Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dorian had spent the last couple months getting used to human life. He had a job, he had an apartment, and…that was about it, really. He was still rather guarded when it came to romance or relationships, which left him mostly alone. He would occasionally text or meet up with the other (former) objects. But his love life had been nonexistent. Not that Dorian cared. He was actually quite fine with that.

That was, until, there was a knock at his apartment door, which gave him pause. Dorian glanced at the clock that was hung on the wall, frowning. It was late. His shift at the club he worked at had ended just a little while ago. Dorian was actually planning on getting ready to go to bed soon, since he had been on his feet all night (he was still getting used to the fact that human feet hurt when you stood on them for too long). It was well past three in the morning, and everything was supposed to be quiet. And yet, the banging on his door persisted. In fact, it was actually getting louder, more frantic, even.

“Hold on,” Dorian grumbled, unlatching the lock to his front door before opening it. His eyes widened in shock as he was met by Keith, standing in his apartment hallway.

He gave Dorian a nervous grin, clutching his arm. Upon closer inspection, Keith didn’t look as refined or proper as he used to. His normally combed hair was undone and messy, his clothes tattered and ripped, not to mention stained with his own blood. His arm seemed to have it worst, a gash that cut deep into his skin, maybe from a knife? Wherever he had gotten the wound from, it look fresh, and bad. Blood was dripping down his arm and staining the carpet of the hallway.

“Hello, dear Dorian.” Despite his clear pain, Keith smiled, speaking in a calm and slick voice.

Dorian ran a hand through his hair and sighed, opening the door just a bit more to silently invite Keith inside. He scrambled in, leaving a trail of blood as he stumbled into the apartment. Dorian shut the front door and locked it, leaning against the wall as he stared at Keith. “I knew it,” The former door muttered, shaking his head. “I knew you didn’t die.” Something about Keith’s ‘death’ had always rubbed Dorian the wrong way. How they never found his body…guess he knew why. They never found a body since he never died.

“Ah, so you’ve thought of me since I left.” Keith flashed Dorian a grin, though it was clear he was masking his pain. He sat on the couch, still clutching his arm, his posture slumped and weary. He gave a tired laugh, his nonchalant mask beginning to slip. Dorian could see the exhaustion in Keith’s eyes.

“So,” Dorian spoke, his tone distant and slightly harsh. “How’d you do it? How’d you manage to survive jumping out of a plane like that?”

Keith chuckled slightly, leaning back with a cocky smirk, though he still looked exhausted. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, mijo.” He winked, his voice just as silky as always.

Dorian scoffed and walked into the kitchen. Keith could hear the sound of cabinets opening as Dorian searched for something. After a few moments, he came back out to the living room with a first aid kid in hand. Keith seemed to visibly relax a bit, smiling at Dorian. “Ah, I knew I could count on you, Dorian.” Keith hummed, shutting his eyes as his shoulders seemed to slump.

“You mind telling me what happened?” Dorian asked, opening the first aid kit to pull out the supplies. He set it down on the coffee table before dragging a chair over to sit by Keith.

“Let’s just say some fine gentlemen and I had a…disagreement about payment.” Keith tried to sit up straight to keep his usual air of confidence, but winced, cradling his arm with the other.

“All that money you stole finally ran out?” Dorian’s hands begin to slowly unbutton Keith’s suit jacket, trying to take off his shirt so he could treat the wound. The former key flinched as the jacket peeled off his arm, sticky from the warm blood that was leaking from his gash.

“Er…yes.” Keith admitted nervously, “And let’s just say the cocaine dealers do not like it when you miss payments!” He tried to laugh it off, but his gaze seemed to shift to his arm, Keith swallowing slightly at the sight of red.

“Alright, alright.” Dorian muttered as he removed Keith’s undershirt as well. He took Keith’s wrist in his hand, pulling his arm just slightly to straighten it. The former key flinched in pain, biting his lip to hold back a swear while Dorian inspected the bloody wound with a scowl. “I’ve never seen you so messed up,” He said, his eyes finally meeting Keith’s gaze. “I can patch it, but it’s gonna hurt.”

“Once again, I knew I could count on you, mijo.” Keith smirked again.

“I'm always the one to bail you out of trouble, aren’t I?” Dorian asked, placing his hands on his knees before he stood up. “Stay put. I need to grab a few more things.”

He went back into the kitchen, rummaging around for another few moments. Keith could hear the sink turn on briefly, then Dorian returned with a bottle of tequila and an old washcloth. Keith lit up at the sight of alcohol. “Ah! Dorian, you know just what I like.” He smirked, reaching for the bottle. The former door pulled the alcohol out of his grasp, shaking his head.

“It’s not for drinking.” He said with a slight smirk playing across his lips, “I’m all out of rubbing alcohol to disinfect the cut. I’ll have to use this instead.”

“Oh!” Keith wore a forced smile, giving a nervous laugh. “That’s…wonderful.”

“I know you got a high tolerance for pain and all, so this shouldn’t be a big deal.” Dorian said as he took the cork off of the tequila bottle, causing Keith to let out a cocky laugh.

“Aha! Yes, well, you know m— HIJO DE PUTA!” Keith yelled out, his fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as Dorian poured half the bottle alcohol over Keith’s wound. The burning was instant, like a fire had been lit inside his bloodstream. He hissed in pain as his head fall back against the couch, muttering more colorful curses under his breath.

Dorian used the old rag, which he had dampened with water, to wipe away the blood that stained Keith’s skin, cleaning the wound the best he could. He handed Keith the remaining alcohol, giving him a slight nod. “You’ll want to drink that,” He suggested, pulling out a sewing needle and a thread. Keith’s eyes widened before he took a long swig of the bottle, drinking it all in one go. Keith glanced away, unable to watch as Dorian began to sew up the injury, allowing for an awkward silence to fall between them.

“You could have let me know you were alive,” Dorian eventually spoke to break the quiet. “I was worried for a bit there.”

“Ah, only a bit? I was hoping to keep you on your toes, dear Dorian.” Keith said with a cocky tone, before flinching as the stitches continued. He swore under his breath again, shutting his eyes as tight as he could.

“Send me a post card next time, will ya?” Dorian asked, which seemed to catch Keith off guard.

“So you’re…not mad?” Keith opened his eyes to look at Dorian, looking surprised at the reaction.

“You know I can’t stay mad at you for long, Keith.” Dorian smirked at him, a slight flush on his cheeks as he winked.

“Señor ten piedad.” Keith glanced away as he muttered under his breath, using his free hand to cover his mouth as he spoke.

“All done.” Dorian set down his tools, picking up the old washcloth to wipe away any remaining blood on Keith’s skin. “I’m assuming you’re gonna need a place to crash for a few days.”

“Ehaha, you know me well.” The former key chuckled, “If that is okay with you, of course.” He smirked at Dorian.

“I’d rather have you here than anywhere else.” Dorian said as he stood up, using the rag to wipe the blood off his hands. “It means I can keep an eye on you.”

“Does that mean we’ll be sharing a bed, mijo~?” Keith raised an eyebrow with a smirk, clearly attempting to get under Dorian’s skin.

“No. You’ll be taking the couch.”

“Ah. Damn.”

Chapter Text

“You really do not have to do this, mijo—“ Keith flinched as the cold rag touched his back, Dorian chuckling slightly as the former key squirmed in discomfort.

“You’re covered in sweat and blood,” Dorian said as he dragged the wet rag across Keith’s skin, cleaning the grime off of him with slow and careful movements. “I don’t want you getting even more blood on my couch.”

“Ah, so this is just to keep your furniture nice. I see.” Keith gave a smirk as he teased, leaning forward to give Dorian better access to his back. He relaxed against the sofa, his arms folded on the backrest, with his chin resting on top of them. “You could have just let me use your shower.”

“You can’t shower after getting stitches.” Dorian warns, his eyes fixated on Keith’s caramel skin. His face was stuck in a scowl as he studied the older male’s back, fixated on the marks and scars that covered nearly every inch of his body. Did he have the scars when he was realized? Or did he get in enough trouble over these past couple of months to earn every single scar?

Lots of the scars looked fresh. New. Some still leaking blood. They weren’t as bad or deep as the wound on his arm, so Dorian wouldn’t need to give him any more stitches, but they still looked painful. Keith likely got them during the fight that got him stabbed in the arm. Dorian reached out, dragging his hand along Keith’s spine, his finger just barely tracing the older scars.

“What’s on your mind, cariño?” Keith hummed, pulling Dorian out of his thoughts.

“What?” He blinked, jerking his hand away, not realizing he had been caressing Keith’s back.

Keith chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at Dorian. “You stopped scrubbing. Clearly something has you troubled.” He smirks, his tone taunting.

“Just…thinking.” Dorian said with his usual stoic gruffness, going back to dragging the washcloth along Keith’s skin.

“About me, dear Dorian?” He asks with a cocky tone, still grinning as he teased.

Dorian's gaze shifts, contemplating what to say. He continues to mindlessly run the cloth up and down Keith’s skin, quiet for a short while. His eyes are locked onto the scars on the former key’s back, staring at them with a hard to read expression. Eventually, he pauses once more, pulling the cloth away slowly. “How much trouble are you really in, Keith?” Dorian asks, his voice firm.

Keith jerks slightly at the question, his confident facade slipping for just a moment, as his eyes seemed to slightly widen. He recovers with a laugh, playing the question off. “Me? Trouble? Dorian, what makes you suggest such a thing?” He says with a smirk, though his gaze has a hint of nervousness.

“You show up after months of nothing, after letting me believe you had—“ Dorian stops himself, letting out a heavy sigh. He takes a moment to compose himself before speaking again. “How much trouble are you in with those drug dealers, Keith?”

“I have it handled, mijo. They look much worse than I do.” Keith smirks to himself and chuckles, shutting his eyes. Almost as if he were reminiscing.

“I can’t have you here if you’ll cause trouble.” Dorian says, firm with his tone.

“I will be no trouble, dear Dorian.” Keith promised, turning his body around to face him. He groans slightly as he moves, clutching his arm. He gives a sad laugh as he shakes his head, flinching in pain. “I am in no state to cause trouble.”

Dorian seemed hesitant, his lips pressing into a fine line, though he nods regardless. “Alright, then.” He says with a small frown and furrowed brows, more out of worry rather than annoyance.

“Thank you for cleaning me up. You are quite the gentleman.” Keith winks at him.

“I’m just doing what I would do for any one of my friends.” Dorian said, brushing off the compliment.

“Ah, but you’ve always had quite a soft spot for me.” Keith chuckled, his gaze almost predatory. “I noticed you still have those keys I gave you.” He said, gesturing to the necklace of keys that Dorian wore.

Keith reached forward, a finger slipping underneath the chain. He pulled at the necklace slightly, tugging Dorian forward, the sound of jingling keys filling the otherwise silent apartment. Dorian let out a heavy breath, his body tensing slightly. Keith smiled at him. “They look good on you, mijo.”

Dorian could feel a slight blush creeping across his cheeks. Keith grinned knowingly, his eyes dark with mischief. After a moment of their faces being inches apart, Keith released his hold on the necklace, letting Dorian fall back into his seat. He rubbed a hand along his neck, swallowing slightly. “I’ll…get you a blanket and some pillows.” He finally said, dropping the wet washcloth onto the floor without a second thought. He stood up, walking into the bedroom of his apartment.

Keith chuckled to himself, a smirk across his lips as he leaned back against the couch. Dorian was always a fun plaything, someone so serious and tough, yet Keith could reduce him to a blushing mess.

After a few moments of waiting, Dorian came back out, carrying a blanket and a pillow tucked under his arm. “Will you be comfortable out here?” He asked, blushing slightly less after he had a few minutes to compose himself.

“Yes, I will be fine. I am indebted to your hospitality.” Keith winks again, slightly flushed as he smiled at Dorian.

“It’s really nothing.” Dorian insists, “Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.” He set down the pillow and blanket on the couch, heading to his bedroom. Dorian hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorframe. He stood there for a second or two, before glancing back at Keith.

“Goodnight.” He said, before quickly walking into his bedroom and shutting the door, as well as shutting Keith out. Though, Dorian knew that his former lover would haunt his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Dorian came out of his bedroom the next morning, already showered and dressed, his hair brushed and clean. The lights to the living room were still on, though Keith was sprawled out on the couch, still sleeping. Normally Dorian would find that strange, Keith was usually up before the sun, but after losing so much blood, he was likely exhausted. The red still stained his carpet and couch, with Keith’s bloody shirt and coat sitting in a pile by the sofa. It was unlikely the stains would come out.

He sighed, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. Dorian made a pot of black coffee to start his morning, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure Keith was still asleep. Something about his sleeping expression was oddly comforting to Dorian. There was no smirk, no cocky grin, no mischievous glint in his eyes. He was simply relaxed, calm, a way that Dorian hadn’t seen in quite some time. There was no pretending, no masking, he was just…Keith.

Dorian poured two cups of coffee, though he added a bit of cream to his. He knew Keith liked his coffee dark, so he left it untouched. He exited the kitchen with one coffee mug in each hand, just as Keith let out a painful groan as he sat up. “Mierda…” He grumbled the curse under his breath, rolling his shoulder to try and ease the pain in his arm.

“Seems like you had a nice night.” Dorian set down the mug on the coffee table in front of the sofa, sitting down on the chair he had pulled up the previous night.

Keith groaned as he stretched, wincing at the pain in his arm. “I had some trouble getting comfortable.” He said, reaching for his coffee. He took a sip before giving a slight hum in approval. “Ah, you know just the way I like it, dear Dorian.”

“You must have passed out pretty quickly. When I came out, the lights were still on. They must have been on all night.” Dorian said, glancing up at the ceiling to stare at the lights, not thinking much of it.

Keith choked on his coffee, setting down his mug and coughing. “I—, ah, must have been tired from the loss of blood.” He said, still coughing. Dorian seemed unconvinced.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Keith?” He raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Hijo de un—, fine.” Keith grumbled, his shoulders tensing as he spoke through clenched teeth. “I prefer to sleep with the lights on.”

Dorian seemed a little surprised. “You were fine with the lights off before. When we—“ Dorian stopped himself, clearing his throat as he quickly moved on. “—when did this start?”

Keith leaned back against the couch, sighing. He avoided Dorian’s gaze, almost ashamed. It was a sight that Dorian wasn’t used to. “I spent many long nights in the darkness of the crawl space. The days blended together with no light. But! That is in the past now, mijo.” He brushed off the subject, a smile appearing on Keith’s face, though Dorian could see there was something more behind his eyes.

Dorian was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ He muttered, glancing away.

“Ah, there is no reason to worry, dear Dorian. I know I am not to be trusted.” Keith held his arms up in a show of surrender, smirking as he spoke.

“…You said you didn’t sleep well?” Dorian changed the subject, not confirming nor denying Keith’s statement. “You can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll take the couch. It’ll be better for your arm.”

“You are very kind, mijo.”

“We should get you some new clothes, too.” Dorian sighed, glancing down at shirt and jacket that sat in a bloody pile. “I’d prefer if you weren’t shirtless.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, cariño.” Keith winked, lounging on the couch with his arms spread along the backrest of the sofa.

“I can let you borrow some spare clothes,” Dorian says while ignoring Keith’s comment. “I’m not sure how well they’ll fit.”

“I am certain it will be perfect.” Keith said with a smile, watching Dorian closely as he got up and walked into the bedroom. He came back out with a clean button-down shirt, a light shade of Columbia blue.

“Here. I never wear this one.” He says, handing the shirt to Keith.

“Thank you, dear Dorian. The color is lovely!” Keith smiled as he put on the shirt, carefully pulling his arm through the sleeve. He did the buttons up, though left the first two undone to expose a bit of his chest. He then rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, enough to cover his still-healing stitches.

“I need to go out and run errands today,” He says, taking a quick sip from his coffee mug before setting it down on the table. “I’d ask if you want to come with me, but I assume you’re laying low for the time being. I’m sure you’ll fine alone for a while, yeah?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, yes. Do not worry about me. I will be fine waiting for you to get back.” Keith waved his hand dismissively.

Dorian seemed skeptical, but nodded. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay inside.” He warns, though Keith just smiles as he waves Dorian off.

“Yes, yes. I shall see you soon.” He says dismissively, taking a sip from his coffee.

Dorian kept his hand on the knob of the front door for a few extra seconds, watching Keith with narrowed eyes. He felt like he would regret leaving Keith on his own, like something terrible would happen if he turned his back. Still, he didn’t have much of a choice. Dorian sighed, opening the front door and stepping out.

—

Dorian returned an hour or two later, a couple of bags underneath his arms and in his grip. He opened the front door to the apartment, expecting to be greeted by chaos or a destroyed living room. When he opened the door, it was quiet. Uncomfortably so. And Keith was nowhere to be seen. The couch was empty and the living room had no sign of him. His bloody clothes were even gone.

Setting down his bags, Dorian grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Shit,” he growled. “I knew he would—“

“Dorian?” Keith poked his head out of the kitchen, which startled the former door. “Welcome back, mijo!”

Dorian stared at him for a second, his eyes a bit wide. “You…didn’t leave.” He said, sounding surprised.

“Well, not with the magdalenas in the oven.” Keith chuckled to himself, stepping back into the kitchen. Dorian felt like he had stepped into an alternate world. He followed Keith into the kitchen, still trying to process the fact that he hadn’t been robbed blind.

Keith was wearing an apron, his hands covered by oven mitts. He opened the door to the oven, pulling out a small tray of what looked like muffins. “Ah,” Keith sighed as he set down the magdalenas. “I got bored waiting for you to return, so I had to pass the time.” He said, gesturing to the muffin-like baked goods.

“I thought you had—“

“Left?” Keith chuckled as he removed the oven mitts from his hands. “No, I am here to stay. No more running for me, cariño.”

“The last time you said that, you left the moment you were realized.” Dorian said, still skeptical of the former key.

“Yes, and look where that got me.” Keith rolls up his sleeve, showing off his stitches. He let out a sigh. “I have been thinking, and perhaps it is time I stop running. I have hurt so many, I have hurt you, and I have hurt myself. I believe it is time to change my ways!”

Dorian’s expression softened slightly. He knew he shouldn’t trust Keith. He knew Keith was probably lying to him. But damn it, Dorian wanted to believe Keith. He wanted to believe Keith so bad. The smile across his face was inviting and warm, a contrast to his usual mischievous smirks. It felt genuine. For once, Keith felt genuine.

“I—“ Dorian cleared his throat, trying to brush aside his rather divided feelings. “I bought a few change of clothes for you. Just in case my clothes don’t fit as well.”

“You are very generous, mijo!” Keith said with a smile, taking off his apron and setting it on the kitchen counter. "I am lucky to have someone so kind as you."

"Yeah." Dorian muttered, staring at Keith for a moment, before shaking his head. "Yeah.."

Maybe things could change.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day had been odd, to say the least. Dorian didn’t know why, but Keith…well, he seemed to do a complete 180. There were still moments he would tease or smirk or drop his voice, but something about him had…shifted. Like a switch had been flipped. It reminded Dorian of the past. How they used to be. Back when things felt less complicated, when Dorian was more naive. Keith was strangely sweet, almost loving now. He would brush a hand against Dorian’s arm, though his touch would linger. He would occasionally steal a glance at Dorian, before pretending to go back to reading. The way he spoke was even slightly softer, kinder, even. Little things like that.

It was enough to fill Dorian’s thoughts, that’s for sure. Skepticism and logic battled against the convoluted mess of feelings in Dorian’s head. Keith was either playing a long con, or he was comfortable enough to let his mask slip. Some moments felt genuine, while others, Dorian could have sworn he saw a glint of mischief in Keith’s gaze. Despite his shift in behavior and sudden friendly attitude, Dorian kept himself guarded, sharp, cautious of Keith’s every word and action.

“Are you just going to stare at me all night, dear Dorian?” Keith asked without glancing up from his book, a smirk tugging at his lips. Dorian straightened his posture as he snapped back to reality, his expression slightly shocked, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

Clearing his throat and glancing away, Dorian stood up from his chair. “Sorry. I’m off to work.” He said stiffly, dismissing Keith’s question. Keith only smiled and went back to reading.

Dorian had only been gone for an hour or so, leaving around midnight for his shift at the club. Being a bouncer meant he didn’t have the greatest hours, but Dorian never seemed to mind. Though, Keith wasn’t expecting him to come home so soon. Less than two hours after he had left, the door to the apartment swung open, and Dorian walked in, wiping his bloody lip on his sleeve. Keith set his book aside and stood up, his eyes slightly wide in surprise.

“Santa mierda—“ He cursed in a hushed breath, walking to Dorian to see what had happened.

“‘m fine.” Dorian grunted, nearly growling as he spoke. He was clearly pissed off, a scowl stuck on his face. His lip was split and his eye was beginning to bruise. Clearly someone had got a few hits on him. He tried to brush Keith aside, attempting to make his way to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Dorian had a lot on his mind. Even at work, thoughts of Keith haunted him, with Dorian still wondering if Keith was just playing him. He was usually more careful than this, and it pissed him off that he had been sloppy. Being a bouncer usually meant he would sometimes come home with scratches or cuts, but never something like this. Someone was angry or drunk, maybe both, and had swung at Dorian. This wasn’t anything unusual, he was used to it. But he could normally avoid the hit, or stop the attacker. Unfortunately, he was too wrapped up in his own head to even notice when the guy swung. After basically fighting the guy off of him, he was sent home early.

Keith grabbed Dorian’s wrist. “Sit down,” He demanded, pulling Dorian back to the couch. He grumbled with a scowl, but allowed himself to be pulled along. He sat down on the couch with a grunt, rubbing his throbbing temple. Keith left the room and went into the kitchen, running some water under a clean dish towel. He searched the freezer for something to help the swelling, managing to find a bag of frozen vegetables. He found the same first aid kid that Dorian used to patch him up under the sink, which Keith also brought out to the living room.

“It’s not that bad—“ Dorian tried to argue, but Keith pressed the frozen vegetables against his bruised eye, causing the former door to hiss in pain.

“Keep that there, querido.” Keith hummed, sitting down on a chair he had pulled up. It was like a strange reflection of the previous night, with Keith now being the one to fix up Dorian. The older male reached out, pressing the damp rag to the cut on Dorian’s lip.

