Chapter Text
When I see him, the word beautiful falls short. It always does.
Beautiful is too much of a neat word. Too polished. It belongs to sunsets framed perfectly between buildings, to museum paintings protected behind glass, to models in magazines who never have hair out of place. Beautiful belongs to things that are meant to be admired from a distance. Keith has never been distant in his life. He is all sharp corners and storm clouds. He is scraped knuckles and stubborn silences. Hair this is untucked and out of place, but I like it that way because I get to run my fingers through the strands without him caring to keep it neat. His smile, most think rare, but I see quite often, is sharp. Literally, I mean his teeth are sharper than normal, like little vampire fangs. To sum it up, he is the kind of person who looks like he was carved from something rough and unfinished, then accidentally given a heart too soft for the rest of him.
(I promise that is not an insult)
So yes, beautiful falls short.
I spot him before he notices me, standing beneath the flickering sign of the old café on Mercer and Fifth. Evening has settled over the city in layers of gold and blue, the last of sunlight caught in the high windows of the buildings, while the streets below glow with the headlights of neon. People stream around him in coats and scarves, talking far too loudly for his liking into phones or laughing in clusters on their way somewhere warmer. Keith stands apart from all of it as he exists in a different frequency altogether.
His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. Dark hair falls over his eyes; in messy strands, the wind keeps rearranging. As much as I hate him for his mullet, I hope he never gets rid of it. Every few seconds, he glances down the street, pulls out his phone to check it and then looks down the street again. Waiting for me. Told ya he was a big softie. He’s checking his phone more frequently now, and something warm spreads through my chest. It’s just a shame he’s got the wrong street.
I hurry across the road just as the crossing signal starts to flash, nearly clipping my shoulder on a cyclist (whoops my bad) and tripping over the curb to step up onto the concrete of the pathway. Grace has never been one of my gifts. Keith turns around to the sound of my stumbling feet as I try to fix myself up right and there it is. That expression he gets when he sees me. Annoyance first, automatic and immediate (I think it’s starting to look more like some sort of fondness), then relief slips in behind it before he can even try to stop it.
“There he is,” I announce, spreading my arms as I stride toward him. “The man of the hour. You can clap if you’d like.”
“You’re late,” he says flatly.
“I am like three minutes late.”
“You’re still late.”
“I needed extra time to look this good for you.” I spin once so he can appreciate the full effect of my very coordinated outfit. I’ve got my favourite black jeans on, held up with a black belt that has a silver star for its buckle. A chain that hooks around two of the loops on the left side of the jeans. A pale blue button-up long-sleeved shirt, with a black tight vest corset kinda thing over top of it, somewhat snatching in the button-up shift. “You’re welcome.”
He gives me a slow once-over, trying to look unimpressed, but his eyes soften. “You failed.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Cruel. Heartless. And on what was supposed to be a romantic evening.”
“You’ve made that up in your head.”
“Not yet. But give me time.”
His mouth twitches. Barely there. Most people would miss it. I am not most people; I’ve actually become fluent in the language of Keith. It’s quite simple actually, grunt means no, but that grunt means yes. See easy.
“Come on,” he mutters, turning away before I can mention the almost-smile.
I fall into step beside him. “Where are we going this time?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I stop walking. Keith planning a surprise? I’m not sure if I should be worried or excited.
“You planned a surprise?”
Keith doesn’t stop his motion, barely turning back to look at me. ‘Keep up, McCLain .”
I catch up to him in two exaggerated strides. “No, seriously. Keith Kogane planned a surprise? Did someone hit you on the head? Are you being blackmailed? Blink twice if you need help.”
He simply rolled his eyes. “Hunk gave me a suggestion.”
“Aha.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely counts.”
He shoves me lightly with his shoulder, and I grin because physical contact from Keith is rare enough that with each ‘accidental’ touch we have fees like treasure. What can I say, I’m a pirate following my X. Wow. Okay, ignore that, the cringiest thing I’ve ever come up with.
The city hums around us. Cars hissing over wet pavement from the earlier afternoon drizzle. Somewhere nearby, a saxophone is getting played badly enough to be memorable. The air smells like roasted chestnuts from a street cart, with a hint of exhaust and rain still trapped in concrete. Keith walks with his head slightly down, hands back in his pockets, long strides purposeful even when he’s pretending he doesn’t know where he’s going. I walk beside him with all the elegance of a dog that got let off their leash. Together, we average out to be functional.
“You’re weirdly quiet,” I say after a block.
“I’m not.”
“You so are. Usually by now you’ve told me to shut up at least four times.”
“Shut up.”
“There he is.”
