Archive of Our Own ^beta

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Hey, so names Lance. I saw ur ad about the apartment, wondering if its still available? Msge me back ;)

Keith takes a sip from his beer and reads the email again. He’d put up the Craigslist ad at least four months ago, and this was the only response he had gotten that didn’t give off creeper vibes. If Keith had his way, he wouldn’t have put the ad up in the first place; now that Shiro had moved out to go live with his fiancé, he was perfectly content living alone and was probably better off that way. But the rent had risen, and Keith’s meager income from the auto body shop was barely covering the bills. He would pick up more shifts, but there’s only so much time in a university student’s schedule.

Keith sighs and types out a response with one thumb.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Hi, lance. Yeah its still available. What do you want to know?

Keith fires off the email and sits back in his chair. Not even a minute later and his phone chimes with a response.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

SWEEEET dude i’m like so down. So like my main thing is just proximity to university and work. Google maps says it’s not far from either. Hows rent?

And that’s how it starts. Keith can’t help but snort a huff of a chuckle through his nose. This guy. He seems nice enough, and different from other guys whose messages implied they were druggies or party animals, neither of which fit Keith’s lifestyle. Not that he had anything against them, but… it would be easier for him to get along with someone who wouldn’t make him uncomfortable in his own home.

He exchanges a few more emails over the next day or two with this Lance person, offering information on rent and nearby places to shop or eat.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

There’s a few chain places downtown that’s maybe a ten minute drive? But a few good Chinese places are closer and a Pizza Hut down a few blocks that deliver really fast. My…

Keith’s thumbs pause over the keyboard as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. He hadn’t mentioned it at first, unsure if he would even be willing to let Lance move in, but after their conversation he has to admit that Lance is definitely a plausible roommate. He might as well nip this in the bud. He’d rather get this out of the way now than come to realize midway through living together that Lance is a homophobe.

…ex-boyfriend worked there and got me discounts sometimes.

There. That seems innocent enough right? He could have just said ex but he said ex-boyfriend, which should be clear enough that he wants Lance to notice that part, right? God, he should be used to this by now; outing himself to a stranger just to spare the hiding and the sneaking. He’d rather chase Lance away now so he doesn’t waste either of their time.

He types a little more to make it seem like he didn’t intentionally drop the gay bomb and sends it off.

Lance responds a few hours later.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Oh awesome, I was hoping there would be pizza. If I ask nicely do you think your ex will give me a discount too?

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Lol, dunno about that… it wasn’t the cleanest breakup so mention my name and he’d probably get snippy. Besides he doesn’t work there anymore.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

That’s too bad. I’d use any excuse for a discount

Keith actually laughs at that, a short grunt of a chuckle but an amused laugh nonetheless.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Lol. I think you and I will get along great then. When will you be moving in?

He presses send before he realizes that he’d implied he was offering Lance the room. But Keith doesn’t panic, or try to take it back. This is one time his impulsivity might actually pay off.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

BRO. YOU’RE GIVING ME THE ROOM? OH MY GOD.
is like… first week of August okay? I’ve still gotta get paperwork sorted out but that’s probably best.  

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

That should be great. My schedule is pretty open but I can take off work whenever to help you move in. And I guess I should give you my number, since that would be easier. 740-349-8365

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Oh my god you have no idea how much you are saving my ass right now. I’ll text you!

Lance (13:17): I’m outside!

Comes the text message, fifteen minutes after their agreed arrival time, but Keith isn’t the most punctual guy himself so he lets it slide. He shoots off a text that he’ll be right down and rolls off the couch, stuffing his feet into sneakers before heading for the apartment door. Meeting new people never came particularly easy to him, and to meet someone who will be sharing his apartment for at least a year…

He takes a moment to breathe before he opens it, immediately greeted by the sound of someone carrying something very heavy up the steps. Keith rounds the banister, an offer to help on the tip of his tongue, when the words die in his throat.

Oh no, he’s hot.

The words come to his mind unbidden, and he almost smacks himself. Even at this angle, Keith can tell that Lance is tall, wiry and long-limbed. His skin is a soft brown, and his hair is a dark almond, short but shaggy in a way that Keith can immediately tell would be incredibly soft to the touch. He’s wearing a blue and grey baseball tee that frames his broad shoulders; Keith can’t help but stare for a moment before he schools his expression into one that is hopefully more indifferent. At the sound of Keith’s footsteps, Lance looks up, cool blue eyes meeting his own, and wow if his face isn’t one of the prettiest that Keith has seen in a while.

“Hey,” Keith gets his voice to work, and is thankful it comes out normal. “You’re Lance, right?”

“Yeah. So I guess you’re Keith?”

Keith nods, and descends a few more steps. “Lemme help you out.”

“Thanks man.” And he hands over a clear bag full of-- are those face masks? And moisturizer? Keith can’t help but raise his eyebrows at the absurdity. This guy has perfect skin already. What does he need all this stuff for?

They both trudge up the steps, where Keith sets Lance’s things down, takes another deep breath, and concentrates on getting the introductory stuff over with. He stumbles a bit, but Lance doesn’t seem to have any issues getting situated; within the first two minutes he makes a comment about Keith’s hair that has him running his fingers through it, wondering if he should get a haircut. It’s not really a mullet, is it?

He also asks about the upstairs neighbor. Honestly, Keith shouldn’t even have mentioned that douche in the first place; Lance wouldn’t have to worry about his homophobic shit at all, unlike Keith, who deals with it every time they run into each other in the stairwell. Instead of elaborating as Lance seems to expect him to, he turns away and heads to the kitchen, internally berating himself.

Lance takes his time moving the rest of his things in. He contributes silverware, pots, pans, pillows, art, and other knick knacks slowly, the piles of cardboard boxes slowly dwindling as all his things get moved into place. Keith offers to help with some things, but he reasons that it’s mostly Lance’s stuff, and he has this big guy in yellow helping lug some of the heavier boxes inside so it seems he had it all figured out.

His first night in the apartment is uneventful. It’s mostly Lance collapsed on the couch with a self-congratulatory pizza and beer, connecting the wifi to his various devices and getting this smaller blonde girl to connect Netflix to Keith’s television (“Knock a dollar or two off my rent and I’ll let you use my account!”). Keith only rolls his eyes and goes back to mindlessly scrolling the internet.

Keith figures every night will be like this one. Calm, quiet. Simply two boys existing in the same space, rarely crossing paths and respectfully keeping their distance from one another.

Oh, how very wrong he is.

Keith doesn’t consider himself a very violent person. Years of martial arts training have basically drilled away the angry adolescent he’d been into a disciplined-- if slightly temperamental-- adult. He generally doesn’t succumb to his urges to punch things when he gets angry, but if he ever needs to do so he just takes it out on a sparring partner, usually Shiro. He’s proud of how far he’s come.

Except now it seems like all that is going to be ruined because of a two week old rooming arrangement.

At this point, he isn’t sure if he wants to punch Shiro for moving out, or punch Lance for being what might be the Worst. Roommate. Ever.

Keith thinks that it’s probably some sort of karma for his intrusive gay thoughts from when he first saw the guy, because it doesn’t take very long for the initial he’s really attractive and I’m really gay thought to be replaced with something that’s more like a wordless, frustrated growl. If he has to stay up until two in the morning with a pillow covering his ears because of Lance’s music ringing through the walls one more time , he is going to lose it.

At least Keith is trying. He gives Lance the opportunity to fix the issue, which just devolved into a shouting match about sleeping habits. He doesn’t complain about the dishes in the sink or anything, and even though he makes one of two… pointed ... comments, about the thin walls, he isn’t exactly an ass about it. He gives Lance space, tried to make it so that the two of them don’t have to be forced into awkward interactions. Keith isn’t really one for small talk, anyways.

But damn. It’s like the guy didn’t get the memo.

Lance is obnoxious. Loud. Arrogant. Keith had been doing just fine on his own in his quiet apartment, living off of cereal, ramen, and the occasional takeout. But now everywhere he goes there is this overwhelming presence he can’t escape, boyish and dramatic and yet somehow, despite it all… weirdly charming.

Keith hates it.

Lance is always trying to prompt Keith into conversation. Keith doesn’t understand why; they don’t need to be friends, they just need to live well together, but Lance keeps trying anyways. Even the times that they butted heads-- which was way more often than he will admit to Shiro, but whatever-- Lance always seems to be pushing Keith to be… more.

Keith wipes the sweat from his forehead as he shuts the hood of the old Corolla he’s working on. Leave it to Lance to find his way onto Keith’s mind even when he’s at work. He tosses his grease-stained rag over his shoulder and rubs his temples with a heavy sigh. He calls over his shoulder at the other guy on duty, Antok, he thinks his name is, “I’m gonna take a quick break.”

Keith doesn’t wait for a response before heading towards the back office, ready to chug half his body weight in water. One hand fumbles with his phone, barely managing to tap in his password before the screen is lit up with a picture of Shiro grinning at him, two straws stuck in his gums like walrus tusks. Keith sighs and answers the call.

“Seriously,” he says, in lieu of a greeting. “Do you have like some sort of sixth sense? How do you always know when I’m looking at my phone? Scratch that-- why are you always calling me when I’m looking at my phone?”

Shiro’s laugh rings through. “What, am I not allowed to check on my little brother?”

“Not while I’m at work, Shiro.”

“I thought you said you were looking at your phone?”

Silence on both ends of the line. “...I’m taking a break,” Keith concedes, disgruntled, and Shiro snorts in amusement.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. How’s the new roommate? Are you two getting along?”

Keith lets out a grumble. Shiro doesn’t say anything, but Keith can practically hear the smirk on the other side of the phone. “He’s.. a lot.”

There’s a noise on Shiro’s end, like he’s shifting around, and he lets out a hum. “A lot in what way?”

“Well… he’s really loud. And he’s kind of cocky; he’s always talking about some girl he’s flirting with or whatever.” Shiro mumbles something that sounds like ‘straight guys, am I right?’ and Keith rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh. “He has this weirdly intense skincare routine, and kept me up four times this last week playing music until like, three am. Last night we got into this huge argument about his sleep schedule, or lack of it, really. I didn’t get to sleep until two-thirty.”

“Sounds tough. You gonna stick it out? It’s still early in the year, maybe you could find another roommate.”

Keith wrinkles his nose as he tries to open the water bottle he just grabbed while only using one hand. “I mean…” He suddenly feels a bit guilty. He’d made the commitment, and it’d be shitty of him to back out now. Lance isn’t that bad, and if Keith is being honest, he could actually be a lot worse. Keith is complaining, yeah, but maybe, just maybe, he can admit that part of the conflict is partially his own fault. Maybe . “I dunno. He’s nice enough. And not a homophobe, which is like… basic human decency, but still a perk.”

“Wow , you have such high standards.”

 “Shut up.”

“Just remember, Keith, living together involves two people. Lance is probably adjusting, same as you, he’s just showing it in a different way. If he is nice, like you say, he’s probably just trying to figure you out and how to share a place. Don’t be too harsh on him, okay? Patience--”

“--yields focus,” Keith finishes with him. “Yeah, I know, I know.” Keith opens to the door to the rec room and finally manages to open the water bottle, plopping down into one of the leather chairs in the corner and taking a long gulp. “You’ve told me that since I was twelve.”

Shiro chuckles. “I remember when I started rooming with Adam back in college, I used to get so pissed off because he would never take out the trash, and it turns out he was annoyed because I always left the bathroom floor wet after showers.”

Keith listens in silence while sipping his water as Shiro goes on his then-roommate-now-fiancé bonding spiel, something about quiet hours and stealing each other’s food, but his thoughts slowly begin to drift back to Lance. He remembers Lance’s pout when Keith gave one-word responses to some of his questions or stories. He hadn’t really thought much about it; he was so sure that they didn’t really need to be friends to live together, and hadn’t really understood why Lance seemed to be pushing him. But now that he thinks about it, it’s probably stressful for Lance to move in with someone he doesn’t know. ‘Cause, yeah, they’re sharing, but it’s still mostly Keith’s apartment. Lance is still figuring out where he fits in. And maybe Keith isn’t making that the easiest thing for him.

He rubs his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. It’s hard to admit, but…

“Shiro, did I ever leave hair in the shower when you were living here?”

Shiro cuts off and Keith realizes he’d just interrupted him in the middle of some story about how he and Adam bonded over a Jenga tournament with people on their floor. “Uh… what ?”

Keith feels a bit embarrassed, but he continues anyways. “Like, in the drain? Was there hair there after I showered?”

“Yeah, I guess. I had to clean it out sometimes. Why?” The realization seems to dawn on him. “Oh, did Lance complain?”

Keith flushes red. “Yeah. I guess.”

“See? You’re both adjusting. Don’t stress too much about it, Keith. Just try to find compromise.”

Keith hums in acknowledgement. “Yeah…” He decides to change the subject. "I gotta get back to work in a couple minutes, but tell me how your new job’s going.”

Shiro seems to light up as he begins to gush about the Planetarium show he gave to a elementary school field trip. Keith laughs, glad that his brother is happy. When he hangs up a few minutes later, he feels less frustrated than before.

That night, after he showers, he makes sure the drain is clean. He’s toweling his hair dry when Lance pokes his head into Keith’s room to offer him some of the pasta he made, extending the chicken alfredo like an olive branch.

“I’m a great cook,” he brags, and Keith wants to scoff before he notices the rapid tapping of Lance’s fingers against his thigh. He’s nervous, Keith realizes, underneath all that bravado. So Keith shrugs and takes the plate. Lance’s beams, making some cocksure comment about how he “couldn’t say no, could’ya, Mullet,” but Keith is distracted by the hundred-megawatt smile directed straight at him. Keith drops his gaze and makes himself focus on the food. Boys. Ugh.

The pasta is good, but Keith’s pride won’t let him admit to that. Lance doesn’t need an ego boost. Still, he makes sure to wash the dishes afterwards. He hasn’t missed how often Lance seems to “forget” to do that.

It’s not until a week later that Keith realizes Lance’s music is no longer sounding through the walls in the wee hours of the morning, and that he always seems to make extra food when Keith comes home from work, usually in a tupperware container in the fridge with a sticky note detailing reheating instructions and a weird doodle of a cow that Keith can’t help but grin at.

Keith keeps doing the dishes. He starts with the tupperware, and slowly progresses to washing whatever he finds in the sink at any given time. Keith also starts remembering to get his hair out of the drain; he sets up a small trash bag to hang from the shower curtain rod as a visual reminder. It’s the least he can do.