Dorian held the frozen bag to his face, his eyes avoiding Keith’s gaze. He felt embarrassed, somehow. Maybe ashamed. How had he been so distracted, so careless? The fight had got him sent home early. And why was Keith suddenly so caring? He never cared. He only cared about himself. So why the act? Why was he always acting like he cared? Was this just to manipulate him? To make Dorian feel special and loved, only to betray him again later down the line?

Pushing Keith’s hand away, Dorian scoffed, wrapped up in his own thoughts. “Stop that,” He muttered with his gaze cast to the floor. “Stop pretending like you care.” He spat the words with venom laced in his voice, finally looking at Keith with an icy glare.

Keith pulled away, his brows furrowing as he frowned. His expression was emotionless. Blank, even. Like the mask he wore had finally slipped out of his grasp. He didn’t say anything he just…stared. Focused on Dorian’s expression. Studying him in silence for just a few seconds. Dorian scoffed.

“You got what you wanted from me. I played along. Maybe I even believed it for a moment.” He let out a dry chuckle, like he was forcing himself to find this funny. Like he was holding back bitter insults. Dorian let out a deep sigh as he leaned back, his cold gaze fixating on Keith’s emotionless expression. “I fixed you up. I helped you after everything you did. Are you waiting for me to let my guard down? Rob me when I’m not looking?”

In the heat of the moment, Dorian took his wallet out of his pocket and placed it on the coffee table in front of Keith. His eyes darted down at the wallet, then back up at Dorian’s face. “Take it,” Dorian gestured to his wallet. “Take it and get out. It’s what you really came here for, isn’t it? So just take it.”

Keith pushed the wallet away from him, scoffing. Almost as if he were offended at Dorian’s assumption. “Put that away.” He said with a scowl, turning his attention back to Dorian. He brought the wet rag back to the cut on his lip, dabbing it lightly to help ease the swelling. Once again, Dorian pushed his hand away, grunting as he stood up.

“I’m going to bed.” He said while notably leaving his wallet on the table, Dorian heading to his bedroom with a scowl still stuck across his face. He slammed the door in anger, enough to shake the picture frames on the wall. Keith rolled his eyes.

“Always so dramatic.” He scoffed. Dorian was likely just grumpy because he got hit a few times. He'd be fine in the morning.

Keith's gaze began to wander towards the wallet sat on the coffee table. He stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He picked it up, opening the wallet to flip through the cards and cash Dorian kept on him. After a moment of that, he shut the wallet and set it back down on the table, taking nothing out of it.

Keith stood up, bored and disrespectful enough to snoop through the house. His gaze caught on the shopping bags from yesterday, still piled up next to the front door. A slight grin crept on his lips as he walked over, picking up one of the bags to investigate. There wasn’t much special, just some clothes Dorian had purchased for Keith. He seemed uninterested at first, thought something at the bottom of the bag caught his attention.

For a moment, Keith froze. He pulled a small object out, dropping the bag to the ground without any care for its remaining contents. In his hands, Keith held a small night light, one that you would plug into the wall. It was nothing childish or silly, nothing meant to mock Keith. It was black and slick, a clean design that gave it a modern look. His thumb dragged against the plastic, studying the light like it was something precious.

And for a long while, Keith stood in silence, studying the night light that sat in his hands.

Chapter Text

Despite storming off to bed hours ago, Dorian could not bring himself to sleep. He spent most of the night staring up at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts, wondering just how he had gotten here. How Keith was alive, how he was stupid enough to let Keith back in, how any of this had even happened. By now, Dorian expected Keith to be long gone with his wallet, probably already on a flight to Mexico. He couldn’t tell if he was angry, hurt, relieved, it was just a mess of emotions that sat at the bottom of his stomach, making Dorian feel sick.

His eye still hurt. The bag of frozen vegetables helped the swelling go down a bit, but as the hours had passed, it began to thaw to room temperature. Dorian knew he needed to put it back in the freezer, but there was a part of him that was almost afraid to leave the room. As if stepping out of his bedroom would confirm his fears and doubts. That Keith would be gone. And he didn't know if that was what he wanted.

After a few hours of cooling off, Dorian eventually mustered the strength the pull himself out of bed. It was about six in the morning, the sun was barely beginning to rise, and Dorian hadn’t slept at all. Still, he couldn’t spend the day hiding in his bedroom. Hiding from what was on the other side of his bedroom door. He grabbed the bag of thawed vegetables off of his nightstand, groaning as he stood up. Dorian walked to the bedroom door, slightly hesitant as he reached for the doorknob.

His grip tightened as he sighed, twisting the knob and opening the door. The living room was empty, no sign of Keith. Everything was quiet. Dorian felt the knot in his stomach twist a bit tighter. He tightened his grip on the bag of mixed vegetables, threatening to pop it open with how tight he squeezed it. Dorian began to walk to the kitchen, ready to throw the bag back into the freezer, though he paused as something caught his eye.

On the coffee table sat his wallet. Dorian hesitated, staring at it for a minute with uncertainty in his gaze. After another moment, he dropped the bag of vegetables onto the couch and picked his wallet up, flipping through it to ensure everything was still there. Sure enough, not a single card or dollar was gone. Keith had taken nothing.

Glancing up from his wallet, Dorian noticed a figure outside his window, standing out on the fire escape. Keith had his back to the window, leaning agaisnt the bars, staring out at the city. Dorian debated with himself, torn between joining him out on the fire escape or just ignoring him. His feelings got the better of him before he could realize, Dorian’s legs moving before he could think twice. He climbed through the open window and onto the fire escape, the smell of cigarettes clear as he stepped out.

Dorian wasn’t sure what to say. For a bit he stood there, just staring at Keith, watching him bring the cigarette between his fingers to his lips before taking a long drag, letting it linger for a moment before breathing out the smoke in a deep sigh. Dorian stepped closer, walking to the railing to stand next to Keith. Neither of them looked at one another, they simply stared ahead, focused on the city before them.

“Hey.” Dorian eventually said, his eyes drifting to Keith’s face. His expression was numb, his brows furrowed as he stared straight ahead at nothing in particular.

“Hello.” Keith replied without looking back at Dorian, his voice lacking any kind of tone or emotion as he took another drag from his cigarette.

“I’m sorry. For earlier.” Dorian admitted, running a hand through his hair as his eyes darted to the side.

Keith just gave a hum of acknowledgment, continuing to stare out across the city in silence. Dorian watched as Keith exhaled another large cloud of smoke. This time, when the breath left him, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes looked tired. The circles under his eyes were darker than usual, too. His fingers held a ‘V’ shape, his cigarette resting loosely between them as he continued to stare, seemingly lost in thought.

Without looking at him, Keith moved his hand, offering Dorian his cigarette. He paused for a moment before taking it, their fingers lightly brushing against one another. Dorian brought the half finish cigarette to his lips, taking a drag before releasing it with a heavy sigh. A silence fell between the two again, though it didn’t seem like the same silence as before. There was a weight to the air, a sense of anticipation hanging thickly over them. Like both of them wanted to speak, but neither could find the right words.

Dorian tapped the cigarette lightly against the railing, a bit of ash falling away. He handed the cigarette back to Keith, who accepted it silently, bringing it to his lips once more. They stayed like that for awhile, watching the sun begin to rise over the city. Keith’s eyes were still focused ahead, slightly cold in his gaze. “The nightlight was…a nice thought.” Keith finally spoke, tilting his head slightly, with his attention never leaving the city before them.

“You liked it?” Dorian leaned forward, resting his arms on the railing of the fire escape, cracking a small grin as he let out a slight chuckle.

Keith turned his head, finally looking towards Dorian, studying him with furrowed brows. His eyes flicked between the bruises and cuts along Dorian’s face, studying each mark carefully before glancing to the next one. After a moment of scanning him, Keith’s gaze returned to Dorian’s eyes. “How is your lip?” He asked, a lack of tone or feeling in his voice, yet somehow, Dorian knew he was asking out of concern.

“How’s your arm?” Dorian deflected the question back, gesturing to the former key’s stitches. Keith let out a laugh. A dry, humorless laugh, almost forced. He turned his back to the city, his arms stretched out along railing, tapping the cigarette lightly.

“I cannot complain.” He hummed, a bit less numb and empty this time he spoke. Dorian smiled for a moment, though it was short lived. His face fell into a frown, his eyes glancing away. He ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit, before letting out a sigh that seemed to have been weighing him down.

“What happened?” Dorian asked, shaking his head and sighing as he spoke.

“To me?”

“To us.” Dorian said, his gaze returning to Keith’s face to study his expression. It shifted from one of confusion, to one of surprise, then back to numb. His eyes darted away, almost as if he were trying to avoid Dorian’s gaze.

“Ah,” Keith muttered, continuing to tap the cigarette against the metal of the railing. “I suppose it was just not meant to be.”

“I valued our friendship, Keith. But when you left again—“ Dorian scoffed, trying to keep himself level-headed. “—I couldn’t help but hate you.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Keith gave another dry chuckle, smirking to himself, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And then you show up and— all that hatred… it left.” Dorian clenched his hands, his nails digging into his palms. The emotional knot in the pit of his stomach was tightening, making him feel sick. “How do you do that? Make me hate you, then you come back, and—“

“Dorian.” Keith’s voice cut through the emotional mess of thoughts and feelings that had been swirling in his mind, like a lifeline he could hold onto for support. Dorian glanced up from the ground, meeting Keith’s gaze. His expression was hard to read. Cold and numb, yet something more in his eyes.

“Sorry,” He breathed the word out effortlessly, his voice slightly gravely and shaky. “I want things to be good. I want us to be…friends.” He was almost hesitant to say the word, as if Dorian were about to say something else, but changed his mind.

After a moment of heavy silence, as if Keith were calculating a response, he eventually spoke. “I would like that as well.” He and Dorian locked eyes, staring at one another. Keith’s expression softened slightly, his mask slipping yet again. He quickly glanced away, straightening his posture before sniffing out the cigarette on the cold metal railing.

Dorian felt a smile tug at his lips. “I really am glad to have you back.”

Keith responded with his own smile, though his eyes remained cold and numb. “And I am glad to be back, dear Dorian.”

Chapter Text

Dorian sat on the couch, waiting for Keith to finish up in the bathroom. Over 24 hours had passed since Keith received the stitches in his arm, which meant he was finally able to shower, and he was taking full advantage of that fact. Keith was taking his time to clean himself up, which left Dorian with a chance to think. Their talk this morning was still on his mind. It was like the tension between them, the lingering resentment Dorian felt, had vanished. It was a strange feeling. Freeing, almost. Even when Keith came back the after being trapped in the crawl space, Dorian didn’t feel this relief, so what was different now?

His thoughts were quickly interrupted. “It feels wonderful to shower again.” Keith sighed in relief as he stepped out into the living room, his voice bringing Dorian out of his thoughts and back into the present. He glanced to the former key, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom, wearing only a pair of pants Dorian had gifted him, along with a towel he had draped around his neck.

“Let me see your stitches. I want to make sure they’re healing properly.” Dorian pat a spot on the couch next to him, inviting Keith to join him. The older gentleman complied, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he walked over and sat down next to the former door, sitting a bit closer than Dorian anticipated.

Reaching out with slight hesitation, Dorian’s fingers lifted Keith’s arm a bit, studying the damage. The stitches weren’t as pretty as something a professional could do, though they got the job done, and the gash seemed to be healing well enough. “Does it…still hurt?” Dorian’s eyes glanced up from the wound, meeting Keith’s gaze while still holding onto his bicep.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Keith sighs, his gaze falling down to the stitches in his arm as his smile seemed to slip from his features. “Though, you have done such a wonderful job, my dear Dorian.”

“It’s nothing.” He says dismissively, his touch lingering on Keith’s arm for just a bit longer. After a moment, Dorian realized he was still holding onto Keith, which caused him to quickly pull away.

“Always a humble man.” Keith hums with a chuckle, leaning back against the couch and shutting his eyes.

“You can put your shirt on, now.” Dorian’s eyes flicked down at Keith’s bare chest, then back up at the former key’s face, trying to keep his expression neutral and unimpressed.

Keith gives another chuckle as he stands. “Fine, fine.” He walks over to the shopping bags from the previous day, looking through the clothes Dorian had purchased, before picking out a nice dress shirt with an off-white color to it.

“Hurry and get dressed, we’re going out today.” Dorian said as he stood up, his words causing Keith to freeze for a moment.

“You mean you are going out, yes?” Keith chuckled, masking his discomfort. Dorian crossed his arms with a scowl.

“No. We. As in you and me.” He pointed to Keith and then himself, emphasizing his point. “Fresh air will do you some good. I have to run errands, and I think it’s best if I keep you close.”

“Hijo de puta. Fine.” Keith grumbled with clenched teeth, though he didn’t argue. He finished buttoning his shirt and scowled.

A smirk tugs at the ends of Dorian’s lips at Keith’s annoyance. “You’ll enjoy getting out of the apartment. It’ll be good.” He says, almost cocky.

“Give me a moment,” Keith sighed, heading into Dorian’s bedroom to grab something. Keith came back out wearing sunglasses and a plain baseball cap, as if trying to conceal his identity. Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Where did you even— never mind.” He sighed and opened the front door, “Come on, the sooner we run these errands, the sooner we can come back.”

“Good. I would prefer if they were quick.” Keith muttered with distain, dreading leaving the safe comfort of Dorian’s apartment.

They left the apartment complex and walked together to a farmers market about a block or two away, Keith rather unhappy about it. In fact, he seemed uncomfortable the entire walk there. Dorian could vaguely see Keith’s eyes through the sunglasses he wore, though he was always glancing away or over his shoulder, his eyes never resting for long on one thing.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow, which caused Keith to remember he wasn’t on his own. Suddenly his annoyance and frustration vanished as he put on a confident grin, his posture straightening.

“Of course I am, dear Dorian. I was simply wrapped up in my own thoughts.” He said, calm and collected.

The mask was back. It had slipped for a while, their morning chat was proof of that, but Keith seemed to finally have a handle on it once more, his facade firmly back in place. Dorian frowned in suspicion, but said nothing more as they approached the gathering of stands and people, selling all kinds of homegrown and homemade products.

He only came to the farmers market due to Abel and Dasha’s stand, as the two often gave him a rather good deal on their produce. Though, it may not be a good idea for Keith to meet with Dasha and Abel…Actually, most, if not all of the former objects hated Keith.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dorian frowned slightly. “You might want to wait here,” He warned. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, yes. I shall wait right here.” Keith waved his hand dismissively, crossing his arms as he watched Dorian with from a distance, though he would occasionally steal glances at the surrounding people who would pass him by.

Dorian approached Abel and Dasha’s stand, where the two were unpacking their vegetables and fruits, setting up for the market. Abel noticed Dorian approaching, his face lighting up with a friendly smile as he waved the former object over. “Howdy, Dorian! Good to see ya around.”

“Aha, Dorian!” Dasha notices him as Abel calls out, “Come, come! Join us!”

“Hello you two.” Dorian greets the pair, calm and stoic as usual. Dasha stares at him, her brows furrowing for a moment, as if she were studying him intently.

“There is something different, friend. What is on your mind?” She asks, setting her hands on her hips. Dorian seems a little surprised by her straightforwardness. “There is sparkle in eye. You are happier, no?”

Dorian lets out a mix between a scoff and a laugh, almost amused at the question. “It’s always good to see friends.” He deflects, “I’m just stopping by quickly. Need to grab a few things.”

“Take whacha need!” Able smiles warmly, using a finger to push up his hat. “It’s always good to have a familiar face stop by.”

Dorian was just about to begin inspecting the vegetables, hoping to grab a few items he had been meaning to pick up, when he was suddenly met by an arm wrapping around his waist. His eyes slightly widened in surprise, especially as the arm pulled him away, his body stiffening slightly. “There you are, mijo! Come, we should be going.” Keith smiled as he walked Dorian away from the stand, keeping his sunglasses on and his hat lowered, with both Abel and Dasha watching as Dorian was whisked away.

“Keith—?” He hissed in a low voice, his body still tense at the arm around his waist. “What are you—“

“Remain calm, dear Dorian.” Keith hummed, keeping his voice low and steady, yet holding a smile across his lips. “It seems as though trouble has followed me. Keep your eyes forward. It draws less attention.”

Keith guides him, the two walking at a steady pace, trying to blend with the crowd of the farmers market. He manages to lead Dorian through the market, guiding him as if he had been plotting an exit strategy since the moment they got there. The former key took Dorian to the edge of the market, pulling him into a cramped alleyway. The alley was narrow, causing their bodies to basically press against one another in order to squeeze in.

Despite this, Keith didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he wasn’t at all focused on Dorian. His calm smile had dropped completely, and now is gaze was sharp and focused, brows furrowed as he scanned faces in the market. They stood like that for a few long moments, pressed closely as Keith ensured they were safely out of sight.

It was hard to spot the men through the crowds of people and the stalls of produce, giving Dorian and Keith better cover. After a few moments of heavy, tense silence, Dorian watched as Keith’s features visibly relaxed. “They’re gone,” He breathed out the words with a hint of relief, loosening his hold on Dorian’s waist, but not removing his arm completely. “Mierda, that was stressful.”

“Would you mind letting go of me, then?” Dorian asked gruffly, which caused Keith to realize where his hand was placed, which he quickly jerked away.

“Ah, apologies, mijo.” Keith said, occasionally stealing a glance out at the people passing by. “I was simply trying to steer you in such a way that would not be noticeable.”

“What was that about?” Dorian pulled away, his back hitting the wall of the alleyway, keeping as far a distance from Keith as he possibly could. There was a faint dusting of blush across his cheeks, especially after being held by Keith like that for so long.

“A few old ‘friends’ of mine are around. Nothing to worry about.” He said, glancing back at Dorian, “I had hoped they would not be bold enough to step out in broad daylight, though it seems I was mistaken.”

Dorian stared at Keith, his brows furrowed. “You could have left me.” He said, which caught Keith off guard, his eyes slightly widening in surprise. Dorian ran a hand through his hair as he continued. “You could have left the moment you saw them. Ran away before they could spot you. You risked your own life to come back and get me. Why didn’t you?”

“Perhaps…I have become attached.” Keith took his sunglasses off, their gaze meeting one another. And for a moment, Dorian could have sworn there was something akin to sincerity in his gaze. The older gentleman then quickly glanced away, putting his sunglasses back on. He cleared his throat, trying to brush past that moment. “We should be safe to leave.”

“So this is why you didn’t want to go out.” Dorian followed Keith as he left the alleyway, sticking close to Keith.

“Yes, yes. I was hoping to lie low for a bit, let the tension die down a bit.” The former key hummed, trying not to draw much attention to himself as they slipped out of the market.

“We should get back to the apartment, then.” Dorian said firmly, which caused Keith to raise an eyebrow.

“And what of the errands you were so insistent upon?” The older gentleman asks, a smirk playing along his lips. Dorian rolls his eyes.

“Not important. I didn’t notice anyone following us. I want to be more careful. I want you to be safe.” He says, now on high alert, trying to keep an eye on their surroundings as the pair made their way back to the apartment.

“These men are good at laying low. They are easy to miss.” Keith says, his expression serious with his brows furrowed. It softens slightly as he glances to Dorian. “Though, that is enough worrying. You were speaking with Abel and Dasha, no? How are they?”

“You took a risk by coming so close,” Dorian ignore the question and frowns. “If Abel and Dasha had recognized you—“

“You worry far too much, dear Dorian.” Keith wraps an arm around the former door’s shoulder, smiling with a confident air surrounding him. “I am certain they suspect nothing of us.”

“Er, you don’t think that was him, do ya?” Abel glances at Dasha, searching for reassurance, refusing to speak Keith’s name, as if it were an unholy curse. "He's, uh, dead. He's gotta be, right?"

Dasha had a frown stuck on her face, shaking her head. "We must find out." She says firmly. Abel seemed hesitant, though his face turned serious upon seeing Dasha's expression, which caused him to nod.

"Right. We'll make sure of it."

Chapter Text

Dorian was more on edge than before. Mostly out of (what he felt to be) necessity. After the incident in the farmers market earlier that day, it was hard for him not to be. Dorian was a man who built upon protecting others. He was made for it, it was his purpose, keeping the good ones in and the bad ones out. And while he wouldn’t describe Keith as ‘one of the good ones’, Dorian was certain that whatever drug dealers the former key had gotten mixed up with were far worse. And right now, Dorian knew he had to keep Keith in and protected. He would do the same for any one of his friends.

He would occasionally pace between the windows and the front door, checking the peep hole before striding to the windows to peak out of the curtains, glancing at the people who walked by on the streets, all while the older gentleman sat by and watched him. It was actually quite entertaining to watch Dorian scramble back and forth, at least Keith thought so. He lounged comfortably on the couch, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched Dorian pace from window to door and back again.

“We are fine, mijo.” Keith smiled, his arms stretched across the back of the couch, not worried whatsoever. “I can assure you, I would know if someone were to follow us.”

“I know, I just—“

“Worried about me?” Keith raised an eyebrow as his smirk seemed to widen. Dorian glanced back at him and scowled.

“About the drug dealers who nearly killed you possibly finding both of us? Yeah, you could say I’m a bit worried.” He growled with a scoff, clearly on edge with the whole situation.

Keith pat the spot on the couch next to him, inviting the former door to join him. “Come now, dear Dorian. You’ll stress yourself to death if you continue like this. Join me, we can chat, and I can take your mind off this little situation’ of ours.”

Dorian clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to the window, then the door, then back at Keith. His shoulders seemed to slump just slightly as he admitted defeat with a sigh, walking to the couch to take his seat next to Keith. “Better?” He asked, sounding somewhat annoyed that he was forced to sit.

“Better.” Keith gave him a slight nod, “I must admit, it is rather strange to see you so…” The older gentleman trails off, waving his hand as he searches for the right word. “Twitchy.”

“I am not twitchy.” Dorian tenses, almost offended at the word. Keith laughs.

“I am used to seeing you stand firmly in place, not run around in a panic.” He says, keeping his usual slick grin as he spoke.

