Chapter Text
The woods, Keith thinks, truly give him the silence necessary in a world so loud.
Not that he is no contributor to the volume, either. But he can't help but feel that, perhaps, if everyone had access to this, the world could be a little easier to live in.
This wasn't the first time those thoughts visited him, nor would it be the last.
As if they patiently waited for him, in between the branches embellished with leaves shifting between their characteristic green color and the golden-brown hue that signalled that, unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. Or behind large tree trunks that have hidden countless things behind them, remaining to be stoic witnesses of countless human crises over the centuries while maintaining a level of persistence a man like him could only dream of.
He made his way through the woods, taking in all the sensations it has to offer. Despite having walked through it countless times, he found himself always discovering something new to observe each time. As his eyes wandered upwards, he was met by strips of sun rays spilling through little gaps the crowns of trees left between each other, and the almost idyllic soundscape of birds chirping a familiar melody paired with the quiet, rhythmic sound of twigs and dried up leaves shifting beneath his feet eased his ears more than any sidewalk by grey asphalt and racing cars could. And each time, he decided that his favorite color might not be red, but the one the sunlight lends to the leaves of countless trees and bushes that reach towards the end of the horizon.
And for a short moment he thought, what could he be if the forest was all that ever was around him? A presence that is ever so consistent as nothing humanly made or felt could ever be. Something that, despite an ever-changing cycle, stays. Or at least does so as long as he does, too. And oh, how he wished humans were capable of such consistency.
But they aren't. And once he left the woods, the thoughts, expectedly, left as fast as they arrived. Guess he isn't capable of consistency either.
If the presence of nature turned on a switch within him, the absence of it would, logically and automatically, turn it off. No doubt. He sometimes suspected the woods to be a different world entirely, one in which he hasn't yet been carved to the person he learned he needed to be, one where he simply is.
But right now, the wind hit him once again, causing strands of his hair to end up all over his face, including his mouth. He hastily brushed it away, groaning about the sudden loss of the peaceful atmosphere that had almost embedded him within its arms. In an attempt to not let the wind slap more strands of hair right across his features once more, he yanked on his black cap with a little more force than necessary. At least, he thought, the wind cooled the drops of sweat dripping down his neck so excruciatingly slow that Keith started to believe they were trying to tease and tickle him on purpose. The duality of summer. Sweet.
Soon after, he found himself on that ever so familiar street, the sight of it stirring up the usual underlying, dreaded feeling that accompanied him throughout all of his time spent outside of the woods, a feeling he has yet to miss or welcome back with open arms.
He put his wired earphones in on reflex, trying to drown out the distant and incomprehensible whirr of city life. Instead of it, he let something familiar comfort his ears and lead him forward – music always had a similarly grounding effect on him as the woods had, though in dramatically different ways. The woods never left calluses on his left hand, they never caused his shoulder to ache from a familiar weight. But they also never spread goosebumps over his arms like Wagner or Rachmaninoff could, never left Keith to sink in each chord, each note, as a place to retreat to. Yet, his earphones unfortunately couldn't tune out his outer world, and the intense amount of sensations gnawed at him, made his skin itch. Cars swerved right by him, one by one, because they've got places to be, and he has, too.
Speaking of which, what time is it?
"Fuck." he cursed under his breath, the sight of his watch automatically accelerating his walk. There is no way he will be late again, or, at least, later than Lance. He swore it to himself last time, and the time before, well aware of the sweet and sour irony within that. And upon knowing and recognizing this cycle, he couldn't seem to escape it. Did he even want to? That, he couldn’t quite answer, so, instead, his feet kept moving, as they always did.
It has become a sort of tradition, a friendly competition that has accompanied the two throughout all the years they've been friends that, they have found, can be applied to almost anything. No matter what, they make it possible.
Who's earlier to arrive at their annual meet up in their local diner? Who can finish their burger first? Sprint faster towards their local cinema? Who jumps the least number of times in the trashy slasher movie they forced themselves to watch because neither will admit that they are, against the beliefs of each other but no one else’s, huge wimps that will occasionally have one or two nightmares about said movie? Not that they could even admit to that if they wanted to, either.
So yes, maybe it is a little stupid, but what if that's the point? Some might even call it reckless, sometimes childish, but that is part of what Keith relishes about their friendship. That beneath it all, they give each other the freedom to be who they are in the absence of academic stress and societal expectations, creating a space of complete and utter transparency towards the other.