Lance doesn’t mention it, but Keith’s food portions increase steadily, so Keith thinks this is Lance’s way of saying thank you without threatening his pride.

Things… get better. It’s weird. For having had so much tension in the apartment for the first couple of weeks, it’s bizarre how rapidly that evolves into a pretty decent arrangement between the two of them. It’s not quite what Keith had expected, that much is true. Lance is far too chatty for that. But it’s surprisingly comfortable.

Lance somehow even manages to bring him out of his shell. All it takes Lance mocking Keith’s music taste and a heated debate over Rihanna versus Fall Out Boy, and suddenly talking is easier. Maybe he’s discovered Keith’s competitive streak, or he’s just good at reading people, but Keith finds himself pausing by the kitchen to chat while Lance is cooking, or joining him on the couch after a long day. He blames Lance’s natural charisma, though he’ll never say that out loud.

It’s early October. He’s finished showering after work, and instead of shutting himself away in his room like he would have three weeks earlier, he makes his way down the hall to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to smirk at his clueless roommate. Lance is singing to himself, voice too low for Keith understand the lyrics, but it’s clearly a very peppy song, if his enthusiastic hip shaking and spatula drumming is anything to go by.

Lance clearly has no idea Keith is there. Part of Keith-- the disaster gay part-- takes advantage of his ignorance to admire his movements. As goofy as it appears, it’s pretty clear Lance can dance. The greater part of Keith that, as Lance would indignantly screech, is an asshole, sidles up to the fridge quietly, then pops it open, purposefully making a loud noise.

“Cuando no te importó un pepino tu-- Madre mía coñaso!”

Lance drops the spatula in the saucepan and leaps back at least four feet, slamming his head into an open cabinet. Keith somehow manages to keep a straight face, but he fights back a laugh as he casually jabs a straw into a capri sun, and takes a sip. “Hey, Lance.”

“Fuck! Keith! Don’t do that to me!”

“I just said hi!”

Lance scowls and rubs the back of his head. “You walked into the kitchen like a goddamn ninja and scared the shit out of me! Make some noise next time, will ya? Maybe I need to buy you a bell collar or something like the grumpy cat you are, damn. You’re as bad as my sister.”

Keith actually does laugh this time. He finds himself doing that more lately. Not that he didn’t laugh before, but it’s easier with Lance. Probably because he’s so goofy.

He shakes off that train of thought and peers at the saucepan, which Lance has returned to stirring with a pout on his face. “What are you making?”

“Picadillo . Mom’s recipe. I was kinda missing home today so I figured, why not, ya know? I already made the rice.” He’s back to stirring the stuff in the pan, a combination of beef and peppers and olives in a simmery sauce that makes Keith’s mouth water. It smells divine.

Keith hums in acknowledgement. He doesn’t exactly know what picadillo is, but it seems pointless to ask now that it’s already being made. He’ll eat pretty much anything though, and Lance’s cooking has yet to disappoint. He wonders if he should leave, unsure if he has anything to say, but Lance is already talking again.

“It’s not gonna be as good as my mom’s but it shouldn’t be too bad. She and my grandma taught me and my siblings how to cook for ourselves since we were like, thirteen. My grandpa wasn’t happy about Marco, Luís and I learning to cook.” Lance makes a face at Keith that says he finds the idea silly. “He’s kind of old and still sees it as, like, a woman’s job, but I’m glad we learned. Helps me feel closer to them.”

One thing Keith likes about Lance that he didn’t realize before, is how honest he is. He’s so open about his life and doesn’t seem to care about oversharing. It’s a foreign feeling to Keith, who admittedly has walls up that he’s not so willing to let down. Lance doesn’t seem to mind at all, offering up bits of himself without expecting anything back from Keith besides his company.

“It sounds like you miss them,” Keith says after a moment. Lance snickers.

“Yeah, I do. Mamí and a couple of my siblings are coming up to visit in November, but that seems far away.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

Lance turns off the stove and says offhandedly, “Five, not including my sister-in-law.”

Keith chokes on his capri sun. “Five?”

Lance thumps Keith on the back, probably too enthusiastically, but Keith’s eyes are watering too much to care. “Yeah.” He holds up a hand and starts counting them off. “My oldest brother, Marco, my older sister Veronica, my other brother Luís, my little brother Martín, and my little sister Elena. And my brother Marco is married, and his wife, Julia, is pretty much like another sister if you ask her.”

Keith is stunned. “H-how big is your family?” After years alone in the foster system, he can’t process having parents and a sibling, much less parents and five siblings. The closest he ever got were foster families, but Keith never really considered them a, well, family.

“It’s pretty big,” Lance grins. He motions for Keith to help himself, so Keith begins spooning the picadillo onto an offered plate without much thought. He’s too hung up on the idea of five siblings. What the fuck. “Like, I have a few aunts and uncles on both my parents’ sides, and a ton of cousins. Marco has two kids, so I also have a niece and a nephew. Also my grandparents. My mom’s parents live near us, but my dad’s parents are back in Cuba so we don’t see them much.”

“Jesus,” Keith mutters to himself. He almost misses Lance’s next statement.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s your family like?”

Keith tenses, unable to help himself. Lance doesn’t know, obviously, and it’s not like he had made the insinuation before. But he doesn’t like to talk about it, and risk seeing pity in people’s eyes. Especially Lance, who treats him so casually and talks about his family so easily. “Uh, it’s… it’s not that big.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, but tell me about them, dude. What’re your parents like?”

“My parents are dead.”

He doesn’t mean it to come out so bluntly, but he’s never been good at talking about this stuff. He backpedals a little. “I mean, my dad is. I never knew my mom. Never really knew what happened to her. So. Yeah.” He stares down at his plate of food, unwilling to see the pity in Lance’s eyes.

“Oh. Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to push you, man. That was insensitive of me.” Lance sounds regretful, which makes Keith look up. The other boy looks guilty, but he’s not looking at Keith in the pitying, ‘poor foster child, all alone’ way he’s come to recognize. He does, however, sound serious, which puts a sour taste in Keith’s mouth. Lance shouldn’t sound like that, it doesn’t suit him.

“It’s fine, honestly. I’m used to it. And, I mean, I have my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Uh, yeah. Shiro. He took me in, a few years after I was put in the system. Got me out of it, helped find my feet and stuff.” This is more than he’s ever told anyone before, but he finds himself explaining more, feeling the need to defend Shiro, make it clear that even if they aren’t blood related like Lance’s siblings are, that doesn’t make him any less to Keith. “He’s, I mean, he’s not my parent’s kid, but he did a lot for me and helped me while I was growing up, and I-- he’s--”

“--your brother.” Lance smiles at him, gentle and understanding, and Keith swallows. “Yeah, I get you, man. I’m glad you have him.”

“Uh. Thanks.” Keith suddenly feels overwhelmed, and shovels a spoonful of the now slightly cooled picadillo into his mouth. He pauses, humming a bit in appreciation. It is good.

“Like it? Mamí told me that the trick is to cook the peppers with a little of the sazón so they have a bit of the flavor before you add the meat. Also, I added…” Lance deftly changes the subject, explaining what’s in the picadillo, which Keith takes as an opportunity to ask questions. He feels grateful for the shift in conversation. Lance is clearly more perceptive than he’d originally given him credit for.

Shiro is perceptive too, though not in a way that Keith can admire. He waits, biding his time, buttering Keith up before striking. (Keith blames Adam for this.) Three weeks after his open conversation with Lance, Keith is working on a Civic, headphones in and singing softly to himself, a habit he picked up from Lance. He’s in a good mood for once, immersed in his work.

Someone kicks the foot he has sticking out from beneath the car, so Keith slides out only to see his brother standing over him with a grin. Keith sits up and pulls the headphones from his ears, draping them around his neck. “Hey, Shiro.”

“Hey, little bro,” Shiro says with a grin. “Ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“Kolivan graciously gave you the rest of the day off so you can have dinner with the best big brother in the whole universe.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. His boss and owner of the shop, Kolivan, is known for never letting his workers leave until the moment their shift is over. At Keith’s apparent perplexed expression, Shiro grins wider. “I asked nicely,” he says.

“What’s the occasion?” Keith asks cautiously.

Shiro straightens and huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You forgot about your birthday again, didn’t you?” He doesn’t sound surprised.

….oh. Right. That was a thing, in a few days. Keith nods, a little embarrassed. “Apparently.”

“The Planetarium is sending me on a trip the week of, so I thought I’d come by and take you to dinner to make up for it.”

Keith can’t help but smile. “Sounds good. Lemme find someone to finish this Civic, then I’ll wash up and meet you in reception.”

Shiro gives him a short two-fingered salute and walks toward the main office, probably to say hello to Kolivan and Ulaz.

It doesn’t take much to convince Antok to take over the Civic. The second Keith brings up Shiro, the other man is ushering him away and reassuring him he’ll take care of the job. Keith rolls his eyes. Everyone loves Shiro.

He scrubs as much of the grime off his hands as he can before changing out of his work clothes into something more comfortable. Shiro is chatting with Ulaz when Keith finds him in the reception room, but their conversation fades as Keith enters.

“Adam not coming?” Keith asks.

“Got called into work last minute, which sucks but he was on call anyway. Sends his love, but it’s just you and I tonight, buddy.” Shiro claps him on the shoulder with a grin. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we going?” Keith asks, waving goodbye to Ulaz as he and Shiro exit the shop and get into Shiro’s truck.

“Thought we might splurge and go to Oriande,” Shiro says, and Keith grins. Oriande is a sort of upscale restaurant built inside an old movie theater. It plays classic films while people eat steak or any of the other meticulously cooked meals. It’s one of Keith’s favorite restaurants, but it’s expensive so he and Shiro only go when there’s something to celebrate.

Shiro had planned this, apparently, because there’s a reservation waiting for them. They get seated at their favorite table on the balcony, where Keith has the perfect view of the film playing. The waiter comes by and takes their order. Shiro waits until Keith is halfway through his food to pounce.

“So, guess who I met earlier today.”

Keith looks up suspiciously from his dinner, eyeing his brother with a narrow-eyed gaze that would send shivers down the spine of any normal human being, which Shiro was not. “I swear to God, Shiro, if you try to set me up again…”

Shiro barks out a laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his prosthetic. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I know you. I know everyone you know, so when you say you met someone it’s probably someone’s gay best friend, and you know how I feel about that.”

Shiro shakes his head with a grin. “No, that’s not who it was at all. I dropped by your apartment to pick you up for dinner but you weren’t there…”

Oh. Keith lets out a deep sigh and sits back in his chair. “Lance.”

“Bingo!”

Honestly, Lance meeting his brother could have gone a number of ways, but judging by the shit-eating grin on Shiro’s face, it went the way Keith was dreading the most. He uses his ahi tuna as an excuse not to meet his brother’s suggestive glance. “What about him?”

“He’s cute.”

He considers denying it, but he isn’t blind, and Shiro isn’t stupid. So he shoots for a nonchalant, “And?”

“What’s going on between you?”

Keith almost chokes on his tuna. He spits it back out onto the plate, the back of his throat burning as he glares at his brother across the booth. “Shiro, what the fuck?”

Shiro shrugs innocently. “I’m just sayin’, kiddo. Guy’s cute, and seems like a nice kid. He got so excited when I told him your birthday was coming up. Kind of adorable, honestly.”

“Then you date him,” Keith grumbles. Shiro just raises an eyebrow. Keith rubs his thumb and forefingers together, his eyes flicking around the restaurant as if looking for an escape route. “Nothing’s going on between us, Shiro. We’re just roommates, that’s all.”

Keith really doesn’t want to open this can of worms right now. He’s still dealing with the idea that Lance is way more charming than he’d anticipated, breaking through even Keith’s walls , and coupling that with how good-looking the guy is… well. Trying to convince himself not to fall for a straight guy is a lot easier without his nosey brother wiggling his eyebrows like that.

“Are you sure?” Shiro presses. “Cause I think maybe he’s got a thing for you. He was more excited about your birthday than your last boyfriend.”

“He’s just like that,” Keith insists, and at least with this he isn’t lying. Lance is definitely the kind of guy to freak out about birthdays, no matter whose it is. “Besides, I doubt he’s going to actually end up doing anything. We barely know each other.”

Shiro huffs. “You’re a killjoy, you know that?”

“I prefer ‘realist’.”

That apparently sparks a memory for Shiro, who sits up and starts telling Keith about his new coworker, a short, weasley man with a penchant for talking about alternate realities and driving Shiro crazy. Keith snorts at his brother’s increasingly heated expressions, poking fun at just the right moments. “Whatever happened to ‘patience yields focus’?”

“If he refuses to lead another tour group because there’s x number of realities the Apollo 13 L.E.M replica will fall off its display and crush him to death, I’ll yield my foot up his-- oh, yes, we’ll take the check please.”

Shiro’s voice and expression does a complete 180 as the waitress approaches, and Keith doubles over with laughter, conversation about birthdays and roommates forgotten-- That is, until a few days later when Lance shatters his expectations by not only getting him a gift, but actually throwing him what basically constitutes as a tiny, four-person party in their kitchen.

Birthdays have really never mattered to Keith. Maybe it has to do with bouncing around from foster home to foster home for a good portion of his youth, but celebrating another year of his birth never really had much of an appeal; it didn’t help that most of his foster families never bothered to celebrate it. He’d gotten pretty good at forgetting his birthday even existed; it was a lot easier to temper disappointment at another forgotten birthday when you pretend it’s not actually a thing. Since he’d met Shiro, he’d grudgingly accepted birthday wishes and ‘gifts’ (which were usually something Keith was in need of anyway that Shiro bought with the insistence that it’s not a gift, that he bought it because Keith needed it).

So when Lance plops a package down in front of him that Monday after embarrassingly reminding him that today is, in fact, the day of his birth, Keith jumps through like twelve different reasons why he should not accept the present, no matter how cute Lance’s eager smile is.

He shouldn’t, by principle. Except then Lance gives him a little speech about why his birthday matters , blue eyes drilling into Keith’s, and Keith finds himself smiling despite himself. “No matter what happened to us over the past year, we still made it,” Lance says, sincerity in his tone, so earnest that Keith is rendered unable to argue. “And if we can do that, we can survive the next year too. Don’t you think that’s worth celebrating?”

