Chapter Text
“I’m only scrambling the eggs, and you can’t change my mind!”
From their living room couch, Keith grumbles in annoyance and tosses the pillow he'd been holding in the general direction of the kitchen, hoping to at least bother his roommate. His efforts are fruitless though, because Lance just keeps humming happily as he digs into the fridge for their carton of eggs. Of course, there was a slight possibility that Keith was being over-dramatic, but he was sick of arguing with Lance over this.
“You’re an awful friend,” Keith whines, voice muffled by the arm he has over his face to block out sunlight. It’s too early for this. He just wants painkillers and greasy food to nurse his hangover from the previous night’s escapades, when Lance had forced him to a get-together with the intention of getting them both laid — as if Keith would even consider a one-night stand. He shakes away the thought and looks back at the eggs. “Can’t you make two different kinds? Please?”
Keith already knows the answer, though.
Whenever Lance cooked breakfast for the two of them, he insisted on making the eggs the way he prefered, which was scrambled. Although Keith doesn’t mind his eggs scrambled, he prefers them sunny-side up. He never gets his way, though, since Lance insists on doing things the way he wants. Keith hates it. It makes him snappy in the morning, and it just ends up being worse for the both of them.
“Nope,” Lance responds, sounding smug, just as the same pillow Keith had thrown earlier soars through the air and into the coffee table with a dull thud, signaling Lance’s retaliation. “If you want it your way, then wake up early and do it yourself!”
The satisfaction in his tone is enough to make Keith groan and roll his eyes, before he snatches the pillow and tosses it back into the kitchen as a last-ditch attempt to win the argument.
Still, Keith knows he’s lost this one. He sighs and vows to use the last of the eggs tomorrow.
After listening to Lance’s humming for a bit longer, Keith opens his eyes to sit up from where he'd been sprawled out on the couch. He's just in time to see Lance carrying two plates of eggs in his hands, both scrambled with a side of toast. Keith rewards him with a smile — not too bright, though, due to his bitterness about both his eggs and his hangover. Lance returns it with a laugh and an eye roll.
“I've got practice this morning,” Lance informs, as if he even had to; they know each other's schedules as well as their own. So Keith just nods tiredly as Lance nudges him aside, making room for himself on their small couch in front of their TV. “But I’ve got enough time for an episode of something, if you want.”
The sentence elicits another fatigued nod from Keith. He takes his plate of food from Lance, and in exchange, hands over the remote.
The food in front of Keith is so hot that it causes fog to accumulate on the lenses of his glasses, and even though the eggs aren't what he wanted, his stomach growls. Keith takes that as his cue to pick up his fork, and within a minute, he’s already scarfed down half of his breakfast. He groans in appreciation of Lance’s cooking, who is still flicking through their Netflix account, searching for a show.
Lance is acting strange, he notices. There’s a slight, barely-perceivable shake to his hand, accompanied by a nervous crease between his brows. His humming, which was usually an indication of his cheery mood, is more of a jittery habit today. For a minute or two, Keith debates on asking him about it.
But Lance has never hidden anything from Keith; he’ll talk about it when he’s ready, when he’s willing.
At least, Keith hopes he will.
Eventually, Lance settles on a sitcom they both have seen millions of times. Keith doesn’t mind, of course, since it’s one of the best episodes: his favorite character gives up his lifestyle of one-night stands for another character to prove his love. Keith admires the dedication. And maybe, just maybe, he hopes for a love that strong — not that he’d ever admit it.
For some reason, though, Keith is having a hard time staying awake. He blames it on the hangover and curls further into himself on his side of the couch. Lance eyes him warily, before turning back to the screen. His leg bounces with nervousness, and this time, Keith can’t ignore it. He asks hesitantly, “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” is Lance’s immediate response, until Keith fixes him a disbelieving stare, which prompts Lance to start over. “I’m just nervous about my meet.”
