinks he could probably start break dancing if properly motivated. 

“You’re so dramatic,” he breathes between a sigh, shaking his head, much to his headache’s dismay. 

He thinks to say that she almost sounds like Lance, with her dramatic level of worrying, but thinks better of it, lest she further ask about Lance. Or worse–asks why he’s bringing up Lance. Only for her to bring him up anyway. 

“I’m just kidding,” she says, her voice light in comparison to the thick sludge that he’s passing as words. “I’m guessing Lance took you home?”

“Why would you think that?” Keith asks a bit too defensively, his heart kicking into overdrive as he sits up in bed. He isn’t sure what it is about her mentioning Lance that has him so worked up. But there’s no denying his suddenly elevated heart rate and the way his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth as soon as his name flies off her lips. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still unsure of how he feels about his coworker, or the fact that their interactions and relationship is perceivable to others. Something that people can come to conclusions about when Keith himself isn’t even sure how to feel about Lance. 

“Well, when I last saw you, you weren’t doing the Cupid Shuffle alone if you get what I mean,” she offers, humor evident in her words. “Not to mention he was one of the few people who didn’t look like they were two drinks from alcohol poisoning.” 

Keith just clenches his phone tightly, shifting in his bed uncomfortably. Admitting that Lance took him home feels like a form of defeat somehow. Maybe because it’s Allura who had looked at him like he’d grown a second head when he implied that Lance is the one who led the anti-Keith brigade in the office. Or maybe it’s because he’s had a lot of Lance related moments pop up within the last twenty-four hours, and he’s not ready to divulge any of them. Not yet. 

“I got home okay,” Keith gives instead of a direct answer, leading against his bed’s headboard to stare at the ceiling. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Sure, Keith,” the office princess says, disbelief evident, but kind and merciful enough to not call him out on his bullshit. “So, are you going to his party tonight?” 

“Huh?” Keith questions, rubbing at his eyes as the moment of nervousness passes, and fatigue from his sickness threatens to take over. 

“Lance’s Christmas party. I think it starts in like an hour. Are you going?” she explains.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Keith says. And maybe that’s a bit assholish of him, to jerk Lance around all night–no, all damn day–just to leave him hanging. But it’s not like Keith made any commitments to show up. Even if he did, he’d just be doing everyone a disservice by spreading his germs and taking up space in a corner somewhere. Never mind the fact that he’d forgotten about any such even until that very second. “Were you?” 

“Nah. I’ve got plans with Romelle,” Allura states. “We’re going to the movies, if you wanna join us.”

“And be a third wheel? No thanks,” Keith responds, slumping down back under his sheets as his cold sends a fresh chill along his skin. 

“You wouldn’t be a third wheel. We’ll let you sit in the middle and even hoard all the popcorn if you want,” Allura offers, and it’s just silly enough to draw a laugh out of him. It dissolves into a few coughs, and he frowns at the rawness in his throat. 

“As fun as that sounds, I’m gonna have to pass. I honestly kind of feel like shit,” he explains, laying on his side as he hears Allura hum in agreement. 

“Yeah, you kind of sound like it,” she answers, ever a woman of honesty. “Feel better, yeah?” 

“I’ll try.”

“And…don’t just hole yourself in your room, okay?” 

“Allura, I’m sick,” he argues, shutting his eyes as his chest reverberates something disconcerting. 

“No, I don’t mean today. Well, yes today, but I mean in general. You don’t seem like you…” She falters, her side of the line growing uncomfortably quiet despite Keith waiting patiently for her to further explain. “I’m probably overstepping. Never mind.” 

Allura knows just as much as Keith does that she’s probably his closest friend in the office, and one of his few friends in general. Even if they are coworkers, that relationship has felt second to their camaraderie since they’ve gotten to know one another. So when she says this, he knows it’s not that she’s worried about coming off as invasive; it’s that she’s worried she’ll hurt his feelings. 

“I don’t seem like I what?” Keith presses. 

“You just don’t seem like you get out much. Especially this time of year,” she explains. “I just want you to have a good holiday, that’s all. Sorry, I don’t mean to be-”

“It’s fine, you’re right,” Keith interjects, quit to cut off her apology with the truth. “I’ll…think about putting myself out there more, I guess. Wouldn’t want somebody to think I’m a just some loser who brings down office morale.”

At this, his friend laughs, and Keith joins her giggles with his own snort at his poor sense of humor. It’s easy to laugh it off right now, but he knows that Allura is right. She usually is. 

From Allura’s side of the line, Keith can hear a familiar voice call her name, and gets the hint even before she says anything that Romelle’s probably ready for them to head to the cinema. 

“Sorry, I gotta go. But it was nice talking to you. Think about what I said though, yes?” 

“Sure,” Keith agrees. He plans to. He really does. If not for his sake, then for Shiro–his hovering older brother that always looked a little sad and worried about his well-being. Or for Allura, who’s never seemed to fully understand him but clearly cares. Or for Lance, who’s friends with him despite how embarrassing it must be at times, to associate with their office’s designated recluse. Maybe if Keith took better care of himself, or were a bit more outgoing and livelier, the people in his life would have less to worry about.

“Talk to you later,” is the last thing he says before the phone clicks, ending the short call and their conversation. 

Keith flings an arm over his eyes, as if to shield him from both his room and his life. If you can even call his mundane routine much of a life. He’s comfortable, Keith decided a while ago, with what he has and what he doesn’t. And that should be enough. Comfortability is a luxury he couldn’t afford not too long ago, so it feels greedy, now that he’s in his late twenties and old enough to forget some of the finer details of his earlier years, to want and expect more. But he does. Because what he was comfortable with a few years ago–a shitty, cold apartment and a dull routine–isn’t what he’s comfortable with now. He’s just resigned himself to not expect much more. Because to want and to have are elusive ideas that he’s never known to coexist in his life, so he knows better than to try to push his luck. 

But maybe, just maybe, a few changes wouldn’t be too much to ask for…

There’s seemingly little he can do about the emptiness he’s stricken with when left to his own devices, so Keith decides to be productive rather than wallow in self-pity. He knows he told Allura he’d put himself out there, but he hardly has the energy for that. So he ventures to focus on his other promise, of leaving his room. 

He slips around in the dark until he’s able to fumble the light switch on, pulling at his sweatpants as they cling uncomfortably to his skin before deciding to strip both his bed and his body of the sweat-ridden fabric hanging from them. 

He drops the laundry in a heap in his washer machine, adding a cupful of detergent before deciding to take a quick shower. 

Refreshed, albeit a bit foggy-headed, after being freshly cleansed, he’s able to see the few holes in his apartment’s tidiness, and he decides to get to work. 

After grabbing a quick snack from the fridge, reheating his soup from the day before and downing it in a few swift gulps, he does the few dishes that have piled in his sink. There’s hardly any, likely thanks to Shiro’s visit from the day before, and mentally shoots him a silent thanks as he imagines his brother deep-cleaning his apartment while waiting for Keith’s arrival. 

But there’s still the laundry basket full of clothes in his room that needs to be folded, and the plants in his windowsills that have seen better days in need of pruning and watering. He vacuums his living room rug and wipes down all of his frequently touched surfaces, and by the end of it all he’s slightly exhausted but feels like less of a hopeless wreck and more of the adult he’s supposed to be. 

After transferring his linens and pajamas from the washer machine to the dryer, he queues up a movie  and decides to settle on the couch with a glass of wine in front of him. He’s a bit scared to drink anything, after the night he had yesterday, but it seems like a nice thought: to have a glass of wine and watch one of his favorite films. He pulls his work bag up next to him, figuring he may as well work on his division's next quarterly presentation to avoid the near-disaster from yesterday. At the very least, he knows that he’ll have to add all of Lance’s concepts at the forefront of the presentation to make sure his coworker gets the credit and appreciation he deserves. 

But when he drags his laptop out of his satchel, a glittery, blue note slips from the bag as well, and he frowns. Picking it up, he scrutinizes it closely, holding it between sweaty fingers despite recognizing the script immediately before he even reads it: it’s Lance’s Christmas party invitation. He doesn’t remember slipping it into his bag, but it’s still here in his apartment, in all its flashing color, getting glitter on his freshly vacuumed rug. 

Keith presses his lips into a thin line as he stares at the address at the bottom of the invite, and imagines himself waltzing up to the location. It’s a ridiculous thought. Ridiculous enough that he tosses the card aside in favor of dragging his mobile computer into his lap and pouring himself a generous glass of wine. 

He tries to let the old western he plays onscreen drown out the thoughts of Lance and parties and holiday congeniality. He scrolls through a few emails before opening a fresh PowerPoint, copy and pasting descriptions for ad concepts and highlighting key phrases. He listens to the braying of flustered horses and the unruly pop of gunshots onscreen as the movie delves into its plot, and lets that be the backdrop to his mind, alongside marketing developments and graphic designs, rather than warm smiles and glittery invites. He tells himself that there’s no point in him leaving the house, that he’s better here, where he’s comfortable and knows he can at least be productive. But when he realizes that he’s been stuck on the same slide for a solid ten minutes without adding anything to the page, he shuts his laptop. So much for productivity. 

He picks up his drink and takes greedy gulps before deciding to just focus on the film. Focus on the dust-smeared faces of the angry characters onscreen. On the confrontational stand-off of an entire pissed off town against a few outlaws, and tries not to get hung up on anything else his mind might unhelpfully supply him with. 

But when Joan Crawford looks into Sterling Hayden’s eyes onscreen with a softness in her own irises, Keith thinks of soft looks that he was offered just the night before. When Hayden continues to banter his way into Crawford’s space, attempting to barter his way into her heart, he thinks of his typical banter with Lance, and it infiltrates both his heart in his mind. It makes him dare to want, and want unapologetically. To remember that comfortability and resignation aren’t the same, and even if they were, they’re a far cry for what he’s so deeply longing for. 

By the time the movie has reached its halfway mark, it’s long forgotten, playing in the background while Keith gets dressed to leave the house in his room. He could yield to his typical misery in his home, and continue to watch characters fall in and out of love, while he wonders if love will remain an enigma to him forever. Or he could grab his desires by the shoulders like they’re his for the taking, like Eve reaching for the forbidden fruit despite the risks, simply because he wants to, and he knows he can if he’s brave enough. 

As he grabs his car keys off of the coffee table and shuts off the television, he decides he’s going to go with the latter. 

❆

Keith realizes only after he’s spent five full minutes freezing his butt off in his apartment’s residential parking lot that his car isn’t there; it’s still at his job. Which would explain why even with all his button-mashing on his key panel, not a single beep is mustered from anywhere in the lot. That also, unfortunately for him, means he has to spend another five minutes in the lot as he waits for an Uber to pick him up so he can get to his car. 

He spends the entire Uber ride second-guessing himself, biting his thumbnail to the quick, trying not to let the turning in his stomach become more of a visual than it is a feeling. 

He’s not entirely sure what it is that has him so uneasy. Maybe it’s the fact that taking his life by the shoulders? He’s never been the best at that. He does what he wants, when he wants. But in the last five years, rarely has that included putting himself out there in any ways that mattered. It meant drunken hookups with people whose names he can’t remember, and speaking his mind during meetings when he can’t be bothered to think better of it. Almost never does it mean…this. 

By the time he’s defrosting his car, worrying that it’ll huff and puff until the exhaust pipe falls right off, he’s got his head on the steering wheel as his already cold body burns with how frigid the air is. The cold snaps him into his action, though, and he’s already pulling out of the lot before his car heater can really penetrate his skin. 