“That was before.” Dorian looked away, glancing towards the front door with something vague playing across his expression. It was a mix of remembrance and something else. Sadness, perhaps? It was hard to tell. “When we…when we were objects, things felt different. We weren’t human. We didn’t know physical pain. We didn’t know what these bodies feel like. It’s harder for me to stand in one place for hours at a time like I used to.”

Keith stared at him for a moment, his brows furrowing. He eventually looks away, his gaze falling to the floor. “I…understand.” The former key says with reluctance hanging in his voice, almost as though he were afraid to admit any sign of weakness. Dorian’s attention was pulled back to Keith, studying him for a moment or two, waiting for him to continue. He sighed, body tending slightly. His hand moves along his arm, his fingers dragging along his stitches as he thought for a few seconds.

“Pain was…not what I was expecting.” Keith admits, keeping his voice neutral and blank. It was hard to read what he was feeling, his eyes seemed cold and hollow, with an expression that seemed to lack any major emotion. “I did not know what to expect, but this…was not it. It is hard to truly express.”

“Sometimes I wish we could go back. Things felt more simple.” Dorian sighed, “I enjoy being human. But it was easier to be an object. It was nice when I felt like I could protect them all. When I felt strong enough to guard everyone. And now…they don’t need protection.”

“I’m sure they still need you.” Keith said, his gaze never moving from the floor, his expression never shifting. “They rely on you, Dorian. Even if we are no longer trapped together. Me, however…” He trails off with a slight chuckle, though his expression remains the same. “I am sure I am not the most popular among the former objects. But that is fine by me.”

Keith stands up, his expression shifting to a slight smile. “Perhaps we could enjoy a glass of wine together, hm? That may help you to unwind.”

“Alright. First cabinet, closest to the fridge.” Dorian says with a slight nod, running a hand through his hair as he sighed. Dorian wasn’t much for drinking, he liked to stay sharp. He had a couple bottles of whiskey, it was one of the few drinks he actually enjoyed. But Beverly had given him a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift, and Dorian hadn’t touched it since. Keith disappeared into the kitchen for a brief moment, coming back soon after with two glasses of red wine for them to enjoy. He hands one off to Dorian, then returns to his seat on the couch next to him.

Raising his glass slightly, Keith smiles. “To old times.” He says, their glasses making the faintest ‘clink’ as they were brought together.

“Feeling nostalgic?” Dorian asks as he brings the glass to his lips, drinking a sip of the alcohol.

“Perhaps a bit.” Keith smiles, “We have had some good times over the years.”

“Mm.” Dorian didn’t say much to respond, giving only a simple hum as he took another small sip from his glass.

Keith raised an eyebrow, smirking just a bit as he studied Dorian’s expression carefully. “Do you remember when we used to dance together? When I tried to teach you?”

Dorian chokes on the wine, coughing slightly as he set down his glass on the coffee table, shaking his head at the idea. “I’m not drunk enough to talk about this.” He said firmly, shooting Keith a glare.

“Ah, why not?” Keith sets his glass down next to Dorian’s, standing up and offering his hand. “I’m sure you still remember how it went.”

“Poorly.” Dorian says, and yet he still takes Keith’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up off the couch.

“It was fun.” Keith teased him, Dorian rolling his eyes. “Do you remember where to place your hands?”

“It was a long time ago—“ Dorian tried to excuse, but Keith took his hand carefully, guiding it to rest on the older gentleman’s shoulder.

“There.” He smiles, taking Dorian’s free hand in his own. Keith wraps an arm around the former door’s waist, slow and careful as to not surprise him, settling on Dorian’s lower back. “Familiar, is it not?”

“Vaguely.” Dorian huffs, trying to ignore how close their bodies were. He was incredibly tense, though Keith chose to ignore it.

Their faces were close. Far closer than Dorian had expected or anticipated. A hint of surprise seemed to flicker across Keith’s expression for a brief second, as if he hadn’t realized how close they were until this very moment. Dorian seemed to relax slightly, not as tense as he was before. Their eyes locked, as if one were expecting the other to pull away, but neither moved. Their breathing seemed to sync, if only for a second, where they both seemed to suck in a breath.

A knock on the door snapped the two out of whatever trance they had been stuck in, Keith jerking his hands away, his eyes widening in surprise, almost as if he were surprised with himself. Dorian’s body tensed again as he pulled himself away, the pair stepping back to distance themselves from one another, like a pair of teenagers that had been caught together. Dorian hesitates for a second, his gaze locked on Keith’s face, though he eventually moves to the front door, glancing through the peephole.

“Shit.” He breathes the words out quietly, glancing back at Keith. “Go hide. It’s Chance and Parker.”

For a brief moment, there’s a flash of hesitation, as if Keith wanted to stay. Though he knew better, giving Dorian a slight nod while remaining quiet. He disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door to keep himself from being seen. Dorian let out a shaky breath, straightening his posture as he put on a stoic expression, before finally opening the front door.

Chance and Parker both perked up as the front door opened, almost relieved as they spotted Dorian. “There you are!” Parker opens his arms with a wide smile, “When you didn’t show up for game night, we got worried! Cause you know, you said you’d be there tonight, and well—“

Chance nudged Parker in the ribs. “What he means is: we just wanted to see if everything was okay. You usually call if something’s up.” He gives a smile, though notes the mark on Dorian’s lip and the slight bruise around his eye.

“That was tonight?” Dorian’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. With the earlier commotion at the farmers market and everything Keith had caused, the event had completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, I—, I got wrapped up in things.” He said, sounding a bit more firm the second time.

“No problem, man. Just making sure everything is good.” Chance smiles, his eyes flicking to glance over Dorian’s shoulder. He spots two half-empty wine glasses, his smile tightening as his eyes return to Dorian.

“But we’ll see you next week, right?” Parker raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I promise I’ll make it next week.” Dorian gives a dry chuckle in response, “I’ll see you two then.”

As the door shuts, Chance’s smile seems to fall into a frown. He and Parker turn away, beginning to walk down the hall back to the elevator. “Did you see the wine glasses on the table?” He asks Parker as they walk.

“No, I wasn’t really paying that much attention.” Parker admits causally.

“Dude, there were two.” He says, eyes wide. “Dorian had someone over. They might still be there!”

Parker seems to get the hint. “Oooooooh.” He nods, giving a few ‘mhm’s as he does so. “And that’s important to us why?” Parker gives a sheepish grin as he asks.

“Dasha was telling me about it. She and Abel thought they saw Keith and Dorian together earlier today.” Chance says with a frown, “That was the whole point of us coming over here.”

“I thought we were coming to see why Dorian skipped game night.” Parker said, still a little disappointed at that fact, the pair stepping into the elevator as he spoke.

“That too.” Chance nodded, “But dude, if Keith lived—“ His eyes actually seemed to widen a bit in amazement, giving a laugh. “—holy crit, I mean, jumping out of a plane like that? Did you read the article about it? I mean I gotta say, it’s impressive! I was actually thinking of putting something similar in a campaign—“

“Hey, hey! I’m the one who gets easily distracted.” Parker says, snapping Chance out of his ramble.

“Ah, right! Sorry, got a little carried away.” Chance gave a nervous chuckle, “But Keith is bad news.”

“What should we do?” Parker asks.

“Well, we gotta tell Dasha and Abel. I think they’re right about Keith being back…”

Chapter Text

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the door on Parker and Chance, allowing his shoulders to slump from their tense state. That was far more stressful than he was willing to admit. Chance and Parker were persistent, that was for sure. These close calls were getting even closer. It was hard not to wonder if some of the former objects knew about Keith’s return. Hell, Dasha and Abel basically met him face-to-face at the farmers market. Damn it, did they know?

Trying to shake off the feeling of dread that sat in his stomach, Dorian glanced towards his bedroom. “They’re gone,” He called out, “You can come out.”

Keith opened the door to the bedroom, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. “Of course we get interrupted.” He teases slightly, his lips curving upwards into a slight smile. “I was hoping to dance with you, dear Dorian.”

“Not tonight.” He looked away from Keith, almost ashamed of himself. There was a flicker of something in the older gentleman’s eyes, but he buried it almost as quickly as it had surfaced, putting on his usual confident grin.

“Ah yes, of course. I shall wait patiently for the day that we resume our dance.” Keith gave a chuckle, though his gaze held a slight gleam of disappointment.

Dorian’s eyes drift to the half-finished glasses of wine sitting on the coffee table. He stares at them for a few long moments, lost in his own thoughts for a second or two. Eventually he blinks, bringing himself back to the present. “I…have work off tonight.” He says, walking to the coffee table and lifting one glass into each hand. “I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

“Already?” Keith raises an eyebrow, stepping away from the doorframe to follow Dorian into the kitchen. “The night is young, mijo!”

“It’s been a long day.” He sighs as he sets one glass down in the sink, while Keith manages to snag the other glass out of Dorian’s clutches.

“Fine, fine.” Keith mutters, taking a long swig of the wine to finish it off. He sets the glass down in the sink once he was done with it.

It takes Dorian a few moments to speak again, standing by the sink silently, as if trying to find the right words to say. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, it seems. “Do you— want the bed tonight?” He asked, eyes flicking to study Keith’s expression. “I offered it to you before, but I made you sleep on the couch last night. Sorry.”

“I am fine with the couch.” Keith assured Dorian, though keeps his voice neutral and somewhat blank. His expression is hard to read, though he quickly puts on a grin to mask what he was truly feeling.

“Is your arm—?”

“I have…gotten used to it.” Keith’s arm reaches over to cradle the other, his hand running along his stitches. The motion causes a small grimace, but only a brief moment.

“Right.” Dorian looks away.

“Right.” Keith nods, glancing in the other direction.

They stand in the kitchen for a long pause, the silence heavy between them. Keith takes a half-step forward, attempting to close the gap between them, but Dorian responds by taking a step back, which gives the older gentleman pause. He retreats slightly, pulling away to give Dorian a bit more room. “Right.” Keith says a second time, refusing to meet Dorian’s gaze. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.” Dorian repeats back as he exits the kitchen, brushing past Keith as he made his way back to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway, standing there for a moment or two, before heading to bed and shutting his door.

Keith breathed out a sigh, his expression slipping to one that was blank and unreadable, though there was a hint of exhaustion based on the dark rings under his eyes. “Hijo de puta—“ he muttered under his breath, reaching up to rub a hand across his face. “I need another drink.”

Artt and Doug had caught wind of the recent ‘situation’ regarding Keith. Dasha had actually reached out to the two, specifically asking for Doug to attend if he was available. And for once, the pair were actually in town, just having finished another exhibition tour together. And as much as Doug didn’t want to, Artt had somehow managed to talk him into helping.

The pair were walking down the sidewalk of the city together, the morning still early. They would occasionally get an odd glance or two due to Doug’s appearance, but paid it no mind, as per usual. They were on their way to meet up with Dasha and a small collection of the other former objects, in hopes of talking to Dorian about Keith.

“Who cares?” Doug lets out a sigh with a mix of frustration and annoyance, his hands placed in the front pockets of his jeans. “He’s getting back with his ex, whoop-de-doo. We care about this why?”

“Because, my dear Doug, Keith is…less than ideal. And while we’re in town we’re going to help our friends. The others are worried for Dorian, and we must be there to support them!” Artt says with his usual suave nature, a mix of confidence and cheerfulness that made Doug slightly nauseous.

“Whatever. Keith was pretty sick to me. Jumping out of a plane like that? Fucking awesome.” The personification of dread says with his usual monotone voice, though there’s a hint of a smirk at the edge of his lips.

“This intervention will be good for him,” Artt hums, brushing past Doug’s comment without acknowledgement. “We can show our support for Dorian, and hopefully get him to listen to reason.”

“Gross.” Doug gives a roll of his eyes. “You know I’m not one for that whole ‘love and support’ thing, right?”

“Oh, of course not. I would never expect you to do such a thing, darling. But you are wonderful at speaking the honest truth.” Artt smiles as he places a hand on the small of Doug’s back, his touch gentle and kind, which always made Doug tense up.

“So I’m the one who’s going to have to shut Dorian down, huh?” The personification of dread cracks a slight grin, “You know just what I love.”

“Ah, I knew you’d be interested! Thank you, dear Doug. Dasha asked for you specifically to help, and I don’t think anyone else can truly talk Dorian out of this. Sometimes the harsh truth is necessary.” Artt looks a little sad for a moment, almost disappointed that it had to come to this.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m only doing this cause it’s fun. And for you, I guess.” He huffs.

“Well, I’m at least glad you’ll get a chance to enjoy yourself, my darling.”

“Let’s go break that fucker’s spirit.” Doug smirks, Artt quickly panicking.

“Now, now! We don’t want to be rude…” He gives a slightly nervous laugh, “Just be firm and honest.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dasha spots the pair from a distance, waving them over with a smile. “Hello, friends!” Despite the situation that brought them together, she kept a kind tone as she welcomed them. Dasha, Abel, Chance, Parker, Maggie, even Celia showed up. Doug and Artt join the small group, though Doug seems to be less than thrilled with it all.

“Glad y’all could make it on such short notice.” Abel takes off his hat and holds it close to his chest, smiling at the group.

“Florence sends her regards. She is busy with her work, so she is unable to join us.” Celia says, though there’s an underlying edge to her words. She seems almost tense. “Once I heard word of what was happening, I knew I needed to assist.”

“Good to have ya, madame mayor. Er— guess you aren’t the mayor no more—“ The former table gives a nervous chuckle, setting his hat back on his head.

“And you are certain he is back?” Celia raised an eyebrow, Keith’s name like a forbidden word.

Dasha nods. “It must be him.”

“Yeah, plus the two wine glasses we saw.” Chance adds with agreement.

Celia gives a sigh, it seems to be mixed with annoyance and frustration. “Of course he manages to find a way out of death. I still remember when the two were together. Nothing good comes from Keith.”

“After he robbed the house, I would have thought Dorian would never welcome him back.” Artt sighs and shakes his head, “But, alas.”

“Yeah, uh, I dunno much about this Keith guy, but he made Dorian miss game night.” Parker balls his hands into fists and scowls, “And NOBODY misses game night!”

“It’s decided, then! It’s time we crack this case wide open!” Maggie speaks with utmost certainty and confidence, her hands set on her hips.

“Whatever, nerd.” Doug says with a lack of anything in his voice.

“It is time then, yes?” Dasha glances between the faces in the group, before turning to look at the apartment complex.

“Let us confront Dorian!”

Chapter Text

When Dorian came out of his bedroom the next morning, Keith was already up and off the couch, standing in the kitchen with a cup of black coffee. His eyes glanced up from the drink in his hands as the bedroom door opened, his blank expression shifting to his usual charming grin. “Ah, good morning. I take it you slept well?” Keith asked with a hum, glancing to the clock to take note of the time. It wasn’t late by any means, only around ten in the morning, but Keith knew Dorian would never sleep this late. Dorian wasn’t one to sleep in. ‘A waste of time’, he would call it.

His gaze moves back to study Dorian’s expression. Dorian was already dressed and ready, meaning he couldn’t have slept this late. As usual, he appears to be firm and stoic, but there’s something more. Something tucked away in his eyes. A hint of emotion. He knows Dorian well enough to catch it, but Keith can’t quite place what it truly is. Dorian simply stared at Keith, almost as if he were analyzing the older gentleman the same way Keith was doing to him. Though, the way Dorian studied him, it caused the former key to crack slightly.

Breaking eye contact, Keith took a long sip of his coffee, trying to shake off the bad feeling that was building in his stomach. “May I— make you a cup?” He chokes slightly on his drink, though Keith puts on a smile anyway, one that was laced with a slight hint of nervousness.

“I want to talk.” Dorian said with a lack of tone, brushing past Keith’s question.

There it was. “Of course,” Keith hums as he sets his coffee down on the kitchen counter, despite a slight feeling of dread that he couldn’t quite shake. “I am always more than willing to chat with you, dear Dorian.”

“I’ve been thinking. A lot.” The bouncer started off, “About yesterday. About Dasha and Abel, Chance and Parker—“ His gaze was cast off to the side, Dorian giving a slight shake of his head as a breath escaped his lips. “—bloody hell, you’ve caused me more trouble than—“ A hand went up to run through his hair, while the other grasped at his belt. “—than ever.”

Keith was beginning to worry slightly more, though he kept his expression calm and simple, raising an eyebrow to prompt Dorian to continue. “The others all hated you when you left. I just felt stupid.” He huffed as he went on, “The lot of them still hate you. So I should too, I suppose. But I still can’t bring myself to do so.”

This was nothing Keith didn’t already know. It felt like they had this conversation before, just a day or two ago out on the fire escape. But Keith had a feeling there was more coming, especially as Dorian gave another—almost defeated—sigh, speaking up once again. “I value this friendship of ours, Keith. And, well—“ There was a hint of nervousness shining through the cracks in his hard exterior. “—I do enjoy having you here with me.”

Panic and worry Keith originally felt melted into relief. There was a moment of shock in his expression, but Keith gave a warm smile to mask his surprise. Truthfully, he thought Dorian was about to kick him out. Though, based on the doorman’s expression, it felt like there was more that Dorian wanted to say. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitant, almost as if he were searching for the right words. “I…“ He spoke, slightly quieter than normal. That was all he was able to get out before a knock on the door interrupted the two.

Both men seemed to freeze up. They shared a look before Dorian moved to the front door, glancing through the peephole. His body seemed to tense up as his expression darkened, a mix of stress and annoyance. He pulled away from the door, looking back at Keith with a scowl. “Go hide,” He says with a rough whisper, keeping his voice low. “Now.”

He didn’t need to elaborate for Keith to take things seriously. A flash of worry came across his expression before he he rushed across the apartment, running to the bedroom. The older gentleman shut the door, but didn’t close it completely, leaving a small gap for him to peer through as he hid in the darkness of the bedroom, watching carefully as Dorian answered the door.

“Hello, Dorian.” Celia greeted him with a serious expression, her gaze firm. There was an air of authority about her, despite the fact she was no longer mayor, nor had any form of rank over Dorian. “May we come in?”

Dorian’s eyes flicked between each of the faces at his door, each of their expressions more serious and grim than the last. His grip on the door handle tightened slightly. Dorian wasn’t stupid, he knew what was coming. He pressed his lip into a fine line, though kept his expression neutral, trying not to show how truly stressed he was on the inside. “Of course.” He said, knowing that it would be more suspicious to refuse them. He opened his door slightly more, inviting the group into his apartment.

One by one, each of the former objects filed inside gathering together in the living room. Maggie was the first to shove her way inside, scowering the apartment, scanning every inch of it. Doug walked in after her, his shoulder bumping against Dorian, though he refused to acknowledge it. Artt followed in with a quiet apology on behalf of Doug, then Chance, Parker, Abel, Dasha, and finally Celia, all filing into the apartment. Dorian cursed internally as he shut the door, turning around to face the group. “Now then, what can I help you lot with?”

“We’re here to discuss the case of the missing key.” Maggie proded with a raised eyebrow, her hands on her hips while her tone was accusatory. “Ever heard of it?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Dorian huffed, keeping himself cold and steady.

“We all know you’re banging the key, dude.” Doug says without prompting, his curt words and bored tone enough to catch Dorian off guard.

“I—, what?” He blinks, though the slight flush on his cheeks was easy for Maggie to spot.

“AHA!” She points at Dorian, “That subtle pink on your cheeks, the mysterious figure Abel and Dasha spotted you with yesterday, the two wine glasses Chance and Parker noticed when they came to visit you…all of this leads me to believe you’re keeping something from us! Or should I say someone?”

Abel places his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “C’mon now, no need to go ‘round accusing him like that. We’re all friends here.” He says, keeping his voice steady and calm as he gave Dorian a small smile.

“Yeah, and friends tell each other eeeeeverything! Like, for example, I was the one who broke Chance’s handmade miniature that one time!” Parker admits with a grin, playing it off like it was nothing.

Chance turns his head slowly as Parker admits his crime, giving the umpire a death stare. “Do you mean the Lich King figure I told you not to touch? That mysteriously broke right before the final campaign? The figure that I spent weeks trying to perfect? Do you know how long the PAINT JOB ALONE—“

Dasha places one hand on Chance’s shoulder and another on Parker’s, standing between the pair to keep them separated. “We seem to be…off-topic.” she says, glancing between the two with warning in her gaze as she squeezed their shoulders just slightly, as if to remind them why they were here.

“Yes. Very.” Celia frowns at Parker and Chance, before turning her attention back to Dorian. “We have reason to believe Keith is alive. Though, that wouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, would it?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

Dorian keeps himself stern and steady. “I’m not sure what you all are on about.”

Celia stares at him, refined yet sharp. “Dorian.” She says, her voice a bit more firm this time. It’s enough to cause him to tense slightly. “We only want to help you. If Keith is here, and if he is causing trouble for you…”

“No trouble here.” Dorian replies, a slight edge in his tone. The group seemed completely unconvinced. Celia took a step closer.

“Is he still alive?” She asked, calm and slightly more gentle. Dorian hesitated, freezing for just a moment, but he gave her the slightest nod. He hated himself for nodding.

Keith, still watching from the cracked door of the bedroom, curses internally, but continues to watch the scene unfold.

Celia pressed her lips into a fine line as she nods slowly. “And you’ve been keeping him here?” She asks, her voice softer. Dorian looks away out of shame as he nods once more, his defenses breaking down slightly more.

“Where is he now?” She asked.

“Out.” Dorian lied, which caused Keith to breathe out a silent sigh of relief. “He left early. Said he’d be back later.”

“And you believed him?” Maggie asked, hands on her hips as she huffed.

“Get it through your thick skull,” Doug said, his voice just as monotone as always while he scolded Dorian. “Keith is just gonna fuck you over again.”

“That’s enough, you two.” The former mayor says with warning in her tone, her attention turning back to Dorian. Her gaze softens to one of concern. “Keith is not someone you should be protecting.”

“We all care for you deeply, Dorian.” Artt began, “And we wish for nothing more than to see you glow with happiness and love. But…”

“Keith is gonna fuck you over again.” Doug finishes Artt’s thought, repeating his earlier sentimen. Artt gives a nod in agreement.

“Yes. That.”