That’s when Keith remembers what’s going to happen in a few days. Lance has the biggest event of his track career: his last meet. If he doesn’t meet his goal on Friday, he will never have another opportunity to do so. Though the name of the competition escapes Keith, he knows how important it is to Lance. As senior captain, he wants to break the 400-meter hurdle record. He’d been training for this day all season, and honestly, if Lance doesn’t break the record, Keith is worried for his mental health. The time Lance has spent preparing for the race makes him deserving of the victory, regardless of skill — in Keith’s (admittedly biased) opinion.
The silence that settles between the two is comfortable, despite Lance’s obvious preoccupation. They finish the rest of their breakfast before Keith realizes he never offered any way to dissipate Lance’s anxiety.
When the episode finally ends and Lance gets up to leave, Keith finds himself grabbing his arm before he can even stop himself. “Lance,” he starts hesitantly, worried about making things worse. “Stressing about it now won’t do you any good.”
Lance just sighs and starts for the door again.
Keith watches him as he goes, wishing he had the courage to grab Lance by the shirt collar and make sure he knew just how confident Keith was in him, to make sure he knew how much he deserved to win, to make sure he knew how important he is, regardless of what happens at his race.
Instead, Keith just stares at the back of Lance’s signature varsity jacket as he leaves.
It only takes a few minutes to retrieve Keith from his brief daze, and that’s when he decides to ready himself for the day. It’s Sunday morning, or Laundry Day for the two students, so Keith decides to take the load upon himself.
As he’s about to leave, though, he considers making himself more presentable, just in case he runs into someone he knows.
He takes a long, hot shower, with the scalding water hitting his back in a steady stream. He spends some time staring at the tiles and wall in front of him before washing his hair with Lance’s expensive shampoo, since his own bottle was empty. After making a mental note to buy more of the brand he likes, Keith gets out and dries himself off with a towel. Then, he puts contacts in, pulls on a fresh hoodie and sweatpants, and deems himself ready.
He gathers the laundry and heads out the door. The towering pile of clothes he has to wash makes it difficult for Keith to lock the door, so he just opts not to.
It wasn’t like they would be robbed if he left the door unlocked. After all, their apartment was far from impressive, especially when compared to a select few in the vicinity. Anyone with a shred of common sense could take one good look at their building and decide the effort wouldn’t be worth the reward.
Still, the place has grown on Keith quite a bit.
It’s the first monument of his self-sufficiency, and another milestone he can mark down for the records. It was the only place he and Lance could afford, based upon the miniscule allowance Lance receives from his family and Keith’s pitiful salary.
In all honesty, Keith doesn’t really care what their apartment looked like, as long as he had Lance by his side.
And at least the laundromat is within walking distance.
The frigid air engulfs Keith, and he starts to think that maybe going outside in December without a coat was a ridiculous decision. It most likely would’ve been bearable if Keith’s hair wasn’t still wet, hitting him in the face as the wind blows. His teeth chatter pathetically.
Keith begins to wish he hadn’t left.
Bitterly, he blames Lance for leaving his laundry at the foot of his bed, waiting to be taken care of. He even starts to believe that Lance left it there as bait, knowing Keith would walk by and see it on the way to his own room — until he remembers that he knows Lance better than that. Keith knows he probably intended to get it done, but he was too busy or ended up forgetting about it.
The rational side of Keith knows Lance wouldn’t guilt him into doing chores, but unfortunately, the rational side of Keith froze to death the moment he stepped through the threshold into the cold.
Time passes slowly in the laundromat, and he’s running late by the time he brings all the clean clothes back to their apartment. He’s got class in 15 minutes, but the walk is twenty. He jogs the whole way there and barely makes it on time.
But he doesn't really know why he rushed to get there. Keith really hates his Mechanical Design class.
There will never be a day that he doesn't complain about the god-awful required class, swearing that it's the worst thing he's ever had to do. As a mechanical engineering major, there's nothing he can do to avoid the class, so he simply has to suffer through it. But the inevitability isn't going to stop him from hating every second.