He’s listening intently to Siri as she tells him to turn right here and take an intersection there, his bottom lip a bitten-through mess and his stomach a turbulent force to be reckoned with as he lets his heart take the lead for once. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s done that, so he’s trying hard to not think about if that ‘last time’ may have been something that ended in disaster. 

He ends up taking a detour to the grocery store before he pulls up to Lance’s neighborhood. He tells himself it’s because Shiro taught him better than to show up to someone’s house empty-handed, but truthfully, he felt like his heart was about to explode sitting in his driver seat. He’s not sure things are much better once he’s checking out and then dropping his small haul into the passenger seat. But there’s seven minutes left of his drive to Lance’s house, and he thinks, in seven minutes, his heart will manage to calm down. That in seven minutes, he’ll feel like less of a flightless bird being tossed to the sky at high altitudes, and more like a normal person going to visit his friend for the holiday. 

He laughs to himself at a stoplight, possibly looking manic to the driver adjacent to him, as he thinks of Lance as his friend. Just yesterday, he’d been thinking Lance could possibly be plotting and scheming a ploy against him. And now here he is, thinking of Lance in such affable terms. But Lance is his friend. A great one at that.

So by the time he’s standing on Lance’s doorstep, bearing his gifts in his arms and pressing his lips inward to keep them from freezing together, he isn’t really sure why he’s such an emotional wreck. But he is. He feels like he’s bought a one-way ticket onto the Titanic, full steam ahead, and he’s willingly boarding despite knowing the end result. 

When the door swings open, he’s not sure why he startles, as if he isn’t the one who rang the doorbell. But when someone answers the door, he jumpstarts like he’s on the other side of a defibrillator. He shifts even more when the face that greets him behind the door is one he doesn’t recognize. 

“Um-” he attempts, while hazel eyes take him in curiously. 

“Who’s at the door?” a familiar voice calls, and soon enough the stranger wordlessly slips away as the person that’s been on his mind all too often slides into his view like frames of a projected film. 

Keith isn’t really sure what he’s expecting. Nor does he know why as he takes Lance in, his breath escapes him, his freeze-dried eyes darting this way and that as they take in every centimeter of the tall man in the doorway. But he feels so caught off guard, now that Lance is actually here in front of him. Honestly, he’s not sure that he thought he’d get this far. So maybe it’s that he didn’t plan this far ahead. Didn’t think of what to say, or how to act. 

So that’s probably why, when their eyes lock and Lance says his name in surprise, Keith just stands there for a beat, mouth slightly parted as he tries to come up with some form of salutation.

“Um,” he forces gracelessly, his frozen cheeks feeling hot despite the night frost. He tells himself it’s just the fever. “I brought pretzels?” 

Keith pushes his way inside, and Lance scrambles after him, the door slamming closed as Keith tries to suck in thick gulps of air. He’s hot. So, so hot. It’s freezing outside, but the embarrassment feels like lava being poured down his back, and there’s sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. He’s an actual, burning flame at risk of starting a tragedy right in Lance’s living room. 

The large mass of warm bodies packed into Lance’s condo doesn’t help his overheating situation, but Lance seems wholly unaware and unworried by the commotion going on in the background as his eyes zero in on Keith. 

“You came,” he says, sounding slightly breathless as he marvels at Keith’s presence, before his eyes slide to the snacks in Keith’s hand. “And you remembered to pay your ransom…”

“Yeah. I can’t stay in your captivity forever, can I?” Keith jokes, just to fall into something familiar. Just to say words that, he hopes, aren’t leaking with awkwardness and nerves. 

“Mmm…I think you could,” Lance says as he accepts the gifts: a family sized bag of twisted pretzels and grocery store Pinot Noir red wine. Not exactly premium goods, but Lance looks as though Keith has offered him the key to the city as he gently drops everything on the kitchen counter. 

“Let me take your coat,” Lance instructs as Keith slips off the heavy, wool burden. Only for Lance to drape it over the back of the couch, the fabric likely soon to be crushed. Not that Keith can bring himself to care when, a second later, Lance is placing his hand on the small of Keith’s back. 

“Want a drink?” 

Keith nods emphatically, wanting to feel like he belongs. Wanting to feel like this is all natural, all him. Maybe, if it were anyone else he were with right now, it would be. Allura invited him to her birthday dinner just a few months ago, and while a bit awkward at times, he hadn’t been stressed to all hell. Keith had been forced to congregate occasionally with Shiro’s friends and coworkers when they lived together, and that only had him feeling vaguely out of place, but not to the point he was sweating up a storm. 

But as Lance guides him into the kitchen, offering him a stool at the island, Keith can feel himself actually melting under Lance’s gaze. Can feel the kitchen chandelier’s lighting catching his descent into a sad, sorry heap on Lance’s brand-new kitchen floor. And all he can do to steel himself is grip his hands together in his lap, his fingertips digging into his skin. 

“Keith!” Keith is greeted as soon as he’s seated, Kim lighting up as soon as she sees him. She’s standing around, looking sociable and bubbly with someone who he’s certain he should know but can’t bring himself to remember. “How are you?”

“I’m…” For some reason, his eyes flick to Lance before he answers, like he needs his approval before communicating with others. Maybe it’s because he’s feeling like he’s both at his best and worst, and Lance is the culprit for the mess of his feelings attacking him at his core. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“I’m glad!” she says, her smile so bright it’s fighting with the other sources of light in the room. “After last night, I figured it’d be at least another 4 to 5 business days before any of us heard from you again.”

“And miss this total rager?” Lance remarks in what Keith is sure is supposed to be a mask of sarcasm, but with how many people are crowding into the room, it doesn’t feel that far off from something more chaotic and fun. All that’s missing is a younger age group, dimmer lights, and the right kind of music. “Keith would never.”

“I thought about it,” Keith argues, accepting the glass of champagne Lance has poured him. “But free alcohol is free alcohol.” 

Keith isn’t sure when he last had a drink of bubbly. New Year's, probably, so he’s genuinely pleased as it fizzes down his throat, his lips puckering at the taste. When he turns his attention from his drink to the party’s host, he finds that Lance’s eyes are already on him, and it makes his insides bubble alongside the drink. 

In what feels like an act of defiance, Keith stares right back, his head tossing to the side as he takes Lance in. It’s unfair, when Keith feels so restless and generally not great, but Lance looks so…handsome. It feels like a pathetic adjective to use when staring into the eyes of someone so dapper and charming, so much so that their loveliness exudes off them like their cologne. But it’s what comes to mind as he looks at Lance. His usually straightened or styled curls are simply tousled, making him look a few years younger. His skin looks like it’s genuinely glowing, and he’s dressed smartly in a blue-gray sweater and khaki slacks. It’s nothing special, what Lance has going on. It hardly ever is. But he smells clean, like fresh linens and sea salt, and he’s standing so far and so close, staring Keith down in a way that leaves Keith’s heart clenching. 

Keith is the first to look away, blinking rapidly before taking another sip of his drink, cheeks hot as he recalls the last time they both got drunk at a social gathering. Lance isn’t drunk; at least he doesn’t look to be. But who knows? Keith doesn’t plan on getting hammered tonight, but…who knows? Who knows, who knows? Not Keith, that’s for damn sure.

Kim has been consistently talking his ear off this entire time, which he only realizes when Lance comes to his side of the island, slipping his hand behind him once again to whisper something to him quietly, and she turns her attention away from them, seemingly catching the hint that they’re not listening. 

“You okay?” is what Lance asks, but he may as well have asked Keith to sleep with him with the way Lance’s breath tickling his ear sends sparks trailing down his spine. 

“Why?” Keith mutters, eyes wide as his eyes roam over the taller man’s features, hovering near him like he’s a moon caught in Keith’s orbit. With the way Keith can’t keep his eyes off Lance, it’s really the opposite. 

“You just seem kind of…on edge?” Lance says, like he’s second-guessing himself for even asking. “You don’t look so good.” 

“Thanks,” Keith remarks, clicking his tongue at the confirmation that Lance can, in fact, read Keith for the mess he is. Which means everybody else here can, too. Not that anyone else really matters… “I’m just a little under the weather, that’s all.”

For a moment, Keith had actually forgotten about his fever and chills, or the unrelenting headache permeating his senses. He’d been too wired up thinking about Lance. It’s not that much better of a trade-off, exchanging physical sickness for high levels of anxiety. But it probably says a lot, that Lance has such an effect on him that he can actually forget how he was feeling moments before.

“So you showed up here to get all of us infected with your cooties?” Lance muses.

“I didn’t know there’d be so many people,” Keith argues, as if that’s much better. 

“I didn’t either. I invited like, six people.” Keith arches an eyebrow, unconvinced, and Lance relents. “Okay, maybe ten tops. But like, only six of the people here were actually invited. So don’t go asking me to introduce you to anyone, cause there’s like a fifty percent chance I barely know them.” 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Keith says with a sigh, fiddling with the neck of his glass before finding Lance’s eyes again. This time, they’re softer, somehow. Kinder and warmer, which seems impossible, because Lance is always impossibly warm. Maybe that’s why he lights Keith aflame. “I was kind of hoping the party would be winding down by the time I showed up.”

“So you were trying to get me alone?” Lance teases, a cheeky grin riding up his face like the morning sun peeping over the horizon. 

“That is not what I said,” Keith snaps, face flushed as he averts his eyes. Whatever game they’re playing at–been playing at, since Cabo, since before that probably–Lance is winning. And for the sake of his heart, Keith wants to tap out. 

“That’s what I heard,” Lance answers with a shrug. 

“So you have the comprehension skills of a six-year-old,” Keith concludes. 

“Hey. My nephew Sylvio is a little genius. I’m taking that as a complement.”

Keith can only roll his eyes fondly as he stares back into his drink, babysitting rather than downing it like he usually does. Weirdly enough, with Lance, he doesn’t feel like he needs to be plastered to participate in a dialogue that doesn’t end with him feeling like he’d rather be anywhere else. Instead, he feels just the opposite. He wants to remember all the finer, minute details of their interactions and hold onto them like the ornaments clinging to the Christmas tree in the corner of Lance’s living room. He wants to melt under Lance’s gaze, and feel like it’s an end worth meeting just to have these fleeting moments of reprieve. It’s a bit comical, to admit these things to himself when he’s been previously so intent on keeping Lance at arm’s length. But in the spirit of being honest with himself, he knows that this isn’t something new. That just because Lance failed to remember their shared time in Cabo, doesn’t mean Keith wanted to forget. Not really. 

“Want a shot?” Lance asks, seemingly suddenly when the silence between them stretches a second too long. 

“I haven’t even-” Keith starts, looking at his half full drink, before shrugging. “Sure, why not?”

“I’ll be right back,” Lance promises before sliding into the kitchen, digging into cupboards and grabbing a shot glass. 

Keith doesn’t bother to pay attention to what’s actually being poured, trusting Lance enough to give him full control and wanting to be surprised. Instead, he takes the time to scan the crowd as he searches for a familiar face. Most of the faces belong to strangers. Very few does he recognize, if only vaguely. Some of them he doesn’t want to recognize. But he wonders which of them, if any, could be the ones who spoke about him behind his back. Who had him doubting Lance, one of the most trustworthy people he knows. But it’s not really anyone else’s fault that Keith has kept his guard up. He has his reasons. 

