Chapter Text
He poured vodka and cherry coke into a bright red solo cup, the kind you see in movies and watched the fizz climb up rapidly and settle down.
Loud voices clamored around him annoyingly and at his station next to the fridge he could see the giant living room, where music blasted the loudest, where the colored lights shone the brightest, and where the drunkest of people went to embarrass themselves by grinding and feeling each other up on the dance floor.
"Pidge, why are we heere," he threw his head back, feeling the ground tremble under his feet. The stench of booze and teenage sweat was heavy in the air and the moving mass of bodies squirming on the dance floor was almost sickening to look at. Through the earsplitting music and the drunken clamor of voices, Pidge sat on the kitchen counter and he stood across from her, both of them glaring disdainfully at the happy party people.
"Well, it's Rolo's birthday," she answered, focused on whatever science experiment she's conducting now, something to do with whiskey and water.
"I don't even know Rolo!" he groaned. "Can we leave? Please?" he sipped his Coke dismally, a fuzzy burn in his throat.
"No! I have to show Rolo my appreciation for getting me those computer parts!" She kicked at him. "And you have to keep me company."
"Fuck you," he rolled his eyes and peeked at the dance floor again, watching one individual though, watching sun-kissed skin writhe their way around to loud music, carefree and easygoing. The crowd moves jerkily with the beat, which is bouncy and hard-hitting. He downs his drink with a grimace.
"Get me more coke," he waved his now empty cup at her, watching her carefully place her credit card over a glass of water and flip it over quickly and balance it on a glass of whiskey.
"Listen. If I do this, the whiskey will move its way to the top and the water will go to the bottom, because of density and shit."
"You're really gonna waste a good glass of whiskey for a science experiment?"
"Shut up, whiskey is gross anyway," Pidge had said before pouring a glass. "Now, we wait."
"Sure Keith, I'll get you some coke," Pidge said, her voice derisive, pretending to snort lines off of her hand. She shot her head up and grinned, floppy brown hair sticking up, her glasses just a little bit wonky.
"NOT COCAINE." Keith smacked her arm playfully and then moved his gaze to the dance floor again.
Pidge fixed her glasses. "Who're you looking at?" Pidge teased him, following his gaze to the dance floor earnestly. A new song starts, and the crowd screams in excitement. "Another football beefcake?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "The ones with rippling abs?"
"Ew no, Pidge please, you know that's not my type," Keith shook his head, throwing his empty red cup weakly at Pidge, the cup bouncing off her arm and clattering on the kitchen tile. "Why am I even here," Keith pouted.
"To look at boys apparently," she said, ignoring the fallen cup, and watching the whiskey and water mix together.
"No," Keith huffed, crossing his arms. "I don't look at boys. I've never seen a boy in my life."
Pidge rolled her eyes. "So you've never looked in the mirror? Hm. Explains why you look like a mole rat."
"You're so mean to me!"
"No I'm not," Pidge strained her neck and viewed the plethora of people in the living room again. "Now back to mystery boy. Is it that curly haired hottie? Orange shirt?"
Keith glanced over and shook his head. "No, he's cute though. Do you really want to know who?"
"Yes, obviously!"
"Why?" Keith fidgeted with his gloves. He knew Pidge wouldn't tell anybody, but he would definitely be bullied mercilessly in the foreseeable future.
"I'm curious Keith! I have to see the face of who is distracting Keith from my important whiskey and water experiment."
Keith was silent. He tugged at the bottom of his crop top, feeling a little bit naked under all the interrogation.
"Keeeeeiiiiiittthhhhhhh," she drawled loudly. "Pleeeassseee. I won't laugh."
"No," he replies bluntly.
"At least tell me what color he's wearing." Pidge needled, kicking at him again. "I'm curious!"
"No."
"Yes."
"No!"
"I'll tell Shiro about your belly button piercing."
"You wouldn't!" Keith cried incredulously.
"He would go ballistic," Pidge grinned, a tad creepily.
Keith sighed, a little defeated. "Fine. Well," Keith hesitated, eyeing a full bottle of vodka. "It might be, perhaps, the guy in the wh-"
"THEY GOTTA RUN ME THE MAX! AYYYY!" The mob on the dance floor collectively screamed before cheering noisily, their hands reaching for the low ceiling.
"Jesus Christ. Could they be any louder?" Pidge rolled her eyes, her glasses glinting under the dim kitchen lights. "Anyways the guy in what?"
"Nevermind," Keith pouted, blowing bits of hair out of his eyes. "I'm not saying it again," he crossed his arms. "You had one chance."
"The guy in the white? Gotcha." Pidge scoured the crowd.
"I hate you so much," Keith recoiled, waiting for Pidge to realize who it was.
She spent a minute scrutinizing the crowd before she realized. Pidge's eyes widened. "Oh my god. No. Keith no. Not him." She raised her eyebrows. "You cannot be serious. No."
"I'm not ser-"
"Shush..."She takes Keith in, looking him up and down. "...you're too grungy for him anyways. You look like you came straight out of a storm drain," she paused for a second. "You're not in the same social groups either... this is some Romeo and Juliet shit except you guys will never fuck."
"Shut up!" Keith exclaimed, burying his face in his hands, feeling the nervous heat of his now burning red face on his fingers. He knew it. Pidge cannot refrain herself from straight up bullying.
"Tragical, I know," Pidge pushed her glasses up.
"Well, I can still admire him from afar, he's still cute," Keith added after a moment.
"Keith, honey, no," Pidge heeded him sympathetically. "He's waaay out of your league." She dragged out the 'way', which just made Keith feel even worse than before.