The worst part was that he expected to enjoy the class. After all, it was a cornerstone of the engineering curriculum he chose based off his interests as a kid.
When he was younger, his favorite way to spend free time was with his father in his driveway, working on various cars and trucks. In retrospect, Keith knows he probably wasn’t much help back then, but it made every day exciting for him. There was nothing better in his small world than working with his father.
Every second Keith spends hating the class, he feels a pit of guilt form within his stomach. It feels a little bit like he’s betraying his father. After all, the memories of spare parts and greasy hands are about all Keith has left of him, and Keith doesn’t want to associate anything negative to those treasured moments.
Still, it’s hard for Keith to not be miserable in a class that has lulled him to sleep on multiple occasions.
Naturally, it certainly doesn’t help that his professor is unbearable, both as a teacher and a human in general. He’s a strict grader on the most difficult assignments, and he isn’t a fan of people without natural artistic inclination — a label that applies directly to Keith.
And, of course, it also doesn’t help that he’s starting to feel sick.
At first, he thinks it’s just cold in the lecture hall. He’s covered in goosebumps and shivering, desperately wrapping his arms around himself in attempt to conserve heat. But when he looks at the rest of his class, no one seems to be shivering — even those who are sitting near the open windows. And that's when he starts to worry.
If he gets sick this week, he’s fairly certain that Lance would murder him because he won’t want to catch whatever Keith has, and he refuses to compete if Keith isn’t there cheering.
The last few minutes of the lecture are lost to Keith as he tries desperately to wish himself healthy, and once the class ends, he immediately returns to the apartment. Upon his arrival, he's almost sure that Lance isn't home, until his roommate calls out to him from his bedroom. “Hey, man, can you bring me a soda?”
Keith lets out a noise of agreement, albeit reluctantly. He knows he isn't going to be able to hide his sickness from Lance, who knows him better than anyone, so he grabs the soda and decides he can't risk talking to Lance.
Lance’s bedroom door is wide open when he approaches, so Keith just drops the soda onto the dresser beside his door, avoiding letting Lance see his face. He's back out within seconds without even making eye contact with Lance, who's sitting on his bed with his laptop on top of his legs.
“Hey, wait!” Lance calls after him, halting Keith's retreat to his own bedroom, where he can try his best to sleep off his symptoms. “Come back, I haven't seen you all day.”
“I'm tired, Lance,” he protests, half-refusing to turn around. In the end, he does, since it'll look more suspicious if he refuses again. He makes his way to the doorway again, leans against the frame with crossed arms, and glares at Lance. “What do you want?”
“Why are you so cranky today?” Lance pouts, leaning back against the wall and turning his attention from his laptop to Keith, who rolls his eyes dramatically.
“I didn't sleep well last night, and I’m exhausted now,” he lies, looking anywhere but Lance’s face. It’s hard for Keith to lie to him — even harder to not crack under his gaze. The best option he has is to pretend to be annoyed and get the conversation over with as quickly as he possibly can. “Maybe I’d be less cranky if you let me take a nap.”
“Jeez, okay,” Lance respods, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No need to snap at me!”
And with that, Keith turns on his heel and leaves the room as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. If Lance sees through it, he doesn’t show it.
It takes Keith much longer than normal to actually situate himself and get comfortable, since he’s still shivering with chills. The blankets on his bed don’t seem to be enough to warm him, but it’s all Keith has in his room. If he risked grabbing more blankets, Lance would see and know he was sick — and that could not happen.
So Keith decides to just put on a lot of socks and wait it out. Luckily, it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.
When he wakes up — four hours later, according to his clock — there are two blankets from Lance’s bed on top of him. Keith groans, throws a hand over his eyes to block the bright light from blinding him. There’s no reason for him to get up anytime soon, other than to make dinner for himself. Lance won’t be home until later that night, Keith remembers, so it’s a good time for Keith to rest without interruption.
