Work Text:
Desert air hung cold and dark in the night.
The stars hung in the dark sky like fireflies caught in a spider's’ web, like glitter on the vast, black canvas above Keith.
He could feel the sand still clinging to his skin as he sat in front of the worn down, abandoned shack he had found in the middle of nowhere all those months ago. He could feel his nails digging crescents into his skin, his knees tucked up to his chest, his chin digging into his kneecap.
He could feel something else, too.
He had felt it since that time all those days ago when he had found that place with the carvings in the cave that hung open like the jaws of an animal. He could feel that pull at the back of his mind, that electric shiver that made it impossible to sleep, to sit still, to do anything. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch.
But he wouldn’t make it leave, that ebbing feeling, even if he could. Even though it urged him towards the danger of that empty cavern, even if the sensation clouded his mind, made it hard to think about anything besides it. Even then, when he started to forget anything besides the Garrison, the Kerberos mission, and Shiro, he still wouldn’t want it to leave.
It was all he had anymore. The only thing left for him in this world.
But, on nights like this, when sleep seemed to slip through his fingers like water, when the pull, the presence of something at the back of his mind was just a light whisper, images--no, memories flashed through his mind.
Of a boy. With dark skin, freckles splattered across the bridge of his night like paint. A boy with blue eyes like the ocean, short hair that Keith wanted to comb his fingers through. A boy that could smirk as slyly as a fox but also smile as brightly as the sun, a boy that that was only ever seen from a distance; across a room, down a hall, through a window.
Keith knew that, as soon as he fell asleep, his memories would be replaced by dreams of space, of intergalactic struggles, of stars rushing past, of metal claws and yellow, glowing eyes. He knew that he would forget all of this as soon as he woke up again the next day.
But, in that moment under the stars, Keith wanted nothing more than to remember --just remember, damnit!-- the name of the boy that made his heart skip a beat.
Shiro was gone.
The Garrison told them so.
But they lied, Keith knew it.
Shiro, the most experienced pilot in his generation. Shiro, with all his leadership skills. Shiro, the only one to have ever treated Keith as a brother.
Shiro couldn’t be gone. Keith knew it wasn’t logical, he knew that there was no way for him to know that something must have happened to Shiro and his crew. But there was something wrong, something that Iverson was hiding. Something that Keith was going to discover, unearth, and lay open in front of everyone.
If only he had found it before Iverson found him.
The bag with his few belongings was nearly empty, but it felt like he had stuffed it full of rocks, the entire bag weighing down on his shoulder. His jacket felt too warm, his shirt underneath too skintight. Everything around him felt suffocating, like he was underwater.
The glaring eyes boring into his skull wouldn’t go away. Keith only glared back up at him, not backing down, not daring to look away. Not wanting to let Iverson think that he had won.
“You could have been a pro, cadet,” Iverson said lowly, sternly, but Keith could still feel the venom in his gaze. “You could have been the greatest we’ve ever had, if only you could listen to what you were told and stand in line.”
“If only you could come forward with what you’re hiding,” Keith spat out, his words hanging like steam. Iverson’s face twisted into a sneer that could curdle milk.
“Get out of my face, cadet,” He growled out as Keith pushed past him, his anger bubbling lava in his throat. “And if you come back again, you won’t get off so easily.”
Keith grit his teeth together as he walked out the front door, the sudden heat hitting him like a wave. His anger burned red out in his throat, lighting his veins on fire as he aimlessly walked forward.
He had nowhere to go, no one to fall back on, no money and no home. He was as alone as he had ever been.
I hope Lance enjoys being a fighter pilot, Keith thought. His anger was flooded with something else, some kind of sadness that ached like ice in between his ribs.
Keith wanted to know when this infatuation became an obsession.
He wanted to know when a mild interest turned into something unfamiliar and foreign, when he had started searching for Lance in every room, every class. He wanted to know why his face warmed when he felt Lance’s gaze burning his back during classes. He wanted to know why he had started thinking about him every day, why he kept appearing in his dreams.
He wanted to know why he didn’t want it to stop.