Abel sighs and removes his hat, holding it close to his chest. “You know I don’t like speaking badly ‘bout people behind their backs, but Keith? He’s…I mean, he took everything. He left you. Twice.”

“He made you miss GAME NIGHT.” Parker scowls.

“Okay, dude, you need to seriously drop that.” Chance glances to Parker and frowns.

“What he means to say is that we are concerned Keith…isolate you.” Dasha quickly swoops in to prevent the pair from bickering any further, her English slightly broken.

Dorian doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t speak up to defend or defame Keith, he simply stands there. Letting them talk.

Keith, on the other hand, was eavesdropping on it all, careful not to miss a single word. He leaned against the wall of the bedroom, hiding in the darkness, his arms crossed as he listened to the words poured out against him. His jaw tightened as his scowl deepened, no need to mask with a cocky grin when no one was around to see him. Every word he heard about himself only seemed to darken his expression.

“We want to make sure you’re okay, Dorian.” Celia continues, “I remember how you and Keith used to be. And I can’t say that it doesn’t worry me that he’s back. You are more than capable of making your own decisions, but we want to ensure that no matter what happens, we are here for you.”

For a moment, Keith’s expression seemed to soften, hints of regret and shame in his eyes upon hearing the mention of their relationship before. Though he quickly steeled himself once more, returning to a numb hardness.

“Just…promise you’ll keep us updated?” Maggie asked, dropping the investigation for just a moment, her expression softening to show her concern.

Dorian gives a slight nod. “Alright.” His gaze darts away, avoiding any kind of eye contact. Perhaps out of guilt, or maybe shame. “I’ll…let you know.”

Celia gives him a small smile of appreciation. “That is all we ask. If he returns, please give us a call. I’d like to speak with him.”

“If you could…give me some time to think.” Dorian asks, “I’d appreciate that.”

Dasha gives a small smile. “Of course, friend.” She practically drags Chance and Parker out, Abel and Doug following close behind. “You have a lovely home.” Artt adds before he leaves, Maggie following him out, which left Celia and Dorian alone in the living room, while the others waited outside in the hallway.

“You know we are doing this out of concern.” She sighs, looking at Dorian with an expression that was almost disappointed in him. “We don’t want him to hurt you again.”

Celia turned and left after that, shutting the door to the apartment behind her as she walked out, leaving Dorian to stand alone in the living room, left with his own shame. After a couple minutes to ensure they were really gone, the door to the bedroom opened slowly, Keith stepping out from the other side. The two met each other’s gaze, staring at one another while the tense silence weighed heavy on them.

“How much of that did you hear?” Dorian asked, his expression one of deep concern and worry.

Keith stared back at him with a numb yet slightly hardened expression, his brows furrowed, his eyes cold and unblinking, devoid of empathy or pity. “Enough.” He said, a slight edge to his voice.

“You know that’s not what I think of you.” Dorian took a step forward, hesitant for a moment before reaching out a hand, hoping to comfort Keith in some way.

“I think it would be best if I were to go.” Keith said with a cold edge to his words, “I have caused you enough trouble.”

“You aren’t trouble.” Dorian assured him.

“It seems to find me.” Keith says with a lack of any kind of emotion.

“I want you to stay.” Dorian insists, “I trust you, Keith.”

Keith doesn’t respond. He simply moves to the front door. He placed his hand on the doorknob, pausing for a few long moments. “I need time with my thoughts.” He didn’t give Dorian a chance to respond or argue, simply walking out the door and closing it behind him.

He made it out of the building, Keith far too wrapped up in his head to even process his surroundings. He began to walk. To where? Keith was still uncertain. All he knew was that he couldn't stay in that tiny apartment with Dorian. Not right now. Luckily the former objects weren't outside, giving him a chance to slip away.

He barely made it a block away before a sound came from behind, causing him to freeze. The cocking of a handgun, to be exact.

"There you are…” The tip of a gun pressed against Keith’s back, causing him to draw in a tense breath. The man standing behind him chuckled at the sound. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Chapter Text

It took Dorian a minute to argue with himself, debating whether or not he should give Keith the space he asked for. It didn’t take long for Dorian’s resolve to win that debate. He couldn’t let Keith walk out. Not after everything. Not again. He didn’t want Keith to leave, not when things were finally comfortable between them. They felt different this time, they felt right. Like they were okay. It was an odd feeling, but maybe being human made Keith more humane? Dorian didn’t know for certain; all he knew was that Keith was more genuine than he had ever been before. The moments were rare and hard to spot, but they were still there. And Dorian couldn’t let Keith just throw it all away.

He sprinted out the door, hoping to catch Keith before he got too far. Rushing through the hallway and down the stairs, Dorian made it to the ground level of the building rather quickly. Keith couldn’t have made it far, not in such a short period of time, which made things easier for Dorian. He stepped out of the apartment complex and onto the sidewalk, glancing both ways before picking a direction to walk. He walked along the street, beginning to turn a corner, when a familiar voice caught his attention.

“It seems I was…less careful than usual.” Keith chuckled as he spoke with a slight edge to his tone, keeping his voice steady. Though, somehow, it was almost like he was afraid. That was enough to give Dorian pause. Keith was clearly trying to mask whatever fear he felt, but Dorian knew him well enough to pick up on the shift in his voice. Keeping himself in place, Dorian decided to wait and listen.

“You got yourself in quite the mess here.” A new voice spoke, responding with a deep chuckle of his own, confident yet threatening. “You were pretty difficult to track down.”

Keith clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes forward and his body tense. The gun pressed against his back made him uneasy, but he had to keep his facade going. He had to collect himself, to remain calm and charming. To mask any signs of weakness. “And you are rather bold.” He says with his usual charm, “Pulling a gun on me? In broad daylight? You are either a very confident man or a very vengeful man.”

The gun pushed a bit harder against his back, reminding him of its presence despite how hard he tried to ignore it. “Why not both?” He asked Keith, slightly amused. “I got tired of waiting for you to crawl out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding in. You caused me far more trouble than you’re worth, you know.”

“I get that a lot.” Keith responds, his charming facade slipping slightly, a harsher tone filling his voice. “If this is about my debt—“

The man holding the gun laughed. “Oh, you’re long past due on my money. Before, I might have been nice. Maybe let you leave after losing a few fingers or teeth. But now? After you killed six of my men?”

“You should train your men to hold on tighter to their weapons. It was easy to steal a handgun off of them.” He smirks with a cocky voice, taunting the man who held a gun to his back, his confident mask coming back almost as quickly as it had slipped. “And it was so much easier to kill them.”

“Watch your tongue.” He spat with a low growl, gritting his teeth at Keith’s smugness. “I should just kill you now and get this mess off my hands. But it’s far more rewarding to make you suffer beforehand.”

Dorian’s jaw tightened. He had the urge to turn the corner and beat the stranger to a pulp. But right now, when he had a weapon pointed at Keith, Dorian knew he shouldn’t do anything rash. He needed more information if he was going to make a move. If he acted now, Keith could end up dead. Dorian simply continued to silently listen to their exchange.

“I’m assuming you are the one I’ve been buying my drugs from?” Keith asks, refusing to move or even glance over his shoulder at the man that held him captive, yet he raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “We never had the opportunity to meet. You always had your men carry out our little ‘exchanges’.”

“I don’t like to get involved, but sometimes things need to be taken into your own hands. And you’ve become such an annoyance, well, I just had to see what all the fuss was about.” He laughs darkly, the gun still pressed firmly against Keith’s back. His grip on the handle tightened, as if preparing to use it.

“I am quite the sight.” Keith’s lips curl into a smirk, burying his fear deep down underneath the many layers of confidence. “Now, what should I call you, then? You never gave me a name before. I still have not had a proper look at you.”

“I don’t think introductions matter.” He says, “And I’m sure we’ll have the chance to speak face-to-face soon enough.” The gun jabs into Keith’s back, hard, prompting him to step forward. “Now then. Why don’t we go for a little walk?” The drug lord asks with a slight chuckle in his voice, “We can continue this nice chat of ours.”

Keith grit his teeth, but obliged at the command, walking forward with the gun pressed against him, reminding him what would happen if he were to make an escape attempt. “Once someone sees that gun—“ the older gentleman growled as his expression hardened, his eyes narrowing.

“Then my fun will be ruined. I’ll just have to kill you here. So then—“ The gun pulls away from Keith’s back, tucking it out of sight. He places a hand on the older gentleman’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “—if you don’t want a bullet in your skull, I recommend you behave yourself.”

Dorian really wanted to hurt this guy.

The drug lord took a step forward to stand beside Keith, who kept his eyes forward and his jaw clenched. “Let’s get going, then.”

Dorian had been trailing behind the two, keeping a far enough distance to not draw attention to himself. Keith’s life was in danger. Nothing was worth risking. He had to be careful, to play things safe. Every moment he spent calculating, thinking, planning on how he would get Keith out of this mess. This situation was dangerous. Of course Keith had managed to get wrapped up in drugs and gangs. Of course he had to piss off a drug lord. At this point, Dorian should have expected this kind of behavior from him.

Keith had been dragged across the city to a run-down warehouse on the edge of town, with Dorian following behind a short distance away. The drug lord kept a hand firmly planted on the gun strapped to his waist, while his other clutched onto Keith’s shoulder tightly. There was no chance he could get close without getting himself or Keith shot. Dorian couldn’t call the police either, not yet at least. He would either have to hang back and risk losing sight of Keith, or he would have to risk the drug lord catching him talking on the phone, which would ruin any plan he had to get Keith out of this mess.

This wouldn’t end well for someone. It was hard to tell for who, though. Keith had been taken into the warehouse about twenty minutes ago, leaving Dorian to wait at a distance across the street, his gaze never leaving the two men that were planted at the front entrance. There was no way to get in or go around without either of them spotting him. No way to take either of them out without drawing unwanted attention. Dorian was too far away to see if they had guns, but it was likely. He just hoped Keith could hold out a little longer.

Every passing moment was an agonizing wait of silence, waiting for something. A scream, a cry, a gunshot, anything. But no, there was nothing. The silence was crushing for Dorian. Every part of him wanted to go after the man that took Keith. To charge in there without thinking, without a plan. But Dorian wasn’t reckless enough to do that. Not yet. But with each passing second of silence, he was growing more anxious.

Eventually the thugs guarding the door were called inside, disappearing into the warehouse. That was Dorian’s signal to move. He couldn’t waste another moment. He slipped out of the alleyway he had been hiding in, crossing the street and rushing to the building. It was old and worn down, like the warehouse would collapse in on itself at any moment. The glass windows were stained with dirt, though some were broken in or shattered completely.

Dorian peeked through the broken window, spotting Keith slumped over in a chair. Twenty minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but he had been messed up pretty badly in such a short period. Dorian couldn’t see much from this angle, especially not with the small group of thugs surrounding Keith.

“I’m surprised,” The drug lord chuckled. “I thought you’d scream more.”

Keith gave him a weak chuckle in response. “I have experienced much worse than this.” He said confidently, though there was a slight crack in his voice. He was bluffing, Dorian knew that. Keith had only been human for a couple months. Pain was still new to him. He was most definitely in agony. Pulling out his phone, Dorian dialed emergency services, watching Keith closely from the window.

“Well, I’ll leave you here to rot, then. Don’t want to get bored of you just yet. I need to make sure you really suffer for what you did to my men.” The drug lord smirks, though his smile fades as he glances to one of his men. “Watch him. The rest of you, let’s go. We got product to move.” He waved his hand for the remaining few members to follow, the group leaving through the back entrance of the warehouse.

Dorian finished up with his call to the police just as the group was leaving, giving him the chance to slip inside. A one-on-one fight were much better odds, and at this point, he was sick of waiting. The man guarding Keith had his back to the door, and by the time he heard footsteps, Dorian was close enough to throw a punch. He hit hard and fast, pent up rage taking over his senses. He punched the guard square on the jaw, the thug collapsing to the floor from the single hit.

Keith lifted his head slightly at, letting out a shaky breath at the sight of Dorian. “Finally,” he spoke, a hint of relief in his strained voice. “I was wondering what was taking you so long.”

Face-to-face with Keith, Dorian now had a better view of the older gentleman. Keith sat with his wrists tied behind the chair he was bound to, his posture slumped. He looked awful. His clothes were covered in sweat and blood, completely stained and ruined. His lip was split and his eye was swelling, with more bruises beginning to form. They had done a lot of damage in only twenty minutes. He looked like he was beaten half to death, if not worse. The way he looked at Dorian, no confidence, no cocky smirk. Just defeat. His mask was gone.

But still, there was something in his eyes; shame. Overwhelming shame that he was found like this, beaten and bloody, weak and alone.

“Sorry I took so long.” Dorian moved to Keith’s side, kneeling beside the chair to inspect his restraints and condition. There were no major wounds, but damn, he looked horrible. “Are you alright?”

“Very obviously not.” There was a hint of venom in his tone, but his voice sounded far too broken to truly pick up on the hostility.

“How much pain are you in?” Dorian asks, helping Keith out of the ropes that bound him to the chair. He practically collapses into Dorian’s grasp, slumping over, his legs far too weak to carry him. He breathes out a sigh of relief, though it came out shaky and exhausted. Keith forces himself to put on a smile, though his eyes remain weary, almost fearful, as he chuckles slightly.

“You know me, dear Dorian. I am fine.” He says with an unsteady voice, his words breaking slightly as his smile tightened.

“You’re beaten to a pulp and covered in blood.” The bouncer scoffs, “Now’s not the time to be stubborn.”

Keith’s head fell forward as he let out another deep sigh, even shakier than before. “Mierda, it hurts. Everything hurts.” He says with a shuddering breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally admits weakness.

“Come here.” Dorian wraps an arm around the older gentleman’s waist, careful to avoid any of his bruises. Keith wrap an arm around the bouncer’s shoulder to support himself, Dorian holding him up when it became clear that he couldn’t take another step. Keith lets out a groan of pain, barely able to keep his eyes open, leaning completely on Dorian.

“You’re alright now, I got you.” Dorian assures Keith, his voice quieter than usual. “Can you walk?”

“For the sake of my pride, I want to say yes. But the metal pipe I took to my knees makes that very difficult.” He groans from the pain.

“You need to go to the hospital.” Dorian insisted firmly, looking down at the older man with something akin to sadness in his gaze. Seeing him like this—beaten and weak—was hard.

Keith let out a scoff, his smile slipping into an annoyed scowl. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No.” Dorian growls back, looking down at Keith with his own scowl.

“Fine.” He grumbled, too exhausted to fight back.

Police sirens were beginning to close in, distant, but approaching. It helped Dorian feel a bit more at ease, knowing that an ambulance would be here soon enough. Keith was in bad shape, it was clear to see. And if they were lucky, the police could shut down the drug ring Keith had gotten wrapped up in. Then maybe things could actually calm down enough for them to actually talk.

Dorian was helping Keith limp to the front exit, slow in his movements from the pain, when the back doors to the warehouse were flung open. “You little shit.” The drug lord cocked his handgun, standing in the doorframe. He stood a distance away in the back of the building, his face hidden by shadows, but he was still close enough to get a good shot on either Dorian or Keith. He pointed the gun from one to the other, as if debating who to shoot first. “We were only just getting started, and you’re already leaving so soon?”

“Don’t touch him.” Dorian narrowed his eyes, protective anger seeping into his voice.

The drug lord ignored him, glancing back to Keith with a raised eyebrow. “Who’s this? Your guard dog?” He mocks, before something seems to click in his head. “Or maybe…” He raises the gun slowly, pointing it at Dorian. Even with his face obscured, it was hard to miss the sinister glint in his eyes. “He’s something more.”

“Leave him out of this.” Keith tries to straighten his posture, attempting to stand on his own, but he quickly falls against Dorian again, holding onto his shoulder for support.

“You’re both trying to protect each other. Cute. But since you killed six of my men, I might as well kill him to make up for it.” His eyes narrow slightly as his finger moves to the trigger.

The gunshot rang through the air like a crack of thunder, echoing off the walls of the warehouse.

Dorian waiting for the pain to hit his body, though the impact never came. Instead, the only thing he felt was Keith’s arms wrapped around him, squeezing him slightly. Keith looked up at Dorian in shock, as if he hadn’t realized he had even moved to save Dorian. Keith had used his back as a shield, almost hugging Dorian in an attempt to protect him. Where the bullet would have hit the bouncer in the chest, it had struck Keith in the shoulder, his body taking the hit. Their gaze locked for a moment, both in shock, eyes wide in horror.

Keith had taken a bullet for Dorian.

Chapter Text

Keith’s embrace around Dorian tightened for a moment, a last-ditch effort to keep himself steady. His breath came out shaky; a pained, ragged sound escaping him before he could hold the noise back. Keith’s eyes were wide, even before the pain hit his body. He just held himself there, his face just barely buried in the crook of Dorian’s neck, almost as if he were seeking a final moment of comfort or reassurance. He felt sick. The gunshot still rang in his ears. He didn’t even notice his hold on Dorian begin to slip.

The sirens of police cars grew louder and closer, which seemed to startle the drug lord enough to run. Dorian didn’t notice. He was too focused on Keith. The red leaking from Keith’s shoulder was all Dorian could see. He was frozen. It felt like his breath was stuck in his lungs. Keith squeezed Dorian for just a second before his grip loosened, his legs giving out beneath him. His weight collapsed onto Dorian, his knees buckling from the pain and exhaustion, slumping against the taller man completely. Dorian caught Keith, bracing him as best he could with one arm, the other holding tight around his waist to secure him there. Dorian finally managed to exhale, shaky and fearful.

“You’re okay, you’re alright— shit, Keith—“ His mutters were quick and desperate as he clutched the former key closer to his chest, Dorian’s eyes wide in horror. “You took a bullet for me—, you—“ He couldn’t speak coherently, the words falling out in a broken string, too much emotion, fear, adrenaline, and disbelief all at once. 

Keith swallowed down any words he may have had, closing his eyes tightly when a wave of pain rocked through his body, making his shoulder ache. His hands gripped the fabric of Dorian’s shirt, nails digging into the cloth. The pain hit him like a truck. He was already suffering before, but this? This was agony. His breathing came in heavy, labored pants, each exhale sending spikes of pain shooting up his shoulder.

“Come on, Keith—“ Dorian urged him with a shaking breath, placing his hand over the gunshot wound to apply pressure. The warm stickiness of blood seeped between his fingers, staining his pale skin with crimson. He hoisted Keith’s body against himself, trying to support him while also keeping his hand over the wound to slow the bleeding. “You can…we can…we—“ He broke off, clenching his jaw hard.

“Dorian—“ Keith choked out the name with ever bit of strength he could muster. His voice sounded ragged, strained, his eyes still closed tight. Keith knew he was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness, the pain far too much for him to manage. The aching, the adrenaline, the shock, the exhaustion; it all mixed in his mind and body, everything slowing down yet speeding up all at once. He could feel his heartbeat pound against his chest, sweat dripping from his brow. He swallowed, fighting back a sob that had building in his throat.

“I don’t…want to die.”

Dorian shut his eyes, bringing Keith closer while hugging him tighter. “You won’t.” He said, desperation overwhelming his voice.

Keith is weak and slow in his movements, though he finds himself burying his face in Dorian’s chest, forehead pressed against the bouncer’s collarbone. His breathing is still shaky, but Dorian seems to give him a sense of comfort by simply holding him close. His usually sharp-witted thoughts feel dull and fuzzy, his head swimming from the pain. Everything feels distant and unreal. Pain is the only thing he can focus on, the only thing that sticks with him, even as he felt his mind begin to slip.

The arm wrapped around his waist squeezes him slightly. “Stay awake,” Dorian almost begs, the seconds passing like hours between them. “Talk to me. Say something. Just— just don’t stop talking.”

Keith doesn’t respond. Even though he can hear Dorian’s words loud and clear, they don’t penetrate his thoughts. It takes a couple moments for the words to really click, the blood loss and exhaustion making it rather difficult to process. He’s barely aware of anything around him, except for Dorian’s warmth. Lightheadedness mixes with his dazed awareness, combining together in a hazy mess.

The sound of sirens had grown closer with each passing second, though it didn’t feel fast enough. “Hold on,” Dorian pleaded. “Keith, hold on just a little longer.”

A wave of confusion, agony, and exhaustion that slowly begins to drown out his senses altogether. “You know I am…not good with pain.” Keith mumbles, almost to himself, his words slightly slurring. “But I fear— I fear I am worse at…apologies.”

Dorian pulls Keith away from his chest, still supporting him, but pulling apart just enough so that their gaze could meet. The older man finds it difficult to open his eyes, but fights to do so, struggling against his tired eyelids. His eyes are foggy from the blood loss, Keith looking like a shell of the man he once was, though he still gives Dorian a faint smile. It’s a sad one, his eyes dull and weary. A hint of regret in his expression.

“Don’t say it.“ Dorian practically growls from his desperation, clutching Keith tighter. “Not now. You’re going to be fine.”

“When else will I—“ Keith’s breathing becomes shaky again as he exhales, unable to finish his sentence. He can feel the wetness of blood leaking from the gunshot wound, which only causes his head to spin more. Keith groans slightly at the feeling, trying to ignore it. His wound throbs, but it fades into the background. His vision blurs, and the world around him grows darker with every passing moment. His head is getting heavier, his eyelids drooping from exhaustion. “…mierda—“

“Keith—, Keith!” Dorian panics, shaking him slightly in an attempt to keep him awake and aware.

Keith rests against Dorian, his head lolling forward as exhaustion and blood loss get the better of him.

“Keith?”

His entire body jolted, like waking up from a dream of endlessly falling. Keith clutched his chest as he desperately tried to catch his breath, his heart pounding wildly. The pain was gone. He felt nothing. Nothing but numbness and disorientation. But his head hurt. Like his skull had been split open. Like the bullet hit his brain instead. The thought instantly reminded Keith of what had happened, everything hitting him all at once. His eyes widened in realization. Keith immediately reached for his shoulder, grasping at where the bullet had hit him. There was nothing. No blood, no pain. Panic set in faster than he could mask it.

