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What happened? How did Keith get here? Very much drowning in very large clothes.
"Keith, how did you manage to shrink your clothes?"
"I don't know! The washing machine has too many buttons, I just pressed the biggest ones." Keith said, now holding up his comically small favorite sweater.
Keith frowned, pulling at the shrunken fabric, trying to stretch it out to its original state.
“Keith, that's not how washing machines work,” Lance pulled more shrunken clothing out of the washing machine, “Awh man! I liked these socks. These were my lucky socks, y’know.”
He stared sadly down at his now baby-sized blue lion socks.
Keith frowned, “Hey, where’s the other sock I tossed into here?”
Lance peeked into the dryer, shrunken sweaters, socks, misshapen shirts, but no second sock.
“I think the dryer ate it,” Lance said, matter of factly.
“Dryers don’t eat socks Lance.”
“Dryers definitely eat socks.”
“That’s not possible!”
“Totally is.”
Keith sighed, sorting through the clothes that had undergone an unfavorable transformation.
“Well, now I don’t have any sweaters to wear.”
“Just wear mine.”
“Have we forgotten how much larger your sweaters are than mine?”
Lance had currently been going through a style crisis and decided that the “oversized sweater” look was definitely for him.
“We can shrink ‘em.”
“Lance, no!”
~
So that’s how Keith ended up here, wearing Lance’s two sizes too big sweater. Lance insisted and pushed for Keith to wear his largest sweater too. The sleeves hung down to his thighs, the neckline fell off around his shoulders. He looked like a child.
Lance was immensely pleased with this new development, insisting that Keith looked adorable. He promised that they would get him new sweaters soon, presumably after finals week.
As college students, Lance and Keith didn’t have too much time on their hands, and Lance being a med student meant that he wasn’t doing anything other than studying. (And also insisting that all of his claims were correct because he was a med student.) (Keith would have none of that.)
~
“Keith, how many fourths are in a tenth?”
“I don’t know, at least three.”
“Huh…” Lance counted on his fingers, “Wait, that doesn’t check out.”
“Why?”
“I’m tryna make one singular cookie,” Lance called from the kitchen.
“Lance, no!” Keith jumped off the couch, running into the kitchen, “We don’t own the apartment!”
“Yes, yes, I know, let the medical student work.” Lance furiously began to mix together the very much not cookie-dough-looking mixture.
“Lance, that looks like sand.”
“That’s ‘cause it doesn’t have chocolate chips in it yet.”
“Lance, that looks like sand.”
“Trust the process Keith, trust the process.”
“Lance, I am scared.”
Lance grinned a flashy grin, “Be prepared because I shall be the world’s next baking prodigy.”
Keith watched as he threw the forsaken mixture into the microwave, not even shaping it from the bowl. He cringed as Lance began to microwave it, a glint in his eye.
“Just trust me, Keith, this cookie will break the laws of reality.”
“Lance, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
The microwave beeped behind them, Lance’s baking monstrosity now completed.
They stared down at it, half-solid, for some reason bubbling cookie.
“Huh.” Lance poked it with his finger.
“Lance, that's not a cookie.”
“Huh.” Lance licked his finger.
“Lance, did you put eggs in?”
Lance’s mouth fell open, a loud “OHH” escaping his mouth.
“Come on Keith, I’ll make you one,” Lance grabbed the very large sleeve attached to Lance’s sweater that Keith was now wearing and dragged him further into the kitchen.
“Lance, wait!” Keith wiggled his arm out of that sleeve, “Let’s just make a whole batch instead.”
“Ohh, smart. Then we don’t have to do basic math anymore.”
“Precisely.”
Lance and Keith spent the rest of the afternoon baking cookies, the first batch deemed “unsanitary” because Keith’s sleeves fell into the bowl. (They baked them anyway.) By the time they had finished baking, some cookies were mysteriously burnt, others mysteriously missing (Lance ate them.) the afternoon was over. They sat down comfortably on the couch, deciding to clean the kitchen up the next morning, enough effort had been expended for the day.
Keith lay on Lance’s chest, who stroked his hair. Keith’s eyes drifted shut slowly, mind slipping into a calm state.
But as the nature of college students go, relaxation is not a very common thing. Because not even five minutes later, Keith’s eyes had flown open, curses flying out of his mouth. There was a paper due at 11:59 PM that night, it was currently 11:56. (Keith emailed his professor saying that his boyfriend had burnt the kitchen down.) (He got an extension.)