Well, at least for the most part.
Because maybe, he has always taken a little extra time to get ready, no matter how many messages his friends were spamming in the group chat to simply, for the love of God, get up earlier or something, to which he simply replied by calling himself "fashionably late". And maybe, when eating their burgers, he took a little more time not only for the sole purpose of "savoring each bite a little longer". Because when they watched those trashy slasher movies, his eyes wandered away from the screen and automatically glued onto Lance's frightened expression – which the boy always denied right after – more often than he cared to ever admit to anyone else but especially himself. Because on half their sprints towards whatever the hell they're sprinting toward that time around, his legs eventually relaxed and allowed his pace to slow down to make way for his friend.
It's a little odd, really, Keith wondered. They both knew Keith was the faster of both, having proved himself way back when they had shared volleyball practices after school. Each time, their warm up was more of a competition than anything else, much to the disdain of their trainer. Keith always arrived at their self-designated checkpoint first, the only varying constant being the distance by which he had won over Lance, and as the both of them were gasping for air, he had felt this ever so familiar cocky sense of pride swell within him.
So, what had changed?
Perhaps it was Lance, whose eyes lit up each time Keith arrived at the booth full of their friends, and out of all of them, the sparkle in his eyes stood out the most. And maybe Lance changed his perfume or his detergent to one Keith was allergic to or something. Because each time Keith glanced at his friend for merely a fraction of a second, the sight caused his ears to flush and his heart to race, more so if the glance was returned. Or maybe, the change lied within Lances way of celebrating a win in one of their stupid competitions, because Keith could swear that back when he had won those races in volleyball practice, Lances celebration was all the more insufferable and arrogant, so much so that he couldn't wait to wipe that damn smile off of his face at his next chance.
And somewhere between the late-night movie marathons, the stolen glances, and the races he let himself lose, he'd stopped caring about winning. Because, without realizing it, Keith had not only maybe, but definitely, fallen for Lance.
Which, to be fair, is old news for Keith by now. It's been old news for the last few years, which he had feared to be nothing but a setback for him. Because if he's learnt one thing about love, it's that it is beyond logic. He had always deeply wished it weren't. Wished that the sheer impossibility of anything that goes beyond friendship between them was easier to accept. Wished that love would make him see things that are closer to reality than he could allow himself to hope for. And, as much as he wished he didn't know, he learned that love grows and expresses itself in the most irrational ways.
And as if on cue, his phone vibrated, Lances notification popping up on the top of his display. Life had its humorous ways. Keith chuckled at the irony.
Lance: keiithhhh its been 15 min
Lance: u better hurry or ur burger is getting cold
Lance: yk what actually thats good
Lance: its like scorching hot here
Lance: but ig thatd mean it wouldnt get cold then so u still better hurry
Lance: everyones waitingggerfhihfhr
Keith couldn't help but smile ever so slightly at his text messages, unreasonably paranoid about if Lance saw. He knew it was practically impossible, yet the fear of Lance seeing him being absolutely smitten for the guy, or anyone for that matter, had made him almost frantically aware of the snarky remarks that would follow, causing him to force his usual frown onto his face once again.
He swiftly checked out his appearance in the reflection of a renovating store window as he walked by, still at a higher pace than he is used to. That is when he noticed strands of his hair sticking to his forehead and sweat stains forming on his black shirt. Summer truly brings out the best version of himself, huh.
In all honesty, he was aware of the impracticality of that styling choice, but unfortunately, his closet resembled that of an emo cartoon character with an occasional splash of colors. Although they were on the darker side, and mostly red, it was something. He just prayed Pidge would never catch sight of it – it would only make the emo allegations from her side get even worse. Admittedly, she had a point, but that doesn't mean she had any goddamn reason to mention it so blatantly often. This shirt probably won't help him beat those allegations, but honestly, did anything ever? So, he quickly fixed it and deliberately tried to keep his shirt at a safe distance from his armpits to prevent the sweat stains from growing and hopefully help them to dry.
Not shortly after, the familiar sight of the diner caught his view. He couldn't quite pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it has become their usual meet up spot. He’s got to admit, it’s definitely seen better days, with a bit of plaster coming off its grayish yellow walls and the sign above reading anything but its intended message since most of the letters have been scraped off by the passage of time. However, contrary to what one might assume, it exuded a sense of comfort, almost like a familiar friend he's shared his loudest conversations, least productive study sessions and most stomach- turning hangovers with. At first, he felt sorry for the employees who had to witness all of it, but oddly enough, it had created this strangely intimate bond, since they've gotten to see him at his best, his worst and everything in-between.