And so like the weak man he is, Keith takes the gift. He blushes his way through the birthday song at the ‘party’ Lance had apparently organized earlier that day, Pidge and Hunk’s voices just as boisterous as Lance’s. When Lance meets his gaze across the birthday candles, he winks, and Keith bites back a flustered laugh. There’s a warm feeling spreading through his chest, as easing as it is unfamiliar.

In Keith’s defence, he isn’t really in the fashion trends. He doesn’t really know what constitutes as “hipster” or “emo” or whatever, but he can grudgingly admit Lance has good taste. Keith soon finds himself reaching instinctively for his new crop jacket every morning as the days get cooler, and he doesn’t miss the small grin Lance gets on his face every time he sees Keith wearing it. God, this boy is gonna be the death of him.

“Keeeeeeeeeith.” Lance prances through the front door one Saturday afternoon, plastic bags tucked into the crook of his elbow, dressed in one of his ‘fuckboy’ tank tops (as Keith has affectionately taken to calling them) with the sleeves cut low down his sides so Keith has a clear view of Lance’s lovely torso. Keith wills his eyes to stay up at Lance’s face, telling himself that the heat building in his gut was just the warmth of the quilt bunched in his lap.

“Laaaaaaaaaance,” Keith says, mimicking Lance’s tone in a way that is supposed to be sarcastic but Lance obviously takes as positive reinforcement for whatever he has in mind.

“Okay, hear me out on this,” Lance says, plopping down beside Keith on the couch and dumping his shopping bags at his feet. “So I was just at Ulta, right?”

“Ulta?”

“Makeup, skincare products, you know.”

“Not really, no.”

“So Ulta had this special going on,” Lance continues excitedly, and begins ruffling through his bags. “New face masks from this Korean company, cause everyone knows Korea owns the skincare industry, that are supposed to do absolute wonders on even the biggest pores.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I already know that I have, like, super good skin so how am I gonna be able to tell if this stuff actually works if my skin is already shinier than a polished diamond?”

Keith is starting to see where this is going, and he’s not liking it. “Lance… if you think…”

“So I was thinking that you would try this stuff with me?” Lance asks hurriedly, pulling out the facial masks and holding them up on either side of his face as he turns to pout in Keith’s direction, jutting out his bottom lip and turning up his eyebrows in the most pathetic looking puppy dog eyes Keith has ever seen.

Keith’s resolve is crumbling just looking at him, so he turns back to his laptop. “No thanks.”

“But whyyyyyyyyyyy???”

“I like my skin the way it is, thanks.”

“Keith, my buddy, my dude, your skin is atrocious. Your pores are so blackened Anish Kapoor took out exclusive artistic license on them. They need serious attention.”

Keith frowns. He doesn’t know who Anish Kapoor is. “I feel like I should be offended.”

Lance grabs his arm, fingers tightening around Keith’s bicep, and he jostles Keith slightly. “Then come do them with me! We’ll get your pores in shape in no time. Think of it as… a sort of bonding moment.”

That finally gets his attention. He turns his face back towards Lance, whose pout has only grown deeper, eyes glittering almost seductively. Fuuuuuck, what is he even doing. If anyone else had even brought up the subject of skin care, Keith would already be out the door. But something keeps him rooted to the couch, listening to Lance talk about bonding as friends and roommates and the like while he has some sort of… existential crisis.

First, that Lance may be the first person in his life, besides Shiro, that actually bothers to invite him to do things together. Everyone else just steers clear of him, speaks to him when spoken to, or only talks to him long enough to get in his pants. Lance is the only one who genuinely seems interested in being his friend.

And second, that Keith might actually have a very gay crush on his very straight roommate.

He is so screwed.

Keith sighs. “Just this once.”

The look on Lance’s face is enough to make it worth it. Lance leaps from the couch and drags Keith into the bathroom, Keith staring at their interlocked hands and wondering what god he had pissed off to land himself in such a shitty situation.

“Okay, so it’s, like, infused with extract from this plant in South Asia that supposedly really good at gently extracting impurities and softening your skin, and…”

Lance starts babbling on about skin types and toning properties, which sounds more like gibberish to Keith than the quantum mechanics course he’s taking this semester. It at least allows Keith to collect himself a little more, just in time for Lance to drag him down to sit on the bathroom floor, close enough so Keith can count the faint freckles that decorate Lance’s nose.

Lance finally drops Keith’s hand and begins to scramble around the floor, poking into the cabinet under the sink and frowning as though he’s looking for something. “Gotta get something to pin that hair back,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, but Keith’s hand shoots to his hair in the way it always does when Lance brings it up.

“What, no mullet joke?”

“Aha! So you’re admitting you have a mullet?”

“I’m admitting you have a weird fixation with my hair. It’s not a mullet.”

With a noise of triumph, Lance holds up a red hair clip (why does he even have that?) and shuffles forward so he’s sitting on his knees in front of Keith. Jesus. “Can I?” He brandishes the clip towards Keith’s bangs. Keith debates taking the clip from his hand and insisting he can do it himself, but he’s weak and gay , and instead he just grunts a little, not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Which is probably a mistake. Lance gently pins his bangs back, Keith almost hyper-aware of Lance’s fingers sweeping the strands away from his face. “I don’t think I’ve seen your forehead before, man.” Lance mumbles. It takes every ounce of Keith's self control to keep the blush away. Fortunately Lance is already moving away, digging through his shopping bags. “Okay so first you need to wash your face and use this .” He holds out a sleek looking bottle, which Keith takes without protest.

He follows Lance's instruction obediently, prepping for the actual face mask with the gazillion other things Lance does before it. He can’t imagine having the patience to do all this, and says as much. Clear skin isn’t worth it.

This of course spawns another lecture about the importance of skincare that Keith only half-listens to. It's easy to relax with Lance chatting beside him; only vaguely does Keith wonder when Lance’s voice became more comforting as the casual silences he used to enjoy.

With Lance’s fingers lightly smearing the cool mask onto Keith’s cheekbones, Keith is lulled into a state of mind-numbing tranquility. The banter between them flows easily, of course, but he barely has to think about it.

That’s exactly the problem.

Lance brushes the mask across his forehead, a small grin on his face as he continues their back-and-forth. “By your logic, I’d be the gay one in this relationship.”

And Keith stupidly responds, “Don’t tease me like that, Lance.”

The words are out before he can take them back, and the shock of it jolts him into the moment like he was hit by a defibrillator. Fuck. What is he doing ? He grins at Lance, praying desperately the other boy will take it as a joke, but he feels ice in his veins. This is it. He’s going to scare Lance away, the way he always scared away straight boys who thought he was flirting with them. Lance was going to pull back and look at him uncomfortably, distance himself, and the comfortable energy between them will fall away to awkward stilted moments, and Keith will have to apologize then tiptoe around Lance until he forgets it ever happened, and it’ll be awful and lonely and--

“But teasing is the best part.” Lance’s words, armed to kill, rocket through him like an adrenaline shot. He blinks, opens his mouth to respond, and then. And then . Lance. Fucking. Winks .

A startled laugh slips out of Keith before he can help himself. Did Lance really just…?

There’s no moment to pause because Lance is talking again, of course, about this girl he met in his gen ed who caught his eye, and how he’s hoping this new mask will work because he really wants to impress her. Keith responds when necessary, but remains deep in thought.

Lance gets a little more tactile after what Keith likes to call their “bonding moment,” because as much as he admits that he didn’t think he and Lance would ever be friends, here he is letting Lance throw an arm around his shoulders as he leans over Keith’s shoulder at the take out menu he’s got in his hands.

Almost experimentally, Keith starts throwing flirtatious lines into their banter. Lance doesn’t flinch away, instead joking and flirting back like it’s normal. Part of Keith wonders if maybe it means something, anything like what he might be hoping for. He wants to stop himself from getting his hopes up-- Lance has only talked about girls when it comes to romantic interests-- but he handled Keith’s sexuality and flirtations better than any straight guy he knows. It has to be something, right?

He should know better by this point.

Lance comes home one day with a phone number and loud shouts of triumph. He finally got her number, the girl from his gen ed. They’d hooked up in the stacks after the group study session, and she’d given it to him with the promise of “more where that came from.” Lance waves the open contact around and Keith forces himself to grin and congratulate him, even as his fist clenches and his thumb begins rubbing against his finger.

The girl, Nyma, starts appearing around the apartment more and more often. She’s pretty, Keith supposes, but that’s not really his expertise. Keith tries to stay out of the way. It’s not his business what she and Lance get up to. But, even as he avoids Nyma and the idea of Lance and her… getting it on, so to speak, he can’t stop himself from flirting with Lance, and savoring the rush of warmth when he flirts back. And if Keith starts unconsciously finding excuses for Lance to touch him....

It’s one of the rare nights Keith is home alone. Lance has a departmental event tonight, leaving Keith alone in the house to do whatever he wants. The only problem is, Keith can’t remember what he used to do in his apartment by himself. Lance has become such an integral part of his life that he can’t seem to remember what it was like before him. So Keith sits on the couch and stares blankly at the wall, not really sure what to do with himself.

He glances at the clock; it’s almost one in the morning now, what is taking him so long…?

Lance chooses that moment to slide his key into the door lock with an audible click. Keith panics for a hot second -- he doesn’t want Lance to know he’d been waiting up for him, he would never let him live it down. In the seconds it takes for Lance to jiggle the key and open the door, Keith scrambles for one of his textbooks on the coffee table and opens it to a random page, letting it fall on his chest before closing his eyes and relaxing his head against the armrest, giving the impression he had fallen asleep while studying. He evens out his breath even as his heart pounds against his ribcage.

The door opens, and Keith can hear Lance quietly humming over the various noises of jacket and shoe removal. The humming stops quickly though, and Keith wonders if Lance had suddenly noticed him. The apartment is quiet, eerily quiet without the humming, and Keith suddenly wishes he would resume.

Rustling. Then suddenly the textbook is being gently removed from his chest, the warmth of Lance’s fingers brushing against his own making Keith involuntarily jerk. Lance freezes, probably afraid he had awoken, but Keith keeps his eyes closed because he really doesn’t know if he can handle Lance standing over him like that. Lance slowly finishes taking the textbook away, setting it with a dull thud back on the coffee table. Then Keith’s body is draped in a heavy blanket, Lance taking extra care to tuck the edges so that it doesn’t slip off.

Keith’s body is warm, and it has nothing to do with the blanket. (He starts pretending to be asleep more often.) 

When Lance mentioned near the beginning of their cohabitation that his family would coming to visit for a day or two in late November, Keith didn’t think much of it. He figured at most it would be parents and maybe a sibling, and Keith could easily get out of the house and let them do their thing. But he comes home from class one afternoon, having totally forgotten that it was the weekend of the visit, to screaming children and rapid Spanish. Lance gives him an apologetic smile, but is soon brushed aside so Lance’s mother -- a short woman with Lance’s brown hair and clear blue eyes -- can grip his arm in a firm handshake.

The screaming kids, whose names Keith learns are Ricky and Alex, are the children of Lance’s older brother Marco, who makes an appearance along with his wife Julia right around the time Keith, Lance, and Mrs. McClain finish cooking enough food to feed an entire army. They all crowd around Lance and Keith’s tiny dinner table, indulging in Mrs. McClain’s fantastic cooking.

Mrs. McClain is a livewire, chattering away in Spanish at first but switching to English so Keith can participate. Her eye-crinkling smile never once fades from her face, and more than once she directs that smile at Keith. Every time she does, Keith’s chest aches. Just knowing that a mother could look at him like that, with such warmth in her eyes, makes him happy. She starts calling him mijo after a while, and when Lance explains that she’s calling him her son, he can’t stop smiling, even as his skin turns pink with embarrassment. 

Keith’s emotions are getting out of hand.

Even when visiting his brother, Keith can’t get Lance out of his head. Adam gives Shiro a kiss on the cheek as he hands him a cup of decaf coffee. Shiro flushes at bit at his fiance’s touch, and Keith can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy course through him. His mind unhelpfully conjures an image of himself and Lance in that very same scenario, and he has to physically smack himself to get the unrealistic daydream from his imagination.

Unfortunately, the sound draws the attention of Adam, who sidles over with one eyebrow raised over his dark-rimmed glasses. “Keith? You alright?”

Keith nods, examining his fingernails. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“No he’s not,” Shiro rats him out, coming to sit on the couch. Adam sits next to him. “He sometimes smacks himself to make him stop thinking about something.”

Adam’s mouth curls into a small smirk. “Boy troubles?” Keith feels his face turn red. Adam clicks his tongue in victory, leaning forward on his knees. “Do tell.”

Keith sighs. He gets the feeling that Adam’s not going to let this go, and Shiro - that traitor - is trying and failing to look disinterested. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose and finally says it for the first time out loud. “I like Lance.”

Neither of them seem particularly surprised at the admission, which is kind of annoying. He spends the next few minutes letting out all the pent up emotion he’s bottled ever since his birthday. Lance has just made a nest in the forefront of Keith’s mind and absolutely refuses to move. His blinding smile, loud laugh, almond skin and brown hair that Keith just knows is soft to the touch. Why, Keith bemoans, are all the hot guys straight.

“Or taken,” Adam jokes, and Shiro elbows him in the side.

“I stand by what I said when I first met him,” Shiro says, ignoring Adam’s pout. “I think he’s into you.”

“He’s so straight, Shiro. He’s got this girl, Nyma, that he brings over at least once a week. If she’s his type then what kind of chance in hell do I have?”

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous!?” Keith scoffs. “No, definitely not.”

“If you say so,” Adam sing-songs.

“Well, whether you’re jealous or not,” Shiro says, adopting his big brother voice. “‘He cares about you, Keith. If you’re this worried, you should try to get over him.”

Get over him, Shiro said. How in the fuck is Keith supposed to do that ? He lives with the guy, sees him almost everyday, smells his body wash in the bathroom, hears his humming in the morning, tastes his cooking. Feels his fingers against his face because that’s the only reason Keith still agrees to face masks.

So maybe… what he needs is someone else. Someone else to fill his senses, if only for a short while. And maybe, just maybe, Lance will go back to being just a roommate, and Keith can go back to being his friend.

So for the first time since getting a job at the auto body shop, Keith agrees to go out for drinks with his coworkers to a local bar. Almost immediately, a guy across the room catches his attention. Average height, blonde hair, green eyes and holding what looks like a vodka tonic. The polar opposite of Lance. The next morning, said guy, whose name Keith hadn’t even asked for, is sleeping shirtless in Keith’s bed. Keith’s body aches in all the right places; it really had been a while since he’d taken anyone home, and for the first time in a while, Lance doesn’t enter his thoughts all morning. Yeah. This will be good for him.