~
It was late, Keith was planning on pulling another all-nighter to study for his econ class, the final in a few days. Every day Keith regretted taking an 8 AM class. Keith was tired, the words on the page squiggling together. He squinted, pulling the book closer to his face.
I think I need glasses…
“Keith!”
“Hu– what,” Keith mumbled out.
“I’m hungry.”
Keith blinked lazily at Lance, checking the watch on his wrist, “It’s 3 AM, Lance.”
“Yeah, but I skipped lunch to talk to my professor.”
Keith sighed, getting up from the desk to go into the kitchen.
“Why is the fridge empty?”
The very empty fridge stared back at him, the shelves completely barren. There was literally nothing in the fridge.
“I dunno.”
“When was the last time we went grocery shopping?”
“I uh…do not know.”
Keith stuck his head inside the fridge, trying to see if he could somehow magically will food into the fridge. (It did not work.)
“Ok, let’s go Lance, the nearest grocery store is a fifteen-minute walk.”
So that’s how the two ended up in a Walmart. At 3 AM.
“Keith, what’s the difference between whole milk and two percent?”
“I uh…honestly do not know.”
“Huh…let’s get the two percent one. It has a happy cow on it.”
“Lance, aren’t you lactose-intolerant?”
“Yeah, but the cow,” Lance thrust the carton into Keith’s face.
“Oh– oh. That is a cute cow…” He picked the carton up, inspecting it.
“Yeah! Can we keep him?”
“Lance…we don’t own the apartment…that includes the bathroom.”
“It’s on sale,” Lance pointed to the mark-down by the fridge.
“Digestion is a privilege, we’re keeping him.”
Lance whooped and cheered behind him.
~
They made it home by 4 AM, quite the accomplishment if you ask Keith. He had a class at eight, and decided to pull the all-nighter anyway, reasoning that college students didn’t need sleep. (Not while caffeine existed).
Keith pulled a misshapen mug out, born out of a failed pottery class on Lance’s behalf, and began to make coffee. While all-nighters weren’t rare in the apartment, Lance always scolded Keith for pulling them. Sometimes Keith pulled all-nighters just to spite Lance who lost his shit everytime he learned Keith had only slept for a total of three hours for that weekend.
“Keith, you better not be making coffee!” Lance yelled from his room.
“I’m not!” He poured the beans.
“Keith! I know you’re lying!” footsteps padded up to the kitchen.
“Keith, what the hell is this?” Lance caught him unapologetically making coffee with ungodly amounts of caffeine in it.
“Uh…a nap booster?”
“Keith.”
“No, really! Coffee helps block adenosines and stuff…so uh… when I totally sleep after this my sleep will have gotten rid of the adenosines, and then the caffeine will kick in just in time for my eight AM.”
“Keith, that’s not how science wor– wait. That is how science works, how do you know that?”
“Your boyfriend did his research so he could keep on pulling wicked all-nighters.”
“Keith! Come on stop making coffee,” he wrestled the beans out of Keith’s very iron grip, “come to bed.”
Keith snorted, bending over the counter with a laugh, “Come to bed dearie,” he huffed out between giggles.
“You sound like a Victorian wife!” he snorted again, collapsing against the counter, wheezing for breath.
“And if you keep this shit up then you’re gonna turn out to be a sickly Victorian child, now come to bed,” he hoisted Keith over his shoulder, still giggling, and dropped him into bed.
“Wait noo, Lance I have to study,” Keith tried to clamber out of bed.
“No, you need to sleep,” Lance tucked him back into the bed, swaddling him with the blankets.
“Asshole,” Keith mumbled out from blanket jail.
“Shh, go to bed,” Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, nuzzling his nose into the back of his head.
Keith mumbled out an unintelligible insult before drifting off to sleep.
~
Keith’s alarm did not wake him up, the swaddling method apparently very effective. He flew out of bed at seven-forty-seven on the dot, putting Lance’s shoes on instead of his and dragging his half-packed bag out the door.
He sprinted to his next class, wind on his feet, sleep still trying to cling to his eyes.
He made it on time with thirty seconds to spare. Not like it really mattered though, the professor ended up being fifteen minutes late.
Keith utilized the time to make a double-shot espresso with the fancy machine his professor had in his class.
“Good morning guys, sorry I’m late, I woke up shit-faced on the side of the road because I make bad decisions, so we’re gonna watch a movie. Oh, and Keith, whip up a double shot for me too, thanks.” Their professor swept through the door, looking just as shit-faced as he mentioned, tie gone, hair messy, eye bags drooping–
Well, to be fair he always had eyebags.