Though, as Lance hands him a shot glass full to brim with a glistening purple liquid, he decides it may be about time he loses some of that resolve. 

“Bottoms up,” Lance instructs, and Keith doesn’t hesitate to take the shot in earnest, puckering his lips at the strange smell and offensive taste. It doesn’t burn like most other drinks, and doesn’t really make him think of any particular liquor. Not by the taste and especially not by the thick texture. It just tastes…weird. And not in a good way. 

“What is that?” Keith questions, frowning as he looks at the bottom of his shot glass with offense. 

“House special,” Lance answers elusively, an easy grin on his face as Keith chases the disgusting taste with his champagne. 

Keith almost admonishes him for flooding his senses with something so tart and unpleasant, only for someone to ring the doorbell, the sound ringing around the room sharply as multiple heads turn toward the door. 

“I’ll be right back,” Lance informs Keith, squeezing his shoulder tightly before marching toward the door, his socked feet carrying two to three steps at a time as he seems to walk with haste. 

While Lance greets his new guests, Keith finds himself swaying in his chair, humming along to the swanky jazz music Lance has playing on his stereo. He feels weirdly peaceful, despite the loud chatter and clatter of a Christmas party hop in full swing. But he doesn’t really want to be anywhere else, he decides. Other than at Lance’s side. It’s an oddity, but as he watches Lance take coats and bundle them in his arms, simultaneously making easy conversation with the people by the door, he realizes it’s true. Maybe, in a reality where Lance remembered their shared moments, this would be their Christmas party and their condo. It would be their guests that they’d both greet at the door, with Keith finding somewhere acceptable to stuff everyone’s coats while Lance found the perfect drink to slip in each guest’s hand. 

It’s the sort of thought that Keith wouldn’t get until he’s at least three drinks deep, but it passes through his brain like a storm cloud over the ocean, disrupting tranquil waters, and it reminds Keith of why he’s here in the first place. Because he wants and wants and wants. To want and to have…What a nice thing that Keith will never know. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” Keith hears, and it takes a few seconds for him to realize that the person talking–Kim, her green eyes shining in his direction–is talking to him.

“Hm?” Keith asks, still swaying ever so slightly. 

“You look a little lonely over here,” she explains, offering a small smile. 

“Not really,” he assures her, because there’s a distinct difference between missing the company of a particular person and general loneliness. 

But she pays him little heed. Instead, she calls over their coworker Flora, asking her to pour them all one of her famous cocktails from the night before while she launches into a personal story. 

Keith listens politely, and drinks the cocktail with ease, the fruity flavor bright and snapping his senses with its sharp tang. He hums and nods along to all the conversation they make, occasionally humming along to the songs that play overhead, and he’s content. He’s at peace; a far contrast from just twenty-four hours before, when he was actively looking for an out from an awkward convo with his colleagues. 

He’s not sure when he starts dozing off. But he must, because one second Keith is listening to Kim talking about her car being totaled, and the next he feels a warm arm slung over the back of his chair, a thumb rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder. 

“You okay?” Keith is asked for the second time in what he’s sure must’ve only been a few minutes, and lifts his hanging head to see Lance looking at him curiously. 

“Mmm,” Keith manages with a nod, honestly wanting to go back to sleep. He’s not entirely sure what the hell was in that shot, but he feels exhausted, and there’s something about Lance sitting at his side, his hand warm on his shoulder, and the softness of Kim’s voice and the lull of the jazz that feels so peaceful.

But just as he feels himself dozing off again, Lance is pulling his arm away only to hold out his hand instead. 

“C’mon, I wanna show you something,” he says. 

Keith arches an eyebrow, incredulous as ever, and Lance tuts. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I just want to give you a little tour,” Lance explains, cocking his head to the side. 

At this, Keith drops his now empty glasses (when did he finish those?) back on the counter and hops off his seat, teetering ever so slightly before his stance is being righted by his work buddy. At this point, Keith thinks that if he were to jump off a bridge, Lance would somehow swoop in to save the day. That seems to be his memo lately. 

Tailing after Lance around the condo turns out to be, to Keith’s surprise, much more enjoyable than he’d initially anticipated. It makes him laugh internally, honestly, because Lance is weirdly methodical about the entire affair, showing Keith things that make no difference to him and telling him information he has no use for. It’s like he’s cosplaying as a realtor, trying to sell Keith the house rather than just casually showing his new digs to a friend, and it leaves him smiling like an idiot with amusement the entire time. 

He sees Lance’s office, stacked high with paperwork on the desk and boxes he’s yet to unpack. The guest bedroom, modestly furnished with modern touches, with skinny floor to ceiling windows that show off the night sky. He shows him the small loft, mostly empty but seemingly brimming with possibilities as Lance comes up with things he might do with the space. The laundry room, which has its own sink and smart washers. He sees his claw foot tub and his walk-in shower with double drains and shower heads, big enough for two people to shower and never even touch. Or four people, really, if properly determined. 

“And last, but not least, is the master bedroom,” Lance says, opening the last door at the end of the hall upstairs with a bit of hesitancy before holding it open for Keith to enter. “Don’t look in the closet, though, I was kind of struggling to pick what to wear tonight. Just know it’s a walk-in. Very nice.”

“Very nice,” Keith mimics, a full-fledged grin on his face at this point. 

“You making fun of me, Mr. Kogane?” Lance questions while closing the door behind him, and Keith tries not to read too hard into the action. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Fuentes,” Keith jokes back, and watches as Lance’s face contorts into something that almost looks…fond. 

“Try out the bed,” he instructs, gesturing to the large mattress in the middle of the room, sheathed in a deep navy duvet and swamped by at least half a dozen pillows. 

“You’re trying to get me in your bed?” Keith asks, just to be difficult, and is filled with pure delight at the way this makes Lance shift and blush like a tween girl being accused to kissing in a tree. 

“Shut up, don’t be weird,” Lance retorts, averting his gaze. “It’s just a really nice mattress. Can’t a guy show off in peace?” 

Keith wants to argue that he isn’t being weird; that sharing a bed wouldn’t be that weird, given their history. But that’s a history Lance doesn’t recall. So he can’t even bring it up. 

All he can do is slide onto the mattress, gingerly sitting at the edge at first until he grows comfortable enough to lean back, until his entire upper half is pressed into the softness of the bed. 

“This is a nice mattress,” Keith realizes aloud, his body sinking deep in the cushioning. “This must’ve costed you a kidney or something.”

“Or something,” Lance agrees, sitting at the edge beside his colleague. “You can get comfy by the way.”

Keith doesn’t need to be told twice, swinging his legs over the edge to really lay down, his hands on his chest as he sighs in contentment, his hair in loose splays around his pillow. What he wouldn’t give to have a mattress like this at home. 

“It’s nice, right?” Lance asks with a nudge. “My brother got one like this as a wedding gift, and I’ve wanted one since.” 

“Mmm,” Keith answers in agreement, the soft textures beneath him doing nothing to fight off his sleepiness. He should probably sit up soon. Just another minute more…

“What do you think? Not the bed, but the condo in general?” 

“It’s nice, Lance,” Keith says, too tired to offer much else. He’s not sure what he can say, anyway. He knows Lance is the type of person to fish for compliments, but what else is there for Keith to add? At the end of the day, it’s Lance's place, and there’s nothing about Keith’s opinion that’s going to be consequential to that. 

“Yeah, but like, nice enough to live in? Long-term, I mean?” Lance questions. 

At this, Keith snaps up, sitting up slightly on his elbows to find an abashed Lance staring back at his, his face so bright and rosy he could put a stop light to shame. 

“What?” Keith asks, because…what?

Is Lance feeling regretful about buying this place, with his fancy double showers and giant fancy mattress, because it ate up his wallet and now he can’t see his family for Christmas? That’s the only logical conclusion Keith can draw from his question, alongside the embarrassed look on his face that’s making Lance’s eyes flit back and forth from Keith t the dresser and then back again. 

“Why’re you asking me that?” Keith opts to ask rather than play guessing games. He can draw all the conclusions he wants, but at the end of the day, it’s only Lance who knows what’s going on in his head. 

Lance is about to give his much-needed response when a crash is heard from downstairs, followed by what sounds like glass breaking. 

Lance sighs before standing, tapping Keith on the knee before heading to the door. “Stay right here, I’ll be right back, okay?” 

“Lance,” Keith calls too late, forced to watch Lance slip out the door, leaving the door open enough that Keith can see his frame descending down the hall. 

And just like that, the moment to ask is gone, and all Keith can do is flop back down and wait. 

❆

When Keith wakes up what feels like hours later, it’s dark. It was already dark when he fell asleep, most of the light in the room previously coming from the vibrant hallway light. But now there isn’t even that, and he wakes up in pitch black darkness. 

He feels surprisingly refreshed, despite his cold and hangover combo, which seems to have ebbed at the least. There’s just a thick heaviness in his chest, weirdly warm but uncomfortable, that he struggles to adust to. As he sits up, placing a hand over his heart, he quickly realizes it isn’t a symptom of his ailment; there was actually something sitting on his chest. 

A warm heap falls into his lap as he sits up, and at first he thinks somebody dropped their fur coat on him. That is, until a tail swishes under his nose, and he finds a pair of green scleras glowing in his direction in the dark. He startles, not expecting to find a creature in his space, and almost reaches for his pocket knife in his panic before he hears a soft meow in response to all his flinching. 

Fumbling with the lamp on the nightstand, he manages to turn on a light to find a Blue Siberian staring at him, blue irises encapsulating him wholly as it flicks its tail this way and that, just as curious about him as he is about it. After overcoming his initial surprise, he can’t help but melt a bit as the small creature finds a new comfortable space beside him, pushing out a few biscuits into one of the pillows before settling nearby. 

“Your dad didn’t tell me he had a cat,” Keith thinks aloud, gently petting the animal behind the ears. He’s honestly surprised, given how much Lance overshares. But then again, there are random–at times, seemingly important–bits of information that Lance randomly chooses to omit as well.

He’s calm for a moment, just petting his new friend, staring at the blank flat screen TV on the wall opposite the bed as he regains full consciousness. By the time he does, remembering that he’s supposed to be at a party, and he fell asleep, he’s overcome with a thick wave of guilt. He didn’t abandon Lance on purpose, but considering the large blanket draped over him and the way the lights were turned off, he guesses that Lance had taken the care to put Keith’s rest as a priority. Because Keith didn’t have a tact to know when not to get too comfortable.

He slips out of the bed, his new friend following after him as he trails to what he believes to be a window, wanting to check how many cars are parked in front of the house to assess if the party is still ongoing. Only to find that it’s not a window, but the door to a terrace instead. 

Before he knows it, he’s overlooking a small stretch of the city, Lance’s cat in his arms to keep her from getting too far. He’s cold, his socked feet feeling like icicles as frost prickles at his skin and snow gently drapes the landscape of their town. But the moment feels so still, it feels like he’s just a character in a picture book, rather than someone experiencing the serenity in real life. He doesn’t know how Lance could have forgotten to show him this simple but sweet view, forgot to let the night air hug him until his cheeks are apple red and his eyes are watering, but he wishes he had. It’s such a nice feeling, with the only thing that it misses being being able to share it with someone he cares about. Someone he’s trying his best (and failing) not to adore. He wishes, in the spirit of wanting things he knows he can’t have, that he could waste time on this terrace a million and one times, sucking in air over and over and never getting tired of it. That Lance could find him here, and they could huddle together here for warmth, or offer each other cool drinks in the summer, and just watch time pass by, not caring because no matter how much time slips away, they’ll always have each other. 