Lance should still be sleeping, having worked late last night, but to Keith’s surprise he’s awake and munching on a bowl of cereal when Keith awkwardly shows Blonde Guy to the door. Lance raises an eyebrow at Keith, shooting him a knowing smirk. Keith flips him the bird and hops in the shower.

The shower smells like Lance.

So Keith goes out again. And again. And again. Temporary solutions to what he hopes is a temporary problem.

It’s a couple months into Keith’s self-prescribed dose of dick, and he can’t help but notice that something is off about Lance. He’s been acting strange. He’s almost the same old Lance, but Keith can just tell something is wrong. Lance won’t meet his eyes sometimes, or his smile doesn’t spread all the way to his ears. Nyma hasn’t been over in a while, either.

When Keith brings it up, Lance laughs it off until Keith stares him down long enough for him break. “Things just haven’t been going all that great with Nyma, that’s all,” Lance says heavily. “I think I’m gonna call it off.”

Okay, maybe Keith shouldn’t be as happy as he is to hear that news. And yet when Lance comes home a few days later with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and a Redbox movie, Keith can’t help but set off a few celebratory fireworks inside his head, while externally consoling Lance and helping finish the ice cream.

Though Lance ends things with Nyma, Keith continues bringing guys home. Not as many as before, but it’s become something of a coping mechanism. Lance hides behind his arm during a scary movie, pretending all the while that he’s only there so Keith isn’t afraid? Keith heads to a gay bar and finds himself the biggest bear he can find just to get the feeling of Lance’s slim fingers around his bicep out of his mind. Back and forth, like clockwork.

Lance isn’t usually around when the guys are home-- Keith makes sure of that-- but the occasional times they run into him as Keith is walking a guy to the door or dragging him towards the bedrooms, Keith eyes him carefully. What he’s looking for, he doesn’t know. Sometimes Lance is a little cold to the guys, which Keith finds odd, but each time Keith is filled with a hope he doesn’t dare let himself believe in.

When summer rolls around, Lance invites him to Miami, but Keith decides to stick around town and get in some hours at the shop. Lance seems disappointed, which makes Keith’s pulse stutter, but he figures some time away from Lance will only help his poor pining heart.

He is so very wrong.

By day two, the apartment feels bigger and emptier than it’s ever been. He’d considered subletting Lance’s room to someone, with Lance’s permission, but the very idea seems wrong. He doesn’t want anyone else in Lance’s space, he just wants Lance . Lance himself facetimes Keith the very day he arrives at home, and hearing his voice, even over the tiny computer speakers, makes him feel warm.

“-- so I figure I can work in the mornings when it’s less busy, and then spend the afternoons at the beach.”

Lance is leaning back in his chair and tossing a baseball up and down as he talks, giving Keith a wonderful view of his jawline. The fact that Keith is staring at him as though he hasn’t seen him in months when it’s only been a day, is ridiculously embarrassing. Shiro would never let him hear the end of it.

“What beach do you work at?”

“Pompano. It’s pretty close to where I live. I’ve been lifeguarding there since I was like… sixteen.”

 Keith forcefully shoves the imagery of Lance slo-mo running out of the surf, surfboard under one arm and glistening in the sunlight like a character from Baywatch, out of his mind. “That’s pretty cool.”

 "Yeah it’s really nice there! I’ll send you snapchats, even though you barely ever answer them--”

“Leandro!”

The distant voice from Lance’s end cuts him off and he sits up, glancing over his shoulder. “ Un momento, Mamí! Estoy hablando con Keith!”

Keith cocks his head as Lance turns his head back to him. “What did your mom just call you?”

Lance turns pink and his hand comes up to run through his hair. “Oh, yeah, you don’t know. Lance is actually just a nickname. My brother gave it to me when I started school here.”

Well, this is new information. “Wait, seriously?”

Lance laughs a little at Keith’s shocked expression. “Yeah. My real name is Leandro.” He pronounces it like “Leh-ahn-droh”, the vowels short, rolling the r in a way that makes the name gracefully slide off his tongue. “A lot of people couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pronounce it when I was growing up, and it just got easier to tell them to call me Lance. And to just go by McClain. So that’s what I use. But my real name...” He sits up as if he’s sharing a great secret. “...is Leandro Anton McClain-Acosta. Acosta is my mom’s maiden name.”

“It suits you,” Keith says honestly. Lance’s answering smile is resplendent. “I get you though. I never tell people my middle name is Akira because they always ask me if I’m named after the movie.”

“...are you though?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Lance cracks up and Keith tries to hide his smile. They’re interrupted by another shout. “Leandro Anton!”

Lance rolls his eyes and gives Keith a look as if to say, “see?” then groans and heaves himself to his feet, reaching his arms over his head a stretch so that a sliver of skin is exposed right above the waistband of his shorts. Keith pointedly looks at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Alright, buddy, gotta go handle the chaos. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure thing. Talk to you later,” he grins at the screen, “ Leandro .” Lance flushes.

“Yeah, yeah. See ya, Akira .” He sticks his tongue out as Keith laughs, then the call drops.

Keith sits back, the goofy smile still on his face. He catches himself after a minute and sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. Fuck.

It just gets worse . Keith always thought the ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ spiel was bullshit, but with every picture from Lance, every FaceTime call, he feels himself falling even harder. By the end of the summer, he’s about to rip his hair out from an unpleasant mixture of frustration and loneliness.

When Lance comes home in August, glowing and tanned and grinning at him as he pulls Keith into a hug, Keith’s entire being collapses into a puddle. Looks like Operation: Keith’s Love Life Sucks, Alexa Play Despacito is back on. 

Keith blinks away from his phone when he hears a knock against the break room door. It’s Thace, one of the shop managers, half leaning into the room with one fist poised over the door. “Hm?”

“It’s my break time but we just got a walk in…” The awkward smile Thace flashes him makes Keith roll his eyes and lurch to his feet.

“Alright, just stop with the face.”

“But this is just my face.”

“Exactly.”

Thace shoves him playfully as Keith passes, and Keith gives him the finger until his boss’s chuckle dies behind the now closed break room door. If Kolivan had been working today there’s no way he would have gotten away with that move, but Thace is “hip with kids” as he likes to put it. Keith rolls his shoulders and stretches, getting his mindset back into work mode before pushing open the door into the reception room.

“Hi, I’m Keith, what can I do for… you…”

Keith’s sentence stutters to a halt as the walk-in, who had been admiring the photo of Thace, Ulaz, and Kolivan in front of the auto body shop on the day of its grand opening, turns. He’s tall… probably as tall as Lance. Sandy hair pokes out of a burgundy beanie, falling across a sharp nose and slightly drooping eyes. The skater boy vibe is topped off with an open vest and low cut v-neck t-shirt, a glimpse of a tattoo on his bicep. Not bad at all .

“Hey, uh… name’s Rolo. I just need to get my engine looked at, something’s up with it.”

Keith snaps himself back to business, coughing. “Sure, yeah. Uh, let’s take a look.”

Rolo leads the way out of the reception and into the parking area, where an old 1985 station wagon is sitting innocently in the parking lot. Keith pops the hood and pokes around inside the engine while Rolo stands over his shoulder and explains in a slight monotone about how the car had been acting up a bit over the last week and how he finally got a long enough lunch shift to get the car in for a look.

Keith is almost hyper-aware of Rolo behind him, and tries not to imagine how differently this positioning could occur, instead focusing on diagnosing the issue, which turns out to be easier than he thought. He steps away from the engine and wipes his fingers on his rag, focusing on his words so his mind wouldn’t wander off.

“The car is probably leaking some oil or transmission fluid, so you probably just need to get your valves replaced.”

“Wow, really?” Rolo laughs light-heartedly, rubbing the back of his neck. Keith tries and fails to avoid looking at the way the tattoo rolls with the flexing of his muscle. “That’s it? Damn, you’re smart, there’s no way I’d have been able to figure that out myself.”

Keith flushes at the praise. “It won’t take longer than a couple hours, if you want to stick around?”

Rolo shrugs, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “I gotta get to work soon, but if we exchange numbers you can just text me when it’s done?”

“Oh sure, sounds good.”

It doesn’t occur to Keith until he’s elbow-deep in engine grease that he’d been played. Keith groans into his elbow. Damn, that was smooth. Rolo could just as easily have called the garage, but instead he’d gotten his phone number without even trying, and Keith had just played his game. Well, if living with Lance had taught him anything, it’s that a game is meant for two players.

Keith wipes his hands and digs his phone from his pocket. It’s only been a couple hours since Rolo left, so it wasn’t technically too early to text him right? He’s pretty much finished work on the car, and Lance had work until two am tonight, so… 

Keith (17:46): Hey, it’s Keith, from Marmora Auto Body?
Rolo (17:50): Keith, my man. How’s my baby?
Keith (17:50): She’s looking good, should be finished in the next couple of minutes. I actually had a question…
Rolo (17:53): Anything for my new fave mechanic
Keith (17:54): My coworker gave me a lift to work today but I think he forgot and left early
Keith (17:54): This is my last job for the night, so if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride home?

Keith casts out the bait, fishing for what he hoped Rolo was implying. It was true, Thace had given him a ride this morning, but he should be working on invoices in the office right now, though Rolo didn’t need to know that.

Rolo (18:02): I gotchu bro. I’ll be over there in fifteen
Keith (18:06): Thx

Keith flies into the office, scaring Thace so much that several invoices flutter to the floor around his feet. “Keith, what the hell is going on, is there a fire?”

“I need you to move your car around the back and pretend you’re not here.”

“Say what now?”

“Just do it, please.” Keith knows he probably looks crazy, but sue him, he hasn’t mindlessly hooked up with a cute guy in a while and he’s not turning down the opportunity now. Thace raises an eyebrow but does as he’s asked. He really is a great boss, endless teasing aside.

True to his word, Rolo arrives fifteen minutes later, waving to his Uber as he greets Keith in the reception area. Instead of his outfit from earlier, he’s now wearing a basic pale lavender polo with the logo for some company Keith doesn’t recognize on his chest. Keith glances towards the darkened window of the office, where Thace is probably muttering to himself as he finishes invoicing by cell phone flashlight.

“Hey, Keith,” Rolo says, raising a hand in greeting. “Where’s my baby?”

“Through here.” Keith inclines his head. Rolo inspects his station wagon with a loving hand, folding his entire upper body across the hood as he strokes the chipped paint. Keith can’t help but laugh a little bit as the other man fawns over his car. Rolo gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, grinning and whooping when the engine purrs to life.

“Damn, Keith, you really know how to use your hands.”

Keith sputters at the Lance-level of cheesy line. No accompanying wink follows, just a laid back smile, but it works all the same. He can feel the back of his neck heating up slightly.

“You still need a ride?” Rolo asks.

“Oh, yeah. Lemme just finish locking up.”

Keith heads back into reception while Rolo pulls his wagon around front. Keith goes through the motions of closing up, even though he knows Thace is still inside and can go through the details later. Keith slips into the worn leather of the passenger seat and inputs the apartment address into Rolo’s phone.

The ride back to the apartment is casual, the conversation between Keith and Rolo flowing but not really interesting. It seemed the only thing Rolo really had going for him was his lean body, which is alright by Keith. That’s all he really wants him for anyway.

Rolo pulls up outside the apartment complex, parking just outside the staircase that leads up to Keith and Lance’s apartment. Keith hops out of the car and crosses in front of the hood, leaning down to cross his arms on the door where Rolo had rolled down the window, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Thanks for the ride.”

Rolo is giving him a look that implies he’s picking up what Keith’s putting down. “No problem, dude.”

“Lemme make it up to you. Come in for a drink?”

Rolo flashes him a lopsided smile. “How can I say no to that face?”

Turns out, Rolo is a good kisser. He knows just where to put his tongue, knows just how to move against Keith and leave him hungry for more. His lips are chapped, but that’s nothing Keith can’t handle. Rolo moves from Keith’s mouth down his jaw and against his neck, sucking on a spot that makes Keith’s whole body twitch. He suddenly detaches himself from Keith’s throat, but instead of making his way back up to his mouth like Keith wants, he coughs. Keith makes a noise of disapproval when Rolo doesn’t continue his ministrations, cracking open his eyes to try and lure him back in with a look. But Rolo is looking at something across the room, so Keith follows his gaze and the noise dies a horrible, bloody death in his throat.

Lance stands in the doorway, still in his work uniform, jacket half-off his shoulder like he’d been in the process of taking it off. His expression… a feeling of dread makes itself comfortable in Keith’s gut. It’s a look he recognizes but has never seen on Lance before; it’s like he stepped in dog shit barefoot and the smell is disgusting. That’s what it is. Disgust.

As soon as he notices Keith looking at him, Lance coughs and tries to look more embarrassed, but it’s too late. Keith saw his disgust.

Rolo stands up from the couch, giving Keith room to resituate himself. He tries to introduce himself to Lance, but Lance doesn’t move or speak, just eyeing Rolo up and down with a judgemental eye.

“Sorry, Lance.” Keith stands too, determined to gain control of himself-- of the situation-- again. “Thought you wouldn’t be back for another few hours.”

“They let me leave work early,” Lance explains, but he still won’t look at Keith. The frustration starts to rise as Lance’s body language remains tense, like he’s itching for a fight. Rolo must sense it too, because he decides to leave soon after.

“I guess I’ll… um. Get going, then?”

Keith swallows. That’s probably the smart thing to do. The mood is dead anyways. “I’ll text you.”

Rolo nods, giving Keith a brief look of unease, then turns back to Lance. “Sorry again, Lance. It was nice to meet you.”

Lance’s voice is cold, and he doesn’t sound like himself when he speaks next. “Just fucking leave already.”

Rolo looks taken aback, but Keith’s frustration just morphs into downright fury. Who the fuck does Lance think he is?

Keith whirls on him as soon as Rolo is gone. He feels like he’s on the verge of snapping, and he’s itching for some sort of explanation because he can’t understand what the hell is going on, what the hell has gotten into Lance. “What the fuck is your problem, Lance? Why are you being such an asshole?”

Lance tries to deny it, still not meeting his eyes, but Keith’s not having it. “Do you have a problem with me sleeping with guys?”

“What the fuck, no!”