“Sure thing,” Keith poured the shot into those shitty stylophone cups that inevitably melt into your drink. It’s all a part of the charm.
“Good man,” the professor clapped him on the back.
“Can I just go?” Keith asked, “I got like…three hours of sleep last night and a final to study for.”
“Oh yeah, knock yourself out, I don’t care.”
“Sick, thanks sir,” Keith bid farewell, sweeping out the door.
Keith was halfway to the library when the notification for an eye appointment buzzed on his phone. He checked his phone, forgetting that he even scheduled the appointment.
“Shit…” he called Lance.
“Lance?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Could you drive me somewhere?”
“Huh? Why? Aren’t you in class? Don’t tell me you’re ditching…”
“I’m not ditching! The professor let me leave, there’s a difference.”
“Suree–”
“Anyway I have an eye appointment because sometimes the letters like blend together or whatever, can you take me?”
“You could’ve taken yourself if you hadn’t crashed your goddamn motorcycle."
“You’re still mad about that?? How was I supposed to know that the Walmart parking lot is an active deer zone??”
“Read the sign!!”
“Listen I thought it was a joke which is a completely valid opinion because–”
“Plus if you had a driver’s liscence–”
“That one is not my fault the instructor didn’t like my face.”
“Awhh, he didn’t like your pouty face? But it’s so cute!”
“Look! Lance, can you take me or not?”
“Oh yeah, for sure. Look up.”
Honestly, Keith heard him before he saw him.
I want you to be mine again baby
Fetty wap was playing, harboring a grinning Lance in the truck before him. He had these stupidly fitting sunglasses on, leaning out of the window of his pick-up truck, awkwardly lip-syncing to Fetty wap blasting in the background.
“What’s up babe! Hop in.”
“You’re crazy,” Keith laughed as he slid into the passenger seat.
“You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
~
“Keith, can you tell me the letters in the third row?” The optometrist had one of Keith’s eyes covered.
“Dot, squiggle, loopy, Q, and S,” Keith answered.
“Ah…fantastic,” the doctor replied, moving to his other eye, “And how about the letters in the second row?”
“Squiggle, squiggle, squiggle…dude these are all the same letters.”
Lance stood in the corner of the room, bewildered, choking back laughs.
“Keith, those are clearly z’s and k’s,” Lance pointed.
The doctor swiveled around in his chair, “Young man those are actually s’s and x’s.”
“What,” Lance said, his finger suspended in mid-air.
“Lance?”
“Um,” Lance dropped his hand.
“You may need glasses too! Make an appointment. However, your boyfriend here definitely needs glasses. Here’s your prescription. You can have them made here, but Costco makes them too.”
And with that, they left.
“Lance! You didn’t tell me your eyes don’t work too!”
“They work Keith.”
“Well then what’s that?” Keith gestured at a tree.
“Green blob.”
“ Oh my god you drove us here.”
By the end of the month they both had glasses.
~
See, they both had glasses, Keith just never wanted to wear his. He would ceaselessly squint into the textbooks, glasses right next to him, but he refused to wear them. It drove Lance absolutely crazy. I mean, why would you have glasses and never wear them?
“Keith, why don’t you just wear your glasses?” Lance asked, both of them studying late at night once more.
“I just don’t like them,” Keith muttered.
“C’mon dude, you’re like 2 centimeters away from the book, just wear your glasses!”
“Lance. You do not understand. I hate my glasses. They get so dirty. How do they even get this dirty? I just sit there and exist and then poof! Grease! HOW DID IT HAPPEN?? Does the grease just magically evaporate off of my face onto the glasses? What happens? Where does it come from? Does grease evaporate??” Keith lamented, exasperated.
He dramatically threw himself onto the table, wiping at his glasses with his sleeve.
“Babe, we can just get you contacts,” Lance said.
“What?” Keith lifted his head off the table.
“Yeah, well I mean you look adorable in glasses, but we can get you contacts too. And the reason your glasses get so dirty is because you never take them off when we cuddle.”
Keith gasped, “It’s you getting my glasses dirty! ”
Lance laughed–
“Come here Lance!! I’m gonna lick your glasses!”
“No!” Lance shrieked, running away from the table.
“Lance!” Keith chased him across the small living room.
(Lance got licked). (Keith got contacts).