As he stepped closer, he adjusted his cap and checked his shirt again. The sweat stains weren't gone, which is to no one’s surprise, and honestly, who is he to care, right? His hands ran through his hair one last time, slightly irritated by the dampness of it, before finally bursting into the diner.
Keith was immediately hit with that very familiar smell of grease and overly sweetened milkshakes, not that he minded it. Faint 80s synth pop music played in the background, blending with excited chatter of multiple groups seated across the worn- out, dark red booths. The sun shone in through half- opened blinds, painting them with stripes of gold. It was almost a poetic sight, as if the hall filled with a warm glow was the sun's personal mural.
For a moment, Keith's eyes scanned for his friends, and thanks to them frantically talking to each other at an obnoxious volume like a bunch of mad men, it turned out to be almost too easy. As he stepped closer, he could already hear small fragments of their conversation, if you could even call it that.
"-you mean the Sonic soundtrack is mid?! It is the soundtrack ever, no 'if's, no 'but's- No, Lance! Mario Kart wouldn't stand a chance-"
"Guess you just hate joy and whimsy then? What kind of nerd like you would disregard, no, downright shame the most legendary soundtrack ever?!"
"For the love of god, I am not putting it down! Yes, Coconut Mall is fun, but objectively-"
"That only scratches the surface of Mario greatness! If you gave it one chance, Pidge, one-"
Keith could only stand and watch as the two practically spit fire at each other. He should be used to their passionate discussions getting out of hand every now and then, yet this one takes it up a notch– not by the emotional extent, but by the sheer ridiculousness. Hunk looked up from his seat, his eyes being hit by a sudden wave of recognition, and then gratitude.
"Keith, I don't know how much longer I could've lasted without you here." He gripped, almost clawed at Keith’s shoulders. "There was no way I could calm these two arguing about some stupid-"
"Fuck you mean, 'stupid'?! Hunk, I love you, but I swear to God if you-" Lance's words had seemed to be stuck in his throat as his eyes snapped into Keith's direction. "Keith! For a hot second, I thought you'd never show up!" he said, like a switch had just been flipped within him, his smile so bright and effortless as if it weren't aware of its impact it had left on Keith over the years.
Instinctively, he smiled back, smaller, quieter, yet the warmth curling around his chest was anything but quiet, no matter how hard he tried to make it be. In front of his seat stood a burger, his usual one at that, and he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that his late arrival, his coke having lost its fizz and the burger waiting for him and turning awkwardly lukewarm and soggy had become part of their routine.
As soon as he sat down, it was a starting signal for everyone to dig in, each with their usual order in front of them. Keith and Lance went for the burgers stacked so high they would fall apart if it weren't for the skewers barely holding them together. However, over the years, they've had enough time to perfect their strategy of eating it without making a complete mess.
Pidge had, of course, ordered her classic fries and nuggets. She was never going to stop defending that choice, and the others have long since learned better than to argue against it.
Hunk was trying out the daily specialty offered by the diner, or experimental cooking finesse as he liked to call it, just as he always did. And each time, without fail, it would be leaving him mourning the meal yet emphasizing how the artistry of the dish lies within its uniqueness, a lecture the group should've grown tired of by now, but somehow hasn't just yet.
Lance had almost inhaled the burger in a way that assured Keith that he could place a bet on Lance's health turning into a hazard because of this anytime. Much to his disappointment however, no one's willing to place one that won't be settled for another 40 years. But they've got time.
Just as Keith had around three bites of his burger left and chewed on it vigorously, Lance slammed his hands on the table in victory, causing his plate to dangerously wobble for a few seconds before coming to a halt. Keith wondered if anyone had truly never noticed the routine within.
"Dibs!" He shouted, causing a few heads to turn towards them.
"I don't think you're using that word correctly."
"What do you know, mullet."
Keith rolled his eyes, yet not even a Broadway- worthy performance of annoyance could conceal the forming smirk on his lips. However, it was just enough to keep his friends from questioning his constant losses, which is all it needed to do. Both leaned back on the red leather seats again, one from defeat and one from exhaustion and being stuffed to the brim.