After realizing he can’t even see the view of the front of the house from this angle, let alone garner how many cars are in front of the house, Keith accepts that he’ll have to head downstairs in order to properly assess things. And, hopefully, properly apologize to Lance. 

Hugging the Siberian cat close, as if to shield him from his own embarrassment and uncertainty, Keith slowly pads downstairs, stopping halfway through his descent to allow him to get a decent view on things without being too easily perceived.  

From where he stands, he can get a full view of the living room, and sees that there’s just a handful of stragglers. Either everyone’s packed into the kitchen and yard, or the party is coming to an end. His eyes instinctively search for the host, to no avail. All he can see is a group standing around idly, babysitting glasses of wine as they talk amongst themselves. 

He considers going back upstairs, figuring Lance will probably look for him soon enough, until he catches wind of what the remaining guests are saying. 

“Who even invited him I wonder?” a bald guy asks, hands in his pocket as he frowns deeply. 

“Kim, maybe? I think she feels bad for him,” someone else says.

“Well, doesn’t really matter. He’ll be gone soon enough,” a third individual pipes up, sloshing the wine in their glass around. Someone Keith recognizes as James Griffin, the asshole from the sales department that always finds himself in their office congregating, being an even louder nuisance than Lance despite his own office being several doors away from the marketing team’s. “He’s such an eyesore. It’s a surprise he even got hired.” 

Keith tells himself they aren’t talking about him. That he feels sorry for whoever they are bitching about, but it isn’t him. But even while denying it, he somehow knows he’s the source of their gossiping. 

“He’s not so bad,” the second person says. Keith slowly realizes it’s the woman who answered the door for him earlier, and finds himself quietly sitting down to properly eavesdrop. “I mean, I’ve never really talked to him but if he’s friends with Lance then-”

“Trust me, you don’t want to. He’s such an asshole. Lance only gets on with him because he’s too much of an airhead to realize he’s insulting him half the time, but he’s such a pain in the ass. Especially in meetings. He acts like that little promotion means he can look down on everybody else,” James rants. 

Keith arches an eyebrow, in slight disbelief that somebody he barely knows has such strong opinions about him. He doesn’t look down on anyone. If anything, he’s indifferent toward most people because he hardly notices anyone that doesn’t affect his work. And yeah, he is insulting Lance half the time, but Lance insults him right back. They riff. They banter. They jest. It’s their thing. Who is James fucking Griffin to offer his unwanted commentary on the matter?

“Even if he were nicer, he’s impossible to talk to,” Baldy adds, shaking his shiny head. “I had him write up a mock-up report for me once and reading his emails was like talking to a pencil. I figured maybe he’s just awkward with writing, but it’s even worse in person. My two-year-old is a better conversationalist. 

“God, I can’t wait ‘til he gets booted,” James says between chuckles. 

“What makes you so sure he’s getting fired?” the woman from the door asks, pinning a lock of honey blond hair behind her ear as she hones in on his gossip. 

“Milton and I are going to get people around the company to sign a petition against him, and we’re going to submit it to HR,” James explains. “Take up some testimonials about he’s not a team-player and just generally a downer. AKA an unprofessional dickwad. Keith won’t see it coming. We’ve already set things in motion, it’s just a matter of timing.”

The asshole has the nerve to actually look proud about this, as if plotting the downfall of his coworker isn’t the most childishly pathetic thing in the world. Maybe if Keith actually deserved it, he could understand. If he really, really struck a nerve with everyone and made everyone uncomfortable, he could maybe get it. Kind of. But now that he’s actually stepped out of his comfort zone and spoken to a few of his coworkers for once, he knows that they’re not bad people. And they don’t hate him. Not enough to sign some stupid petition. 

“But you guys aren’t even in the same office? Do you think people will really go for that?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” James reasons. “I can forge a few signatures if I really have to. Once the branch manager catches wind of everything, he’ll be on Keith’s ass either way. He’s all about appearances and if he hears about a company revolt against an employee, he’ll fire him just to keep up the semblance of peace we had before that asshole showed up. Worst case scenario, I’ll say Keith hit me. Not that hard to believe; he’s got a temper on top of everything else.” 

At this, Keith’s heard more than enough and begins to make his proper descent down the stairs. If James is going to say Keith hit him regardless of if he does it or not, he may as well make it true. 

But just a few steps from the living room, Lance seems to pop up from nowhere, appearing from somewhere beyond Keith’s initial field of vision, his arms crossed and his gait strong and tall. 

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” he snaps, his back rigid and taut from where it faces Keith. 

“Oh, hey, Lance,” James greets easily like he wasn’t just actively plotting someone’s demise. “Nothing important, just work stuff.”

“Nothing important? It sounded like you were talking about setting Keith up,” Lance argues. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

James’ eyes turn into angry slits as he narrows his eyes, lips downturned and chest puffed.

“Look, I know you want to protect your little boyfriend or whatever, but it’s really none of your business. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of it.”

“Are you threatening me?” Lance presses, stepping alarmingly close. Keith stands to attention, ready to throw down as Lance’s backup if need be. Or even if not needed. Keith’s always had an itch to look for a fight since he was a kid, and that never truly went away, even as an adult. Especially when it comes to setting assholes straight. 

“I don’t think he meant it like that,” the woman whose name he doesn’t know says, stepping in between and pressing James backward. 

“No, actually, I did, Ruby. You don’t have to protect me. I’m not scared of this string bean,” James says with a snort. 

Keith just seethes. What kind of dickhead has the nerve to insult somebody in their own home? And secondly, Lance is far from a string bean. He’s tall, and lithe where Keith is stocky. But if nothing else, Cabo taught him that under all Lance’s suits and sweaters are long stretches of tan, lean muscle that ripple and tremble under a warm touch. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Lance shouts, sounding genuinely pissed, as anyone would be. “You come into my house, when I didn’t even invite you–I don’t even fucking like you–and now you think you’re gonna beat my ass? If you want to fight, say that shit to my face again.” 

James’ face just sours, Ruby looking caught between a rock and a hard place as James keeps a death grip on his wineglass. 

“That’s what I thought, you fucking loser. Don’t take it out on Keith just because nobody likes you, and he got a promotion, and you didn’t. Maybe if you actually did your job instead of picking fights like some middle school bully you wouldn’t have time to make up lies about people,” Lance spits, his voice like venom, stinging so badly that even Keith has to take a step back. 

“I’m not the one that nobody likes,” James attempts to argue, his face bright red. 

“Really? Because I don’t see anyone defending you right now,” Lance shoots back, stepping closer, and rather than trying her luck Ruby steps right out of the way. “Unlike you, Keith actually has a personality that doesn’t give people hives. And people that give a shit about him. Nobody’s signing your fuck ass petition.”

“Like I said, I can just forge the signatures. Nobody in management is going to care about the details,” James argues, clearly not getting the hint that he should just take this conversation as a loss. 

“I hope the fuck you do. Because I’ve got cameras in every corner of this house, and I’ll gladly show them the footage of you saying that. We’ll see if they care about the details then,” Lance snaps, arms folded. At this, James’ face pales, his bald friend looking every which way as if to find these alleged cameras. 

“You’re lying,” James says, voice low and cold. 

“You wanna find out?” Lance threatens, stepping ever the more close into James space, and all he can do is take a step back, hands shaking and annoyance. “Now get the fuck out of my house. I never even invited you in the first palace.” There’s a resounding silence, before any of his words seem to take any effect, and this only sends Lance further up the wall. “Now, dumbass! Matter of fact, everybody get out! None of you were invited!”

At this, multiple people begin to shuffle to the door, grabbing coats and hats from the closet and couch, looking forlorn as they’re forced to abandon their drinks and embarrassed by their unwanted company. 

There’s less than a dozen people to kick out anyway, but the parade of people exiting seems to go on forever. Keith hears someone sadly mutter that they thought it was an open invite, apologizing for their intrusion, and Lance assures them he’s not mad at them and wishes them a goodnight. Someone else asks Lance if he’s okay, and Lance informs them he’s just sick of James, and they nod, telling him they agree, and they’re on Keith’s side. 

Keith purses his lips, surprised by the entire affair. Both at the outcome, and the idea that someone other than Lance actually gives two shits about him. He’s still stupefied by Lance caring, and being so unapologetic about it, but the fact that isn’t just him…it twists at Keith’s insides. 

As soon as the last person is out the door, Lance slumps on the couch, head tossed back high, right towards…

“Hi,” Keith manages as soon as their eyes meet, probably too quietly for Lance to even hear him from this distance. But Lance startles all the same, looking more and more at odds as Keith draws further, quick to fumble down the stairs now that his hiding spot has been compromised.

“How long have you been standing there?” Lance asks as Keith settles beside him on the sofa.

“Long enough to know that I apparently have a personality that doesn’t make your butt itch?” Keith says with a shrug. 

“I…don’t remember using that wording,” Lance states, turning toward Keith, his knee knocking into his coworker’s thigh.

“Hives can be itchy,” Keith reasons, mirroring Lance, disturbing the cat bundled in his arms process, the ball she has drawn herself in unraveling to paw at Keith’s shifting legs. 

“I see you’ve met Sapphire,” Lance concludes as she dares to scratch at Keith’s sweater. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Keith says.

“It’s kind of a new thing. I thought fostering a cat would make the house feel less…too big. I don’t know.” Lance shrugs, looking slightly defeated as he leans his head against the couch’s back cushion to peer up at Keith. “Plus, I wasn’t sure if you’re into cats.” 

“I’m more of a dog person,” Keith answers, as if he hasn’t been cuddling Sapphire for the past half hour. “But why does that matter?”

Lance just bites his bottom lip instead of responding, making Keith feel as though he’s just asked something with an obvious answer. An answer Lance must think doesn’t require words to be understood, but he’s just lost. Lost, and annoyed that Lance is drawing attention to his lips when Keith already has to fight to ignore that part of his face. 

“You want something to drink?” Lance says in lieu of a proper explanation, standing suddenly, causing Sapphire to jump from her seat in Keith’s lap to follow her owner out of the room. “I’m gonna clean up a bit, so you can play a movie if you want.”

“Oh, am I not amongst the ‘everybody’ that needs to go home?”

“Har har har,” Lance laughs dryly, coming back to Keith’s side from the kitchen with a glass of water. Not exactly the drink Keith was expecting, but not unwelcome, either. “No, you’re not. Unlike most of them, I actually want you here.” 

“Why throw a party if you don’t want people in your house?” Keith says between a long swig of water, watching as Lance pulls a trash bag from under the kitchen sink and begins sweeping snack crumbs into the bag. For a beat, Keith considers turning on a movie. But he quickly decides that his work crush in motion is much more interesting than any film. 

Lance doesn’t say anything at first, making Keith wonder if he heard him. That is, until he notices the tips of his ears burning cherry red, meaning that his lack of response is because whatever he’s thinking is too embarrassing to say aloud. Either that, or it’s a dirty joke that probably won’t land well. 

So he resigns himself to leaning against the couch, simply watching Lance, only to be caught off guard when Lance actually manages to speak up. 

“I guess I just wanted one person to show up, and this is the best excuse I could come up with,” Lance explains, his eyelashes looking impossibly long as he flutters his eyes away, looking so flustered it could be terminal to his health. 

“Did they show up?” Keith asks instead of second-guessing what he could mean by this. 