He lays around for nearly another hour on his phone, not really hungry enough to make food, when he notices a note on his bedside table.
Went to class, it reads in Lance’s neat cursive writing. I’ll be back with take-out and cold medicine. You cannot be sick for my meet. I need my good luck charm there.
It's strange, Keith thinks, that even though he knows he's over-analyzing the words, the message still makes his stomach flip.
Lance has a good luck coin. That's the good luck charm. He always insists that Keith keep it in his pocket whenever he watches Lance’s competitions. It's nothing more than that, Keith reminds himself adamantly. It's purely a superstition, absolutely meaningless. It was never anything more, and it never will be — to Lance, at least.
The routine had started during Lance's first collegiate track meet, back when he and Keith shared a dorm their first year. During his high school competitions, Lance had always worn a pair of lucky socks, but he’d forgotten them that day. As he was panicking, Keith had calmed him down and gave him the nickel he had in his pocket. He’d said that the coin could be his new good luck charm if he ran well.
In the end, Lance ran a personal best that day. From then on, that nickel has been his good luck charm, and he insists that Keith holds it for every race.
Lance has specifications to this, as well. In his opinion, the good luck isn't at its strongest unless Keith keeps it in his right pocket, where he'd found the coin nearly four years ago. He has to wear the leather jacket he'd been wearing then, too. Lance also insists that Keith stands at the third-quarter mark of the race, 100 meters from the end, so he can finish strong. If anything isn't right, Lance refuses to run.
Keith wants to believe Lance has a reason for being so picky, but he doesn't get his hopes up. Even if he isn't Lance's good luck charm, he's glad to at least be a part of it.
It's best that Keith doesn't dwell on it. He decides instead to take a shower, in the hopes that the hot water will at least help drain his sinuses and warm him up. The likelihood is low, but at least he wants to put forth the effort so he looks moderately refreshed for later, when Lance gets back from his classes.
Gathering a towel and some comfortable clothing, Keith heads off to their bathroom, hurrying to reach the carpet as his feet freeze on the linoleum. He shivers when he finally gets there, turning the water as hot as he can.
A few minutes pass in which Keith stares blankly at the wall in front of him, eyes unblinking and unfocused. He can feel his headache dissipating a little as the water flows over him and down the drain. Briefly, Keith scolds himself for wasting water, knowing that Lance will complain about the bill when they get it in two weeks. Almost as quickly as he considers it though, he brushes it off. Lance often dramatically increases the electric bill in the winter — by turning up his thermostat excessively high — so Keith doesn’t feel too bad about this particularly self-indulgent shower.
By the time he’s washed the sickness off his skin, he realizes his 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner is still empty; he’d forgotten to buy a new one. He debates washing his hair with body wash until he remembers the lecture he got from Lance the last time he did that.
So Keith reaches for the fancy shampoo, knowing he’ll hate himself when he goes to bed later smelling like Lance.
When he gets out of the shower after a little longer, he finds himself even colder than he was before. He’s shivering much more violently, aching from head to toe, and having trouble keeping his eyes open. The pounding in his head just continues to intensify. On his way to the kitchen for painkillers, he contemplates — rather dramatically — if he should just jump out the window and let the cold pavement steal away his suffering.
In short, Keith does not enjoy being sick.
After pouring himself a glass of water, he downs a few ibuprofen. And just as he’s putting the cap on the bottle with shaky hands, he hears keys in the door, startling him. The pills spill all over the floor.
“Aren’t you not sick? Just tired, right?” Lance asks smugly once he’s fully in the apartment. He’s got a few grocery bags in his hands, which he places on the counter before regarding Keith with a look that taunts I told you so. Keith only looks back at him long enough to glare, before crouching down to gather up the spilled medicine. Lance does the same, and within a silent minute, it’s all back in the bottle.
“In fact,” Lance comments, and his tone is all teasing, “I thought you never got sick.”