Keith finds that hard to believe. He saw the disgust on Lance’s face. He’s seen it before, and it hurts so much to see it from his roommate - his friend - that he clenches his fists, channeling that pain into outrage. “ Then what the fuck is your problem? ”

The fight escalates from there. Most of it is a rage-fueled blur. Lance yells something about breaking up with Nyma while Keith still brings guys over (Keith doesn’t know what that has to do with anything). Keith then accuses Lance of being weird around them, so Lance fires back something about fuckboys, and Keith retaliates by calling him a dick.

And then. And then. Lance says he had a bad day. “I don’t care who you sleep with just keep it off the fucking couch. I don’t want to think about that shit when I’m watching Project Runway.”

Keith feels his entire being tense. He’s shaking, barely managing not to throw himself across the room and punch Lance in the face. Lance’s face twists, a look of guilt appearing for a moment, maybe realizing he’d gone too far, but Keith doesn’t care. He tries to even his breathing, but the adrenaline is coursing through his veins, and he just needs to get out. He grabs a coat off the hook, shoving past Lance toward the door. “I’m going to Rolo’s.”

“Whatever,” Lance says.

Keith is halfway out the door when his stupid petty self pauses for one last dig . “And you wouldn’t care if I slept with him as long as I do it as his place and not ours, right.”

Lance gets the last word, though. “It’s none of my business what you do at someone else’s place.”

Keith slams the door and takes the stairs two at a time, his whole body buzzing, blood like fire beneath his skin. He shoves his helmet on his head and kicks his motorcycle to life, roaring out of the parking lot.

Keith doesn’t go to Rolo’s.

Instead he texts Shiro and meets him at his favorite bar. Shiro shows up when Keith is already four or five drinks in, and it’s starting to show. Keith was never the most heavyweight of drinkers, so even at two drinks he’s already buzzed.

Shiro sighs and slides into the barstool beside him, flagging down the bartender for a glass of water for Keith and a beer for himself.

Keith’s head is collapsed cheek-first on the sticky bar counter, his face turned away from Shiro. He pushes the water glass away from him when it’s placed in front of his eyes. “I want to feel this in the morning,” he mumbles.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder to get his attention. Keith groans and turns his face over so he can see the sympathetic look on his brother’s face.

“Are you gonna tell me what this is all about?” Shiro asks gently.

Keith closes his eyes. “Lance.”

“Ah.” The sound is short but understanding. “What happened?”

Keith slowly sits up properly, head dangling against his chest. “Dude came into the shop today. Suave, good looking, nice ass. Brought him home.” Keith relays the story, his words gradually growing more forceful and angry as he remembers the initial look of disgust on Lance’s face when he walked through the front door, his dismissal of Rolo. Just fucking leave already.

“Who the fuck says that!?” Keith screeches, his hands flailing as if that would help him comprehend Lance’s attitude. A few other patrons look at him, but turn away when Keith gives them a sharp glare. He takes a gulp from the whiskey sour he’d been halfway through when Shiro arrived. “Rolo was nothing but polite to him and he doesn’t even shake his hand?? Tells him to get the fuck out? And then has the gall to blame it on a bad day ?”

Keith’s fist clenches. His hurt is transforming to anger, which is good. Anger he can deal with. The pain in his chest at Lance’s words and the revulsion on his face is much less familiar. “He’s been acting so weird lately. Not even lately, it’s been going on for a while and I have absolutely no idea what his deal is.”

Shiro hasn’t said anything yet, though Keith wishes he would. He’s building up steam now, distress and anger and alcohol swirling in his system like a tempest. He’ll find himself saying something he’ll regret, if he doesn’t stop soon.

“I don’t fucking get it, Shiro. He had Nyma. She was over all the fucking time. And suddenly he break things off with her and then I’m not allowed to have guys over? What the fuck is up with that?” He scoffs a humorless laugh, but then a thought occurs to him.

Keith whirls on Shiro. “This is your fault. ‘He cares about you, Keith. If you’re this worried, you should try to get over him.’ Well look how that turned out!” Keith doesn’t realize he’s starting to cry until his throat starts to ache and his eyes start to burn. “He couldn’t even look at me when I left. He says he doesn’t have a problem with me, but I can’t think of any other explanation. He hates me, he’s definitely not into me, and now here I am again. This is why I don’t open myself up to people. Because eventually they all end up hating me.”

Shiro has remained throughout his tirade, listening with a sort of melancholy silence that only older brothers seem to exhibit, though he looks a little hurt when Keith starts blaming him, which sends a small stab of regret through Keith’s chest. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you though?” Keith growls, slumping forward until his forehead presses against the bar.

“Of course I am, Keith,” Shiro says firmly. “I’m sorry that Lance said those things, I’m sorry you had your fight. Now you have to go home and make up with him.”

“He’s the one who fucked up, Shiro,” Keith mumbles. “Why should I be the one to apologize?”

“I didn’t say you should apologize,” Shiro clarifies. “I said you should make up. While apologizing does ‘end’ the fight, so to speak, if you two don’t discuss your feelings about what led up to the fight then an apology is just gonna be empty words.” Shiro rests his hand firmly on Keith’s back, rubbing softly in the way he used to when a twelve-year-old Keith would cry in the middle of the night. “I’m not saying how he behaved was okay. But maybe there’s something missing from the conversation. That doesn’t sound like the Lance I met. Or the Lance you know. Does it?”

Keith sighs, the warmth of Shiro’s hand-- his real one-- against his back slowly easing the tension from his shoulders until he’s a shapeless lump in his chair. “No.” It doesn’t. Lance was always unwaveringly kind, no matter what. Even through his teasing and jokes, he never crossed a line. The idea that Lance would suddenly hate him for being gay, after a year of friendship and living together, doesn’t make sense. He knows this. But their argument replays in his head again and again, and he can’t think of anything else it could be.

“The longer you wait, the longer it’s gonna take to fix your relationship.”

He doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore. His head is swimming, the exhaustion from the day is catching up to him. He only vaguely remembers Shiro paying their tab and then hefting Keith’s limp body onto his back, being placed in Shiro’s car, sinking into a mattress, mind full of blue, blue eyes.

He gets his wish the next morning; his mouth is dry like it’s stuffed with cotton, and a light pulse throbs against his skull. Keith groans, rolling over onto his back. The light is off, but sunlight is streaming through the curtains of what he recognizes as Shiro’s bedroom. On the bedside table is a glass of water, an Advil, and a handwritten note.

Keith

Had to go to work. Take the advil and promise you’ll head home and talk to Lance. Patience yields focus.

--Shiro

A glance at the clock tells Keith it’s just past noon. Keith pops the advil gratefully, swinging his legs off the bed and chugging the glass in an effort to rehydrate his body. Keith rests his elbows on his thighs and drops his head into his palms, digging his fingers into his bangs and tugging at the slightly greasy strands. The memories from the evening before slowly begin filtering back into the forefront of his mind, and he groans deeply.

Today will not be pleasant.

Adam is in the living room when Keith stumbles in, hunched over a muffin and a cup of coffee. He looks up when Keith makes his presence known, giving him a kind, lopsided smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says.

“Hey, Adam,” Keith yawns, smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth to try and get rid of the cotton balls. “Off today?”

“Yeah,” he says, and gets up to get Keith a glass of water, which Keith accepts gratefully. Adam is silent for a moment before continuing, “Shiro told me about what happened.”

Keith groans. “Of course he did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I just need to go home and take a shower.”

Adam doesn’t push, and Keith is grateful for it. He offers Keith a bagel, which Keith accepts after a brief moment of hesitation. When Keith is done, Adam grabs his car keys and drives him back to his and Lance’s apartment. The space is quiet. Normally he and Lance would be on campus right now, in class or in the library. It’s almost odd being in the apartment at this hour, but Keith is relieved that Lance isn’t home. He fills the time by showering and flipping through the Netflix account Lance had made for him, but nothing catches his eye.

When Lance finally does come home, Keith meets his eyes from across the room. Lance looks exhausted; bags under his eyes and a significant downturn of his mouth. The look is unprecedented, and Keith almost feels bad for the whole fight. But it wasn’t his fault, he’s adamant about that, so he can’t bring himself to do anything more than raise his hand in a casual greeting, hoping that this will somehow be the first step to fixing whatever was going on.

Lance doesn’t immediately return the gesture, which is the most telling of his apparent unwillingness to converse. Keith hides his disappointment. Lance was the one who blundered; he should be the one to reach out to Keith first.

“Where did you go?” Lance asks finally. His tone comes out almost accusatory, and Keith feels himself getting a little petty.

“Rolo’s. Then Shiro’s.”

Which, okay, isn’t quite true, but it also isn’t technically a lie. He did go to Shiro’s, after all. But the look on Lance’s face when he mentions Rolo’s name makes his stupid petty heart skip a beat.

Lance retreats to his room, and Keith goes back to watching his show. He can wait for Lance’s apology. Patience yields focus, after all. 

The next few days, to be perfectly honest, suck . And not in the fun way.

Keith feels like he was shoved into a time machine and shot back to the first week Lance moved in. They tiptoe past each other in the mornings, exchange a few passive words in the evenings, and pretend that there isn’t a massive elephant in the room whenever they’re both in the apartment at the same time. Keith could never have imagined actually missing conversation as much as he does these days. The tense silence in the apartment is more draining than he could have imagined.

Lance doesn’t apologize. Sometimes it seems like he wants to, hesitating before he heads off to work, or opening his mouth as if to say something before clenching it shut. But it never comes. Keith pretends that doesn’t hurt, but it does, enough so that when Lance begins tentatively reaching out to him with invitations to play video games or do face masks, Keith actively finds ways to avoid him.

It’s lonely. Keith texts Rolo to apologize about the situation, and Rolo is perfectly understanding, asking him if he’s doing okay and all that, but Keith doesn’t try to invite him over again. The desire for a casual hookup has faded, and even if it weren’t gone he doesn’t think he’ll be able to see Rolo, much less kiss him again without remembering Lance’s reaction. Yeah, he knows it’s kind of messed up.

He begins functioning on autopilot, going to the gym, to class, to work, calling Shiro and reassuring him that yes, everything is fine, and yes, he and Lance are doing okay. Shiro doesn’t seem to quite believe him, but he doesn’t question it, for which Keith is grateful.

A week and a half later, Keith drags his feet up the stairs, his whole body aching. The unusual September heat had made his shift downright miserable, with the added pleasure of having to deal with a soccer mom and her three screaming nightmares, topped off with being short-staffed because Regris called in sick… needless to say Keith is exhausted. He just wants to shower and collapse into bed.

He unlocks the door and steps inside the apartment. Lance is sitting in the living room, a casual arm thrown across the back of the couch, eyes on the TV. Keith swallows down the awkward lump in his throat that appears whenever he sees Lance these days and wipes his slightly sweaty palms against his tank top.

“Hey.” Keith tosses his keys into the cup by the doorway and starts to head toward the bathroom.

“Hey,” Lance says, his voice cracking a little. His brows are furrowed and his finger is tapping rapidly against the back of the couch. There’s that nervous tick again. “There’s actually a Tarantino marathon going on… dunno which one it is right now but I know you like his stuff, so if you wanna watch...?”

Keith is a little surprised at the invitation. This isn’t the first time Lance has tried to reestablish some kind of connection with him, but Keith had always turned him down, always coming up with some kind of excuse to avoid Lance. However he does miss their movie nights together, and he is super tired and wouldn’t mind some mindless entertainment right now…

“Sure,” Keith finally agrees. “Lemme take a shower first.”

“Sounds good.”

Keith books it to the bathroom, and turns on the showerhead before screeching into a towel. When he runs out of air, he drops his head back against the wall with a thunk. Oh lord that was awkward. Okay, it’s fine, he can do this. He takes a speedy shower, feeling much more refreshed afterward. After some thought, he takes the time to dry his hair so he doesn’t drip all over the couch. Then he changes into something more comfortable, his favorite sleeping shirt and red plaid pajama pants.

With everything he could possibly need to do done, he takes a moment to breathe and steady this thoughts before walking out to join Lance, sitting as far as he can on their small couch without actually falling off. He focuses on the last few minutes of Inglorious Bastards, willing himself not to look at Lance, who remains uncharacteristically silent next to him.

The movie changes. The opening to Hateful Eight begins, scenes of snow country brightening the dimming room. A slight of movement to his left. Keith instinctively looks over, and oh. Lance had been staring at him. His eyes widen slightly when he realizes he’s been caught.

Keith is way too tired to deal with this right now. “What, Lance.”

Lance bites his lip. Keith is still mad at him so he doesn't allow himself to think about how cute it is. Lance seems to steel himself, turning his body face Keith, his face a mixture of intense concentration and nervousness. The sudden shift in Lance’s mood banishes Keith’s lingering resentment; Lance has something to say, and Keith had better damn well listen. He diverts all attention towards Lance.

“Keith, I want to apologize.”

“Lance? Apologizing?” Keith deadpans, a little against his will. He'd stopped expecting an apology a while ago, so he doesn't know what brought this on.

“Don’t be a dick, Keith,” Lance sighs, a soft attempt at teasing before he reasserts himself. “I just… wanted to say that I was an asshole before to Rolo because I was jealous.”

Jealous. Whatever Keith expected to hear, it isn’t that. He raises his eyebrows. “What do you have to be jealous of?” Lance did just fine in the sex department; Nyma was proof of that. The thought of her makes his stomach churn, and he almost misses the next words out of Lance’s mouth. 

“--I was jealous of Rolo.”

Okay, he was definitely not expecting that. Keith opens his mouth to respond but Lance continues, eyes flitting between his hands and Keith. He sounds nervous, his voice shaking, even. “I just-- Keith, I think I like you. And not in a friendship-roommate kind of way. I mean, like… like , like. I just didn’t know how to deal with my emotions, cause I was so sure that I was straight. But then I started having, like, one existential crisis after another. I was staring when you got out of the shower and got these… weird feelings in my stomach whenever you’d bring guys over. I didn’t know how to deal with those feelings so they just manifested into major douchebag-y-ness.”

Lance goes on, something about talking to Pidge, Hunk, and his boss at the bar, Allura, and bisexuality, but Keith is fixated on Lance’s face. The emotion on it is raw, unfiltered, and it painfully reminds Keith of the time he came to grips with his own sexuality. The confusion that came with not conforming, the panic that maybe he was alone, the fear when he came out to Shiro, hoping against hope that his brother would understand. He saw all of it in Lance’s face.