“As a matter of fact, they did,” Lance says with a nod, meeting his gaze with an unexpected intensity in his pupils. “They even stayed for the secret after party.” 

Keith looks around, just to confirm that he really is the only one here, before looking back to Lance, hoping the rosiness he feels blooming in his face isn’t as bad as the flush in Lance’s cheeks. 

“Doesn’t look like much of a party to me,” he taunts, trying not to hone in on the fact Lance is inching closer. 

“I could show you a good time, if you want,” Lance says with a cheeky smile, way too close for comfort, before grabbing an empty beer can from behind Keith on the couch. 

Keith sighs, shaking his head. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Only when the situation calls for it.” Lance disappears into the kitchen in the next moment, out of sight but far from out of mind. Keith remains rooted in his seat, reeling as he digests Lance’s words. What situation would call for him to shamelessly flirt with his coworker, getting Keith’s hopes up for no good reason? 

All Keith can do for the next several minutes is watch Lance make quick work of lightly cleaning, washing out champagne flutes and shot glasses and empty chip and dip platters. It’s once Keith is finally done reeling, getting a grapple on both his heart and Lance’s nerve-inducing sense of humor. 

It’s only after he no longer feels like Lance’s words might send him into catatonic shock that he gets his bearings, and figures he may as well help Lance tidy up a bit. 

“You didn’t have to help me clean,” Lance says when Keith enters the kitchen, empty beer cans and chip bags in hand. 

“It’s no worries,” Keith says with a shrug while dumping them in the trash.

“I’ll finish cleaning later,” Lance says after all of his dishes are on a drying rack, quickly rinsing his hands and wiping them on his trousers. “Follow me, I wanna show you something.”

“What else could you possibly show me? I’ve seen the entire house,” Keith points out, arms folded but following the younger man up the narrow staircase anyway. 

“I didn’t…just want to show you a mattress earlier. I actually got you a Christmas gift, but you fell asleep before I could show it to you.” 

“Oh,” Keith says dumbly, cheeks reddening as he follows Lance into his bedroom. “Um, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. You looked pretty peaky earlier, so I figured you could use a nap,” Lance says, flickering the light on and motioning for Keith to take a seat on the bed.

“No I didn’t.” Keith can’t really say what he must’ve looked like earlier, but he didn’t really feel great, so Lance likely isn’t lying. But he wants to argue otherwise anyway, just for the sake of arguing. 

“Keith. You were falling asleep in your chair.”

“That’s just because alcohol makes me sleepy,” he excuses, picking at the skin around his cuticles as he imagines what he must look like from Lance’s perspective. “That shot you gave me earlier must’ve been stronger than I realized.”

“Keith, that was cough medicine,” Lance says with a laugh, dipping into his walk-in closet. 

“So you drugged me,” Keith states, glad Lance is turned away from him so he doesn’t have to hide his embarrassment. “Asshole.”

“Yeah, sue me for being concerned for your health.”

Keith takes in a deep sigh, watching Lance dig through bags in his closet, filtering in and out of view from his seat on the bed before he gathers himself. 

“Thanks, by the way,” he says, voice low and feeling ever so unsteady. 

“It’s just NyQuil.”

“No, not about that. I mean, yes that, but I mean what you said earlier to James. I didn’t…you didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, someone had to. It might as well have been me,” Lance answers easily, like it’s no big deal. But it is a big deal. It’s the biggest of deals, because Keith can name all the people who might potentially defend his honor on one hand, and there’s a reason not many people stick their neck out for him. Keith knows he’s difficult to know, and even harder to like or understand. He knows not many people would defend his honor because there’s not much that’s particularly honorable or worth defending to begin with. But Lance did so without hesitation, like it was the only viable option. It means a world of a difference that Lance would get angry on his behalf, and he doesn’t know how he could ever get Lance to see just how much it means to me. 

“He was getting on my nerves, anyway,” Lance continues, still rifling through his belongings. “I was honestly thinking of calling the cops on him for trespassing when I saw him come in. Asshole didn’t even knock, just waltzed right in like he owned the place.” 

“I would’ve punched him if you hadn’t stepped in,” Keith admits. He flexes his hands, remembering the fire that rushed to his fists as he felt himself burn with anger. 

“He’s not worth losing your job over,” Lance says, walking back into his bedroom with his hands behind his back, eyes squinted.

“Do you really have cameras in here?” Keith wonders aloud, watching as Lance inches closer and closer.

“Hell no,” Lance barks with a laugh, a cheesy grin on his face. “Why, did you want to make a movie with me?” 

“Just show me the stupid gift,” Keith forces, surprised he doesn't trip on his words with the way his heart seems to stutter at Lance’s incessant jokes. 

“Alright, close your eyes,” Lance instructs. 

Keith squints, hesitant to trust so easily, but Lance is standing so close–their knees knocking together, body heat shared–that he feels like he has no choice but to give in to his asks. Belatedly, he stubbornly flits his eyelids closed.

“Sorry it took a minute for me to find, things got kind of messy in the move,” Lance begins to explain as Keith hears the creak of what sounds to be a wooden box opening. “Okay, hold out your hand.”

Keith sighs but listens, opening his palm and holding it out for his friend to fill. Only for Lance to take his hand in his. 

“Not like that, just…” Lance flips Keith’s hand over, splaying out his fingers, and Keith’s almost certain his fingers must be trembling as he’s doused in Lance’s gentle touch. His hands are somehow both soft and yet rougher than what Keith had imagined. It makes Keith wonder what events have passed throughout Lance’s life, for his fingertips to roughen and grow coarse. For him to touch Keith so gently, like he’s holding glass rather than the calloused hand of another man. 

It isn’t until Keith feels Lance slip something cold over his ring finger that he’s brought back to the present, his eyes flying open in alarm as he looks to Lance. 

He finds his coworker leaning over him, staring at him with equally wide eyes like it’ll take the full scope of his pupils to gauge Keith’s reaction. Lance’s eyes eventually drop from his face to Keith’s still outstretched hand, and that’s when Keith looks down. What he sees on it, really does make him stutter this time. 

“What-? How did you-When did-?” Keith tries, but he doesn’t really have the words to properly express the surprise to see the ring on his finger. 

It’s surprising enough, that Lance got him anything. But on his finger sits his father’s ring, the thick band shinier and lovelier than it’s ever been. It’s nothing fancy by any means, but the intricate carvings in the band are ones Keith would recognize anywhere. 

“It was my idea to teach you to surf, so ever since you lost it in Cabo it felt like it was on me to replace it. I know it’s not the same as having your dad’s, but I thought…I don’t know. Is it…do you hate it?” 

When Keith meets Lance’s eyes, Lance seems to be even closer, somehow, his body slotted between Keith’s thigh, his face hanging above him, the ceiling light reflecting warm light in his eyes. 

“Thank you…” Keith musters, voice raw, turning the band over and over. He slips it off, and confirms, sure enough, it doesn’t have the engraving in it that it used to. But balling it in his fist, he feels his lungs constrict and he himself wants to bawl. “I didn’t…I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s okay,” Lance says with a shrug, hands in his pockets as if this is no big deal. As if this means nothing at all, and not the entire world. “I don’t give gifts with the hope that I’ll get one back. I give just to give.”

Keith shakes his head, unsure of how to make Lance understand. He’s been imparted kindness before. Raw and unstilted, with few strings attached. He’s felt his father’s rough touch, holding Keith close through his nightmares. He’s had Shiro studying with him until both their eyes feel like they’ll fall out of their sockets if they try to solve another equation. He’s had Adam buy him an endless supply of sweaters, scarves, and gloves, because Keith’s forgetful, and has an affinity for never dressing warm enough. He’s had a lab professor who would always bring him snacks, because Keith had a bad habit of forgetting to eat in school, and would look gaunt and etiolated by hour two of every lab session. He’s had a foster mother who would walk him to and from the school bus every day, even when he was more than old enough to walk alone, because she said she simply enjoyed spending the extra time with him. 

Keith has known kindness and patience, in its purest and most virtuous form. He’s seen it, and experienced it in small doses that he’ll never forget. In ways that cling to his psyche like glue on his cerebral cortex. But none of that generosity and compassion has invoked such a strong emotion in him, to the point he feels like he might fall apart. To the point that he feels it would be alright if he did, because rather than judge, he knows Lance would simply put his pieces back together. 

“I have to repay you somehow,” Keith insists, revelling in the cool touch of the hard metal in his hands compared to the tepidness of Lance’s presence. “You’ve been doing so much for me. I have to…I…”

Keith’s words trail off as he feels himself choking on a lump in his throat, and he worries he might cry as his eyes begin to sting, only for Lance to wipe a tear from his eyes, revealing he’s already shed a few tears against his will. 

“Don’t cry. I wasn’t trying to make you sad, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not,” Keith assures, his voice warbling as he finally meets Lance’s eyes once more. “I just..I’m just really, really happy.” 

“Good,” Lance whispers, letting his hands linger against Keith’s jawline after swiping away another tear. “Your happiness is the only gift I could ever ask for.” 

And just like that, whatever dam that was keeping all of Keith’s wants and desires at bay breaks, and he feels himself grabbing Lance by the collar while surging forward, until they clash in the middle, teeth knocking together as their lips brush. Keith doesn’t let the rocky collision deter him from holding Lance’s lips hostage, wrapping an arm around Lance’s waist as he collapses atop Keith. 

Keith can feel Lance’s every motion, his every heartbeat, his every breath mingling with his own. But even then, he draws him closer and closer, wanting more and more of him. And Keith dares to let himself believe, if only for the moment, that Lance feels the same. Dares to think that, as Lance’s hand thumb traces circles along his jaw, his opposite thumb dragging along his abdomen under his shirt, it’s not just because Keith is a war body. It’s not just because Keith is here and close, and it’s convenient to draw him close at the moment, but Lance’s actions are because it’s Keith. 

Keith can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright as Lance pushes and pulls against him, tugging at his shirt and pushing his bangs away from his face. Biting his lower lip only to lick it afterward, gripping Keith’s waist tightly enough to leave a potential bruise, just to softly drag his fingers against the same spot. 

By the time Keith manages to catch his breath moments later, Lance releasing his mouth in favor of dotting kisses along the apples of his cheeks and down his jawline, Keith’s absolutely elated. So he can’t really blame Lance when, at some point, he hears the brunet begin to chuckle into his ear. But he still looks at him with scrutinizing eyes anyway. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing, I’m just happy.” Keith squints, pondering Lance’s thoughts as the man runs a hand through Keith’s overgrown mane. “What, are you the only one allowed to be happy?” 

“No, it’s just…” It’s just that Keith can’t help but have his doubts. Even now, even after Lance has shown him time and time again that he’s unwavering in his loyalty and genuineness, Keith can’t help but be apprehensive. “You’re not going to regret this in the morning?” 

Lance huffs, and has the nerve to actually roll his eyes, simultaneously rolling off of Keith, no longer pressing against his sternum and instead pressing his head against Keith’s shoulder. 

“Why would I regret it?” Lance asks, in a manner that makes it obvious that he genuinely has no idea. But Keith can think of at least a million reasons. 

“I don’t know, I just…”

“In case it wasn’t very obvious, I like you. A lot. That isn’t going to change come sunrise, okay?” Lance says, turning on his side to stare at Keith. Keith searches, against his better judgment, for some uncertainty or hints of doubt in his eyes. Something that reflects affliction or hesitancy, but there’s nothing. Not a single sign that Lance might ever try to take these words back. His gaze is as steadfast and strong as his heartbeat, and it makes Keith feel almost ill. Because he’s not one to want, let alone get what he desires. So how could it be, that he’s gotten this far with no signs of his desires being snatched away?