“¿Qué?” He slipped into Spanish without realizing it, Keith placing his hands on his face to feel for blood or bruises. He was met by silk gloves, which caused the older gentleman to pull his hands away in surprise, staring down at his palms. He hadn’t worn these gloves in a long time. Why did he have them on now? He hadn’t worn these since—

Someone’s hand reached out, cupping Keith’s jaw and lifting his face. “You doing alright, love?” Dorian studied him with furrowed brows and a confused expression, concern etched deeply into his features.

Keith’s eyes widened, his breathing beginning to quicken. “Mierda, Mierda— Me acaban— me acaban de disparar, estaba… ¿Qué pasa—?” The older gentleman mutters through panicked breaths, slapping Dorian’s hand off his face before stumbling back. He couldn’t pull himself together. He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight, everything was blurry. The sound of the gunshot played on repeat in his head.

“Keith—, Keith!” Dorian tries to calm him down, “It’s alright, I’m here.”

“Why—“ Keith caught his breath, trying to steady himself. He placed his hand on the wall for support, hoping his legs wouldn’t give out on him. He felt like he was going to be sick. “Why are you— what—“ The key shook his head, finally taking a moment to process his surroundings. Realization came crashing down as he finally took a chance to study the hallway he stood in. “Why are we back at the house?”

It was unmistakable. This was the house they were stuck in back when they were still objects. Keith hated every second he had been stuck here. He knew these familiar walls, every inch of it was agonizingly studied in boredom, wishing to be free, wishing to be human. He could never forget the time he spent here, no matter how hard he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried. He could never forget. Not when thoughts of the crawl space still crept in the back of his mind, holding him prisoner to a weakness he never wanted to admit existed.

He glanced back at Dorian, eyes wide and panicked as he studied the door. His clothes were different. It wore the outfit he used to wear before he was realized. “Why are you wearing that?” Keith grabbed Dorian's jacket as he tugged the door closer, practically snapping at him. He seemed a little shocked at the key’s outburst.

“Are you feeling alright?” Dorian placed his hands over Keith’s, having to pry him off of his suit, raising an eyebrow at the older gentleman. “You blacked out for a second, and now you’re starting to worry me.”

“NonononoNO.” Keith begins to pace, his gloved fingers running up to tangle in his hair, pulling at it from the stress and confusion he felt. “NO. We were realized, we— how are we back here?”

“Realized?” Dorian looks at Keith like he’s crazy, taking a few steps closer to try and soothe him. He places a hand on the key’s back, which Keith instantly jerked away from. It seemed to surprise Dorian, but he said nothing more about it, simply concerned for Keith’s well-being. “Is something wrong?”

“We were human!” Keith said as he grabbed Dorian’s shoulders, clutching him for support. “I was shot, I—“ Keith muttered, shaking his head. Everything felt so blurry and confusing, it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.

“What are you on about, love?” Dorian cups Keith’s cheeks, lifting his face so their gaze would meet. He gave his partner a small smile, but his expression was very clearly full of worry. Keith’s body is tense, his eyes wide, but this time, he doesn’t pull away from Dorian. He actually seems to lean a little into Dorian's touch.

Dorian pulls his face slightly closer, their foreheads resting against one another. The fear and panic in Keith’s eyes begins to fade into something slightly calmer, eased by his partner. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Keith can’t find the right words, shutting his eyes. He shakes his head slightly, but keeps his forehead pressed against Dorian’s. “This— isn’t right.”

“How so?” Dorian asks, his hands still placed against Keith’s face, his thumb dragging along his partner’s cheek to help ease his panic. He leans a bit closer, their lips just barely apart.

“Dorian—“ Keith tries to speak, slightly breathless as he mumbles. Dorian’s hands come up along Keith’s face, his fingers tangling themselves in the older gentleman’s hair.

“I’m here, love.” Dorian assures, hesitating for a moment before bringing himself closer to press his lips against Keith. Their lips connect, and for a second, everything is good. Keith forgets his problems for just a moment, shutting his eyes as his tense posture seems to relax in Dorian’s hold. Though the kiss breaks apart almost as quickly as it had started, Keith pulling himself away from Dorian, his eyes wide in panic.

“No, this isn’t—“ Keith releases a shaky breath, shutting his eyes. “This is before I left, isn’t it?” He murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “When we were…” He trails off. “Carajo, this isn’t real.”

He pulls his face away from Dorian, only to lay his head on his partner’s shoulder, the key burying his face deep into the crook of Dorian’s neck. “This isn’t real.” Keith repeats, his voice quiet, almost defeated. Dorian hesitates before moving, his arms coming around slowly, hugging Keith close. He rubs circles on Keith’s back, attempting to soothe his partner, though he remains silent.

Keith responds with his own hug, squeezing Dorian slightly. His false reality seems to come crashing down around him as realization finally kicks in. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mierda.” Keith swears again, breathless and defeated. “You’re not really him.”

“I’m not.” ‘Dorian’ says.

“To think I was stupid enough—“ Keith laughs. A painful, sad laugh. He was laughing at his own stupidity. “—to think that any of this was real. Even for a moment—“ Keith pulls away from ‘Dorian’, running a hand through his hair. “To think that he— oh, I should have known. I should have known the second you— carajo. It could never be like this. Never again.”

‘Dorian’ stares at him. His expression shifted from one of love and concern to a cold, unfeeling stare, almost numb in appearance. “It could have stayed like this.” He says to Keith, almost emotionless. “Until you ruined it.”

Keith tenses at the sudden change, though he said nothing to deny or defend himself.

“You’re the reason all this happened.” ‘Dorian’ takes a step towards Keith, who took a step backwards in return. “He loved you, and you left him.”

The walls of the house seem to crack around Keith, the room beginning to shake slightly. He takes a step back again, the sound of cracking wood coming from underneath his feet. The cracks along the walls spread down, inky blackness leaking out of the crevices.

“Why did you leave?” ‘Dorian’ doesn’t stop, walking forward slowly, pressuring Keith to continue walking backwards to keep a distance between them. “Were you using him? Or were you afraid?”

Despite having Dorian’s voice, his tone was cold and detached, cutting through him like a knife. The black sludge seeping from the cracks in the walls began to leak onto the floors, inky puddles of tar pooling beneath his feet. Keith felt his jaw clench. The floor beneath him felt unsteady. The cracking wood grew louder. He tried to take another step backwards, but the floorboards gave out, causing him to nearly fall into the black abyss of nothingness below. Keith felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Afraid of what, though? Yourself? What you are? Or were you afraid of ruining him?” ‘Dorian’ tilted his head, standing at the end of the hallway, leaving Keith trapped between him and the gaping hole in the floor. 'Dorian' chuckles, almost amused. "No, that can't be it. You don't care about anyone but yourself. That's what you want him to believe, at least. You hate admitting it, but you're growing attached, aren't you?"

“This is ridiculous—“ Keith growled, trying to mask his panic. “—This is a dream. None of this is real. You are nothing.”

“Worse.” ‘Dorian’ says, no emotion, no expression. “I’m everything you’re afraid of.”

The floor gives out beneath Keith, collapsing in on itself, dragging him down to darkness. He hits the ground painfully hard, landing in a thin puddle of black sludge. ‘Dorian’ stood above him, his face hidden by shadows, but Keith could make out the cold disgust in his eyes. “Maybe you can spend some time here,” He says, voice empty and hollow. “Tuck yourself away with your thoughts. That may help you.”

Keith’s eyes widened in realization. “No, wait, PLEASE—“ He pushes himself off of the ground, reaching up for ‘Dorian’, desperation in his voice while horror fills his expression. Keith watches as the remaining bit of light is slowly consumed, blocked by the trapdoor closing to lock him in the crawlspace once more. The darkness swallows Keith as the last bit of light is shut out, black sludge and ink dripping from the walls to fill the room, rising from his shoes, to his ankles, flooding up to his waist.

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE!” He yells, banging a fist against the wall, no response to his desperate cries. “DORIAN?! DORIAN!”

But there was no answer, only the sloshing of the inky abyss, slowly filling to swallow him whole.

Chapter Text

The sludge continued to drip down the walls, filling the crawlspace torturously slow. It was heavy and thick in its consistency, like tar or syrup, making it near impossible to move. The inky goo had filled up to Keith’s waist, trapping his lower half. It felt like it had been hours. But then again, it could have been only a few minutes. Keith wasn’t focused on the time. Thinking about it would only drive him further into madness. He had spent many nights in the crawlspace, wondering how many days had passed. Wondering if it had been hours or minutes. The lack of light made it hard to know for certain.

Keith was taking a moment to catch his breath, his throat raw from screaming. He had done a lot of screaming. ‘Dorian’ had remained quiet, or maybe he had left. Keith was unsure. Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered. He was stuck. Trapped in the prison of his mind, fueled by nightmares and dread that threatened to swallow him whole. Still uncertain if he was alive or dead. This could be hell, truthfully. Punishment for everything he had done. Maybe he had died the moment he shut his eyes, cradled in Dorian’s arms.

Or maybe, this was just the process of dying. Death was slowly slinking in, keeping him painfully aware as the room slowly fills with goo, threatening to fill his lungs and steal his last breath away. A slow, painful way to go. One where Keith would have to live through every agonizing moment of it all. Maybe it would be better to get it over with. Dive into the murky ink and let himself go. Let the breath leave his lungs and the life leave his eyes. At least that way, he wouldn’t have to wait for death to come.

Resting his forehead against the wall, Keith’s gaze was cast downward, staring at his reflection in the sludge. His eyes were filled with a mix of sorrow and fear, unable to mask the dread he felt. This was it. This was the end. Nothing he could do could free him from the grips of death, from this hell he found himself in. This wasn’t the way he was supposed to die. Though, Keith never actually considered how he was ‘supposed’ to die. He simply ignored the thought. Pushing it away and rejecting the very idea that he could die. As if he was somehow above death.

And yet, here he was. Broken and defeated. Nothing more than a shell of the man he used to be. Left with nothing but his thoughts. Alone with his fears and his regrets. The things he had spent so long avoiding, the things he had ignored and denied, now kept him company in his last moments. Though ‘company’ was too kind a word. It was more like they were tormenting him.

Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it? The thought kept returning to Keith. Almost haunting him. All of this was because of his ego, his pride, his arrogance. Dorian could be dead. He could have been shot by those drug dealers the moment Keith shut his eyes. Of course he had to drag Dorian into his mess. Of course he had to stumble back into Dorian’s life just to ruin things again. That’s all he did. All he did was ruin things for others.

Maybe if he never showed up at Dorian’s apartment, things would have been different. Maybe if he never jumped out of that plane, maybe if he had never left Dorian in the very beginning, maybe all of this could have been completely different. Maybe he could have been different. Better, even. But no. He ruined it. Just as he always does.

The sludge was up to his chest now. It seemed to rise faster the more Keith reflected on his actions. Like his self-loathing was causing the room to flood quicker. The heavy consistency of the goo pressed against his body, almost as if it was trying to squeeze him to death. It was getting harder to breathe, each breath heavy and labored. Soon enough, it would reach his head and fill the room. Soon enough, Keith would drown in his own misery. This was the end. And he had no one.

“Dorian?” Keith spoke, his voice raw and vulnerable. “Dorian, are you there?”

No answer. Keith finally lifted his head, glancing up at the trapdoor that blocked him in. "Dorian—“ His voice sounded shaky, almost ready to break. “—I know you are not him, but…are you there?”

There was a small creak from overhead, almost as if ‘Dorian’ had shifted his weight just slightly, but it was enough to tell Keith all that he needed to know. He let out a sigh, letting his forehead rest against the wall once more, shutting his eyes to try and block out the rising ink that threatened to engulf him. Each breath was harder to take in, the sludge rising up to Keith’s shoulders now. He was running out of time.

“Carajo, Dorian— I— I’m sorry.” The words fell from his lips in a broken string, almost like a sob that Keith tried to hold back.

There was a moment of silence, the apology hanging heavy in the air. After a minute or two, the trapdoor rustled slightly, before it was pulled open, light pouring into the room. Keith looked up at the sound, a faint hint of hope in his expression. ‘Dorian’ stood at the edge of the trapdoor, towering over Keith with a blank expression and an empty gaze. “I’m not the one who deserves an apology.” He said, almost harsh in his tone.

“I know.” Keith says, a rare sight of shame in his eyes. “If I could tell him—“

“You could have. At any point, you could have told him. He saved you, he helped you, he defended you, and all you did was make things worse for him.” ‘Dorian’ scowled, disgust clear on his expression. The hatred in his eyes made Keith’s stomach twist with guilt.

“I know.” Keith looked away, his voice slightly quieter than before.

“If you had the chance, would things be different?”

The question surprised Keith, enough for him to glance back at ‘Dorian’ with slightly wide eyes. “What?”

‘Dorian’ tilted his head, his gaze cold but empty. His previous expression has relaxed into something more blank, almost numb. “If you had the chance, would things be different?” He repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Would you be better? Or will you run once things get hard?”

The sludge was up to Keith’s neck now, tight around his throat. It was suffocating. But not enough to kill him. Not yet, anyway. It was hard to breathe with the crushing pressure, and even harder to speak. “I…want to be better—“ He chokes, gasping for air.

“Then be better.” ‘Dorian’ said firmly, his posture straightening as he looked down on Keith. “I can’t save you. I can’t wake you from this nightmare. But I can help you take that first step. Stop running from it all and face it, Keith.”

‘Dorian’ pulled something from his pocket, a small object resting in the palm of his hand. Before Keith could get a glimpse of what it could be, it was dropped into the crawl space, the small object landing in the sludge, before slowly sinking deeper into the black goop. “I’d hurry, if I were you.” ‘Dorian’ suggests, “Hold your breath.”

Keith hesitated, his eyes wide in panic. He glanced between ‘Dorian’ and the spot where the object had been dropped. They locked eyes, staring at one another for a moment. Keith swallows. “Thank you.” He finally says, gratitude mixing with the fear in his gaze. Taking in a breath, Keith plunged downwards.

The inky blackness was crushing him, his limbs heavy and unresponsive to his commands. He tried moving, he tried pushing past it, but he was stuck. Trapped. Sinking. No matter how much he fought, the darkness was everywhere, surrounding him like a blanket, suffocating him and threatening to squeeze out the small bit of oxygen he held in his lungs. Keith struggled to keep his eyes open as they burned beneath the thick liquid. For a moment, Keith thought that this was the end. A trick ‘Dorian’ had played on him to end the suffering sooner.

And yet, there was a glimpse of something.

Barely an ember of light, not even a spark, but it was there. Just out of reach and sinking deeper. The goo surrounding Keith suddenly felt a lot more like water, becoming thinner and easier to maneuver in. The pressure around his chest was still there, but it felt bearable now. Still there, yes, but…not so overwhelming anymore. His limbs felt less heavy, like he could move freely.

Keith didn’t waste a moment. He swam, diving through the murky darkness, chasing after a light that seemed so distant. The darkness felt infinite, as if he could swim endlessly and never reach the bottom. It was getting harder to hold his breath now as he continued to fight his way through, but that didn’t stop him. The pressure tightened around him the deeper he went, threatening to squeeze his last breath from his lungs.

The light was so close. Keith extended his arm, reaching for it, his fingers just barely brushing against the object. It felt like the darkness was pulling him back, trying to prevent him from reaching his prize. He felt dizzy, his body and limbs aching. But Keith refused to stop. As hard as the blackness was pulling him away from it, Keith pushed himself forward, fighting against the darkness, even as his body begged him to give in, to release his breath and give into death.

His fingers curled around the object, grabbing hold of the cylindrical item as his breath finally escaped him. Keith could feel the fog shroud his mind, slowly seeping in, his eyelids growing heavy. Looking down at the object in his hands, Keith pulled the item closer to him, his consciousness beginning to slip. He smiled. The nightlight in his grasp flickered slightly, its yellow light giving off some semblance of warmth.

The warmth enveloped him, welcoming Keith with a rush of air to his lungs. The darkness surrounding him seemed to recede, the inky blackness fading into an inviting yellow glow, spots of light flickering. He was still floating, as if in water, but breathing came easy. The darkness was chased back by a single little light, washing away any black that remained. Keith clung to the light, holding it close to his chest.

“I’m coming, Dorian.”

Chapter Text

Everything had been a blur. Dorian watched Keith slip away in his arms, exhaustion and blood loss pulling him into unconsciousness. Red crimson stained the palms of his hands as he cradled Keith in his arms, clutching him close. Dorian’s eyes were wide and fixated on the older gentleman’s chest, watching the slow and shallow breaths that he would take, unsure if any one of them would be his last. His heartbeat was weak and weary. Dorian had pulled Keith a little closer, hugging him tight while still applying pressure to the gunshot wound. His own breathing was shaky and unstable, hard to get a proper grasp of.

The paramedics came rushing in, shouting over the sirens that were just outside. None of it seemed to reach Dorian. No sound could reach the overwhelming ringing in his ears. The ringing from the gunshot. 

His mind wasn't focusing right, everything was jumbled and out of place. It felt like time had stopped around him, like he was frozen in this little moment, cursed with the fate of knowing that he couldn’t do what he was meant to do. He couldn’t protect someone when they needed it most. He couldn’t protect Keith.

After that, everything was a blur. Keith had been pried from Dorian’s grip and wheeled off in a stretcher. He was hauled into the back, disappearing as the ambulance doors were closed. One of the paramedics led Dorian to the front seat of the ambulance, clearly able to tell that he was stuck in a state of shock and panic. The paramedic kept talking to Dorian as they sped to the hospital, maybe trying to assure him or bring him back to reality, but it wasn’t working. The image of Keith’s pale, unconscious expression was burned into Dorian’s memory. He could only stare at the blood on his hands and blame himself for it all.

Keith was taken into surgery immediately, rushed off deeper into the hospital. Dorian attempted to follow, still stuck in a daze he couldn’t snap himself out of. The hospital staff had to stop him from following Keith into the operation. Time felt so slow as he was forced to wait, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, left to wonder if Keith would be able to pull through. Police stopped by to question Dorian in the waiting room. That was just another blur in his memory. He answered the best he could, usually by shaking or nodding his head, sometimes giving one-word responses.

The moment Keith was out of surgery and put into the ICU, Dorian was there. He was there at Keith’s bedside the second anyone was allowed in, a chair pulled up where Dorian sat to protectively watch over the older gentleman. The shoulder that had been shot was now in a sling, and a brace had been put on one of his knees. There were two IVs in his arm, one for fluids, while the other was for morphine. The heart rate monitor he was hooked up to filled the room with its steady beeps every few seconds, slightly comforting to hear the stable rhythm.

Dorian sat there for hours. He refused to eat, refused to sleep, refused to leave Keith’s side. He couldn’t. Not when Keith wasn’t awake yet. What if he woke up when Dorian wasn’t there? What if something happened while Dorian was gone? The guilt of being unable to protect Keith was bad enough. If something happened while he was gone, Dorian would never be able to forgive himself. So, Dorian sat there, watching every little breath, listening to every beep of the machines, waiting. Keith wasn’t waking up, leaving Dorian to stew in his guilt for hours.

Farya had been working in the same hospital Keith had been admitted to, and she had taken it upon herself to stop in and check up on Keith and Dorian every now and again. She would stop by and try to get Dorian to shower or sleep, but he was firm in his resolve. She at least took the time to sit with him, using a disinfecting wipe to clean the dried blood from his hands and skin.

“You look worse than he does.” She said with a frown, gentle as she wiped away the crimson.

“When will he wake up?” Dorian asked, brushing past Farya’s comment.

“Likely a day or two. His body is recovering from the blood loss and surgery.” Farya explained as she finished cleaning away the stains on Dorian’s hands.

She couldn’t always be around, she was working, after all. Dorian would sometimes catch glimpses of her rushing through the halls, occasionally poking her head into the room to check in, but not much else. Farya was busy with her job, but any chance she had a moment of quiet downtime or a break, she’d check in. While she didn’t like Keith, she would never wish for him to be hospitalized or dead. But truthfully, Farya was more worried about Dorian.

It was unusual to see Dorian so…depressed. He refused to speak much, refused to look away from Keith, he was practically clinging to the older gentleman. It was as if he believed Keith would vanish the moment he looked away. He just sat at Keith’s bedside for hours, quiet and unmoving. Waiting. Waiting for something, anything. Watching for even the slightest twitch of a finger or eyebrow. Anything at all.

There was no movement other than his slow breaths, no indication of Keith waking up anytime soon. Dorian had remained by his side through it all, unable to bring himself to sleep. The first day came and went with nothing. Dorian just sat there, watching quietly, his own exhaustion beginning to wear him down. It was a little into the second day when the heart rate monitor beeped slightly quicker than before. Keith’s heartbeat had been rather stable the entire day before, and Dorian was quick to catch the sudden shift.

Beeps became quicker, more erratic. It was sudden, Keith’s heartbeat picking up. His body seemed to tense in his sleep, stirring slightly for a moment, his breath coming faster. Dorian hit the call button attached to the bed, standing up to move closer to Keith’s side. “FARYA!” He yelled out, despite just hitting the call button, gripping the handle of the hospital bed until his knuckles turned white.

Farya rushed in, coming to Dorian’s side. “It’s alright!” She assured him, trying to get him to sit back down. “He’s dreaming, it’s a good sign!”

Dorian let go of the railing, but refused to sit, finally turning to look at Farya. “How is this good?” He asks, almost aggressively. The pain in his eyes was mixed with a flash of anger, but it was easy to see the dark circles that proved how exhausted Dorian really was. The sleeplessness didn’t help with his panic or anger.

“It means his brain is active. He’s dreaming and moving, Dorian. He could be close to waking up.” Farya explains, soft and calm to ease the bouncer’s tension. His eyes went a little wide at that.

“I’m sorry,” He shakes his head, running hand through his hair. He seemed a little surprised at himself and his outburst. “I didn’t mean to— sorry.”

“It’s alright. You’re worried. I understand.” She helps Dorian sit, watching as he slumps in defeat, his tall figure seeming to collapse in on itself slightly.

“Sorry.” He says once more. Farya gives him a smile.

“It’s okay, really.” She promised, glancing back at the heart rate monitor. “Keith’s heartbeat is a little high, but nothing dangerous. It just seems like he could be having a bad dream.”

“You said he could be close to waking up?” Dorian asked, a hand against his forehead, as if he was trying to soothe a bad headache.