Lance’s eyes shut tightly and he takes a deep breath. When he reopens them, they’re filled with a sharp determination. “The point I’m trying to make, Keith, is that I think I was jealous of the guys you were making out with because…” Lance swallows. “Because I wanted you to be making out with me.”

Keith can’t help it. He laughs. It’s just… such a Lance thing to say, goofy but genuine, and the fact that he’s actually saying it, that Keith isn’t dreaming, is too much for him. He stops himself before the sound actually escapes, trying to cover it with his hand, but Lance catches him. “Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m not laughing!”

The exhaustion from the day evaporates from Keith’s body as they bicker about whether or not Keith is laughing at Lance. A feeling of rightness, of the universe clicking into place, takes over him, and he heaves a deep relaxing sigh, reaching across the couch to take one of Lance’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin. “I’m just happy.”

Lance’s breathing hitches. Keith grins to himself. He caused that. The awed expression on Lance’s face was because of him. “Why?”

Keith was never good with emotion. Never good at opening up. But Lance makes it so easy. He always has. “All the flirting over this past year has been real. I flirted with you, and... you flirted back. But I knew I didn’t have a chance with you since you were straight, and you brought Nyma over sometimes. So I kept bringing guys over to try and get over you.” Keith looks up from their entwined fingers. “Pretty stupid of us, huh.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance says. He’s staring at their hands as if he’s afraid Keith will suddenly pull away. Keith doesn’t like that.

“Why?”

“Because I thought my jealousy was me being homophobic, and I never thought myself to be that kind of person.” Lance looks back up at him, the guilt and shame clear on his face. Keith wants to wipe it away, to see him smile again. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

The atmosphere has changed between them. What used to be awkward tension is now hearts laid bare. Keith doesn’t notice he’s scooted closer to Lance on the couch until their knees bump. He wants Lance to believe him when he says everything is okay, but he’s never been good at comforting people. “I never took you for the jealous type,” he whispers instead.

Keith doesn’t miss the drop of Lance’s eyes to his mouth and back up again. “Can I try something?” Keith asks, his voice significantly lower. Lance nods, almost imperceptibly, but a nod nonetheless. Keith smiles as their lips meet.

The kiss is slow, steady, like a heartbeat. He feels Lance’s nervousness in the way he keeps his lips firmly shut, his shoulders tense. Keith doesn’t rush him. This is his first kiss with a dude, after all. He focuses instead on the smell of coconut emanating from Lance’s skin, how smooth his lips are, the way Lance’s hand grips his own a little harder.

Lance finally relaxes, surprising Keith by taking the initiative and running his tongue across Keith’s bottom lip. Keith opens up with a soft sigh, pressing one hand gently against Lance’s jaw to tilt his head for a slightly better angle. Lance’s hand in turn slides into Keith’s hair, and he silently thanks his past self for blow drying. Few of the guys he’s been with have played with his hair, and Keith lets out an involuntary groan at the sensation as Lance runs his fingers through the strands.

Keith in turn nibbles on Lance’s bottom lip, licks a stripe along the length of Lance’s tongue. Lance whimpers at that, and Keith lets out a breathless giggle against Lance’s lips before pressing another firm kiss there, toying with the flyaway hairs at the nape of Lance’s neck.

All too soon, Keith pulls away, smiling as he glimpses Lance’s fresh-kissed face, his eyes closed and lips plump and red, still slightly puckered as he tries to follow. “Keith,” Lance whines, and okay wow, that just went straight to Keith’s dick. But Keith is too busy watching Lance fondly, his chest swelling with a feeling he hasn’t felt in such a long time.

“You’re just…” Keith can feel his face heating up. Jesus, this is embarrassing. “I like you so much, Lance.”

Lance eeps. He fucking eeps. He and Keith both sit quietly, each fighting his own battle to control their emotions. “So,” Lance finally says, his mouth quirking enticingly. Keith has to tear his eyes away from his lips back to his eyes, crinkled slightly at the edge as Lance smiles. “I’m gonna go ahead and say that was pretty great for the both of us, right? Cause I dunno about you, but I definitely enjoyed it.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says, and pulls Lance in for another kiss.

Keith lets Lance take the reins of their first official date the following weekend. His own tastes are simple: coffee, talking, usually at the same time. But Lance is drama personified, and won’t stand for simple.

“We can just go get coffee,” Keith says, for the umpteenth time, not looking up from where he lays sprawled on the bed, tapping away at some mindless game on his phone.

“But Keith, we did that all the time as roommates,” Lance protests from his desk on the other side of the room, tilting his head backwards until he’s looking at Keith upside down. “Now I wanna do something special!”

“Special like what? Dinner and a movie?”

“Don’t even act like you wouldn’t fall asleep in the theater.”

Keith shrugs, a tiny grin tugging at his lips. “It’s not my fault. If they want me to stay awake then they shouldn’t make it so dark.”

Maybe just to spite him, Lance decides on an arcade date, a dim but not quite dark room filled with blinking lights and the overlapping theme songs to dozens of games pushed up against walls or lined up in the center of the long room. Keith is a little iffy about the whole thing until Lance pokes all the right buttons.

“I bet I can beat you at skeeball.”

Well, Keith can’t just stand by at let that happen, can he? He destroys Lance at skeeball.

The next stop on their date is this small gourmet diner called Vrepit Sal’s, where Hunk used to work apparently, for milkshakes. Lance gets something called dulce de leche, but Keith chooses classic vanilla. They sit across from each other in a booth, talking idly about their varying levels of obliviousness to the other’s lovestruck plights. Keith can’t remember the last time he was on a good and proper date, and finds himself unable to stop smiling and laughing, actually enjoying himself. Maybe it’s the date. Or maybe it’s just Lance.

Lance pays for the shakes and offers to cook dinner back at home. Usually Keith stays out of the kitchen when Lance is cooking, but now he stands in the hallway, just out of sight, watching Lance work. He’s humming some Rihanna song, swinging his hips as he seasons the chicken breasts. Lance slides the chicken into the oven, bending over at the waist to adjust the pan, and holy shit Keith can freely ogle Lance’s ass now. That’s a thing.

Keith can’t hold himself back any more, and steps into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Lance’s middle from behind. Lance tenses a little in surprise but relaxes against Keith’s chest immediately.

They end up making out so long that Lance burns the chicken in the oven.

Well, pizza’s good too. They split a large pepperoni, which is gone within minutes thanks to Lance’s voracious appetite. He sings along with Maui as Moana plays on the TV, curled into Keith’s side as they cuddle on the couch, tucked under one blanket.

Lance falls asleep before he does, mumbling incoherently as Keith presses one last kiss to the line of his jaw. His hand rests heavily on the small of Keith’s back, breathing slow and heavy, lips parted slightly; Keith rests his hands under his chin and stares unashamedly. The other boy’s smooth brown skin is warm even in the dull lighting from the TV, the soft white light making the light dusting of freckles glow like constellations instead of washing him out. Keith wants to trace them, but he’s afraid to move and wake him, acutely aware of the rise and fall of his chest under his own, and the weight of his arm draped over Keith’s back.

Jesus. He’s so far gone, it’s kind of pathetic. 

Keith wakes to the sound of humming and clattering kitchenware. He blinks his eyes open into the soft light of morning, his back creaking in places it really shouldn’t when he sits up with a groan. Note to self: don’t sleep on cheap couches.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” says Lance’s voice, coming from the direction of the kitchen. The boy himself is plating two very tasty looking omelettes, gathering the dishes in his hands and coming over to sit next to Keith, placing breakfast on the coffee table in front of them. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good, I guess,” Keith grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he lowers his hands, he sees Lance watching him with a look on his face that he can’t place. Without a word, Lance slowly raises one hand to pat the top of his head, smoothing down Keith’s horrendous case of bedhead. Keith stays stock still as Lance’s long fingers stroke down his hair, the other boy’s eyes locked on the movement with a soft expression Keith can only describe as domestic.

“Um. Lance.” His voice doesn’t waver but his hands are shaking slightly, and he curls them into fists so Lance can’t see the sort of effect he has on him. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up, I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.”

Well. Keith can’t think of anything to say in response to that so he closes his eyes and leans into Lance’s hand, letting his fists uncurl in his lap with a soft sigh. Lance continues running his fingers through Keith’s bangs, the picturesque scene straight out of a low-budget romance movie. But, Keith thinks, that suits them just fine.

Over the months that follow, Keith finds himself in a lot of moments he sees in the rom coms Lance makes him watch, but a lot gayer. Of course there are disagreements, but nothing that can’t be solved with an apologetic dinner on Lance’s part, or Keith simply wrapping his arms around Lance until the anger melts from both of their bodies. It’s one of the healthiest relationships Keith’s ever had, and he can’t believe that he actually managed to not chase Lance away.

To his credit, Lance is clingy. Initially timid with his affection, Keith can now barely move without Lance touching him, or peppering him with kisses. Keith had never been much of a touchy person, but it’s different with Lance. Lance knows it, and freely uses it to his advantage to get Keith to do what he wants, like agree to a week long trip to spend Christmas with the McClain family in Miami. 

Keith thinks that if his boyfriend keeps chewing on his lip like that, he’s going to be left with nothing to kiss.

Lance has his eyes fixed on the luggage ramp as though through the sheer force of his stare he can will the conveyor belt to turn on. His brows are furrowed tightly, and Keith doesn’t have to look down to know that the hand not holding his backpack to his shoulder is probably drumming against his thigh in a panic. Long story short, Lance is freaking out.

Keith debates whether or not he should say something, but before he can Lance is spinning around to face him, making him jerk back. “Keith, buddy, babe,” Lance starts, his voice slightly more shrill than usual, “are you sure that you’re up for this? It’s not too late. We can get you a ticket back and just tell my mom that you like, got sick or something, and--”

“Lance. We are literally picking up our luggage at the Miami airport.”

Lance casts a wild-eyed gaze around the baggage claim. “But my mom isn’t here, so--”

“Do you not want me to meet your family or something?” Keith snaps, a little irritably, and instantly feels bad about it. Lance backtracks immediately.

“What? No! Of course I do!”

“Then what’s up with this?” Keith rests his hand over Lance’s incessantly tapping fingers, and Lance flushes.

“I’m just. This is big. And I know my family, they can be a lot. And I know how you get around new people, sometimes.” Lance inhales sharply. “And I’m scared that I didn’t really give you a choice about this, you know? Like, I just asked you to meet my family and what if you felt pressured to say yes, and now you don’t know how to get out of it because everyone kinda went nuts when they found out you were coming, which probably makes it worse and I don’t know why I’m saying this right now it’s not helping--”

“Lance.” Keith risks grabbing Lance’s free hand, giving it a little shake so the tension in it drops. When it does, he passes a thumb reassuringly over Lance’s knuckles. “You didn’t pressure me into anything. I’m here because I want to be. You know that.”

“I… yeah.”

“I appreciate you worrying about me, but I’ll be fine. I’ve met some of them already, remember? And you gave me, like, six different quizzes on who everyone is, so it’s not like I’m going in blind.”

Lance huffs. “Yeah, but this time you’re meeting them as my boyfriend .”

Keith can’t help the quirk of his lips when that word drops from Lance’s mouth, especially when it refers to him . “They know that. It’s not like you’re bringing me as a surprise to everyone.” Keith raises the pitch of his voice in a poor imitation of Lance. “‘Hey, everyone, merry Christmas, glad to be home, by the way, I’m bisexual and this is my boyfriend, Keith.’”

Lance snorts before he can help himself, shoving Keith’s shoulder half-heartedly. “Okay, first, I do not sound like that. And second, ‘ Bi the way’. That was a golden pun opportunity and you didn’t take it.” Keith rolls his eyes as Lance plows on. “I know they know , and they’re fine with it, like I told you-- well, most of them-- but it’s one thing to hear it and another to just... have the physical proof in front of them.”

Ah. That makes sense. Keith swallows back the slight swell of hurt-- because it doesn’t matter how much he wants this to be easy for them, it’s hard to come out, no matter how often you do it or how okay with it the person you’re coming out to might seem-- and fixes Lance with a stare. “Do you want me to go back?” He asks gently. Lance is shaking his head before he even finishes the question.

“No , no. I was being stupid earlier, I want you to meet them and I want to spend Christmas with you. If you’re okay with it then I want you here, for everything.”

“Of course I’m okay with it, Lance. Are you ?”

Lance’s response is to press a firm kiss to Keith’s mouth, squeezing their hands tightly before pulling back and kissing Keith on the forehead for good measure. Keith huffs a laugh as the conveyor belt buzzes loudly and begins to move.

He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t nervous or outright scared about meeting Lance’s family. It’s no secret that he struggles with meeting new people, and when those people were his boyfriend’s family? Well. The only thing keeping him from freaking out is his desire to reassure Lance that he has nothing to freak out about.

The things he does for that boy.

Lance takes his hand after they get their luggage and leads Keith out the doors into the humid Miami air. The pickup zone is lined with cars; Keith has no idea which one he’s looking for, so he focuses on the feel of Lance’s hand in his, allowing it to abate his anxiety, which has increased now that Lance seems to have calmed down. Go figure.

“My mom said she was coming in the SUV,” Lance says to him, peering out at the slowly moving vehicles. “I texted her that we were here when the plane landed, but she’s always late, so--”

“Mi niño lindo!”

Both of them jump at the exclamation that comes from a large silver SUV several cars behind them. Keith spins around as the short, brown-haired woman he knows to be Lance’s mother pops out of the driver’s side door.

Lance lights up. “ Mami! ”

Keith hangs back as Lance rushes forward to meet his mom in a tight embrace. He practically sweeps her off the ground with how tightly he hugs her, and Keith smiles to himself. The way Lance treats his mother is always something that endears him to Keith. It’s sweet.

He doesn’t get a moment to think on it because suddenly Mrs. McClain is rushing over to practically crush his ribs in a hug of his own. “Keith, mijo , how nice to see you again! I’m so glad Lance brought you home for Christmas.”

“Hi, Mrs. McClain,” he coughs out.

She pulls away, allowing him to breathe, but the wind is knocked out of him almost immediately following when he sees more people get out of the car. Lance seems to have similar thoughts.

"Mami, I thought we agreed we wouldn’t introduce Keith to a lot of people at the airport,” he hisses, but his mother just waves him off.

“Luís and Vero wanted to come pick you up, Leandro, no seas dramático. ” Lance rolls his eyes, looking like he has his doubts. Keith’s attention is diverted as the two strangers who got out of the car finally reach them. The guy, a mousy haired, lanky dude with Lance’s upturned nose, immediately drags Lance down into a headlock, ruffling his hair.