“It’s your fault for—” Keith pauses to sneeze, “—for making me go out in the pouring rain to do your laundry!” He accuses, just as jokingly as Lance had been. Keith stands beside Lance, glaring from the corner of his eye as the other boy leans back against the counter, smirking like he’s got something up his sleeve.
“You could have done it when it wasn’t raining!” Lance counters, then lowers his voice when he sees Keith flinch at his volume. “But I do feel bad, so I brought you some soup from that place downtown that you love.”
Keith’s eyes widen a little, not at the sincerity of the gesture — since after all, Lance is one of the kindest people he knows — but because that place is extremely expensive. They only go when they’re celebrating something important, like when they finished finals the previous year or when they put the down payment on the apartment. In short, the soup was completely unnecessary but ridiculously kind.
Keith’s phone buzzes and the display lights up. He reads the notification from Instagram; it’s a follow request from the username @krolia.marmora, someone he doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t really think much about it when he presses accept, and nearly immediately, his attention is back on Lance.
“Let's watch a movie,” Lance suggests as he hands the soup to Keith with a spoon, before retreating to the couch. “I wanted to see that new Keanu Reeves action movie.”
“Okay, sure,” Keith agrees, even though he’s not a fan of action movies. He owes this much to Lance — plus, he had a hard time turning down Keanu Reeves. He follows Lance into the living room, grabbing a blanket on his way to keep himself warm. As Keith settles down on the couch, boneless and tired, Lance searches for the movie on his laptop next to him. He slumps into the pillows, clutching his soup in both hands.
Lance briefly glances at him, as if he’s calculating. His eyebrows furrow before they relax, and he leans forward, gesturing for the blanket.
“You’ll get sick, too,” Keith warns, even though every bit of him begs to accept Lance’s request to share the blanket. Nights like these, spent within the warmth and comfort of their shared apartment, are the ones Keith treasures more than anything in the world. For him, they define home.
“I’ve been using those vitamin-C packets. I’ll be fine,” Lance responds with a nonchalant shrug. For a moment he goes back to sifting through their Netflix, before smiling triumphantly at the movie he’d been looking for. He then scoots closer to Keith, tugging at the blanket and grinning mischievously. “Plus, if you get me sick,” he drawls smugly, “I can just get revenge. How do you think you’d look without eyebrows? Or, better yet, bald?”
Keith uses all his strength to shove Lance off the couch. “Touch my hair and I’ll replace your fancy shampoo with off-brand substitutes.”
The warning itself is enough to make Lance’s eyes open comically side, and he feigns mock betrayal with a dramatic gasp of horror. The expression itself sends Keith into a fit of laughter, hiding his face in his hands as Lance gawks. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me,” Keith challenges through interrupted laughter as he nudges Lance with his socked foot. “I won’t hesitate, bitch.”
It’s Lance’s turn to laugh hysterically, doubling over into himself. The sound of it lifts a weight from Keith’s chest, one he didn’t know he was bearing. He watches — with a wide smile of his own — as Lance gets up from where Keith has shoved him to the floor, jokingly dusts himself off, then situates himself on the couch so Keith’s tucked under his arm and into his side. The blanket barely covers the both of them.
“Seriously, Lance,” he warns now, slightly more serious than he’d been before. “You can’t get sick before your big race. Just get your own blanket,” Keith advises, leveling a glare at Lance that warns he isn’t going to deal with him if he does end up catching the cold Keith has.
“Shut up,” Lance lets out a dismissive huff of laughter and pulls Keith a little closer. Keith’s words betrayed his attitude, though, especially as he melts into Lance’s hold and lets himself relax into the gesture. “I’m trying to keep you warm — you’re literally shivering! Just let me be affectionate, jeez. It’s like we’re freshmen all over again!”
Keith smiles warmly even though Lance can’t see and curls a hand into the blanket. He thinks about what Lance had meant by the comment and recognizes how far they’d come.