Despite minor disagreements on the topic, the four continued to talk about the upcoming Sonic game, naturally reminiscing about the old days of playing the game as scrawny middle schoolers. Hunk had sighed in nostalgia.
"But guys, think about it. It's like it was only last year when I saw Lance on the track field, back when you still had your braces. Dude, you like, totally embraced the awkward teenage look. And I love you for that."
Lance buried his face in his hands, slowly dragging them down in despair. "Hunk, please, if you don't stop reminding me of my past, I'll never be able to leave that Lance behind."
"Maybe we don't want you to, Lance!" Pidge interjected, throwing her hands in the air.
"Be so for real right now, that was before I discovered proper hygiene. Heck, the only thing I did to my face back then was to just wash it. With water. Who even does that?"
Keith's eyes darted away from Lance, desperately trying to dodge the rhetoric question. Because yeah, he does that. He just doesn't deem anything more than that as necessary. Is that such a crime?
“–except for you Keith, I don't know how the hell you do it, but you can be damn glad you've been blessed with your genes. Skincare's expensive, man!"
Keith just desperately tried to avoid the topic since he is not very fond of the idea of discussing his lacking skin care routine with the group. That's when he remembered: "Wasn't Rolo's party tomorrow? Are y'all going?"
"Heck yeah I am! What the hell!"
"Sure, why not, to get to know the people for senior year. Plus, Lance's enthusiasm worries me."
Everyone's gaze slowly wandered to Pidge, who, until now, sat in silence, poking her remaining fries around the plate. A few seconds of strained silence passed before she groaned excessively. "Fine, I'll stop by. But as soon as I gotta deal with Lance's drunk ass, I'm out."
With that settled, the conversation had lightened once again, flowing naturally and gaining back its sense of familiarity. They passed the time by watching groups of customers walk in and out of the diner and making up ridiculous backstories for some of them, laughing louder than they probably should have.
Before Keith knew it, the sun had already taken on its orange hue when Hunk and Pidge had decided to part from the group. Hunk's sister paid them a visit, which included bringing her two children, twins at that, and he promised to at least join them at dinner to make up for all the ones they've missed out on before. Pidge, similarly, had to head home since she needed to wake up early the next day to attend some kind of tech convention her brother, Matt, was going to give a presentation at.
Which, in short, only left Keith with Lance. Cool.
After the four paid for the meals (and tipped for their patience), the four bid their goodbyes, leaving a silence lingering in between the group and the walls of the diner behind. As their paths split into two, one leading towards the bus station and the other towards... Well, wherever the other two were going, the separation was almost tangible, like the air had changed as the group shrank into just two. Keith glanced over to the only remaining figure, standing with his hands in his pockets.
"So, headed home?" Keith asked.
"Nah. Mom's still visiting my uncle with the others until tomorrow, so it's just me and Rachel at home. And she's probably not even at home either. Still out with her friends and whatnot." Lance shrugged. "I'd rather stick with you, anyway."
Immediately, Keith's jaw clenched and his throat tightened, suddenly feeling the accelerating pulse of his heart all the more. Of course, Lance did it again. Those incredibly small remarks, almost microscopic, so small that he wondered why he had to notice them each time, the ones that drove him crazy. It was almost unfair, the way it came out of Lance's mouth so effortlessly, as if he knew that even the quietest hum could make Keith's heart jump. He can count himself lucky that, if anything, only his ears flushed, and that they're conveniently hidden behind his hair, just enough to be protected from anyone's eyes, but especially Lance's.
"Cool." He muttered. And it's not like he lied or anything. It is cool. So why is he losing his mind over it? Shouldn't he be used to it by now?
"Cool." Lance answered, his words being taken away by the wind just as swiftly as they had escaped his mouth.
They strolled through the city until they arrived at its plaza, which had emptied out by now. Only a few elderly couples peacefully sitting on the wooden benches, some lively children still squealing as they run from their parents who, by the looks of it, are far more tired than their younger counterparts are, and few groups of teenagers standing in circles and sharing bottles of cheap wine are left. They probably could've recognized some of them, but didn't care enough to.
The sunset still spared them the last few orange rays of the day, and the wind had finally decided to settle down, only carrying a gentle breeze towards the boys to cool their skin. The gap in- between them had been filled with comfortable silence, or as close to silence as it gets at the city's center on a Friday evening.