“You must be Keith,” comes a feminine voice, tearing Keith’s attention from where Lance was struggling with the other guy, who must be his brother, Luís. A pretty young woman who looks almost exactly like Lance, though with curly hair that falls past her shoulders, is grinning up at him. Keith blinks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m Keith. You’re Veronica, right?”

“That’s me.” He shifts his bag around so he can shake her hand as she looks him up and down. Keith fidgets under her gaze. “Hm. You’re not my type, but I can definitely see the appeal. Good job, manito .”

“He’s not your type because you’re a huge lesbian, Vero.” Lance grumbles, finally released from his brother’s grip and patting down his hair. Luís gives Keith a casual nod and quiet “Hey man,” as he grabs Keith’s suitcase from the floor.

“And aren’t you glad I cleared the way for you with that?” Veronica coos. “At least by now Tío Fernando has had practice remaining silently disapproving at family functions.”

Lance groans. “Ugh, why did you remind me, I was trying to pretend--” The two siblings fall off to bicker between themselves, so Keith quietly steps aside to take Lance’s bag to the car. Luís is turning around to do just that, but he relaxes when he sees Keith approaching with it. “Thanks, man. I’ll take that.”

Keith hands it over and stands awkwardly beside him until Luís closes the trunk. Should he say something? Luís seems more quiet than Lance or Veronica, something that Keith should be happy about but somehow feels stressed about dealing with. At least with the others, conversation is never a problem. He doesn’t know how to coax conversation out of anyone. He’s just frantically trying to keep up with everyone around him.

“Listen, dude.” Luís says suddenly, and Keith jumps. “We weren’t trying to freak you out by showing up or anything. We just really wanted to meet you before the rest of the family got their claws in.”

Oh. Well, he doesn’t think they were trying to scare him off, but it’s a comfort hearing it all the same. “Uh. Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Luís nods. “‘Course. And just so ya know, pretty much everyone already loves you. We haven’t seen Lance this happy in a long time. And whoever makes him happy is pretty much good in my book, okay?”

Keith is a bit more stunned by this statement and only manages a nod. Luís shoots him a lazy grin, clapping him on the shoulder. “Cool. It’s awesome to meet you, man.”

“You too,” Keith forces out as Luís heads back to the front of the car. Mrs. McClain approaches Keith as he tries to process what just happened.

“Keith, you and Lance can sit in the back. It’s a forty minute drive back.”

“Okay,” he says numbly. She pats him on the arm and moves to the front seat. Lance and Veronica follow behind her, their conversation now devolved into rapid Spanish.

If this is how startling it is to interact with two new members of Lance’s family, Keith doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle everyone else. He squeezes himself in next to Lance, who shifts closer almost instinctively.

Veronica turns back to the front to say something to her mother, and Lance turns to Keith, brow furrowed. “Is this okay?” he asks, worried. His hand wraps around Keith’s, eyes glittering in the flash of the streetlights as Mrs. McClain pulls out of the pickup lanes.

Keith warms. Of course he’ll be able to handle everyone else. He’s not facing this alone. Lance is here with him, checking on him when things might seem too overwhelming, at his side just in case of anything. Lance and Keith, hand-in-hand with whatever they’re facing. “Yeah,” he murmurs, just soft enough for Lance to hear. “It’s great. Don’t worry.”

Lance smiles widely, relieved, and Keith strokes his thumb over his knuckles again. He’s vaguely aware of Vero watching from the corner of his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care.

That is, until she loudly whispers, “Holy shit, this is gay.”

“Veronica!” Mrs. McClain barks, and everyone in the car jumps. Keith makes as if to pull back his hand, but Lance holds on. “Language!”

“Sorry, Mami , but you have to see this! Lance is so whipped .”

“Shut up, you were worse when you first met Sofia, so I don’t even wanna hear it--”

Keith leans back in his seat, chuckling as the siblings start bickering again, this time punctuated with the occasional “Not in front of Keith!” from Mrs. McClain. Yeah. He can totally handle this. 

He totally cannot handle this.

Keith flops backwards onto the bed wearily. When they’d finally made it home, it seemed the entire household had stayed up waiting for them. Keith was passed around from person to person, receiving handshakes and kisses on the cheek with barely any moment for reprieve. Lance’s siblings, dad, aunt, grandparents; all of them wanted a chance to talk to “Lance’s first boyfriend.” Keith choked his way through introductions and answered all the slightly intrusive questions. Mr. McClain had eyed him down so intensely Keith thought he was going to get sent out the house. Then he’d burst out with a laugh that sounded almost exactly like Lance’s and shaken his hand, welcoming him home. It was… not what he had expected. They’d finally made it upstairs after Mrs. McClain had loudly announced Lance and his boyfriend needed to sleep.

“Your family is huge,” Keith says to the ceiling from his spread-eagled position on Lance’s childhood bed. He’s too tired to even get a good look around the room. Blue eyes and brown skin fill his vision as Lance appears overhead, straddling him and leaning down to nuzzle into Keith’s neck.

“Yeah, I think I might’ve mentioned that before.” He mumbles into Keith’s throat.

Keith closes his eyes, letting the shivers from Lance’s lips on his skin fill him with interest and a little more energy. “You promised your mom no funny business, Lance. It’s the only reason she’s letting me sleep in here.”

Lance drags his mouth down and begins peppering kisses to Keith’s collarbones. “Since when do you listen to rules?”

“Since I’m trying to impress your family so they actually approve of me dating you.”

“Please. My mom approved of me dating you before I even knew I was into you. You’re a part of the family already.” He comes back up to Keith’s lips, effectively silencing any retort Keith might have tried to use in response to that. His eyes slide closed, hands coming up to cup Lance’s face and draw him in closer. By this point, Lance knows all the best ways to turn Keith into a puddle.

Lance pulls back and smirks down at him. Keith blinks dazedly, then frowns up at him. “I think I liked you better when you were still nervous about seducing me.”

Lance laughs out loud, wriggling off of Keith and standing up to pull off his shirt and change into his pajamas. Keith sits up, still frowning. “Please, babe, I was never nervous. I was just getting a feel for the stick.” He shoots a coy look over his shoulder. Keith’s face burns.

“Is that so?” He says, and wow, when did his voice get so low? Lance freezes from where he stands a few feet away, in soft pajama pants and still shirtless, a t-shirt in his hands.

“Um… yes?” And then he squeaks as Keith shoots forward and drags him down into a heated kiss, a messy clash of lips that makes Lance drop the t-shirt to wrap his arms around Keith’s waist.

Keith doesn't give him the opportunity, swinging Lance around and backing him towards the bed so that it hits the back of his knees. Lance huffs as his back hits the mattress. “I thought we promised no funny business?” He says, looking up at Keith with an expression nothing short of awed.

“You promised your mom no funny business. I didn’t.” And he captures Lance’s mouth with his.

The next morning, Lance comes downstairs wearing a turtleneck and a disgruntled expression. Keith hides his face in his cereal bowl as Mrs. McClain scolds Lance about overheating in the mild Florida weather (“Lance, mijo , we’re not in Wisconsin , go change before you burn up!” “I’m fine, Mami , dejame !”). Veronica’s poorly concealed smirk at Keith tells him that he’s not doing a very good job of being subtle with his laughter, so he excuses himself to go wash his dishes. Lance’s pout follows him all the way through the door.

Once in the kitchen he lets himself smile. They hadn’t really gotten into any ‘funny business’ last night, as Mrs. McClain would say-- lord knows they’re both still careful about rushing into anything too R-rated-- but Keith admittedly did get carried away. Something about kissing Lance in his childhood bedroom, where he’d pined over his first crushes, where he might’ve kissed them or thought about them while touching himself, made Keith feel oddly possessive. Could sixteen-year-old Lance have imagined himself sitting there years later, kissing a boy? A boy like Keith, lost and alone for so long, sharp around the edges and jaded in contrast to Lance’s welcoming brightness.

Somehow, Keith doesn’t think he could have.

So in that room, surrounded by faded NASA posters and old pictures, Keith left his mark, reveled in Lance’s breathless voice whispering his name. Made sure that the next time Lance stepped foot in that bedroom, he would think of Keith.

Veronica pops her head into the kitchen, a knowing smirk on her face. “Lance has been glancing at the kitchen every two seconds. I think he’s scared Elena kidnapped you to show you her Pokémon cards.”

She steers Keith into the living room where he plops down on the loveseat next to Lance, who immediately throws his arm across the back of the couch and Keith’s shoulders. Everyone is talking loudly (Mr. and Mrs. McClain), complaining (Lance), or playing loud video games on their phone (Luís). Even Lance’s fifteen-year-old brother, Martín, is making sound effects as he scribbles in a notebook. It’s loud and lively, and Keith has trouble imagining fitting anyone else in the house, much less himself fitting into this family.

That is until Mr. McClain pulls out a photo album and shoves it in Keith’s lap. Lance groans, and suddenly everyone is clamoring to tell Keith embarrassing childhood Lance stories. Their smiles are contagious, and Keith can’t help but throw back his head and laugh at the photo of baby Lance sitting in the dog’s water bowl like it’s a kiddy pool. Lance calls him a traitor, but he’s smiling too.

Marco, Lance’s brother who had visited their apartment over a year ago, arrives a couple hours later with his wife and kids, who immediately run to Lance with twin shouts of excitement. “ Tío Lance! Tío Lance!”

Lance sits up from where he was pouting about all his embarrassing childhood moments being exposed just as the two children crash into him, babbling in a mix of Spanish and English. Keith watches, a soft smile on his face as Lance fake groans under their weight and answers all their questions with equally enthusiastic Spanish.

“Keith! How’s it going?”

Keith looks away from where Lance is ‘oohing’ at his nephew’s new Spider-Man wrist watch just as Marco reaches him and pulls him into a bone crushing hug. Lance’s family, Keith has come to note, are a bunch of huggers.

“Hi, Marco. Hi, Julia,” He greets Marco’s much smaller wife from over Marco’s shoulder, where she’s shaking her head at her husband’s antics.

“Good to see you again, Keith.”

“So glad you could make it, man.” Lance’s brother is grinning at him, eyes warm and welcoming.

“Thanks,” Keith smiles, touched, as Marco claps him on the shoulder. Lance manages to untangle himself from his niece and nephew and pulls his brother into one of his massive hugs.

Keith feels something tug on his pants leg. He glances down to meet two pairs of big blue eyes. Ricky and Alex, Marco’s children, finally detached from Lance and staring up at Keith with the innocent curiosity only children possess. Once Keith meets their gaze, they look at each other, nudging one another and muttering. Keith bites back amusement. Finally, Ricky looks back and says, “Mr. Keith, are you gonna marry Tío Lance?”

Keith chokes on his own spit.

He’s vaguely aware of Veronica cackling in the background as he coughs. Lance’s voice comes from behind him, blissfully unaware. “Babe? You okay?”

“‘M fine,” he chokes out. Ricky and Alex are staring up at him with wide eyes, not put off in the least. Damn these McClains and their innate shamelessness.

It’s way too early to think about marriage. Sure, he likes Lance, a lot, maybe, possibly, probably leaning towards more than that (he stops that train of thought before he can spiral down that rabbit hole), but they are way too young and their relationship too new for marriage to be on their radar. They’d only been dating three months. Anything could happen.

Keith’s eyes fall to where Lance is frowning at him in worry and he shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he mouths, trying to convey his sincerity with his look. Lance nods, brows still furrowed, and turns back to where he, Marco, and Luís were talking. Keith stares at him for another moment before crouching down to eye level with Ricky.

“Uh, why do you ask?” He swallows back the rush of nerves. This is not a conversation he was expecting.

Alex pipes up from behind her brother. “Papí says you and Tío Lance like each other like he and Mamí like each other. Does that mean you’re gonna get married?”

“Do you kiss and stuff? Do boys have cooties like girls do? Mamí and Papí kiss but they say that cooties go away when you love each other a lot. Do you love Tío Lance?

Jesus Christ. He’s pretty sure by this point his blush has transcended red and invented a completely new shade. “Uh… Tío Lance and I are dating. That means we like each other a lot, and yeah, we do kiss sometimes.” A lot of times, but he’s pretty sure a nine-year-old and a seven-year-old didn’t need to know that particular detail. “I dunno about cooties, but if Lance has them that probably means I do too, since I’m a boy, right? So it wouldn’t matter.”

Ricky thinks about that. “Does that mean if I don’t want cooties to matter I can only like boys?”

Keith almost laughs out loud. “I think you can like whoever you want to like, buddy.”

“Can I like whoever I want, too?” Alex asks eagerly. Both kids are looking at him like he’s imparting some great wisdom upon them, and he feels the sudden urge to protect them from any and all harm. Why are all the McClains’ so cute ?

“Of course.” He can’t help the upturn of his mouth as the kids look at each other in excitement, as if his approval was all they needed.

“Thanks, Tío Keith!”

“I hope you do marry Tío Lance!”

With that the two run off to their mother, jabbering excitedly about what Tío Keith just said. Keith stares blankly at the now empty space in front of him. Wait. What ?

Keith stands slowly and makes his way over to Lance and his older siblings. Lance’s arm immediately winds around his waist, and Keith’s cheeks flush. This family really was going to be the death of him. And amazingly, he doesn’t even mind. 

The next three days are busy. Mrs. McClain keeps the entire family occupied, from cleaning the house to grocery shopping and general errands in preparation for Christmas eve, which the McClain-Acosta’s call “Noche Buena.”

“It’s basically the big event,” Lance explains as he and Keith make their way through a Latino grocery store with a foot-long list from his mom . “We don’t do much on actual Christmas day besides exchange presents, but on Christmas eve all the family comes and we get dressed up and cook this huge meal and dance and stuff.”

Keith eyes the massive amount of food in their shopping cart, enough to feed a small army. “Sounds fun.”

He wasn’t that far off by the whole “small army” thing. Aunts and uncles from both sides of the family pour in, armed with small contingents of cousins and significant others. Veronica’s girlfriend, Sofia, spends a lot of time at the house helping with the cleaning, and she and Keith form something of a camaraderie from the minute they meet. She seems to understand Keith’s nerves as the rest of the family arrives, and gives him advice in dealing with the overwhelming pressure of meeting so many people at once. He also learns, within ten minutes of seeing her and Veronica interact, that Lance’s sister is nowhere near as cool and detached as he thought she was.