“Sorry…” Keith apologizes, sheepish and tremulous, as Lance takes his face in one of his hands, drawing a lazy finger down his jawline. “I didn’t-since when?”

“For a while,” Lance whispers. “I honestly don’t think I could’ve made it anymore obvious. You’re probably the last person on Earth to find out.”

“You-” Keith starts, wanting to argue that it wasn’t obvious. Not to him. But he reconsiders, already knowing that Lance does in fact treat him differently. He has a habit of staring, and getting a little too close and too touchy. Of saving his worst jokes for Keith, half of them childishly lewd and just stupid enough to actually make Keith laugh. Keith noticed a while ago, that Lance doesn’t really target this much attention to anyone but him. Keith had always assumed that it’s because Lance was simply trying to win him over, putting in the extra work to hopefully get Keith to eventually admit that they’re friends. But now that he thinks about it from Lance’s side of things, he realizes that isn’t the case. 

“Is that why you’re so nice to me? Because you like me?” Keith asks instead of arguing, turning on his side to look at Lance properly. In doing so, he finds himself nose to nose with the other man, having to work overtime to keep from drawing him in again. Keith can’t bring himself to fall any deeper without some answers. Without knowing that this won’t become another knife that twists in his gut every time Lance expresses his fondness, like their shared night six months ago. 

“I don’t know, maybe?” Lance admits, toying with one of the studs pierced in Keith’s ears rather than looking in Keith’s eyes. “It’s not like I thought you’d start to like me if I was nice enough. I kind of thought my chances with you were pretty slim to none after you started ignoring me after Cabo. I think I just wanted an excuse to be close to you.” 

Keith considers just kissing Lance and letting that be the end of it. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand being both so close and so far from Lance’s soft lips, already red from their earlier make out session. But he wants Lance to know. That he wasn’t just ignoring him for the sake of ignoring him, or pushing him away just because Keith is untrusting. He had his reasons, and if it weren’t for them, he would’ve drawn Lance in a lot sooner. 

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you, it’s just…you really pissed me off on the trip, okay?” Keith attempts, ineloquent as ever. 

“Because I lost your dad’s ring?” Lance questions, his eyebrows coining together. 

“What? No. That was my fault for not taking it off before going in the ocean, I never blamed you for that,” Keith clarifies, face warming as he draws closer to the point. “I-we… On the last night there, you kissed me. Or we kissed each other, I guess, I don’t know. You were trying to teach me how to dance while we were both drunk off our asses and it just…kind of happened. Nothing really happened, because I got sick in the middle of it from drinking on an empty stomach so…I don’t know. I guess I sort of thought maybe something might come from it, but by the morning it seemed you like you’d forgotten, and I wasn't sure if you really forgot or were just pretending or…or…”

“Keith,” Lance says, face so tightly constricted it looks like it hurts. “We kissed…and you didn’t tell me?!” Lance grabs Keith by the shoulders, shaking him crassly before burying his face in the crook of Keith’s neck. “God, I’m such an idiot.  I can’t believe I forgot.”

“I thought if you meant to kiss me, it wouldn’t have happened while you were blackout drunk. So I didn’t think bringing it up would do any good,” Keith attempts to explain, digging his hands in Lance’s short curls. “Trying not to be mad was something else entirely, though…”

“I don’t blame you,” Lance sympathizes. “But you should’ve just told me anyway.” 

“I think I was madder at myself more than you, for getting my hopes up,” Keith continues, relishing in the smell of Lance’s coconut-scented conditioner and the intensity of his tight grip on Keith. “I never really thought you’d seriously like me.” 

Lance sits up ever so slightly, hovering over Keith so that he’s all that Keith can see. Taking Keith’s hand, he gently presses his palm against his chest, forcing Keith to listen to his erratic heartbeat. 

“I don’t feel this way about anyone,” Lance attempts to explain, hands hot against Keith’s. “Only you. It’s been just you for some time now.”

Keith catches his lips against his own before he even knows what he’s doing, feeling like Lance is the only remedy to an insatiable hunger Keith’s been unknowingly fighting against all of his life. And now that he has him here, filling that hole that seems to never end, all he can do is cling to Lance’s every surface, never wanting to let go. 

He’s a panting mess a few minutes later, his chest so tight he feels like he might need a nebulizer treatment just to catch his breath again. His lips are swollen, and his hands are trembling as Lance leaves a long trail of kisses along his neck, tasting his skin in a way that makes him feel like Lance is amidst Sunday mass, and Keith is his daily bread. Keith just wants to draw him back in. To keep them connected forever, to know this feeling for an eternity for fear that he might end up in a state of eternal longing otherwise. 

He thinks, if he could just have Lance’s lips pressed against his, he’ll be okay. He won’t have to think about anything else, and he’ll be alright. But then Lance slips a finger between the waist band of Keith’s jeans, tugging them down ever so slightly as he breathes heavily into his neck, his heartbeat so quick and loud, Keith swears he can hear his pulse more than he can feel it. 

“You know, this bed hasn’t even been Christened yet?” Lance murmurs into Keith’s ear. When Lance turns his way, there’s an easy smile on his face, his lips quirked in the way they often do when he’s joking. But when Keith runs a hand over Lance’s hips under his shirt, his face sobers ever so slightly. 

“Then you should probably do something about that,” Keith says with a snort, unable to hide his laughter at Lance’s corny jokes. 

“I plan to,” Lance informs him, grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. 

As Keith follows suit, tugging his jeans while being captured by Lance in the process, the nape of his neck held firm in Lance’s wide palm, he realizes that kisses will never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough to satiate his desire for this man. For his kindness, and his warmth, his attention, and his love. Keith will always want him, in more and more ways, he realizes, and he will never get enough. 

❆

When Keith rustles awake hours later, there’s no light to be found anywhere. It’s pitch dark as far as the eye can see, and he’s reminded of the first time he awoke in Lance’s bed. He feels refreshed, the pricey mattress hard at work and doing wonders for his wrecked back, and there’s a heaviness on his chest. Except this time, instead of a heap of fur, it’s a heap of curls he finds there, thick and soft and tangled with the chain he wears around his neck. 

It takes a little while for him to disentangle himself from Lance, his every limb seemingly nestled under one of Lance’s. But when he eventually does, he immediately misses the heat his coworker provided. 

Still, he makes quick work of looking for his clothes in the dark, his only source of light being the moonlight streaming through the windowpanes. 

He manages to find a sock and his undershirt, unsure of whether they’re his or Lance’s, and is pulling his boxers back on when he slips on Lance’s sweater, knocking something off the dresser in his effort to stay upright to keep from slipping. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping onto the floor to look for what fell when one of the bedside lights flashes on. 

“Keith?” Lance questions, his voice groggy and bedsheets rustling under him. “What’re you doing?”

Keith startles, standing back up before grabbing the few garments he’s found, pulling the tank top he located over his head and–yep, definitely Lance’s.

“Nothing, go back to bed,” he instructs, his eyes roaming the floor as he looks for clothes that are actually his. 

“Why’re you getting dressed?” Lance presses. “If you’re cold, you can borrow some pajamas.” 

“Oh, I-” Keith stills, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he processes what he’s doing. He’d begun his usual hookup charade without even really thinking about it. Had begun to flee the scene without a second thought because that’s what he does. He leaves. He’s good at that. It makes thing easier, and it saves him from inevitable rejection. Slipping in and out like a ghost in the night, never staying in one place for long or getting attached, is all he’s ever known. So standing here awkwardly, half dressed and flushed in the face, he isn’t sure what to do. “You don’t want me to leave?” 

“Of course not,” Lance states, like the idea is offensively ludicrous, tired eyes displaying disoriented bewilderment. “C’mere.” 

Keith takes his time slipping back in bed, giving Lance ample time to change his mind and turn him away at any time. But all it seems to do is make Lance antsy, snatching Keith up as soon as he’s close enough and holding him against his chest. 

“I can’t believe you tried to leave while I was sleeping, you little jerkface,” Lance grunts between a yawn, burying his face in Keith’s hair. “And to think I was trying to figure out what to make you for breakfast.” 

“It’s not like I can stay forever,” Keith reasons, the silver ring on his finger feeling too tight as Lance squeezes his hand. 

“You totally could, though,” Lance argues, his breath tickling Keith’s scalp with every syllable. “You could move all your stuff in the second bedroom, and we could put an extra desk in the office and both work from home.”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Keith says before he can think about it. Usually he’d try to pass his words for sarcasm, or act like he didn’t say anything at all. But it genuinely makes his heart clench and his throat feel tight at the thought of living here; of Lance being his home. It’s too much coming from Lance, when Keith had just been standing on the terrace and sitting in his kitchen, hoping and wanting and wishing that the idea of Lance and his domestic life could overlap. 

“I’m…” Lance starts, his voice meek as he struggles to get the words out. “I’m not joking.” 

“What?” Keith immediately questions, sitting up so suddenly he nearly knocks Lance in the nose with his forehead. “What’re you talking about?” 

“I mean, yes, I’m joking about the work-from-home part. I’d go crazy if I couldn’t leave the house every day. But, I mean, I do need a roommate, and your lease is ending soon, so if you were interested, then-”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Keith begs. He means to have some fire in his voice, to stop Lance’s insanity before he can get Keith’s hopes up even more, but it comes out sounding like a desperate plea. 

“I do mean it, though.” 

Keith has no idea how Lance even knows about his expiring lease, but from the way he looks at him, it’s like he knows about everything else, too. About the lonely nights in his apartment, and the cold emptiness that comes with it. About how being stuck in that building has reminded Keith more than a few times that he’s not just stuck geographically, but in other ways too. Romantically and socially, emotionally and psychologically. He goes home every day wishing he could go anywhere else. And now here Lance is, offering him someplace that he can easily imagine himself running stop lights in a rush to reach. It’s like he knows, and he’s dangling it above Keith’s head, daring him to reach for it. 

“Lance, that’s insane,” Keith manages, sounding slightly breathless as he feels a knot form between his eyebrows, eyes peeling at Lance’s stupor to try to find his logic. What the hell is he thinking? 

“Well, what can I say? I’m crazy about you,” Lance says with a shrug, earning him a shove in the shoulder. 

“I’m serious,” Keith urges. 

“So am I,” Lance insists, sitting up to look at Keith in the eyes. “It’s not just a financial thing, okay? If I really wanted to, I could technically afford to live here alone, I’d just have to go without on a few things. But I’d be fine. But I don’t want to be fine. I don’t want to keep coming home to a place that feels too empty. I got it in my head when I signed this lease that this could actually be my home for a while, instead of just another bachelor pad. This could be…somewhere where I make memories with someone special. Somewhere that feels like a home instead of just a house. And there’s no one I could think of who could make this place feel like a home more than you could. Not for me, anyway.” 

Keith purses his lips, unable to grapple with Lance’s words. Waiting for the other shoe to drop–a but or a condition that he’s certain is inevitable–he sits in silence, holding Lance’s intense gaze, but nothing comes from his waiting. Nothing comes but a kiss to the forehead, Lance holding onto his hand tighter than ever. 

“It’s just an idea…I won’t be mad if you don’t want to. I know it’s a lot. All I ask is that you think about it,” Lance says, his face so solemn Keith can’t even begin to imagine that he’s joking. 