"Wow, thanks," Keith said, peeking through his fingertips. "Maybe he's a little too ambitious for me."
"A little?" Pidge cried incredulously, throwing her hands up. "Keith he wears Yeezy. He listens to Drake. He's STRAIGHT."
"Is that a bad thing?" Keith questioned then shrugged, eyes trained on flushed tan skin and freckles. He let his hands fall back down to his sides and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"In your situation? YES." Pidge yelled to be heard over the deafening music. "Because I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend."
"I know he does," Keith responds bluntly, eyes shifting to look at the girl dancing messily beside him, a blue crop top hugging her curves, blonde hair tied in two bouncy pigtails. Popular, friendly, beautiful. Probably smells like strawberries and rockstar soap. Of course, she's his girlfriend.
"What's her name again?" Pidge wondered. "Narti?"
"No. That's Lotor's friend," Keith leaned over. "It's like, N-, um, Nina?"
"NYMA!" Pidge exclaimed. "That's it, it's Nyma." She hesitated for a second. "Oh shit."
"What?"
"Is this the same Nyma that was thinging with Lotor?" Pidge glanced up at Keith, her voice dropping. "Shit, he's fucking dead."
It was common knowledge in their school that Lotor would go to extreme lengths to get what he wanted. As in, get his four "friends" to beat you to a pulp as he remained coolly on the side, watching as you get punched and kicked. Fun, right?
"Oh shit." Keith kept his eyes on the figure on the dance floor. He was now holding both hands with Nyma, doing ridiculous turns and moves, his hair flopping around his face, his cheeks rosy as he bounced about, full of pep.
"Guess your crush has it coming for him," Pidge's voice was quiet. "He's fucking toast. Lotor's gonna do it to him." Her face lit up. "Oh my god. You know I had to do it to 'em."
"Shut up. And he's not my cr-" Keith began before he felt a tap on his shoulder. He twisted around to recognize black and white hair, friendly eyes, and a bright red football jersey. Shiro.
"Wh-Oh my god! Why are you even hereeeee? Leave! Please!" Keith groaned. "This is uncalled for."
"You're uncalled for. And I can be wherever I want." Shiro said before he glanced at Pidge. "Hi Pidge, you are not of age for this."
"Oh shut up. You're not my dad. Fifteen is old enough," she said with an air of annoyance.
"I'm your dad now, bitch."
"Anyway, Mom told me to look after you!" Shiro grinned. "Dear old mom was worried."
Pidge laughed. "Oh Keith, always mama's little boy." Shiro nods in agreement, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
"Oh haha." Keith sarcastically said, shifting slightly. The kitchen proved a bit small to fit the three of them all in this small corner.
Shiro was a football player in their local college, not the quarterback, but one of their best players. They win almost every game, and their team is the pride and joy of the Garrison.
Keith had always wanted to play football, to follow in his older brother's footsteps. He had been playing football with Shiro since before he can remember, but when he went for tryouts in freshman year, he was sent back sympathetically.
"Sorry kid, maybe try the volleyball team."
"So, who's your crush?" Shiro teased, ruffling Keith's hair.
"Leave me ALONE!" Keith smacked Shiro's hand away frustratedly.
"It's that kid, in the white," Pidge pointed to the dance floor. Shiro looked over Keith's head. "No, not that one, the one closer to the middle."
Shiro scanned the dance floor coolly. "Wait a second. Him?"
"I don't even know him!" Keith scowled. "He's just cute."
Majorly cute. As in, Keith has seen him in the hallways, leaned against lockers cute, typing away on his phone cute. Wavy brown hair, blue eyes that could rival the ocean, long slender legs, always enveloped in a giant hoodie, usually designer. Always surrounded by laughing girls, he was a magnet to those gullible high school girls who crowded around him and touched his arm, ran their fingers through his hair, or fluffed their own and giggled, flirtatious tones flitting under their tougues.
"How cute exactly Keith? Tell us!" Pidge taunted, teaming up with Shiro, to Keith’s dismay.
"Wait. That kid? Lance right?" Shiro exclaimed, a grin crawling across his face.
Keith faltered. Lance?
Shiro continued, "I helped him with his application for the Garrison! You like him?"
Is that his name? Lance? He stared at the dance floor trying to catch that white sweater, trying to put a name to the face. He was nowhere to be found, the dance floor almost cleared out as people were getting more tired. Keith felt almost disappointed before he realized that he was just being stupid. He just learned this guys name and he was already missing his happy expression as he got shoved around to loud music.
"Lance is his name?" Keith felt stunned, those words tumbling out of his mouth.
"Where is he?" Pidge remarked, looking at the almost empty living room. "Keith wanna go find him?" She slides off the counter and bounces to her feet.
Keith gave Pidge a dirty look.
The music dips to something more mild, deep notes reverberating across the floor, dampening and subduing the loud chatter and laughter.
"It's fine! Go find your prince charming Keithie!" Shiro said with an enthusiastic beam. "I have this bottle of vodka to keep me company," he held up a bottle of Absolut and petted it endearingly.
"Oh god," Pidge muttered and grabbed Keith's hand. "Come on Krink Cocaine, lets find him."
He and Pidge shoved their way through the crowded hallway, to the dismay of many horny teens who were pushed up against walls. Thanking God that he wasn't drunk, except for the minor buzz tingling in his fingertips, he finally made his way to the door. It was closed, so he jiggled the knob but it wasn't locked. Thinking, whatever, someone might've just closed it by accident.
"Wonder what this room is!" Pidge threw the door open.
With horror, Keith found himself face to face with blue eyes and blonde hair.