“I’m sure he’ll be awake soon. It’ll be okay.” She smiles again, but after a moment, her smile begins to falter. Farya looks at Keith, studying his expressions and slight reactions. “…You never told me how this happened.”

“I haven’t felt like talking.”

“Do you feel like talking now?”

Dorian sighed. “It’s…a long story.”

“I heard rumors that Keith was somehow alive.” Farya shakes her head, “The others talked a lot about it. They were worried for you.”

“Yeah. I know.” Dorian shuts his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “He took a bullet for me. To protect me.”

Farya seemed surprised. “Keith took a bullet for you? Keith?”

“I still can’t believe it either.” Dorian gave a weak chuckle, but his expression was still somber. “He was already badly hurt before then. I could have taken it, I could have protected him—“ Dorian stopped himself, letting out a shuddering breath that was filled with pain.

“It’ll be okay. I will do everything I can to help him, I promise.” Farya said, determined.

Dorian chuckled again, but this time a smile seemed to crack through his saddened expression. “You’re the first person to not give me a look of disgust over the fact that I’ve been helping Keith.”

“I have my…thoughts.” She glanced away momentarily, “But! I will never turn someone in need away, and I will do everything I can to help him.”

“Thank you.” The tension in Dorian’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly.

“I still think you should get some sleep.” Farya encouraged him with a frown, though Dorian seemed against the idea. He shook his head, standing up slowly.

“No.” He spoke firmly, despite his lingering exhaustion. Dorian moved closer to Keith’s bedside, grabbing the railing of the bed once more. “I need to be here when he wakes up. I need—“

Dorian stopped, his eyes widening as he sucked in a sharp breath. He and Farya watched Keith stir, his brows furrowing slightly. It took Keith a few moments to open his eyes, struggling to keep his eyelids from falling shut. His movements were sluggish and slow, but he was moving. He was waking up. As he finally opened his eyes, his gaze managed to settle on Dorian. Keith gave a sleepy smile, clearly very groggy and out of it, but awake nonetheless.

“Hello, dear Dorian.”

Chapter Text

“You’re awake.” Dorian said it almost breathlessly, as if all the tension and stress he had been holding in suddenly flooded out of his body the moment Keith opened his eyes. Relief washed over him, the look on his face one of utter elation. His formerly grim and exhausted expression melted away as a smile crossed his features for what felt like the first time in eternity. The dark fatigue in his eyes was chased away with an unfamiliar light. It felt like relief, though there was something more to it. His gaze was almost tender. Loving, even.

A sleepy smile crossed Keith’s lips, his eyes barely able to hold themselves open. “I am.” The older gentleman hums with a soft voice, the mix of morphine and his own exhaustion causing his words to come out slow and just a bit slurred. He was clearly still out of it, but he was awake nonetheless. He looked completely drained, left weak and tired, but he was okay. He was safe. That was all Dorian could ask for.

Reaching out his hand, Dorian cupped Keith’s cheek, helping the hospitalized man tilt his head slightly to the side, making it easier for the pair to stare at one another. His touch lingered, refusing to pull away. “You had me worried,” Dorian said with a sad chuckle, cradling the older gentleman’s face. “I thought I would lose you.”

“You know I am very hard to get rid of.” Keith spoke softly as he shut his eyes, relaxing at Dorian’s touch. “I am…very happy you didn’t kill me…” His words slur together before trailing off in a mumble, still smiling as he spoke, as if nothing was wrong with what he had just said.

“What?” Dorian blinks, confusing sweeping across his features.

“Keith is…a bit out of it.” Farya spoke up, reminding Dorian that he and Keith weren’t alone. She walked to the other side of the hospital bed, adjusting the morphine drip and IV bags. “He’s on a high dosage of pain medication for his shoulder and knee. He’ll come off in a day or two. For now, he’ll be groggy and disoriented.”

“I’ve been on many drugs before. This is…no different.” Keith smirks slightly, though he clearly didn’t realize how high he really was. Dorian and Farya shared a look with each other, before looking back down at Keith.

“Of course.” The bouncer nodded along with Keith’s drugged ramblings, “You feel alright though, yeah?”

Keith gave a drowsy smile, unable to keep his eyelids from dropping closed, but he still nodded. “Yes. Maravilloso.” He said, falling back into Spanish without realizing.

“He won’t be saying that when the morphine wears off…” Farya sighed with a frown, looking back up at Dorian. “The pain is dulled, but not completely gone. The sling should prevent his arm from moving much, but try to keep him still. Once Keith is a bit more…aware, we can talk about the fun parts! The details of the medical surgeries, the recovery time, the physical therapy, and so on!”

Dorian chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “I think you’re the only person to describe those things as ‘fun’, Farya.” He said, though his smile seemed to fade just a bit, slowly replaced by something more solemn. His gaze fell back to Keith, who had drifted back into unconsciousness for a moment, his face still resting against Dorian’s palm. “It’s bad, isn’t it? The results and all that?”

“Not as bad as it could be.” She said, giving a bit of comfort in her assurance. “The bullet only hit soft tissue, so luckily no bone damage there, and it was removed relatively easily. He’ll have to keep his arm in a sling for a few weeks, but there could be reduced strength or range of motion, especially lifting the arm overhead. Physical therapy will help with that. His knee, however…”

“Not good?” Dorian asked, his gaze traveling away from Keith’s face to study the brace on his knee.

Farya seemed a bit saddened. “It…was bad. His left knee took most of the force from the attack, resulting in a comminuted fracture. The bone was shattered into multiple pieces. Kneecaps have very little muscle to protect them, so a direct attack like that…“

“…would have nothing to soften the blow.” Dorian said, a bit quieter as he spoke. 

“Exactly.” Farya sighed, “Based on your expression, I think you don’t want to hear the gory details of what the surgeons did to his knee.”

“I think that would be for the best.” Dorian muttered, his body tensing slightly. More at the thought of what Keith was put through, rather than the actual surgery itself.

“He’ll have to use a wheelchair or crutches for the first little while, and then he’ll rely on a cane. Depending on how the bone heals, the cane may become permanent.”

“He won’t like the wheelchair.” Dorian scoffed at the sheer idea of trying to force Keith to use a wheelchair.

“No, he won’t.” Farya said with a frown, shaking her head. “But he’ll live. He’ll walk again. He’ll be okay.”

Her positive outlook and words of assurance made Dorian feel slightly better, even in this mess he found himself in. “You’re right.” A shaky sigh slipped past his lips as he spoke, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Farya smiled before continuing, “Once the morphine begins to die down, we’ll move him out of the ICU and into a regular hospital wing. He should be out of here in…two weeks, I’d say.”

Dorian sighed. Maybe out of relief that things were somewhat okay, or maybe from the stress of it all. Either way, he finally pulled his hand away from Keith’s cheek, sitting down in the chair pulled up beside the hospital bed. A wave of fatigue washed over him. Fear could only keep him awake for so long, exhaustion creeping in now that he knew for certain that Keith would be alright. “Thank you,” He repeated his earlier sentiment, still fighting to keep himself awake. “I really appreciate your help, Farya.”

“Now will you get some rest?” She crosses her arms with a frown, almost like she was scolding a child.

“Maybe in a bit.” Dorian sits up to prevent himself from falling asleep. “I’d…like to talk to him more.”

“He’ll be drifting in and out while on the morphine.” Farya explains, “So if he ends up falling asleep while talking, just let him. He needs the rest. And so do you.” She shakes her head, adjusting Keith’s pillow to better support his shoulder. The shifting of his pillow caused the hospitalized man to stir, waking him up just slightly. Farya pulled away, beginning to walk to the exit of the room. She paused in the doorway, looking back at Dorian and Keith. “I’ll leave you two alone for now, but I’ll be back later to check in.”

“Thank you.” Dorian says a third time, watching as Farya walked out of the room.

His attention turned back to Keith, who gave Dorian a smile in response. “‘m glad to see you.” The older gentleman said in a daze, his words coming together with a slight slur. “The real you. Not…not the scary one.”

“What?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from smiling at Keith’s drugged ramblings.

“Strange dreams.” He muttered, refusing to elaborate further.

Dorian shook his head with a chuckle, deciding not to push further. “You’ve been back in my life for only a week, and suddenly I’m wrapped up in drug lords and gangs. How do you do it, Keith?”

“I am extremely talented.” He hummed, enjoying the haze and fog that the morphine gave him.

Dorian smiled, though there was a faint sadness in his eyes. His gaze traveled down Keith's face, studying the sling his arm was resting in, causing the bouncer's smile to falter just a bit. “How’s your shoulder feel?” Dorian asked, his voice a bit quieter and laced with concern.

“I can’t feel…much of anything.” He mumbled a bit, trailing off halfway through before continuing. “It’s all heavy. And warm.” Keith gave a drowsy smile, the sharp edges of pain dulled into a distant, blurry ache.

“When you’re less high, I’ll scold you for being so reckless.” Dorian sighs as he leans forward in his chair, “But for now, I’m happy you’re okay.”

“Mhm…” Keith hummed contentedly, his eyelids barely able to hold themselves open. “‘m glad you’re here…hace las cosas más llevaderas.”

The corner of Dorian’s lips turned upwards in a smile. “You slipped into Spanish. I didn’t quite catch any of that.”

“Ah…I hadn‘t realized.” Keith shuts his eyes with a smile, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I really must teach you…along with teaching you to dance…one of these days…”

“I think I’d enjoy that.”

“Y te disfruto.”

“You went back to Spanish, Keith.” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I did not…seem to notice…” He chuckled again, drifting in and out, slow and sluggish as he spoke. “My brain seems to have…mixed up my words…”

“Sleep. That’ll help.” Dorian crossed his arms, leaning back again in his chair, relaxing just slightly.

“You should as well.” Keith cracks open one eye, his smile curling into more of a smirk, though it’s hard to appear mischievous when the older gentleman is barely able to keep himself awake. “You look worse than I do.”

Dorian let out a mix between a chuckle and a scoff, shutting his eyes. “Alright. But I’m staying right here.”

“I would hope so.” Keith mumbled, already drifting back off himself.

Chapter Text

“Dorian?” Chance knocked against the apartment door, waiting for a response. When none came, he knocked again, his frown deepening with worry at each passing second of silence. It had been three days since the intervention, and no one had heard from Dorian since. It was actually causing quite a stir among the former objects. It wasn’t like Dorian to drop off the face of the earth with no notice, not a call or a note, not even a text to explain things. Others had tried to reach out, but had no answer to their calls or messages. He had simply vanished.

Celia stopped by Dorian’s apartment just a few hours after the original intervention, but no one was home. The door was left partially opened, as if he had run out in a hurry. Ever since then, a former object or two would stop by whenever they could, just in case Dorian returned home. Chance and Parker were in the neighborhood, leading them to check in, but there was still no sign of Dorian.

The other objects were doing their part as well. Maggie jumped on the case the second she heard about Dorian’s disappearance, though even she seemed stumped at the lack of any kind of trail or evidence. Artt and Doug decided to stick around a bit longer, rather than heading out on tour, just to help where they could (well, it was mostly Artt’s idea. Doug was just along for the ride). There wasn’t a lot that could be done, especially with so little to work with, but they were trying.

Dasha visited the club that the bouncer worked at, but they weren’t much help. His coworkers and boss knew that Dorian called out for the week, claiming an emergency. He refused to elaborate and barely said more than what was needed. No one had seen him, no one knew what ‘emergency’ he was talking about, but everyone had the same suspicion of who it all tied back to. It was likely that Keith did something terrible, or Keith got Dorian wrapped up in something terrible. Either way, it was enough to worry the former objects.

The former D20 sighed. “I don’t think he’s home.”

“Oh, we could go in and check!” Parker suggested, reaching for the doorknob.

“Dude, that’s breaking and entering.” Chance said bluntly, swatting his hand away, which didn’t seem to phase Parker.

“It’s not breaking and entering if the door is unlocked.” The former embodiment of board games says smugly, a smirk spreading across his face as he grabs the knob and twists, the door swinging open with ease. He gestures to the now-open door with a stupid grin that was way too cocky for Chance’s liking.

“No, no. That’s— that’s still breaking and entering.” Chance pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. He pulls his phone from his pocket, frowning at it. “Maybe we should try and call him again?”

“Do you think he’ll pick up?” Parker asks, sticking his head inside the apartment. The dungeon master grabbed him by the top strap of his backpack, pulling him out of the doorway.

“Only one way to find out, right?” Chance scrolls through his contact list as he spoke, Parker peeking over the former D20’s shoulder to watch. He stopped at Dorian’s name, clicking on the contact before hitting the small call icon. He then turned on speakerphone, giving Parker the opportunity to hear the ringing of the line.

The pair waited for what felt like a long while in tense silence, hoping that Dorian would answer.

Despite the fact that the hospital chair was anything but comfortable, Dorian had been able to sleep through the night. In fact, he slept through most of the morning, too. Both he and Keith were able to rest peacefully, despite their circumstances. Perhaps knowing the other was there and safe helped ease any anxieties they might have had, allowing for a safe night of dreamless sleep. Farya had checked in a few times throughout the morning, smiling each time she saw the pair asleep and relaxed. She knew how much Dorian needed it, after all.

It was almost the afternoon when Dorian finally woke up, giving him a full night and a full morning of well-deserved rest. His back hurt from sleeping in the chair all night long, but the ache in his body wasn’t important. He smiled a bit as his gaze met Keith’s sleeping expression, feeling relaxed and calm, a stark contrast to how he felt less than a day ago. Keith’s breathing was slow and even, the sight of watching his chest rise and fall somewhat comforting to Dorian. It was just another piece of assurance that everything would be okay.

He spent a bit of time just watching Keith’s breathing, feeling oddly calm. Yes, things would be difficult, especially Keith’s recovery, but not impossible. Even now, things felt…okay. The adrenaline had settled, the panic had (mostly) subsided, and they were both alive. There was still a heavy sense of guilt that chewed away at Dorian, but he kept the thoughts to the back of his mind, trying to shut them out. Things would get better. They always did eventually.

After some time lost in his thoughts, Farya checked in again, noticing Dorian. “Oh, you’re up!” She smiled, stepping into the room. “Do you want something to eat or drink? Since you haven’t been doing either ever since you got here?” Her cheerful tone turned a bit more harsh, scolding Dorian for not taking care of himself.

“Coffee would be good. Thank you.” He hums, running his fingers through his hair while Farya makes her way to Keith’s bedside, adjusting the morphine once more to steadily lower the dosage. As she did so, Dorian pulled his phone from his pocket, frowning at the black screen. “And do you have a phone charger?”

Dorian hadn’t used his phone since he called emergency services nearly over three days ago. Of course it was dead. He had been so caught up in everything he had forgotten it entirely. He even used the hospital room phone to call out of work instead of his own phone, forgetting the fact that he owned a mobile phone that had been sitting in his pocket the entire time. The lack of sleep and the stress wasn’t good for him.

Farya gives a nod. “One second!” She leaves the room momentarily, stepping back in a few minutes later with a charger and a coffee in a styrofoam cup. She plugs the charger into the nearby wall, the cable long enough to reach Dorian’s phone while he remained seated. She handed the coffee and the cord off to Dorian, who plugged his phone in before taking the drink.

“Thank you, Farya. I’m not sure what I would have done without you.” He sighs, shoulders relaxing as he takes a sip of the coffee.

“I’m always happy to help. I’m just glad you finally let yourself sleep.” Farya crossed her arms, “Promise me you’ll get something to eat? And shower? And change into something that isn’t covered in blood?”

“I’ll…see what I can do.” Dorian chuckled slightly.

“I have to get back to work, but you can hit the help button anytime.” She told him, heading to the doorway. “I’ll check back in a little later to see if Keith is up.”

“Thank you.” Dorian smiles as she walks off, repeating his gratitude as often as he could. He still felt rather bad about snapping at her.

The screen of his phone flashes white as it turns back on, drawing Dorian’s attention to it. It took a few moments for the device to boot up, coming back to his lock screen, which began to fill with notifications almost immediately. Text messages, missed calls, and voicemails all piled up, far too numerous to count how many there even were. It felt like nearly every object in the house had reached out to him in one way or another, all of whom were clearly worried. This was definitely going to be a problem.

Just as Dorian was about to read through the many, many messages he had received, a new call popped up on his phone from Chance. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually answered the call after one or two rings. “H—“ He could barely get a single word out before Parker’s voice shot through the line.

“HE ACTUALLY PICKED UP!” Parker laughed loudly, “HI DORIAN!!!”

“Parker, give me my phone back—!” Chance said, some faint rustling coming from the other end of the phone. “Dude, where have you been?”

Dorian hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly. Out of all the objects, Parker and Chance felt like two that were likely to listen to him. If he explained things, maybe they’d be a bit kinder to Keith. But still, Dorian wanted to keep things quiet. Keith didn’t need a whole crowd of former objects coming in to visit, most of whom still hated his guts. It would be better to give Keith the quiet rest he needed for recovery. Still, Dorian hated how he caused so many to worry about him.

Letting out a sigh, Dorian felt conflicted, but he gave in regardless. “If I tell you, neither of you can say a word of this to anyone, got it?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, before Chance spoke up again. “Yeah, of course. Is…everything okay?”

“It’s fine now.” Dorian looked up at Keith's sleeping expression, “But it’s a long story. Come to the hospital, I’ll send the room number.”

“The hospital?” Chance sounded worried, rising panic in his voice.

“It’s fine.” Dorian repeats to try and ease Chance’s concern. “Just keep this quiet for now.”

“We’ll be right over.” He said just before hanging up, ending the call quickly.

Dorian pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it for a moment, frowning slightly at the barrage of messages. He had caused them all to worry. To stress and panic, thinking something horrible had happened. Well, something horrible did happen, that was true. But it’s hard to know if any of the former objects would care.  Dorian had a long list of friends, and somehow Keith had managed to piss off nearly every single one of them. If Keith dropped dead suddenly, would anyone care? Honestly, some of them might celebrate.

And the idea that Dorian, someone who valued friendship more than anything, would be helping the man that nearly all of the former objects hated? The thought made Dorian a bit nervous. How could he face the people he once protected, now protecting someone who hurt them all? Some of them might gain a newfound respect for Keith after learning about how he took a bullet for Dorian. Or maybe they’ll blame Keith for putting Dorian in a situation where he was getting shot at.

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts at the sound of Keith groaning. Dorian set his phone down, forgetting it completely as he stood up to stand a closer to the hospital bed. Keith stirred slightly more, waking up. He was slowly being taken off the morphine, making him just a bit more aware and a bit less high. The older gentleman smiled with tired eyes as his gaze met Dorian’s. “You look well-rested.” He hummed, wincing a bit as he tried to move.

“Here—“ Dorian helped steady Keith, easing him into an upright position, careful not to move his shoulder or his leg too much. “Better?” He asked, a hand lingering on the hospitalized man’s good shoulder.

Keith gave a slight nod. “Yes. Very much so.”

“You sound less high.” Dorian said with a tone that was almost teasing, as if he were trying to be playful. It was strange and foreign coming from him.

“I feel less high. For better or for worse.” He chuckled, though his eyes seemed distant and pained.

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?” The bouncer asks, raising an eyebrow.

“So much fucking pain.” Keith’s smile falls into a scowl, dropping his mask. “I would have preferred it if they kept the morphine going. But, it seems I am not that lucky.”

“I’m sure Farya can bring you some painkillers.” Dorian brings his chair closer to the hospital bed, practically right up against it. He moved his hand, almost reaching out for a moment, though he pulled back, hesitant to initiate anything. “I…hope it’s alright I invited visitors.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “I was hoping to have the chance to speak with you privately.” He said, somewhat dry in his tone, but Dorian knew him well enough to sense a bit of disappointment.

“We will,” Dorian assured him. “I promise. There are things I want to say.” This time, Dorian had a little more confidence in himself, reaching forward to place his hand over Keith’s good hand. “But the others have been worried.”

“Worried about you, I take it?”

Dorian glanced away, tensing slightly before squeezing Keith’s hand. “They don’t know what you did for me. We might be able to change things.”

“You have far too much faith in them.” Keith shuts his eyes, “But, if it will make you happy, then I can play nice.”

Chapter Text

“Hooooooly crit.”

Dorian crossed his arms, his expression just as firm and stoic as ever. There was a hint of protectiveness in his gaze, straightening his posture just slightly to tower over Chance and Parker. The bouncer still felt a little uncertain about inviting them to see Keith, but with how worried the former objects were, Dorian knew he needed someone trustworthy that could assure the others that things were okay. Based on the intervention, it was clear that the group was beginning to lose faith in Dorian. Like they believed his history with Keith was clouding his judgment. Which was ridiculous.

Everyone hated Keith, that was a clear fact, so there were a few people who were trustworthy enough to be brought in. Farya was obvious, she had been helping Dorian and Keith since they arrived at the hospital. And while she was clear that she had her opinions on Keith, she was never disrespectful or rude, always professional. Chance was the perfect candidate. Someone who people would listen to. Chance was someone who had a large amount of connections with the former objects. Between the game nights he ran with Parker, along with his G&G sessions, he was close and friendly with nearly everyone. As for Parker? Well, he always seemed to tag along with Chance. Dorian was slightly worried that his high energy would be too much for Keith, so he was keeping a close eye on the former embodiment of board games.

He had just finished telling the two about everything that had happened, Keith being abducted and beaten, then taking a bullet for Dorian, before finally being rushed to the hospital, sparing no detail. By the end of it, Chance seemed nearly dumbfounded. A mix of shock and admiration swept across his features, a large smile spreading across his face.

“Hoooooooly CRIT!” Chance repeated his earlier exclamation again, his eyes lighting up with awe. Dorian had been waiting for some kind of reaction, but one of excitement was not what he was expecting. “He— he saved you! That’s— wow.”

“And he nearly died doing so.” Dorian added sternly, Chance quickly realizing his excitement was probably taken the wrong way.

“R-right, of course. Sorry. It’s just— the sheer need to protect the one you love, your body moving without thought! Holy crit, it’s incredible!” He rambled on with a wide smile, unable to stop himself.

“I never said anything about love.” Dorian scowled, his body tensing at the word, like it was something unholy. Still, there was a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks, which he tried to hide behind an indifferent expression.