Keith’s ceiling was dark, his room in the Garrison empty and quiet and lonely. He could feel the clawed fingers of sleep reaching for him, but he couldn’t stop thinking. His mind couldn’t calm down, his thoughts wouldn’t still for even a second.
He couldn’t stop thinking about warm blue eyes, soft freckles, crooked grins. He couldn’t stop thinking about the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the shrug of his shoulders, the airy sound of his laugh, the sunlight smiles-- that were never directed at him.
That shouldn’t bug Keith as much as it does. He shouldn’t hate that the only time Lance makes eye contact was to glare, to scowl, to frown at him. Keith shouldn’t want to see him laugh at something he said, want to see a smile meant for him and only him.
What is this? Keith’s fingers pulled at his hair, his eyes scrunching shut. What--what’s wrong with me? Would… Would Shiro know? I should… I’ll ask him how to fix this--
When he gets back from Kerberos in six months.
Keith’s pained groan filled the heavy, aching silence.
It took next to no effort to find out the name of the boy that glared daggers into the back of his skull during class.
It had taken a bit more sneaking around and asking questions to find out a little bit more about him, but Keith was willing. As long as it gave him answers to his questions: who is this boy and why does he hate me so much?
Only one question was answered, the other one locked behind even more questions.
It left Keith feeling frustrated, annoyed, angry. But also… Something else that he didn’t really have a name for yet.
But, despite his efforts, a sense of normality came over the whole situation. Lance’s one sided glares, his scowls and sneers that twisted his pretty face into something Keith didn’t like. Keith ignoring him, continuing to pretend the cargo pilot didn’t exist.
That was harder then Keith had expected.
Keith had become all too aware of his existence. He felt him, his presence in the room, like a bright light up too close. He knew where he was at all times, could always seem to hear his voice echoing above all else, could see his smile out of the corner of his eye.
Keith couldn’t deny that he seemed to light up every room he was in, that just being seemed to make everything shine a little bit brighter.
But in the end, Keith had to add even more questions to his ever growing list; who was Lance McClain? And why did Keith want to know that so badly?
Keith was no stranger to dirty looks.
Growing up, Keith had always been the first to throw a punch, to deal the damage, to start a fight even if he knew it would never end in his favour.
Keith was all too used to the glares, to the hissed insults that made his blood boil, to the nasty words shot like arrows, bouncing right off of his armour.
He was familiar with anger, but not when it was from a complete stranger.
They had only been in the Garrison for two weeks, maybe less. Keith’s class was large, with roughly a hundred or more students around his age. But he didn’t know a single person.
Sure, people came forward to introduce themselves, to compliment Keith’s skills, to ask if he had ever met Shiro, who was practically a legend. But they all left in the blink of an eye, each face less and less memorable as days passed by.
The people walking in and out of boring, drab, half-assed conversations, each person blurring past him. None of them stuck, not a single name managed to find a place in his memory.
But a glare had lodged itself in his mind, always there an always present.
Keith didn’t know what his problem was, the boy with a scowl that could kill. Keith didn’t know what he had done, if anything, or why the boy couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of him.
During roll call, he felt it, his gaze boring into the back of his skull. He felt the pull to look back, to recognize who it was, to acknowledge him.
Look at me. Notice me. Pay attention to me.
Keith’s body moved like a wooden doll, his joints feeling like they would crack and splinter if her moved to much. He thought his wooden neck would snap as he glanced over his shoulder, Iverson’s annoying voice calling names drifting to the back of his mind as violet eyes met blue.
The boy stared back, his gaze empty of the usual jealous anger Keith usually felt. It was devoid of any rage whatsoever, replaced by an ache that Keith knew all too well.
Suddenly he was a kid again, in an orphanage. He saw people walking by, could feel their interested gazes wash over him, there a second then gone the next. His heart would leap in his chest, only to sink to his feet.
Notice me.
Then he looked away, blue eyes downcast. Ignoring him.
Keith scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as he turned away. The second he looked to the front of the classroom, he felt those blue eyes again.
Keith really wanted to know what his problem was.