Keith stops in front of a small restaurant squeezed between a laundromat and a bookstore whose windows are crowded with faded paperbacks. I almost keep walking past, but Keith grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me back to him. The restaurant is warm-looking in a way some of those expensive places never are. Amber light spills through fogged windows. Candles glow on tables inside, the candlesticks wrapped with little bows, each table with a different colour. Pot’s a of plants hangs in between tables so they’re not directly on the heat of the flickering flames. But close enough, they could still eavesdrop on every conversation. I stare through the windows, then at him.
“Keith.”
“What?”
“This- this is nice.”
He shrugs immediately, eyes on the menu posted outside. “It’s fine.”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s just food.”
“Hunk definitely picked this because it’s romantic.”
“No, he picked it because the reviews were good.”
“He also told you candles impress people, did he?”
Keith’s ears turn pink. “Can we go inside now?”
“Oh absolutely.”
I go to push the door open, but Keith shoves me back. I stumble for a few steps, thinking I must have said something wrong.
“Sorry- I- I didn’t mean to push that harsh. It’s just- tonight I’m the door man.”
“The door man?”
“Yeah, the door man, you’re always holding it open, but uh let me do it tonight.”
Warmth spreads through my whole body, and I for sure know it’s plaster right over my face. Keith, Keith, Keithy baby, you for sure know how to get someone’s heart racing.
“Well door man, let’s see how good you are.”
Keith shakes his head, but he can’t hide the smile stretching across his face from me. He pushes the door with one hand, and as I walk past him, his spare hand pushes gently on my back as he follows. Contact again? If he isn’t being blackmailed by someone, he’s definitely sick. Inside, warmth wraps around us, but it’s nothing to the pulsing sensation on my back. Soft music drifts through the room, a jazz kind of tune. It’s smells of garlic, butter and fresh bread that almost brings tears to my eyes. God, what I would do for a hot slice of bread with melted butter sliding across it. As Keith talks to the host, his fingers trail up and down the edges of my spine. My skin flourishes with goosebumps. It’s already the best date ever, I wouldn’t even care if I got served food that was charcoal black. Keith is being affectionate, and that is worth everything.
We’re seated in a corner booth near the back. A candle flickers between us tied with a blue ribbon around the metal stick. Isn’t that a possible fire hazard? Well, it doesn’t seem to cause any issue so far for them. Keith is already looking through the menu, tossing fairly quickly through the pages and I am stuck watching him. The way the darkened shadows dance across the edges of his face. He looks unfairly good in low light. Actually, he looks unfairly good in fluorescent light too. And daylight. And rain. Gosh the rain, the way the water drips down his neck and in his hair. I hate him.
Once we order (I a very nice carbonara pasta, and Keith Thai drunken noodles) dinner goes by fast and in stages. Very fancy. First is fresh bread (praise the lord) and I immediately grab a piece to spread butter across it. Watching it melt and soak into it. Keith takes his sweet time, muttering that I should be more patient. Says him. We didn’t order any drinks besides getting a bottle of water to share, gotta save money somewhere. When the dinner comes out, we naturally steal bites off each other’s plates.
“This is amazing,” I say around a mouthful.
“You’d say that about gas station noodles.”
“If they were seasoned correctly.”
He snorts into his water. Victory.
Conversation with Keith has always been… strange in the best way. With other people, silence can feel like something broken. With him, it’s just another way to communicate. We talk, then drift quiet, then talk again without awkwardness. He tells me about the mechanic shop where he works part-time and how a customer today insisted their car was haunted.
“It wasn’t haunted,” he says. “The battery was dead.”
“Maybe the ghost killed it.”
“Maybe I should get it to haunt you.”
“Rude.”
“I’m telling you this guy was lowkey high.”
“Still much better than my sister trying to set me up with one of her coworkers.”
“She what.”
“Yeah, she tried to set me up on a call with this girl, and I had to pretend a fake phone was coming to escape it.”
Keith doesn’t say anything for a hot moment, and I can literally watch his teeth grind.
“Is someone jealous?”
“Shut up.”
“It’s okay to admit, ya know if we-”
“It’s kinda pathetic.” He says abruptly.
“HUH?”
“That you had to fake call to yourself. It’s pathetic.”
“It was strategic thank you.”
“Still kinda pathetic.”
“So would you had rather me answered the girl and what I don’t know, ask her out or something Keith?”
A flash of anger, more like jealous sharpens in his eyes and he opens his mouth to argue only to cough instead. Not a small cough. He turns away, fist against his mouth. Is he actually sick? It doesn’t look like a nice cough, more like a choking cough. He’s choking. Keith is choking. I lean forward immediately, not sure what I’m going to do to help, but it feels like something.