Lance is serious. He’s genuinely, irrefutably serious. He’s opened both his heart and home to him, in more ways than one, and now he’s daring Keith to accept his offering. And Keith so, so badly wants to. 

“Is that why you invited me here? And took me on your little tour?” Lance seems to cringe while Keith reflects on the events of the night, remembering how much detail Lance offered as he showed him every inch of the condo. “I can’t believe this was premeditated. You really weren’t kidding about kidnapping me.” 

“I wouldn’t say premeditated, I just…figured if the topic came up, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Unless you’re mad, in which case I never said anything and this is all a dream,” Lance explains. 

“I’m not angry, I’m just confused on how you thought about giving me a key before you even thought to ask me out,” Keith answers, sighing as Lance peppers kisses along the full scope of his face, as if drowning Keith in enough affection might convince him to stay forever. At this point, it might. 

“What can I say? When I love, I love hard,” Lance says through a yawn, his voice muffled against Keith’s skin. 

“You love-?”

“Goodnight,” Lance interjects, cutting him off and flipping over in bed, quick to turn off the light and slip under the covers. 

Keith is just left sitting there, stupefied at the idea that Lance really and truly adores him. Wants and loves him, without Keith even having to say or do anything. He’s been petty and standoffish, a drunken mess, and sickly in front of him–all within the past forty-eight hours, no less. And Lance is still, somehow, able to love him; so unabashedly that he’s bursting at the seams with the information, letting it slip how he feels through his exhaustion. 

Keith doesn’t know how anyone could love him, especially Lance, who he’s shown so much of his negative sides to. Who he’s only ever seemed to take for granted, and somehow dared to want even more from him. 

But he wants to try to return the sentiment so badly it actually makes it hard to breathe. 

He can already hear Lance’s breathing evening out by the time he joins Lance on his pillow, getting as close to him as physically possible as their legs tangle underneath the sheets, hands intertwining as Keith slings his arm under Lance’s. They just lie in silence, but it’s a moment Keith never thought he’d get to experience, so he takes a few beats to relish in it. To tattoo it to his brain just in case, like Lance said earlier, this is all just some fever dream.

He presses a kiss to the nape of Lance’s neck, tickled by soft curls and warm skin, as he tries to make out the freckles on Lance’s skin in the dark. 

“I like pancakes, by the way,” Keith says before letting his eyes slip shut, unsure if Lance is even still awake. “Just in case you still aren’t sure what to make for breakfast.” 

Lance quickly responds by turning over to press a swift kiss between his eyebrows, toying with the ring on Keith’s finger as he shuffles even closer. 

“Your wish is my command,” Lance teases, his voice light and raspy. And Keith knows Lance is just saying this as a joke, to keep the mood light and easy as they fall back to sleep. But Lance isn’t too far off. Lance has been feeding into his every whim and need, to extents Keith couldn’t even fathom. So it feels true, that Lance might grant his every wish. And for the first time in his life, Keith doesn’t feel scared or excited for wanting and hoping. He feels light as a feather, exultant at the idea of what’s to come. 

❆

Keith wakes up later than usual the following morning, his sleep schedule thrown off by his erratic napping over the last few days. And yet, even still, he manages to wake up before Lance, who’s splayed out on the bed like a starfish next to him, soft snores slipping from his lips.

Keith takes extra care not to wake him, learning from his mistakes from the night before, and quietly pads into the next room over to splash water on his face in the bathroom sink. The bathroom mirror reflects a version of him that honestly has seen better days. He’s got the world’s worst case of bedhead, there’s still sleep in his eyes, and there are a handful of hickeys on his chest and neck that make him look like he’s just been attacked by a pack of leeches. And yet, despite it all, he can’t help but smile. 

He’s smiling as he takes a brisk shower, and as he slides into a pair of joggers he borrows from Lance’s closet and locates his phone on the floor, sliding out of the back pocket of his abandoned jeans on the bedroom hardwood.

And there’s still a sheepish glimmer of happiness on his features as he opens he’s phone and sets to starting the day right.

 Lance has done nothing but fill his life with felicity; even when Keith was resenting him, it was only out of anger that he couldn’t draw the taller man closer. But now that, by the grace of Lance’s unending patience and kindness, they’ve managed to be brought together, Keith is going to do everything he can to try to bring Lance half as much joy as he’s brought him. 

❆

Lance finally makes his way out of bed two hours later, stumbling into the kitchen a quarter before noon with bleary eyes and a yawn on his lips. Keith can’t help but tense, worrying that the Lance from last night isn’t the same Lance who’ll greet him this morning. That what he experienced the night before was temporary, or some delusion, or-

“Morning,” Lance says easily, cutting off Keith’s thoughts as he slips his arms around Keith’s middle from where he stands by the stove range. “Is that bacon?” 

“Um, yeah,” Keith answers sheepishly, dropping the spatula in his hands on a paper towel. “I hope you don’t mind, I figured I kind of owed you for the last few days. Breakfast seemed like a good start.”

“Thank you,” Lance says, seeming a bit stunned as he watches Keith turn off the stove and transfer the last batch of meat onto a plate. “I guess I’ll just save your pancake breakfast for next time.”

“Actually…” Keith begins, popping open the microwave to reveal the remainder of the meal he’s prepared. “I made pancakes and eggs too, and I was gonna make-”

Keith gets attacked with a series of kisses along his cheek and neck before he can finish his sentence, and it’s so sudden and sweet that it draws a bubbly laugh out of him. Not a snort or chuckle, but an airy giggle like how he laughed as a child. Keith can’t remember the last time he’s laughed like that before. Keith can’t remember the last time he felt so light. 

They settle around the breakfast table, Keith pouring himself a glass of OJ while Lance drowns his plate with syrup. They talk about nothing for a while–the upcoming conference for their job, their coworkers’ ridiculousness from the night before, how Lance plans to decorate the remainder of his condo. It’s simple and easy and domestic, and it makes his heart swell, because just a few days ago Keith had been wanting this so badly it hurt. And now somehow, here he is, wondering when he’ll have to wake up from this dream. 

“So, what’re your plans for the day?” Lance asks once his meal is halfway gone, littered with only scraps and syrup. 

Keith figures he can guess where this conversation is going, and as much as he’d love for Lance to monopolize the rest of his day, he actually has plans he wants to set in motion. 

“I was actually thinking I might go with my family out of town for the holidays, after all,” Keith tells him, dropping his fork. 

“Really?” Lance asks, sitting up straighter at this. 

“Yeah I…I’ve been thinking.” I’ve been wanting, Keith thinks. “About what you said at the diner, and everything that happened in Cabo. I constantly keep people at arm’s length because that’s just what I’ve always done, even with the people I care about. Especially with people I care about. But thinking about how we could’ve been together since the retreat if I just stopped being stubborn like always it- I don’t know, it put things into perspective, I think.” 

Keith feels flushed by the end of his monologue, and takes a long gulp of orange juice to keep from saying anything to further embarrass yourself. 

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Lance says, a small smile on his lips, and Keith can tell that he means it. That he’s genuinely happy for Keith to seek out his own happiness. 

“So you’re not mad about me leaving?” Keith clarifies. At this, Lance’s face falls a bit, but he still shakes his head.

“No. A little disappointed, but I’ll be okay.” 

Keith nods, getting out his phone and swiping through his email to locate his Christmas gift for Lance after verifying he wasn’t entirely hellbent on them spending Christmas together.

“At least you’ll be somewhere warm,” Keith says while sliding the small device across the table to Lance. “Just make sure you take a bunch of pictures for me.”

“What?” Lance asks, before Keith nods towards his phone, encouraging Lance to take a look at the screen. It seems to take a moment for it to process, but once it does, Lance is staring at him with his mouth agape, eyes squinted, and eyebrows knitted tightly together. “What is it?”

“I got you a ticket to Havana,” Keith answers, eyes flicking back to the screen to verify that it is in fact the email confirmation he got this morning when he purchased a ticket for Lance. “You said your aunt’s hosting there for Christmas, right?” 

“I-you,” Lance struggles, eyes flicking back and forth between Keith and the screen in front of him. “When did you…?”

“This morning,”Keith explains, his eyes flickering away. “After I decided how to spend Christmas, I thought about how much you’d like to spend your Christmas with your family too so…I don’t know.”

Lance stands up so suddenly that his chair teeters and topples over, and before Keith knows it, he’s once again being showered in love and affection as Lance attacks him with kisses.

“How did I get so lucky?” Lance asks, holding Keith’s face in his hands, and Keith actually has to laugh at this. It’s Keith, that’s beat some sort odds in terms of blessing and fortune, and it’s hilarious that Lance would ever think otherwise. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who lucked out here,” Keith asserts, smirking at Lance’s dopey smile. 

Lance tries to argue, raking a hand through Keith’s hair and insisting Keith has made his imperfect holiday season leagues better, and Keith relents. But deep down, he knows that no matter what Lance says.

That’s why he lingers in Lance’s space, helping him clean up the kitchen and later pack a bag for Cuba. 

Lance’s closet is already in a state of disarray before he starts packing a bag, littered with moving boxes and gift wrapping paper and clothes strewn here and there. But as Lance starts pulling out shirts and looking for favorite jackets and comfortable shoes, things only grow more and more chaotic. 

Keith hangs in the doorway, watching Lance excitedly dig through his things, looking out the side of the closet that’s already empty, despite all the mess. It’s then that it fully sinks in that Lance wants him here; that he already has a side of the closet empty for him, and a bed stand with nothing on it and an oversized couple’s mattress because he really and truly wants Keith to move in. 

“You know,” Lance says suddenly, slowing in his manhunt for his favorite sandals. “You could come with me, if you want.” 

“Hm?” Keith questions, snapped out of his daze about domestic bliss.

“To Cuba, I mean. I could probably buy a ticket if you really wanted to come. I’m sure my family wouldn’t mind.”

From where Keith is standing, he can see the tips of Lance’s ears tinting red, his hands trembling as he stoops low to reorganize the contents of his suitcase. 

“You want me to come with you?” 

“Well, not if you don’t want to,” Lance reasons. “I know you said you’re going to be with your family, and I respect that, I just…I don’t know. Forget I asked.”

“Well, now I wanna know,” Keith pursues, drawing closer. “What’s wrong?” He pauses, thinking it over. “Did you…not want to go?” 

“No, of course I did, I just…? I don’t know. I’m getting older, and it feels like everyone in my family is getting married and having kids. And everyone’s asking me when I’m going to get married and have kids, it’s…a lot, sometimes. Especially with my tia, talking about what my dad wanted for his kids. I thought maybe it’d suck a little less if you were there.”

“So you want me to show me off as your trophy wife or something?” Keith concludes, earning a snort from Lance. 

“Yes, exactly,” Lance remarks, before letting the humor in his voice fade. “No, it’s just…lonely, I guess.”

“If you really want me to come, I’ll come,” Keith offers. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain a sudden trip to Cuba to Shiro, and he hasn’t seen his passport since his trip to Mexico, but for Lance, he’s willing to go the extra mile. 

Lance stares into his eyes for a second, looking contemplative as he tightly grips the Hawaiian button-up in his hands, before shoving it into his luggage. 

“No, it’s okay,” he ultimately voices with a sigh. “I don’t want to take you from your family from Christmas. Besides, my extended family is…kind of a lot.” 

“What, like you?” Keith jests, kneeling next to Lance’s bag to help him properly fold some of the garments that have been haphazardly added. 