“Yeah, of course.” Chance gave a nervous laugh, intimidated by the bouncer’s sharp tone and tall figure.

“Wait, hold on—“ Parker shook his head, looking to the former D20 for guidance. “—are we friends with Keith again? Do we still hate him? This is why I need my dice! Everything is complicated!”

“You don’t need your dice, dude.” Chance assures Parker, placing a hand on the umpire’s shoulder. “Humans are complicated, and we’re humans now, so…we’re complicated.” He gives a half-smile of reassurance and a slight shrug, which seemed to help Parker relax.

The dungeon master’s words caused a slight shift in Dorian’s expression, his gaze softening. The words felt too truthful for comfort. Being human came with complicated feelings and thoughts that were hard to get a grasp of. Having Keith around didn’t help. Everything felt weird and messy and wrong, but at the same time, it felt warm and comfortable and okay. Dorian pushed his thoughts away, brushing them aside to get back to the matter at hand.

“Right, well—“ The bouncer spoke up, Chance and Parker turning their attention back towards him. “Keith is just inside. I trust you two to behave.”

“Thank you. For trusting us, I mean.” The former D20 says, a bit less anxious now.

Dorian gives a slight nod. The hospital hallway was quiet and sterile, the fluorescent lighting showcasing the red bloodstains on the bouncer’s clothes. He desperately needed a shower and to change, but he couldn’t take the time away just yet. Chance and Parker were easily able to see just how disheveled Dorian appeared, but neither mentioned it.

He opened the door to the hospital room, which the bouncer had been practically guarding, inviting the pair inside. Keith was sitting up in bed, Farya carefully removing the morphine drip from his arm. “We’ll keep the fluids IV for another 24 hours, just until we’re sure you can keep food and water down.” She explained, before noticing Chance and Parker enter. “Oh! Hello you two!”

“Hiya Farya! Hi Keith!” Parker waved excitedly at the two, a large smile across his face.

“Hello, Parker.” Keith greeted him, his eyes drifting to Chance before raising an eyebrow. “Who is this with you?”

“Uh— Chance? We’ve…we’ve met before.” The dungeon master said, a mix of confused and hesitant. “I was the D20..? I invited you to a G&G campaign before we were realized..?”

“I have no memory of this.” The older gentleman said dryly.

“What? How do you remember Parker, but not me?” Chance asked, surprised and almost a little offended. Sure, he and Keith weren’t the closest, but Chance had spoken to him on multiple occasions! He at least thought Keith would remember his name!

“Oh, Keith used to stop by the attic alllllll the time!” Parker explained, “He would come and see me and Sophia!”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, looking to Keith for answers. “Parker had mushrooms.” He said blankly, causing the bouncer to groan in annoyance.

“You’re terrible.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Eh.” He shrugged with his good shoulder, lacking any kind of remorse or shame. “I never did get those mushrooms.”

“Good.” Dorian scowled at him.

“Oooooooooh! If you wanted my mushrooms you could have just asked! I would have happily shared.” Parker smiled.

“Do not give him anything.” Dorian narrowed his eyes at Parker, crossing his arms across his chest and fixing him with a disapproving look.

“You love to ruin my fun.” Keith sighs with disappointment, shaking his head.

“Let’s all take a breath, gentlemen.” Farya said in an attempt to circle back the conversation, trying to calm everyone down enough to continue. “And DO NOT give Keith any drugs. He already has his pain medication.” She says, setting an orange bottle of pills down on the bedside table, which Keith immediately eyes with interest. 

“I’ll make sure of it.” Chance elbowed Parker in the ribs, stopping him before he could say something stupid.

“Good.” Farya nods, “Now then—“ Her attention turned to Dorian, pointing a finger at him, scowling. “—you need to go.”

“Me?” Dorian looked surprised, taken aback by Farya suddenly turning on him.

“Yes, you! You need to go home and clean yourself up.” The medical professional huffed with her hands on her hips, looking him up and down, clearly frustrated. “You’ve been sitting here for three days in bloodstained clothes! Some fresh air and a shower will do you some good.”

“I can’t just—“ Dorian started to protest, but Farya’s glare was surprisingly cold.

“Chance and Parker can keep Keith entertained for an hour.” She crossed her arms, “Go home, go shower, go change. Then you can come back.”

“Ooh! I have Uno!” Parker lights up as he drops his backpack onto the ground with a heavy thud, digging through it in search of the card game.

“Entertained?” Keith scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not some child that needs supervision.”

“It’ll be fun!” Chance promised, “It’ll help keep your mind off the pain.”

Keith’s scowl softened just slightly. Anything was better than sitting and thinking about how much his leg and shoulder hurt. “…fine.” He grumbled.

“See? Those three will play Uno, and you can go home and clean yourself up!” Farya smiled cheerfully, as if all of their problems had instantly been solved.

Dorian shook his head. “I appreciate the concern, Farya—“ He tried to argue, but he was already being pushed out the door.

“The more time you waste arguing, the longer it’ll take for you to get back.” She says with a huff, “Go get cleaned up before I call security.”

“But—“

“I will be fine, Dorian.” Keith spoke up, “I would actually prefer it if you wore a shirt that isn’t stained with my blood.”

He was outnumbered and outvoted. Reluctantly, Dorian sighed, the tension in his shoulders releasing with a slump. He really didn’t want to go. Maybe it was his overprotective nature. Maybe he was worried about leaving Keith alone with Chance and Parker. Either way, he was worried. But, he desperately needed a shower. “Fine,” Dorian gave in, knowing full well that Farya meant her threat of calling security. “I’ll be back in an hour. You’ll call if you need something, yeah?”

“I will be just fine, Dorian.” Keith repeated his earlier statement, though he paused. His gaze seemed to soften just slightly. “But…thank you.”

His gratitude came as a surprise to Dorian, who hadn’t expected to hear a sincere thank you coming from the older gentleman’s mouth. It felt strange. It felt genuine. It felt real. There was just something about those words that struck a certain chord within Dorian, one that he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Dorian hesitated before speaking again, as if at a slight loss for words. “I— you’re…welcome.”

The four watched as Dorian left with a hint of urgency in his walk, as if he were attempting to flee before anyone could press further about the slight blush across his cheeks.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you can’t stick around and play a game or two with us?” Chance asked, slightly disappointed, but still understanding.

Farya nodded. “Unfortunately, I have to get back to my shift. But you boys have fun! I’ll check in if I have a spare minute to two.” The medical professional gave the trio a smile, waving as she walked out of the hospital room.

“Awe, dang. Uno is more fun with more people!” Parker placed his hands on his hips, his frown lasting for only a moment before he shrugged, smiling soon after. “Oh well!”

Parker wheeled over a small table that hung over the hospital bed, one usually used for meals. He pulled up a chair on one side of Keith, Chance on the other, just close enough to reach the pile of cards on the center of the small desk. Chance’s eyes flicked between the deck of cards to Keith’s sling, studying him for a moment. “Are you sure you’ll be all good to play?” The former D20 asked with a raised eyebrow, slightly worried about how Keith would manage.

“I am perfectly fine.” The older gentleman put on a charming grin, though his smile never reached his eyes. “Do not worry about me.”

Chance frowned, but said nothing more, silently watching as Parker meticulously shuffled the deck. He dealt seven cards each before flipping over the top one to reveal a blue three. Keith took his cards with his good hand, studying them with a blank expression. He had played blackjack and poker many times before, but Uno was a game he wasn’t the most familiar with. Still, this was a children’s game meant to pass the time. There was no risk involved.

“Left of the dealer starts.” Parker said, glancing at Keith.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” The former key stared at his cards for another moment, then back at the blue three on the table. He switched his cards to his other hand to play more comfortably, holding his cards with his arm still in his sling. Keith took a card from his hand and placed it down, a blue plus two card.

“You’re cruel.” Chance shook his head as he drew two extra cards, having to forfeit his turn.

Parker set down a blue eight with a smile that was slightly too wide, almost unsettling. He was clearly having fun. Keith frowned at the color change, reaching out with his free hand to draw a new card. He set down the green eight he drew, moving the game along. Chance set down a green two, his eyes flicking up at Keith as he placed the card atop the pile.

“Sooo…” The dungeon master spoke, trying to act nonchalant and casual, but failing rather miserably. “How did you survive jumping out of that plane? And what was getting shot like?”

Keith’s jaw tightened at the questions. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. Parker set down a green five, moving to Keith’s turn. “Perhaps I will share another time.” He said with a slight chuckle, a hint of an edge to his tone, the older gentleman setting down a green skip card. “For now, I think I would prefer to play in silence. I have quite the headache.”

“Right, yeah, of course…” Chance nodded, watching as Parker played a blue skip on Keith. “But just— how? I mean, it shouldn’t be possible! It’s been on my mind ever since—“

“Chance.” Keith’s usually collected voice came out cold, as if it were a warning.

The former D20 frowned, a tense chill filling the room. Parker didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. Chance’s eyes fell back down to the cards in his hand, avoiding Keith’s gaze. He set down a blue zero, moving back to Parker’s turn in silence. He threw down a yellow zero in response, grinning from ear to ear. Chance was itching to bombard Keith with questions, so many on his mind that he wanted so desperately to ask. Keith placed a yellow four, leading Chance to play a green four on top of that, and Parker to play a green seven next.

Keith set down a color change card. “Red.” He said dryly, his eyes never leaving the center pile of cards.

Chance set down a red four. Parker placed a red nine onto the pile. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, growing to be too much for Chance. He was too curious for his own good, the questions swarming in his head unable to stay buried. “How long have you and Dorian—“ He began to speak, Keith’s eyes widening just slightly before he cut Chance off.

“He has been allowing me to stay with him. That is all.” Keith took a red skip card and placed it down on the pile, more forcefully than he should have, a bit ticked by the constant questions that were becoming far too personal for his liking. “Dorian and I are friends. Nothing more.” His eyes flicked up from the pile, narrowing slightly at Chance with an icy glare, clearly a warning not to push any further. “You are a curious one, aren’t you? So many questions…”

Parker placed a red reverse card down with an evil grin, paying no mind to the tension between Chance and Keith. “UNO!” He yelled, far too loud for a hospital room.

The tension lingered between the pair, hanging over the game like a dark cloud. Chance pressed his lips into a fine line. “Just…can you answer one question for me?” The dungeon master’s expression softened, a mix of worry and hesitation as he spoke, the game long forgotten among the tension.

Keith put a smile back on, though he clenched his jaw, his gaze filled with annoyance. “And what would that be?” There was a hint of hostility in his tone, the pain and exhaustion making it much more difficult to mask his true colors. Chance’s expression turned more serious. His brows furrowed as his gaze went cold, staring Keith down. For someone as kind and sweet as him, the sight was almost unnerving.

Chance placed his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward, interlocking his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands. “Are you going to leave again?” He asked, calm and calculated, numb in his expression and tone. Keith stiffened, caught off guard by the question. He gave a forced laugh to respond.

“Do you truly think I can go anywhere?” He deflected with another laugh, recovering quickly, putting on a grin to hide the brief moment of panic. His smile was tight and easy to see through, and based on the former D20’s blank expression, he was unconvinced.

“I do.” Chance gave a slight nod, the overhead lighting eerily reflecting on his glasses. “I appreciate what you did for Dorian. Protecting him like that is…well, it’s something I really admire.” Chance tilted his head slightly as he spoke, glancing off to the side as his expression softened just slightly, before his attention fell back on Keith. “But I want to know if we can really trust you. So, tell me honestly: is this just another scheme? Are you just going to leave the moment you’re strong enough to stand?”

Keith stared back, his smile slowly falling into a numb expression. There was a beat of silence. “No.” Keith said, firm and simple, lacking any kind of tone or emotion. “I won’t be going anywhere. Not this time.”

Chance leaned back in his chair, but said nothing. He and Keith stared at one another, the strain in the air almost palpable. Neither moved, both men simply keeping their gazes locked. Parker’s frown deepened, clearly annoyed at the stare down between the two.

“Are you ever going to TAKE YOUR TURN?!” He groaned impatiently, breaking the tension as he slumped over in his chair. Chance jumped in his seat at the sound, breaking eye contact as he came back to the moment.

“Oh, uh—“ He laughed nervously, adjusting his glasses as he looked back down at the cards in his hand, the cold and calculating dungeon master persona quickly slipping back into Chance’s regular nature. “Sorry, dude…” The former D20 scanned through his cards to find any he could play, picking up a blue reverse and setting it down. Parker’s smirk widened.

“HA! I WIN!” He slammed a wild plus four card down, standing up and climbing on top of his chair, holding his arms up in victory. “I AM THE MASTER OF UNO!”

“What—? Dude, no fair. You can’t end on a wild card!” Chance frowned, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I know the rules of Uno by heart, bitch!” He began to cackle maniacally, throwing his head back and laughing loudly, completely disregarding the fact that they were in a hospital.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out!” Chance warned with panic written on his expression, “Get down from there!”

“De todas las personas que Dorian podría haber invitado...” Keith grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head. “Would the two of you sit down? You are acting like petulant children!” He snapped, raising his voice slightly. Keith rubbed his temple with two fingers, his skull-splitting headache making it difficult to remain calm. The pain in his body, the flood of questions, and now this. All of it was making it incredibly difficult to keep the fragments of his facade in place. He would have preferred Celia’s lectures over this.

Parker hopped off the chair with a proud smile. “Ohhh, man! That was great! We should do that again!”

“No.” Keith was on the verge of sounding desperate, a rare plea as his hand cradled his throbbing head. “Creo que preferiría que me dispararon otra vez.”

Chance frowned, noticing the clear pain Keith was in. “Hey, uh…sorry…about him. And…sorry I didn’t trust you.” The dungeon master looked away, slightly embarrassed with himself. “Is there anything I could do to help you out?”

“Just…the painkillers.” The older gentleman kept his eyes squeezed shut, pointing to the orange bottle sitting just out of his reach. “Give them to me.”

“Yeah, of course.” Chance walked to the bedside table, grabbing the bottle. “Do you want me to—?”

“I can handle it myself.” Keith takes the bottle, practically snatching it from Chance’s hands as he growls. He tries his best to screw off the childproof cap, but with one arm in a sling, it proved to be difficult. Keith grit his teeth, fighting against the pain shooting through his shoulder as he struggled with the bottle cap, jerking it roughly in a desperate attempt to free the painkillers he so desperately needed. After another minute or two of struggling, the task felt impossible.

“…Mierda.” He sighed in defeat, “…could you—?” Keith trailed off, unable to meet Chance’s gaze, almost like he was ashamed of himself. The former D20 gave a slight nod, taking the pill bottle from Keith’s grip.

“Yeah, dude. I got it.” He popped the bottle open with ease, checking the label before pouring out two pills, placing them into Keith’s palm. “Do you want some water, or..?”

Keith shook his head slightly, staring at the pills in his hand. He popped them in and swallowed quickly, trying to distract himself from the pain pulsing through his shoulder and leg. “…Thank you.” He grumbled half-heartedly, much less genuine in his gratitude compared to when he said it to Dorian.

“No problem.” Chance sat back down in his chair, watching as Keith shut his eyes and lean back against the pillows. He thought for a moment, then looked past the former key, locking eyes with Parker. “Hey, why don’t we hit that board game store on the way back home? I want to pick up some G&G bundles if we can.”

Parker lit up. “Uh, YES.” He exclaimed with a happy laugh.

Chance nodded. “You head on out. I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Parker didn’t need to be told twice. He was already out the door. “I’llseeyoutherealsobyeKeith!” He yelled cheerfully as he ran out the room and down the hall, giving Chance and Keith a moment to themselves.

“Do you wish to interrogate me more?” Keith asked, cracking open one eye slightly to look at Chance, who shook his head.

“No. I just…I wanted to say that, well— holy crit, this is hard.” The dungeon master sighed, “I believe you. That you want to stay.”

Keith perked up a bit at that, opening both eyes to study Chance, raising an eyebrow to prompt him to continue.

“And, if it’s alright with you, maybe I could stop by again? Maybe we could finally do that G&G campaign?” Chance asked with a hopeful, yet nervous smile, clearly trying in his own way to extend an olive branch.

Keith shut his eyes. “As long as it’s not Uno again. And I’m sure Dorian would be happy to have the company as well.”

“Friends, then?” Chance asked, slightly hopeful.

Keith gave a small nod in return. “Friends.”

Chapter Text

Dorian had returned to the hospital after taking the time to shower and change, feeling slightly better now that he had gotten out of the sterile rooms and halls of the ICU. The fresh air had done him some good, helping clear his head a bit as well. His hair was still damp from the recent shower, but Dorian didn’t mind. He was still slightly anxious at the idea of leaving Keith alone with Parker and Chance, the thought causing his pace to quicken just slightly. But as he approached Keith’s room, he was eased by the sound of Chance and Keith chatting with one another.

“And this ‘G&G’ is—?” Keith raised an eyebrow as he watched Chance light up with excitement.

“Oh man! G&G is one of, if not the greatest game that has ever been created!” The dungeon master rambled on with a smile plastered across his face, “I’ll bring my G&G books next time I stop by! We can start a campaign while you recover! Oh man! Maybe we could even convince Dorian! He was always so busy with work, he never joined us!”

“Maybe I will this time.” Dorian spoke up from the doorway, which caused Chance to jump a bit in surprise, turning his body to look towards the bouncer.

“Hey! Welcome back!” The former D20 greeted, “I was just telling Keith a little more about G&G!”

Dorian scanned the room briefly, then raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Parker?” He asked, Chance’s eyes widening in realization.

“SHOOT!” Chance grabbed his bag as he hopped out of his chair, “He’s probably still at the game store! He’s gonna spend our whole budget if I don’t stop him!” He paused for a moment, looking back at Keith. “I’ll visit again soon, and I’ll bring character sheets! I’ll start crafting a campaign!”

Chance rushed out the door to catch up with Parker, giving Dorian a bright smile as he ran out. “Seens like you two had fun.” Dorian’s lips curled into a smile, his arms crossed as he leaned on the doorway of the hospital room.

He looked better. The shower had washed away three days worth of stress and exhaustion, cleaning the bouncer up nicely. And now that he wasn’t in bloodstained clothes, he looked presentable once more. The dark circles from lack of sleep were still present, but less pronounced than they were before. He looked like himself again.

“I don’t think I’ll be playing Uno again, but…yes. Chance is good company.” Keith admitted, somewhat reluctantly. He truthfully wasn’t expecting things to go so well with Chance. It wasn’t terrible.

“And he wants to visit again. Seems you’ve made a friend.” Dorian smiled.

“Don’t get used to it.” The older gentleman rolled his eyes, “Chance forgave easily. The others will not.”

There was a beat of silence. It was strangely tense. Dorian hesitated before moving on, brushing past the topic of the former objects. “Before I left, you said you wanted to talk.” Dorian pushed himself off the doorway, walking to the chair beside Keith’s hospital bed, before taking a seat. “I’d like to talk, too.”

“Yes,” Keith glanced away out of nervousness. “Of course.”

The silence hung heavy for a minute between the two, both Dorian and Keith avoiding eye contact. The moment felt messy and awkward and uncomfortable, like they both knew there was a lot that needed to be said, but neither wanted to start. It was hard to know where to start. There was so much to say, yet Keith wanted to bite his tongue, to hold back just a bit longer. To keep that mask in place. To return to his charming personality, brushing the past aside to pretend like nothing ever happened.

But his mask had been cracking.

It had been cracking since the moment he showed up at Dorian’s apartment. Slowly. Subtly. Bits and pieces of his true nature shining through. Until everything came crashing down around him. And Keith was left with the scraps of his little performance, trying desperately to hold on to what could be salvaged. Desperately clinging to the crafted personality. Yet it seemed to crumble around Dorian. It was safe, and Keith was beginning to hate that. Because being safe meant that things were comfortable. And when things were comfortable—

“I want you to stay.”

Dorian’s voice broke through Keith’s mess of thoughts, pulling the older gentleman from his spiraling mind. His eyes flicked back to study Dorian’s face, searching his expression, looking for a lie or a trick. He couldn’t find one. It was almost hard to believe. Keith knew he wanted to stay, he had known for a while, he had just admitted that to Chance. But to hear Dorian ask for him to stay, that was something Keith hadn’t been expecting.

"I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere but here. With everything that happened, you’d be right to flee the country and never come back.” He says, his eyes focusing on the floor. It was unlike Dorian to be so nervous, almost uncomfortable. “But the company has been…nice.”

“…I enjoy your company as well.” Keith admitted, almost without thinking, his words causing Dorian to finally glance up. Their eyes locked for a moment, both clearly surprised by the other’s (and their own) admission. Then, as if they both realized they had been staring for a bit too long, the two looked away in opposite directions, a faint dusting of blush apparent on both their faces. Keith cleared his throat. “Yes, well—, I had considered leaving…” His words caused Dorian’s expression to visibly sadden, even if only slightly. Keith continued, “But I was hoping you would accompany me.”

Dorian blinked, stunned at the proposal. “What?”

“Once I am well enough to walk, I mean.” Keith clarified, as if that was the cause of Dorian’s confusion.

“No, Keith—“ The former door shook his head, “—you want me to leave with you?”

“A vacation, Dorian.” The older gentleman smiled, leaning back against his pillow as he shut his eyes, almost as if he were envisioning the idea. “I’d like to travel. Perhaps visit Gibraltar. I would love to show you my home country.”

“You—“ Dorian sat back in his chair, slightly wide-eyed. He ran his fingers through his hair. “How would we even pay for that?”

“I can cover our expenses.” Keith waved his good hand, as if to dismiss Dorian’s worries.

The bouncer was more confused than before. “What? Keith, you said you ran out of money. Isn’t that how you got into this mess in the first place?”

“You asked me if the money I stole ran out. Which it did. I spent that on drugs and my trip to Ibiza.” Keith smirked as he recounted the memory, “But I still have quite the large amount in my crypto fund.”

“You stole that too!” Dorian exclaimed with frustration and disbelief.

“I acquired the crypto account.”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Are you telling me that this entire mess could have been avoided if you had just paid for your drugs?”

“They were trying to rip me off.” Keith scoffed, “They wanted to charge me triple compared to our usual agreement. So I simply stopped paying and took the drugs.”