Lance was also right about hardest part being over. As he meets each aunt and uncle, none say anything when Lance introduces him as his boyfriend. In fact, almost all of them are ecstatic and welcoming. One uncle gives him a thin lipped smile, but Lance already explained that his uncle Fernando is a bit of a dick, so it’s easy to brush off. Especially with the support of the rest of the family behind him.

By the time Christmas eve arrives, Keith has fallen into something of a regular schedule. Wake up, kiss Lance awake, drag him downstairs for breakfast, then take on whatever task Mrs. McClain assigns him for the day. Initially she had declared that he rest, but he insisted on helping out somehow. So now he takes on extra jobs she deems appropriate for him, but stays out of the way for the rest.

Finally, when the sun starts setting, Mrs. McClain declares everything done. “ Al fin. ” She and the other cooks exchange relieved looks. “Everyone go get ready! Ponte lindos !”

Keith and Lance manage to each snag the shared upstairs shower before the real clamor begins. Keith changes into a nice pair of pants and a dark red button down Lance had once complimented, back before they were dating. He doesn’t miss the way Lance’s eyes follow the line of his torso as he digs around his suitcase. And if he purposely takes his time getting dressed, so what.

As usual, Lance takes much longer than he does to finish, hesitating between two different shirts before finally settling on the one Keith had recommended twenty minutes ago , then insisting on styling his hair for another half hour. Keith stares impatiently at the ceiling from where he lies sprawled on the bed.

“Done!” Lance declares, and Keith groans in relief, heaving himself to his feet just to feel his mouth go dry when he looks at Lance.

So, he knows he’s mentioned several times before that Lance was pretty and that he’s pretty much ridiculously attracted to him at any given time, but it seems like the universe is perpetually trying to prove to him just how gay he is. Because Lance looks incredible .

His hair is swept away from his face with just the right amount of gel so that it still looks soft, his white shirt making his tan skin glow and eyes look an even brighter blue. Something about the shirt and pants highlight the lean cut of his legs, and Keith can’t help his eyes from raking over them. When he brings them up to Lance’s face, the man is grinning in delight, the utter personification of sunshine.

Keith’s heart swoops in his chest.

“Keith,” Lance beams. “We look like a candy cane!” He gestures at their shirts, and yup, Keith can’t take this anymore. He steps forward abruptly, cupping Lance’s face gently and running a thumb over his cheekbone. Lets his eyes trace over the slope of Lance’s nose, the pink of his lips. Brings his face down into a soft kiss.

It’s reminiscent of their first, tender and light, more of a brushing of lips than anything, but when he pulls back Lance looks dazed. “What was that for?” He breathes out.

I’m so glad you moved in with me. Keith’s mind supplies. You make me so happy. I want to wake up every day next to you, if you’ll have me. “Nothing,” he says out loud. “Just wanted to.”

He pulls back and grabs Lance’s hand, tugging him out of the room before he’s able to respond.

Downstairs is lively, but far less chaotic than it had been the previous days. More music is playing from the speakers, the children are playing games around the living room, adults are popping in and out of the kitchen as they please. It’s an hour and a half past the time dinner was expected to start before one of Lance’s aunts claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “ A comer !”

There is a mass migration to the dining room, which has extra chairs squeezed against an extended table. Keith hovers around Lance, unsure of where to sit. Lance tugs him down to a chair towards one of the ends. The kids, basically everyone younger than Martín, are seated at a smaller table set up nearby.

The dinner… well, it looks amazing. Clearly the various cooks know what they’re doing, and Keith finally understands why they’d begun working so early in the day. Browned plantain chips ( tostones , Lance had once told him), a massive plate of rice and beans, salad with fresh avocado, and various other dishes, then the real focus of the meal: a glistening, golden pork whose smell permeated the air and made his mouth water.

“Holy crap,” Keith whispers, and Lance elbows him, grinning.

“I know right?”

Prayers are said and everyone digs in, chatting happily. Keith is pulled in several conversations at once, which is a little overwhelming, but Lance is steady beside him, squeezing his knee and cutting in when Keith seems overwhelmed, murmuring funny jokes to him when no one is paying attention.

Keith eats maybe two plates more than he expected to handle, and by the end of the meal feels completely exhausted. Everyone starts taking their dishes to the kitchen. “Is it over?” Keith asks.

“Hah,” Lance mutters quietly. “We’re just starting. Now someone is going to break out the Spanish cider and--” A wave of cheers sound from the living room. “--yup, there it is.” They drop their dishes in the sink, Lance insisting someone will get to it later, and follow the sound.

All of the family is toasting and drinking when they walk into the room. A glass of cider is hoisted upon him as music begins once again blasting through the room. Children run between legs and around the furniture, now pushed aside to make more standing room. In the available space, Marco pulls Julia into a dance. There’s another cheer from the family, and a couple of the aunts and uncles join in.

Lance is beaming, cheeks flushed, be it from the warmth or the wine at dinner, Keith isn’t sure. “I missed this.”

Keith looks around at the wild energy, the unrestrained joy emanating from everyone in the room. “I can see why.”

The night progresses quickly. Keith somehow gets roped into dancing with Lance, even though he trips on his own two feet, much to his humiliation and Lance’s entertainment. He talks with Tía Josefa and Tía Emilia, and when Ricky finds out Keith is half-Japanese, teaches him the little Japanese he knows. He even finds himself talking to Martín about the younger McClain’s musical hobbies. Despite his fun, Keith’s social meter runs in the red by the end of the night, which Lance seems to pick up on.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he whispers. They’re on the couch pushed against the wall, arms around each other and watching the dwindling festivities. The youngest children and Lance’s grandparents have already retired, but several cousins and uncles are still chatting away.

Keith nods tiredly, his head resting on Lance’s shoulder. Lance urges him to his feet, says his goodnights, and together they stumble up to Lance’s room, where Keith collapses without even changing clothes. Lance’s warmth curls itself around his body, one arm draped across his waist and pulling him against Lance’s chest. Keith thinks he hears Lance murmur something into his hair, but he’s asleep before he can decipher it.

Lance shakes him awake the next morning, his smiling face hovering right above him. “Time to open presents,” he says excitedly, yanking the duvet covers off and leaping out of the bed. Keith blinks himself awake with a groan, running a hand through his hair blearily. Lance throws fresh clothes at him, collecting in a pile on his lap. “Get changed,” he says, and pecks Keith on the cheek before bounding downstairs.

Keith follows soon after, dressed casually in the black T-shirt and red plaid button up Lance had given him. Most everyone is already gathered in the living room, where a mountain of wrapped boxes sit propped against each other. Alex and Ricky have already helped themselves to some with their name on it. When Ricky sees him, he leaps up excitedly and shows off his new action figure, pulling the pieces apart (are those multi-colored lions as limbs?) and clicking them back into place.

Mrs. McClain, when she sees Keith is awake, envelops him in a warm hug. “Good morning, mijo,” she says. “How did you sleep?”

“Amazing, thank you.”

She guides Keith over to sit on the couch, where Lance is entertaining one of his younger cousins and their plastic sword. No sooner has he made himself comfortable when at least three wrapped presents are dumped on his lap. “What?” he chokes out.

“They’re for you!” Mrs. McClain twitters. “I don’t know what you like so I went off what Lance told me about you.”

A lump rises up the back of Keith’s throat. “Mrs. McClain, I can’t accept these…”

“You can and you will.”

Lance snickers into his hand, and Keith figures there’s no point in arguing. Though, he can’t help the swoop of joy in his chest as he opens his first gift.

Lance was right; Christmas morning is a lot less hectic than the evening before. Family members, less than the night before, drift in and out of the living room. Keith places aside his gifts (a whittling kit, handknit sweater courtesy of Lance’s abuela, and book on ancient aliens) and watches softly as Lance plays with Ricky and his new action figure (“Form Voltron!” Ricky commands, holding the black colored lion high. Lance makes mechanical sound effects with his mouth as he guides the blue and red lions into place).

Oh, Keith thinks. His expression is calm, body relaxed, and mind surprisingly clear, considering the realization he’s just had. The stories all describe it as a punch to the gut, or a slap to the face. But for Keith it’s a calm understanding, coming to terms with something he thinks he might have known all along. I think I might...

Keith and Lance’s flight back home is the next day. Mrs. McClain does her best to get them to at least stay for New Years, but they had already agreed to spend New Year’s with Shiro and Adam. Keith has to shake Elena off his leg (“I think she might have a crush on you,” Lance jokes, and Keith glares) and hug Ricky and Alex for a solid minute before he escapes to the car. Marco, Veronica, and Luís take their turns hugging him good-bye, and even Martín  sidles up and gives him a small smile and a wave. Lance takes his time saying goodbye to his family, hugging every single one and promising to come visit again soon.

New Year’s Eve at Shiro and Adam’s apartment is a significantly less dramatic affair, but what it lacks in guests it makes up for in drunken shenanigans. Lance had done a good job holding himself back when it came to the alcohol over Christmas for the sake of his family, but now that it’s just his boyfriend and his entourage of brother and brother’s fiance, he’s already tipsy by the time they arrive.

There are still a few hours until midnight, so Lance and Adam team up to cook a mix of Cuban and Brazilian dishes while Shiro and Keith set up cheap garlands and steal snatches of food from pans while their respective boyfriends aren’t paying attention. Lance scolds Keith every time he catches him, so Keith takes a page from Shiro’s book and distracts his boyfriend by planting well-timed kisses on his cheek.

Pidge and Hunk even stop by for an hour or so on their way to Hunk’s girlfriend Shay’s party downtown.

“We would stay,” Pidge says around a mouthful of food, “but Shay promised me first crack at her new gaming system, and who am I to turn her down?”

They do stay long enough for a game of Cards Against Humanity, which Keith discovers he is incredibly bad at, but he’s rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach with laughter just like everyone else. He catches Lance smiling at him several times, and Keith can’t help but smile widely back.

Pidge and Hunk depart around ten, leaving the four remaining men to fool around and pass the time with various other board games, Dick Clark’s Rockin New Year’s Eve broadcasting music and awkward interviews in the background. Then finally….

Ten!

Adam and Shiro pass around flutes filled to the brim with cheap champagne.

Nine!

Lance accepts his flute and wraps his free arm around Keith’s shoulder. Keith tries not to spill any of his champagne. Adam and Shiro turn up the volume on the TV so Ryan Seacrest is shouting loud enough to deafen.

Eight!

Lance leans his head against Keith’s, his breath warm and smelling of alcohol. “Keith?”

Seven!

Keith hums. “What is it?”

Six!

“Keith… I think I’m in love with you.”

Five!

Keith can barely hear over Adam and Shiro shouting out the countdown and the roar of the crowd from the television speakers, but that he hears as though it was shouted in an empty room. He turns his head so he can see Lance’s face properly.

Four!

Lance’s cheeks are a little red from the alcohol, but he doesn’t look so out of it that he doesn’t realize what he said. He looks a little nervous in fact, biting his lip, waiting for what Keith has to say.

Three!

Keith feels it swell in his chest, until he’s turning in Lance’s grip so their chests are pressed together, champagne splashing a little on their shirts. “Lance…”

Two!

Lance swallows.

One!

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

Happy New Year!

Their lips meet in a rush, less chaste than necessary for a New Year’s Kiss, but Keith doesn’t care. He’s vaguely aware of Adam wolf-whistling and Shiro clapping enthusiastically, but he’s too caught up in Lance Lance Lance to care.

Both of them pull back, gasping for air. Lance immediately presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he runs his thumb along Keith’s cheekbone, jawline, lips. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for days. Since Christmas. When I saw you with my family, I realized I wanted that forever.”

Keith feels his heart stutter. “I want that too. Lance, I…” His throat swells up. He’s never been as good at words, so instead he just presses their lips together again, trying to convey every feeling rushing through him. Lance grips him tighter, and he thinks just maybe he succeeded.

The party doesn’t last long after the countdown. Adam crashes hard, falling asleep sitting up on the recliner, glasses askew and his mouth slightly open as he snores. Shiro has disappeared to god knows where. Keith and Lance are cuddled on the couch, watching the New York music performances and trading soft kisses. Keith can’t get enough of Lance right now, especially now that he knows that his love is reciprocated.

“Keith,” Lance mumbles against his lips, his voice low and husky. It’s the first time they’ve spoken in a while.

“Hm?”

“I think… I want you. Like… want.” Keith tilts his head, not quite understanding, so Lance fixes him with a pointed look, and oh .

Keith’s eyes widen a bit, leaning back so he can meet Lance’s gaze. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

Lance nods, his eyes soft but determined. “I love you. I’m ready.”

Lance is looking at him like Keith holds the world in his eyes, which is stupid because obviously Lance has the universe. He feels the telltale tug in his gut, the strong desire to drag Lance into the nearest bedroom. It’s gentler than the arousal from his one night stands, his lust taking a backseat to wanting to show Lance just how much he loves him. But they’re at his brother’s and he will not take Lance to bed for the first time in Shiro’s room. The original plan had been for Lance and Keith to spend the night at this apartment, but he’s sober enough to drive. Lance seems to have the same idea.

The ride back to the apartment is a blur. Keith can only focus on the firm press of Lance’s body against his back, warm even through their heavy winter coats. The stirring in his gut is growing, but he wills himself to remain calm and collected. He has to respect Lance, he has to hold himself back, he has to...

They stumble into the vestibule, kicking off shoes and shedding jackets and scarves across the apartment floor. Lance’s tongue is warm, sliding perfectly against his own. He tangles his fingers in Lance’s soft hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging softly. The small whine Lance lets out in response rushes downward and pools in a very familiar area. Keith takes the lead, knowing the way to his bedroom due to sheer force of habit. Lance is happy to let himself be led, doing his best to make sure at least one part of their bodies are touching at any given point.

The back of Lance’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and then Keith is on top, hands pinning Lance’s wrists to the rumpled sheets. Lance breathes heavily but quietly, his skin flushed with desire, eyes blown wide and lips kiss-bruised.

“Is this okay?” Keith breathes out, his chest rising and falling heavily. “You’re not too drunk, right?”

Lance hooks a leg around Keith and flips them so that he now has Keith pressed against the mattress (Keith shouldn’t have to tell you how hot that is). He grins, a little mischievously, bringing his hands up to cup Keith’s face and bring their faces together in a gentle kiss. Keith closes his eyes, breathing in Lance’s scent until it fills his lungs and leaves him dizzy. “I’m okay.”

Keith smiles back, soft. “Okay.”