Naturally, their legs led them towards a bench they've seen countless times, one they favored in particular. The white paint had been partly chopped off, revealing the pale brown shade of the wood beneath. It offered a view onto the river that divides their city into North and South, a few boats sailing across its surface that still reflected the last slivers of sunlight, creating shimmering patches of gold that moved with the flow of the waves. A few birds flew across, screeching as they did, and right by the river, some pedestrians, mostly in pairs, laughed and chatted, blurring into the sound of the splashing water right by them.
And Keith? He just stared. Not at the view, but at Lance. How couldn't he? Lance had looked lighter. Like a weight had been lifted off of him, his shoulders being relaxed instead of weighed down into a slump. His eyes reflected the golden glow of the city lights before him, now telling a hundred more stories than his own. Keith's eyes wandered down to Lance's lips, and instead of moving rapidly or curving into a teasing smirk, they looked soft, with an ever so subtle curve Keith couldn't read to the best of his abilities. His lips parted and took a deep breath, one where his eyes fluttered shut and his entire body seemed to lean into it.
And although it seemed so ordinary, Keith knew it wasn't. Knew that right now, Lance is exactly what he isn't around others. He isn't desperately trying to fill in the silence, whistle a tune, talk about the latest update on some random TV show or at least ask something, anything, to let his counterpart do the talking. Nor is he tapping his fingers, shifting his weight from one foot to another, or rubbing his nose one too many times. Keith had once asked their friends if they've ever caught him doing essentially nothing, to which they either responded with doubt or even disbelief. He had only managed to mirror that exact reaction when they told him their response.
Keith's fingers buried into his shirt's fabric, clawing the weight that pressed against his ribs from within, and it sat on his chest heavier than ever. Lance is grounded. He's calm. He's all those things he can't be with anyone else but Keith. And although he's familiar with that Lance by now, the feeling and underlying joy that spreads through his blood streams will always cause an equally exciting and comforting warmth to swell within him. Because they're Keith and Lance, and something about that thought, although ever so simple, will always cause sparks to fly.
So, for now, he chose to ignore the rest, chose to discard doubting thoughts and disregard the sun's fading. Because when he closed his eyes, his other senses painted the image of their surroundings. Maybe then, he could make the bliss of the moment last longer.
That is, until he eventually couldn't pretend to bathe in sunlight anymore. And Lance obviously couldn't either.
"Hey man," he mumbled, his voice raspy from the sheer lack of talking, "uh-"
Keith's eyes peaked open just enough to glance at Lance from the side, who still stammered as he searched his brain for the right words.
"You mind if I crash at your place tonight?"
Keith blinked, fully awake now.
"What?" He mumbled. The request wasn't anything out of the ordinary by any means, Lance had obviously stayed over before. But something about him, the way he held himself, his tone, body language. Keith's stomach turned, and he couldn't quite place the reason.
Lance exhaled sharply and leaned his head back, onto what he probably expected to be the bench but was in fact nothing more than air.
"Yeah, I mean, it's just- I don't really feel like coming home to an empty house today, you know? It's so eerie when no one's there, got me shivering in my boots." He said, playfully shuddering as he looked down at his comically neon- colored flip flops. His eyes wandered to Keith's, and for a split second his expression was somehow expectant, yet with something unreadable hidden behind, unspoken words anyone could’ve sensed. However, Lance's eyes flicked to another direction before Keith could at least decipher bits of it.
"As if my place was less empty." Keith countered.
Lance huffed a laugh, or rather puffed air out of his nostrils. "You know that's like an entirely different thing. My place was made to be filled with a big family, and your place just... wasn't.” A silence lingered, the weight of his words letting his fingers twitch.
“I don't know, you don't have to if-"
"No, no, you can stay, Lance. Of course you can."
Lance sighed, all the unreadable tension leaving his body through a singular breath. "Hell yeah. Bet your couch's been missing her favorite boy."
"Lance, if you don't stop calling my couch 'her', she'll have to miss you forever."
"Well, that's just plain rude. Why do you even get to say it, I-" He stopped himself, seemingly holding back from leashing out over something so minor. "-anyway, thank you, Keith. I mean who could even decline this-"
"Careful, before I change my mind." Keith teased, glancing at Lance through the corner of his eyes.
Lance leaned closer to Keith playfully, shoving him on his shoulder. "Do you really think you could?"
And damn, he was right. Keith could only stammer fractions of words that had summed up to absolute nonsense, while Lance simply hummed in response, amused. Usually that would have gotten Keith to boil with sheer annoyance at that smug attitude Lance was wearing – however, he found himself merely pretending to be, scoffing and abruptly getting on his feet.