“Yes. But like, I’m a lot in a fun and sexy way. They’re just annoying sometimes,” Lance expresses, drawing a laugh out of Keith.

“Well, if your annoying family gives you any grief about showing up alone, just tell them your boyfriend is busy getting ready to move in,” Keith offers, cheeks burning as he holds a pair of trousers so tightly they wrinkle in his grip.

Lance doesn’t say anything at first, Keith’s words hanging in the still air, and it sends Keith’s heart ricocheting against his ribcage as he awaits a reaction. When he finally gets one, he can’t even manage to look Lance in the eye. 

“What?” Lance asks dumbly, sounding nonplussed. 

“After I get back in town, I’ll have to start packing and talk to my landlord. So I don’t really have much time for a trip to Cuba, right?” Keith says, asking more than he’s saying. Maybe the offer Lance made last night was said in the heat of an intimate moment, or out of desperation; not because he really wants or needs Keith around. Maybe it was a dream Keith had in the middle of the night, sourced from his longing heart that’s been asking for so much lately. Or maybe it was some exhaustion induced delirium that had pushed the offer off of Lance’s lips, and now that it’s a new day, he’s realizing just how crazy how it is to even think about having Keith move in. 

 But as crazy as it is, it’s real. Lance was being sincere, and the face-splitting grin that reaches from ear to ear across his features makes it abundantly. 

“Wait, so, you’ll really move in?” 

“Yeah,” Keith manages with, feeling awkward at the pure glee radiating off of Lance. Unsure with what to do with the feelings that come with knowing he’s the source of that joy.

“Wow,” Lance seems to think aloud, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Was I…not supposed to?” Keith questions, suddenly feeling embarrassed. 

“No, I-”

“No?” 

“No! I mean no, not no.” Keith arches an eyebrow. “I mean, yes, of course I want you to move in, that’s why I asked. I just knew it was a long shot, so I’m surprised, that’s all. I mean I thought I was pushing it by asking you to come to my party, I definitely didn’t think I would get this far.” Lance pauses, offering Keith one of his softer smiles before pressing a kiss to his temple. “I guess I got lucky, huh?”

“Maybe we both did,” Keith theorizes, his entire body on fire, mindlessly running a finger over where Lance’s skin just met his. Though truth be told, he knows he’s the lucky one here. Anyone would be grateful, just to be in Lance’s orbit and garner even a sliver of his attention. Lance could have anyone; could love anyone. And somehow, despite all Keith’s pushing and taking, he’s chosen Keith. Now all Keith can do is try to keep him from regretting it. 

“Wanna keep the lucky streak going?” Lance questions, abandoning his luggage in favor of crowding into Keith’s space. “I’ve got a brand new tub that looks like it could probably two.” 

Keith snorts at Lance’s bad flirting, and then laughs at himself, because it’s unfortunately working wonders on him. 

“Sure,” Keith accepts, internally cringing at the goofy smile he’s sure is overtaking his face. “Just let me make a quick phone call, yeah?”

“‘Kay,” Lance obliges, pressing one last kiss to Keith’s cheek before standing. “I’ll start drawing the bath.” 

Keith just sits in silence for a moment as Lance's figure disappears around the corner, still holding Lance’s clothes, relishing in everything that’s happened in the past few days. 

It isn’t until he hears the sound of running water from the adjacent bathroom that he’s snapped out of his daze, remembering his plan to make a phone call. 

His phone has just enough battery for a single call after not charging it for so long, so he’s glad when his brother picks up quickly after the second ring.

“Hey,” Shiro greets easily, despite the loud chaos Keith can clearly hear going on in the background. He’s witnessed more than his fair share of his niece’s temper tantrums, and it sounds like one is in full swing. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing much,” Keith says, as if the past forty-eight hours haven’t been overwhelmingly eventful. “I was just wondering, have you guys left yet?” 

“No, not yet. Lily’s upset she can’t take all her toys, so now we’re repacking her bag,” Shiro explains with a sigh. “Why?” 

❆

Keith slimly makes it to Shiro’s house before they leave, thanks to Lance making it exceptionally hard to go much of anywhere. So by the time he finally does show up in his driveway some time later, he’s a panting mess with an erratically packed duffel bag swung over his shoulders, its contents narrowly falling out as he hops out of his car and jogs up to his brother’s SUV. 

And yet, even looking a hot mess after stalling and infiltrating their family roadtrip, his Shiro greets him easily in a bear hug as soon as he’s spotted. 

“I knew you’d change your mind,” Shiro insists after Keith manages to free himself out of a death grip, and finds himself rolling his eyes with fondness. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith brushes off, patting Shiro on the arm before greeting his brother-in-law. “Hey, Adam.” 

“Hey,” Adam greets back despite looking worse for wear, eye bags looking heavier than Keith’s duffel as he offers Keith a steaming thermos permeating the smell of coffee. “Here, you’re gonna need this. It’s going to be a long drive.” 

“Thanks,” Keith accepts before slipping into the backseat next to his niece, who seems particularly absorbed in her Curious George coloring book despite the extra person that’s just entered the car. 

“Hi, princess,” Keith greets to grab her attention, his heart melting when her large eyes fill with elation upon seeing him. 

“Uncle Keith!” she calls, struggling to reach out for a hug while strapped into her car seat. “You’re here!”

“Sorry it took me so long,” he apologizes, meeting her in the middle for a tight squeeze, her fuzzy scrunchies tickling his nose as they embrace. “What ya up to?” 

“Coloring,” she explains, before her eyes light up once again. “I drew you yesterday! D’ya wanna see?” 

“Of course,” Keith says while she’s already reaching for her backpack next to her in her seat, pulling out a giant drawing pad that’s bigger than her head. 

“It’s my family portrait for school! Do you like it?” he questions after flipping through a few pages before revealing a particularly glittery portrait made of four figures. 

He’s not sure what to expect from an adolescent’s artistic abilities, but he’s genuinely delighted by what he sees. Because unlike Keith, Lily knew that her family is made of four people, rather than three. 

“Yeah,” Keith answers, feeling slightly choked up, probably looking ridiculous as Shiro and Adam hop into the front seats and start the car. “I love it.” 

“You can have,” she generously offers, already ripping the picture out of her notebook. “I can make again.” 

“Thank you,” Keith says, genuinely grateful as he immediately folds the paper and sticks it into his wallet for safekeeping. 

But throughout the remainder of the ride and his trip, he can’t but pull it out occasionally, reflecting on his family and his home–an idea that seemed to elude him only a few days ago, but he finally understands.

♡

Keith’s never hosted a New Year’s party–or much of any party, really–so by the time his New Year’s party with Lance is in full swing, he’s a bit overwhelmed. 

He’d been nervous all day, worried that there wouldn’t be much of a parry at all. He’d only just gotten back in two days before New Year’s, and it felt like there was so much to do as he helped Lance fix up the office and guest room into something habitable for Lance’s siblings that had insisted on following him back home from Cuba. 

Keith had tried to make himself sparse for the sake of Lance’s familial bonding, assuming it’d be awkward to be around while they were trying to catch up, sharing life updates and splitting apart in laughter from inside jokes. But Lance hadn’t hesitated in introducing all of them to Keith, proudly showing him off like a prized possession rather than a tentatively newfound relationship. But Keith accepts it in earnest, finding that it’s a lot easier to get along with the warm faces that seem genuinely excited to meet him. 

Still, things felt slightly chaotic as all six of them helped set up for Lance’s party, and even moreso as people began to filter in.

Lance’s best friend from college had been the first at the door, wanting to help set up with snacks, quickly followed by Shiro and family, Lily hyped up on a sugar high from one too many candy canes as she bounded past her dads through the door. 

By the time more of Lance’s college buddies and a few of his cousins showed up, Keith’s palms were clammy with sweat no matter how many times he ran his hand down the pants of his trousers, riddled with nerves at the idea that he might be more of a hindrance to Lance’s social life than a benefit. That his awkwardness might be a bit too obvious, and his lack of assuredness hard to watch as he babysits every drink Lance offers him, too nervous to really stomach anything. 

It isn’t until an hour into the party, music blasting and spirits in the room high, when Lance’s sisters offer to show him some Lance’s childhood photos that he starts to feel like he belongs. When guests ask him for napkins and ice in their cups, he starts to feel like this is his party as much as its Lance’s. And when Lance asks him to get the door more than a few times, he starts to feel like this is his home, too. That he’s not just here on a probationary period or out of some courtesy; but because he fits in this picture as much as anyone else. 

Still, as the heated bodies start to feel like they’ve reached an all-time high, Keith excuses himself to the bathroom upstairs, needing a moment to catch his breath. 

That’s how he ends up the terrace to Lance’s bedroom–no, his bedroom–right before midnight. He knows he shouldn’t dawdle, lest he misses the countdown, but the sky is clear, and the moon is bright. The winter wind is refreshing on his skin, even if the cold prickles his skin, and he still can’t quite get used to the view. He’s not sure if he ever will. 

“It’s almost midnight,” a familiar voice warns, Lance’s face cradled by the moonlight in a way that makes Keith’s heart want to surge straight from his chest and into Lance’s hands. “What’re you doing up here?” 

“Just needed to catch my breath for a second,” Keith expresses. 

“So you chose the coldest part of the house?” Lance clarifies, squinting as he gets as he seems to get as physically possible into Keith’s space, presumably for warmth. 

“I like the view,” Keith explains. 

“It’s alright,” Lance complies. To someone like Lance, who spent the better half of his childhood on the beaches of Miami and Varadero, a few suburban condos backed by a lake and trees is probably nothing to write home about. But to Keith, it’s a lot more than he thought he’d get anytime soon. So to him it’s everything. 

“I think the view in front of me is way better, though,” Lance continues, turning his attention to Keith. 

“You’re so corny,” Keith points out, pretending to gag as Lance presses a line of kisses down his cheek. Though it turns into a stream of laughter as Lance grabs him by the waist. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” 

“Debatable,” Keith fibs, avoiding Lance’s eyes. 

“Are you going to keep insulting me, or can we go back downstairs?” Lance questions. 

Keith thinks about it as a fresh shiver falls down his spine, his double layer of shirts doing little to fight against the offending chill. 

“I think I’m gonna stay here for a bit longer, if that’s okay,” Keith decides. “You can go back down if you want. I’ll be there in a little bit.” 

“Nah, that’s okay,” Lance tells him, running blunt nails along Keith’s scalp. “I’ve got everything I need right here.” 

The kiss that follows feels like the purest form of natural, seemingly the only response Keith could think to offer Lance.

He’s not sure how long they stay that, huddled close and connected in more ways than one, but he wishes it could be forever. Even as he hears them missing the countdown, their friends and family loudly counting down from ten. Even as fireworks begin to pop in the distance, and Keith feels like something in his lungs is popping in tandem as he struggles to breathe with Lance’s mouth on his. 

It isn’t until a particularly loud firework goes off somewhere nearby, close enough that Keith can see every glittery detail of the bright explosion. 

“Happy New Year,” Lance tells him with another kiss, this time atop his head, as Keith toys with the ring on his right hand. 

“Happy New Year,” Keith echoes before bringing Lance into a tight hug, his heart hammering as they meet chest to chest, face to face, and heart-to-heart. “I love you.” 

Lance beams, enclosing him in another kiss, and Keith lets himself melt into it, smiling all the while as he feels completely at home for the first time in forever.