“Bloody hell.” Dorian grumbled, shaking his head. “And that got you nearly killed. Twice.”

“And yet, it led us here.” Keith smiled almost fondly, “Perhaps it wasn’t all bad, in a way.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You took the painkillers Farya left, didn’t you?” There was no way a sober Keith would say that, Dorian knew. 

Keith's smile seemed to widen as he gave a small nod. “You know me so well, dear Dorian.”

“How many did you take?” Dorian asked while he grabbed the bottle off the nightstand, reading the label of the opioids.

“Only two.” The former key said with a hum, “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t seem to open the bottle while my arm is in this sling. I had Chance open it for me.”

Dorian frowned, his lips pressing into a fine line. “Alright,” he gives a small nod of approval. “But I’m holding onto these.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Keith asked with a smirk, his tone light and teasing.

“I don’t trust you with strong opioids, no.” The bouncer huffed with a frown.

“I suppose that’s fair.” Keith shrugged, still wearing a sleepy smile. “Now, may I say something? Before these drugs truly kick in.”

“Go ahead.” Dorian leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Keith let a sigh slip past his lips, still wearing a smile, but his gaze seemed sadder than before. “I have been meaning to say this since I woke up, but…Well, I suppose I wanted you to know I was being genuine, rather than the morphine making me delusional.” The former key took in a breath, then sighed again, a bit of tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“You—“ Dorian blinked, his eyes slightly wide. He was left in a stunned silence, unable to bring himself to speak. The words came as a shock to him. There was no sarcasm, no snark, no mask. It was an apology. Something that, in all the years of Dorian having known Keith, he had not once heard uttered. A genuine apology.

Keith refused to look at Dorian, his gaze cast down, staring at the sling he wore. “I have done things to you that you never deserved. And I have dragged you into my problems, expecting you to clean them up. I have stolen, I have lied, and I have hurt you. And for that, I am sorry.”

Dorian remained silent. Not because he had nothing to say, no. He had far too much to say. So many words and thoughts came in and out of his head, swarming about and tangling together. He was speechless.

But Keith wasn’t finished. He reached for Dorian’s hand, taking it gently in his own. He brought Dorian’s hand to his lips, placing a kiss to tattoos along the bouncer’s knuckles. After a moment, he pulled away, but his lips lingered close. Keith’s eyes finally met Dorian’s, still holding his hand. “I want things to be different.” He said, quieter than usual. “I want them to be better.”

There was a shared quiet between them, a moment where they simply stared into one another’s eyes, a moment when neither spoke a word. And that moment was good.

Chapter Text

“This is humiliating. I can very easily—“

“No. You can’t.” Dorian was firm in his tone, protectiveness seeping through his words. “You had surgery four days ago. You shouldn’t be walking for another week or two.”

Keith’s scowl deepened. He sat in a wheelchair that Dorian pushed, his leg propped up in an elevated foot rest to keep his knee straight in its brace. Farya had determined Keith was stable enough to be moved out of the ICU, transferring him to a new room in the trauma recovery ward, where he would be staying for another week or two, depending on his progress. The wheelchair definitely hurt his pride, even if it was needed. But, admittedly, it was nice to get out of the bed he had been stuck in. Even if the wheelchair felt like an affront to his dignity.

“I feel like an old man.” Keith grumbled under his breath.

“Well—“ Dorian began, but he was cut off by the older gentleman slowly looking over his shoulder with a glare.

“Not a word about my age.” He warned, narrowing his eyes at Dorian, as if daring him to try.

“Our ages as objects and our ages as humans have to be different.” The bouncer replied simply, “Otherwise you would be—“

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” Keith interjected with a forced smile. The thought of his age and lifespan was one he had been trying to ignore. He really didn’t want to get into the question of his own mortality again.

“Alright.” Dorian let out a soft chuckle, pushing the wheelchair down the hall. “Maybe we could talk about what you said to me when you were first waking up?”

Keith raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder once more to study Dorian’s expression. “And that was?”

“You don’t remember?” It was Dorian’s turn to look at Keith with a raised eyebrow, confused at the lack of memory.

“Everything is…blurry.” The former key admitted, shaking his head. His brows furrowed as he stared off in thought, trying his best to recall. “I was incredibly high when I first woke up.”

“You said something about me killing you.” Dorian explained as he pushed the wheelchair into the elevator, pushing the button for the floor of the trauma recovery ward. “Something about ‘the scary one’, too. You said you’d been having strange dreams.”

There was a flicker of recognition in Keith’s gaze at the mention of his dream. It was almost something fearful. “Oh. That.” Keith put on a charming smile, waving his hand to dismiss the thought. “I’m not sure why I would bring that up.” His tone was slightly sharp and his smile seemed forced. 

Unfortunately, that nightmare was something Keith did remember, as much as he wished he didn’t. Something about having his fears and buried insecurities thrown at him before he almost drowned in the crawlspace was difficult to forget. And the fake Dorian…his voice and face were exactly the same, but his hatred and anger was something Keith had never seen before. He tensed at the thought, clenching his jaw.

Dorian frowned, sensing something off with Keith. “…are you alright?” The bouncer asked, his voice quiet and slightly softer than usual, noticing Keith’s clear attempt at masking his true thoughts on the matter.

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitched just a bit, before he slowly resigned into a frown. “Por supuesto que tenía que decir algo.” He muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. The older gentleman let a sigh slip past his lips, running his hand up to his forehead. “I am fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dorian asked, watching as Keith’s expression hardened.

“It was a bad dream.” He spat, “I am not some child that needs comforting after a nightmare.”

“I know.” Dorian placed his hand on Keith’s good shoulder, his touch causing the former key to jump just slightly, as if he hadn’t been expecting the contact, before relaxing at the gesture. “But I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

Keith’s expression softened as the elevator let out a soft ding. It came to a slow halt, before there was a pause, and the doors slid open. Dorian pushed the wheelchair out of the lift and into the hall, leading Keith to his new room. The trauma recovery ward felt less hectic than the ICU, less nurses and doctors running around, less noise, more silence. The hallways looked the same, still white and sterile and bare, with doors spaced along the wall.

Farya was standing in front of one of the rooms, lighting up with a smile as she spotted the pair. She waved the two over, inviting them to the room. “There you are, glad to see you made the transfer okay. Come on in!” She said, opening the door and stepping inside, holding it open so Dorian could wheel Keith inside.

The room was rather simple, smaller than the ICU room. Less machinery, only a monitor and IV drip by the bed. There was an armchair in the corner, which seemed much more comfortable than the firm plastic chair Dorian had been spending most of his time in. There was a small bedside dresser, a  wall-mounted TV across from the bed, and even a door that led to a small bathroom. The walls were just as bare and empty as the hallway, though there was a faint grayish-blue instead of white painted on the walls, there was even a window.

“I was able to pull some strings and get you a good view.” Farya smiled happily, “What do you think?”

Keith stared at it for a second or two, his expression unreadable, his eyes blank as he stared forward. After a moment, he put on a smile. “It is wonderful. Thank you.”

Dorian could see that something was off, but said nothing in the moment. He looked at Farya and nodded. “Thank you. For everything.” He said, still rather stoic, but a sense of gratitude in his voice and tone that seemed to soften Dorian’s usually strong and steeled demeanor. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for all this.”

Farya shook her head, brushing aside the gratitude. “You did so much for all of us before, Dorian. It’s nice to be able to do something for you.” She placed a hand on the doorway, turning to leave, but looking over her shoulder to the pair. “I need to get back to work in the ICU. But I’ll stop by when I can.”

“Thank you.” Dorian said once more, offering a small smile. Farya smiled back before she left, closing the door behind her to give the two a bit more privacy.

As the door shut, Keith’s smile fell back into an empty stare. Dorian picked up on his shift quickly, frowning. “Something wrong?” He asked, slightly worried by the numb expression the older gentleman wore.

Slowly, Keith shook his head, his tired eyes focused on the window. “…could you move me closer?” He asked, his gaze never leaving the glass as he spoke.

Dorian nodded, pushing the wheelchair closer to the window, giving Keith a better view of the outside. The bouncer took a seat in the armchair by the window, studying Keith. “What’s on your mind?” He asked, his brows furrowing with concern. Keith didn’t look away. He simply stared out at the sky.

“It will be a long time before I can go outside again.” Keith muttered to himself, staring out at the deep blueness of the sky, watching as the birds flew overhead, mocking him with their freedom.

“I can always take you—“ Dorian offered, but Keith shook his head once more.

“No, Dorian.” He sighed, “I am a wanted man. There are people who want me dead. The last time I stepped outside, I was held at gunpoint and abducted. After all that has happened, after all that I’ve done, it will only be more of a risk.”

“I wasn’t with you before. I’m here now. I can protect you.” Dorian leaned forward in his seat, placing his hand over Keith’s, squeezing it slightly.

Keith gave a weak, almost sad chuckle. “You are a stubborn one, aren’t you? Even after all I have done. Even after all the trouble I cause. Even after you were shot at because of me.” He shook his head, still staring out at the sky. “Why? Why do I deserve your loyalty?”

There was a pause, a quiet moment where Dorian thought of an answer. “You changed,” he said simply, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the back of Keith’s hand. “I think it’s been a good change.”

He brought Keith’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, mirroring Keith’s action from the day before. Dorian looked up at Keith, his lips still hovering over the back of the older gentleman’s palm. Their eyes locked in a gaze, a silent calm between them. It was something they both understood, something that needed no words. Something safe and scary, right and wrong, and yet somehow, perfectly balanced.

After a long moment, Keith hesitated, but slowly pulled his hand back, out of Dorian’s grasp.

“There is one last thing I must do.”

Chapter Text

“And…you’re sure?” Dorian was skeptical. It was hard not to be. To him, this idea was insanity. To Keith, it was a necessity. He needed to do this.

For Dorian.

Keith gave a nod, yet uncertainty lingered. He masked it behind a numb expression, eyes focused forward on the door. “Yes.” He said, lips pressed into a fine line as his brows furrowed just slightly. It was enough for Dorian to tell he was nervous. This wasn’t exactly easy. In fact, this would likely lead to more problems, which is why he was so unsure with this idea. Of course Dorian wanted to do this eventually, but so soon?

He reached for Keith’s hand, interlocking their fingers before squeezing just slightly. “We can wait,” He says with a worried frown. “I can tell them—“

“The longer we wait, the worse things will be.” Keith was firm, shaking his head. “They are worried about you, Dorian. And it’s far too late to turn them away.” He could tell by the chatter outside the hospital room, voices muffled and hushed as they spoke with one another.

The bouncer stood up, pulling his hand away. “I’ll be by your side.” He said, heading to the door.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Keith sighed.

Dorian stepped out of the hospital room, careful not to open the door too wide. The hallway was packed, Dasha and Abel, Celia and Florence, Artt and Doug, Chance and Parker, Maggie and…Scandalabra? Everyone’s attention immediately turned to Dorian, looking expectantly, their conversations falling silent.

Chance and Parker shared a look, both already well-aware of who was in the hospital room behind Dorian. Chance actually seemed slightly nervous about what was to come. It was hard to expect anything good.

“Dorian, ya mind tellin’ us what’s been goin’ on?” Abel took off his hat as he spoke, his expression one of concern and worry. “You’ve been…well, gosh, we haven’t heard a thing from ya in days!”

“Yes, we have been worried!” Dasha crossed her arms, “We have heard nothing from you, friend!”

“Oh, yes! I do LOVE a good scandal!” Scandalabra laughed with his usual flair, “Do tell! Is it, perhaps, something to do with your ex-lover, hmmm?”

Doug stared at him for a moment. “Who’s this dork?” He asked, looking at Artt. Scandalabra’s jaw dropped.

“EXCUSE ME!?” He made some noises of offense and gasps, placing a hand to his chest.

“If you must know, he wanted to tag along with me.” Maggie sighed, crossing her arms. “And he said that he would behave. Right?” She shot Scandalabra an angry glare.

“Everyone, quiet!” Florence huffed, her wife smiling proud as she asserted herself. The arguments quickly silenced at her command. “Thank you! Now then—“ She turned to Dorian, her cheerful smile falling into something more worrisome. “—is everything alright? You called us all here for a reason, I assume.”

“It’s…a long story.” Dorian tensed, “We’ll explain it all.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “‘We?’”

Dorian gave a slight nod, opening the door to the hospital room, inviting the others inside. Keith was sitting in his wheelchair, his leg propped up, his arm in a sling, frowning slightly as he watched the reactions of the former objects as they spotted him. Some shocked, some disappointed, some scowling, all directed at him. The room quickly filled with the small group, backing Keith into a literal corner.

“This is…certainly not what I was expecting.” Artt was the first to speak up, breaking the tense silence.

“There’s a lot to explain.” Dorian placed one hand on his belt, another running through his hair, standing by Keith’s side, just as he had promised.

“I suggest you start at the beginning, then.” Celia spoke, straightening her posture just slightly to stand taller, her cold glare looking down on Keith.

“I had gotten into a fight with a few…fine gentlemen. I was stabbed in the arm, so I went to Dorian for help.” Keith said, his brows furrowed as he spoke, avoiding eye contact with any of the former objects. “He was the only person that I knew would help me.”

“You mean the only person you knew you could manipulate?” Maggie asked accusatorially.

“Eh.” Keith didn’t outright confirm or deny anything, brushing past the comment as he moved on. “Dorian stitched my wound and let me stay with him while I recovered. After a few days, the gentlemen I was hiding from found me, and they dragged me off. Dorian came after me and…” Keith stopped himself, trailing off as the memories replayed in his mind.

“Keith saved my life.” Dorian spoke up, placing a hand on the older gentleman’s good shoulder. “He took a bullet for me. He nearly died because of it.”

Keith looked away, uncomfortable with all the eyes now staring at him. It felt like the whole room was staring like he had grown a second head. “You saved Dorian?” Dasha asked, her eyes wide, both shocked and nearly impressed.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Keith put on a charming smile to mask his annoyance, though it never reached his tired eyes.

“A little…” Florence mumbled, not out of malice, but honest surprise.

“Sacrificing yourself to save your former lover’s life, then hiding it from us all? Oooh, how scandalous!” Scandalabra grinned as held a hand over his mouth, feigning shock, though the excitement in his voice betrayed him. Maggie shoved her elbow into his ribs.

“Yer alright now though, yeah?” Abel asked out of concern, still holding his hat in his hands.

“I am fine.” Keith chuckled slightly, masking his true feelings behind a smile. “Though I appreciate the concern.”

“That is good to hear,” Dasha sighed. “To risk your life, taking bullet like that…I am impressed!”

“Can we see the bullet wound?” Doug spoke blankly, his monotone voice filled with just a bit of intrigue.

“No.” Both Dorian and Keith replied firmly, scowling at him.

Celia looked at Parker and Chance. “You two have been oddly quiet,” she raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you would have more to say about this.”

“Oh, that’s cause we already—“ Parker waved his hand with a smile, silenced by Chance throwing his hands over the umpire’s mouth to shut him up.

The former D20 laughed nervously. “Just…processing it all.” He gave an awkward smile that was unconvincing.

“You two knew this whole time, didn’t you?” Celia asked, to which Chance let out a heavy sigh of defeat.

“Not the whole time, but…since two days ago?” He wore a sheepish smile.

“Did anyone else know?” Florence asked, looking around the room.

Farya walked into the room, her attention focused on the tablet of notes in her hands. “Alright, Keith, I have your—“ She glanced up and paused, her smile falling into a blank expression at all the familiar faces around the room. “—you know what? I’ll come back later.” She smiled nervously before backing out of the room.

“I see…” Florence hummed, “Well, at least you’re both alive…”

“But why did you bring us here? Why gather us all together to reveal this?” Maggie held her magnifying glass to her eye (which she seemed to carry on her at all times) as she questioned him.

“Dorian does not deserve to be isolated in order to hide me.” Keith said, glancing up at the bouncer for just a moment, then back at the group. “I am the one who dragged him into this. I put his life at risk.”

“You did.” Celia nodded, her heels clicking against the floor of the hospital room as she stepped forward. It was hard not to be intimidated as she looked down on Keith, towering over him as he sunk just slightly into his wheelchair.

“I’m assuming no amount of candy will fix what I have done..?” He gave a weak chuckle, trying to hold a smile, but it was clear he was struggling.

Celia shook her head, her expression firm. “There are still things you need to take responsibility for.” She said, always carrying an air of authority with her, despite holding no real power. “However, you saved Dorian’s life. You were selfless in that act, and I thank you for that.”

Keith’s expression softened. He hadn’t expected that reaction. Celia continued, “This does not mean you will be welcomed back. Not everyone is as willing to forgive. There are many things you will need to make right. But, if you are as willing as it seems you are, then this is a good start. Perhaps one day, but that day is sometime far in the future.”

“As for right now, we should probably get going.” Florence placed her hand on her wife’s lower back, “I have a meeting in 10 minutes, but Celia and I will stop by another time to talk a bit more.”

“Yes, we should be off.” Celia looked down at her wife, her stern expression melting into a loving smile. As she looked back up at Keith, her cold gaze returned within a moment. “We’ll discuss this later on.” She turned and walked off, her wife walking beside her as they left the hospital room together.

“…I can’t tell if that went horribly or very well.” Keith blinked, watching the pair leave.

“It was good, I think.” Dorian was uncertain, but hopeful.

“Yes, well then…” Artt clasped his hands together and smiled, “I’m sure we all have many questions for you, if that is alright?”

“Who’s your dealer?” Doug asked without missing a beat.

“Doug!” Artt exclaimed with a frown, looking at Keith and Dorian. “Do not answer that.”

“Well, my dealer kidnapped me, tortured me, and then tried to kill me, so I would not recommend them.” The older gentleman said, trying to make a joke of it, but his tone was dry.

“Damn.” Doug placed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “So you won’t give me their number?”

“No.” Keith’s frown deepened.

“Let us keep the questions light and not about drugs.” Dasha placed her hands on her hips, “Perhaps there are other questions we may ask?”

“How long have ya been back for?” Abel asked, placing his hat back upon his head before using a single finger to tilt it up.

“Eh, 10 days?” Keith shook his head, uncertain. “I was unconscious for a few days after being shot. Truthfully, I’m not sure.”

“10 days sounds right.” Dorian nodded, “At least, that’s when you showed up at my apartment.”

“My, 10 days? Completely to yourselves? I’m sure something must have come from that?” Scandalabra smirked, clearly fishing for more details on Keith and Dorian’s relationship.

“Just helping an old friend.” The bouncer crossed his arms, scowling at Scandalabra. “That’s all.”

“Yes, nothing more.” Keith agreed, “If you came here for drama with Dorian and I, you will find none.”

“Hmph.” Scandalabra huffed, “I know a scandal when I see one.”

“Alright, dude. Just drop it.” Chance said, placing a hand on the former candelabra’s shoulder, walking him out of the room. Parker followed, always close behind wherever the dungeon master went.

The room had cleared out just a bit more with their departure, leaving only Dorian, Keith, Dasha, Abel, Maggie, Artt, and Doug, which gave more space to the already-cramped room. “Any other questions I can answer?” Keith leaned back in his chair as he asked, putting on a calm smile, despite the fact he did not want to spend any more of his time answering questions.

“Far, far too many.” Maggie said, eyes wide with excitement.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to wait.” Farya walked back in, “Keith has to take his painkillers for the day, which will likely make him too tired to answer anymore questions. But, you can visit anytime! As long as you visit during set visitor hours.”

“Wha—, but— my questions!” Maggie protested.

“The painkillers have to be taken at the same time each day.” Farya explained as she took the bottle of medication off the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before pouring out two into her palm. She set the bottle down before walking back to Keith. “It prevents pain spikes and keeps blood levels steady, so we can’t push it off.” She dropped the pills into Keith’s good hand.

“It is alright, friend.” Dasha placed her hand on Maggie’s shoulder as she smiled, “We shall return and ask many more questions! But for now, we shall let Keith rest, yes?”

“I agree.” Artt clasped his hands together, giving a nod. “This has been quite a lot to process for one day, but we should really be on our way. I’m sure Keith needs his time to recover.”

Maggie sighed in defeat. “Fine…” She said, before pointing a finger at Keith. “But I’ll be back to ask more questions later!”

“I’m sure you will.” Keith wore a forced smile as he popped the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry before grimacing slightly at the taste.

Farya ushered the remaining five out of the room, shutting the door behind them as they left. She let out a heavy sigh of relief once they were gone, turning back to Keith and Dorian. “I’m sure that was fun.” She gave an awkward and slightly nervous chuckle, “I wasn’t expecting to see so many people here. Did Parker slip up?”

Dorian shook his head. “It was Keith’s idea.”

“Eh, I was getting sick of hiding.” The older gentleman shrugged with his good shoulder, though flinched as a spike of pain shot through his bad one. “Hijo de puta, I am still not used to that…”

“The painkillers will kick in soon.” Farya assured him, “Do you want to stay in the chair, or do you want to move to the bed.”

“I’ve been stuck in bed for far too long. I’d prefer to stay in the chair for now.” He shifted slightly in the seat and winced, “And I would prefer not to move much.”

“Of course. I’ll check back in later. Press the call button if you need anything.” She says, heading to the door. Farya paused for a moment as she opened the door, looking back at the two before smiling, and walking out.

Keith leaned back in his seat, finally able to let a sigh slip past his lips. “It went better than I expected.” He half-joked, cracking a smile at Dorian.

“Yeah?” Dorian chuckled, pulling up a chair to sit beside the former key. “I’m glad.”

The fuzziness of the painkillers began to set in as Keith gave a nod, a small smile crossing his lips as he shut his eyes. “Thank you.” He hummed, feeling his body begin to relax a little as the drugs kicked in.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “For what?”

Keith gave a sleepy chuckle, “Ah, I am trying to get better at saying it.” He mumbled, “But...everything. I am glad to have you by my side. And I hope you will continue to stay by my side.”

Placing his hand over Keith’s and interlocking their fingers, Dorian gave a small nod. “I’d like that.”

And for a while, everything was good.

Chapter Text

Hello all! I'm here to announce that the sequel to this fic, Under Lock and Key, has officially been released, and is out now! I hope you all enjoy reading it!