As Lance scurried behind, Keith couldn't help but wonder about Lance's strange demeanor earlier, because why and what exactly was he holding back? Despite his efforts to push it aside – wondering isn't of any use anyway – the question didn't stop lingering in the back of his mind, settling there like an itch he couldn’t quite reach to scratch.
*
After a while of walking and rambling on and on about all things their minds came up with, the street lights had already turned on, creating an orange contrast to the dark blue sky above them. They could already see apartment complexes stretching towards the sky, lined up in neat formations reaching further than their eyes could, which meant that Keith's apartment wasn't far. The buildings all looked the same, old, grey, and fifteen rows of balconies stacked on top of each other. However, a closer look had proved the exact opposite, every window offering a different view than its neighbors did. Random rooms had already turned off their lights, whereas others were still burning with a warm white. It was a different constellation each time, Keith gave up trying to search for a pattern within.
He was lucky enough to live in a complex that had an elevator, living higher up would be a pain otherwise. As the two had made their way up, Lance was still rambling on about the latest happenings in a new action series he just started watching. Keith would lie if he said he could remember what had happened two episodes prior, but he let him continue anyway, occasionally nodding or giving one-word reactions. He figured that letting Lance's words blur into background noise and only listening to his voice was enough already. At least it was for him.
As the door creaked open, they were met with complete darkness, but a quick motion towards the light switch had revealed the state of his place. By then, Keith realized that perhaps he shouldn't leave the place in a hurried mess each time. He glanced towards his bedroom to see his bed unmade and various clothing items scattered across the floor and his dusted music stand, which he quickly flicked his head away from to simply lead Lance towards the kitchen, which was more of a separate corner in the living room than an extra room.
"Snack?" Keith asked, but as he glanced over, Lance was already rummaging through his drawers and fridge for something edible, at which point Keith, yet again, remembered that he truly didn't prepare anything for guests. For now, he only eats toast with hummus. Or oatmeal with yoghurt if he's feeling particularly fancy. It's not the most luxurious by any means, but it satisfied Keith's hunger.
He could sense Lance's upcoming question, who already cocked his eyebrows at Keith. "I was gonna buy groceries tomorrow, okay?" He admitted, a little sheepish in his tone.
"It's whatever, I'm not that hungry anyway. But someone's gotta check your diet, right? We don't want you living off of..." He checks the fridge again. "...uh, frozen broccoli."
Keith decided to ignore that remark, instead setting up the pull-out couch and tossing Lance his pair of fluffy socks and a random hoodie Keith found crumpled up in the back of his closet, since Lance insisted on being completely huddled in warmth at night, claiming he gets cold at night easily. Keith had always thought of Lance as a little psychotic, because who the hell wants all that on a summer night? Lance turned on the TV, which had played some conspiracy documentary on the channel Keith always watched, and got the extra blankets and cushions from the drawer.
Everything already felt like an automatic process, as if it was second nature to the both of them, a thought that leaves Keith's stomach tingling ever so slightly. Because whatever this is, whatever it could be, it eased him. And he wondered how something so simple could make him feel so much more than that.
They put on The Goonies, a classic when it came to their late-night movie choices, which Lance fell asleep to shortly after. Keith couldn't blame him for that, they had seen the movie countless times, and although the genius of it pulled them back to it again and again, it has become more of a comfort staple than anything else by now. Keith kept sitting there for a while before finally standing up, turning off the TV and tucking Lance into his two blankets.
As he was about to leave, he hesitated for a split second and leaned on the doorframe to look at Lance, because again, it was hard not to. The sight of his expression free of tension and his mouth slightly opened, the slow rise and fall of his chest. This was Lance in his most vulnerable state, and Keith was suddenly painfully aware of the transience of this very moment. Who knows how much longer they will spend nights like this? How long until a moment so fragile turns into a memory?
So, he kept staring, stared to make it last, stared until his eyelids got heavy, before finally switching off the last remaining light to stumble towards his own bedroom.
With his clothes now in place, or rather stacked on his chair instead of across the floor, and his body only half covered with the blanket, he stared out of his window, blinds left open to let the moon serve as his night light. And perhaps it was the chill summer night air, or the quiet sound of grills chirping outside, but that night, it was easier than ever to fall into slumber.