Back in their freshman year, Lance had always been extremely affectionate with Keith — even before they were close as friends. Keith couldn’t comprehend why his roommate was so insistent on hugging him when they got exciting news, throwing an arm over him when they were relaxing, and even sitting close on the couch when one of them had a bad day. The idea of physical touch for the sole purpose of comfort was ridiculous enough to Keith, not to mention being affectionate for no reason at all. That aspect of Lance was too enigmatic for Keith to comprehend, so he never really tried to understand it.
Whenever Keith complained, Lance had always attributed it to his big family. He insisted affection was essential for a healthy relationship and, in turn, a life of happiness. Appalled whenever Keith questioned it, Lance just doubled his efforts. It seemed as if he’d do anything to get Keith comfortable enough to receive hugs, and eventually, seek comfort when he needed it.
They’ve come a long way, Keith recognizes, as he rests his head on Lance and curls a hand into the blanket. He could lay on Lance without a moment’s hesitation, and in retrospect, he wished he’d been more open to the idea of touch in the past. Now, he didn’t think there was any better way to calm down than a hug from someone he cared about.
Granted, Keith wasn’t exactly raised the way Lance was. His experience in the foster system after his father’s death held him back for a long time — as did the burden of keeping it secret. It wasn’t until the end of their first semester in college that he told Lance the real reason for his social awkwardness.
It had begun with a harmless lie.
After their first semester freshman year, Lance had been extremely excited to go home for the holidays. He’d spent weeks collecting Christmas decorations for their dorm room, in the hope that it became more “homey”. By early December, there were lights strung across the walls, ornaments hung on a miniature tree, and candles lit during every moment of the day. The atmosphere changed drastically in that short period of time, and Keith couldn’t help but indulge in it.
Often, Lance asked where Keith would go when their break started, who he would stay with, and how long he’d be gone. And in an effort to avoid Lance’s pity, Keith had lied through his teeth. He’d lied that he was leaving to see his family a day later than Lance and would return a few days earlier. Without much prodding, Lance actually believed him.
Eventually, Lance got curious about his family, so Keith had managed to come up with a story: his mother and father had divorced when he was young, and he was only in contact with his father. Keith had also fabricated an elaborate story of past christmas traditions and favorite gifts and happy memories — all to keep Lance from finding out about his baggage.
In the days leading up to their break, a lot of time was spent studying for finals, so Keith was able to avoid family talk. Lance was a tense mess during his tests and excited to leave. Keith, on the other hand, was just looking forward to some alone time. As much as he’d come to like Lance in that first semester, he kind of missed the peace of solitude. He looked forward to not being pestered about eating all three meals and going to bed at a decent hour.
Finally, on the day that Lance left to go home, Keith even pretended to pack his stuff. The moment Lance left, though, he returned everything back to normal.
While he was gone, Lance texted him nearly once a day. Whether it was a gushing explanation of a family moment or just a random comment, Keith appreciated the outreach — even though it stung a little to hear of all Lance had when Keith had nothing.
He had passed most of the days in their room, playing videos, watching movies, and enjoying the remaining Christmas decorations — not that he’d ever admit it to Lance. He even had gone to the gym and gained a pound or two of muscle. In addition, he’d started and finished an entire sitcom series that he’d been meaning to watch.
In short, he’d enjoyed his time off from classes — that is, until Lance came back two days early.
Keith had been sleeping on the couch when the door unlocked, and Lance was appalled to see him there. At first, Keith had tried to lie and claim he got back early, but it hadn’t worked. Lance saw right through it. Reluctantly, Keith decided it was time for Lance to know the truth.
As always, Lance was patient, kind, and understanding. Keith could tell he was hurt from the lie and obvious lack of trust, but he hoped telling the truth made it up to Lance. They spent the remaining days before classes celebrating their own version of Christmas: they exchanged small gifts, listened to Christmas songs with hot chocolate, and watched movies. It was everything Keith had ever wished for since he lost his only family. He didn’t think things could get any better.
From then on, Lance has brought Keith to his house for winter break.