“You okay?”
“y-eah. wa-water.”
“Oh yeah right of course.”
While he’s hitting his chest, I pass him his glass of water, which he takes hastily. Taking a massive gulp, which I think is foolish, he’ll just choke himself more, but it seems to make it go away.
“Are you okay now?”
“Yeah- yeah I think so. Thanks, by the way.” He raises the know empty glass of water. Right, because I was just going to not pass it and watch him choke.
“No problem. Just no choking again please?”
“That foils all my plans.”
His shoulders are a bit tense for a moment, with a slight tightness around his eyes, before he breathes ‘easily’ again. We finish up our plates in more silence than conversation this time, but I think it’s mostly because Keith doesn’t want to choke again. Understandable of course. After finishing and paying for the dinner, well, more like Keith paying for the dinner. He insisted very much. We step back into the freezing cold of the night. Each breath we take is visible to the world, and I regret not bringing extra warmth as my fingers begin to ache in the cool air. Keith zips up his jacket, looking very warm and cozy, and I am totally not jealous.
“You could’ve warned me to bring a scarf or something,” I say.
“You own scarves?”
“I own scarves.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“What’s wrong with owning a scarf?”
“Nothing, I just don’t see you wearing one.”
“Well, I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”
We walk without deciding really where to go. I take that back, Keith sort of drifts towards the park a few blocks away. The streets much quieter now, no cyclists in sight for me to bump into. Apartments windows glow above us, stacked with so many different little lives it’s kinda a wonder. How many people could be experiencing so many things in this one point of time, both good and bad. Blows my mind honestly. A dog barks nearby, most likely in response to the off-key tune someone sings on a balcony. Keith is unusually quiet again, just staring down at the pavement as we walk, and turn into the park. I could say something, but I think it would be best to just let Keith speak when he wants to. The park fountain is lit from below, water turning blue and silver as it spills over the stone. Almost completely bare trees reach over the paths like dark veins against the sky. I miss the leaves from the trees. At least we’ll be out of winter soon and get back the blooming branches. Keith then turns his attention to the benches that line the walkway, probably trying to find a dry one, unfortunately most of them appear damp with mist.
Keith pauses on one, angled mostly towards the fountain and drops onto the left end of it, elbows on knees. I sit down because him, close enough our shoulders touch through our jackets. What can I say, I’m cold and need the body warmth. He doesn’t move away. I stare at the trickling water for a while before turning to look at him beside him. His fingers running the edges of his jacket over and over and over again.
“You’re nervous,” I say eventually.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Then why are you wearing down the length of your sleeve.”
He glances down and stops immediately. “That means nothing.”
“It means a lot, actually.”
He goes quiet.
I turn to grin at him, ready with another joke, but the look on his face stops me. Serious. Tense. Like he’s standing at the edge of something steep.
“Keith?”
He turns away and stares at the fountain, then back at his hands, then finally at me again. “I- I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely between us. “Any of it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Yeah, but you act like you do.”
“That’s because confidence is ninety percent lying.”
That gets a small laugh out of him, but it disappears quickly and I DO NOT like it. Seeing Keith this bummed out concerns me. Especially with the way he’s rubbing his neck and looking away. Now back. And away again. Oh we’re back- I lied he’s gone again. He’s back.
“We’ve been… whatever this is. For months.”
“Flirting aggressively?”
“McClain.”
“Sorry.”
“We’ve been doing whatever this is for months,” he repeats. “And I keep thinking I should ask you something, then I don’t, then I overthink it, then I get mad at myself, then I don’t ask again.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Then Keith does something very surprising. Again. He reaches over suddenly and takes my hand. Making my brain go blank in an instant. I’m not even sure if I am tightening my hand around him. His fingers are cold from the night, but they bring a flood of warmth through my skin in an instant.
“I know I’m not…” He stops. Starts again. “I know I’m not good with people.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Maybe.”
He squeezes my hand once. “I know I’m not easy. I know I get angry and disappear and say the wrong thing. But…”
His voice lowers.
“When something good happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. When something bad happens, you’re the person I want around. And when you’re gone…” He swallows. “Everything feels louder.”
The fountain keeps running (of course), cars tires skid obnoxiously across the road. A siren starts up in the distance but all I hear is him.
“So,” he says, jaw tight. “Will- Will you be my boyfriend?”
For once in my life, I have nothing smart to say. No quip, not comment. I just look at him, into his unguarded eyes, a bluish grey colour under the night. They are filled with love, with hope and I want to stare into them forever. I smile so hard it starts to hurt my cheeks.
“Only if you’ll be mine.”
“That’s not how questions work.”
“Too late, we’re official now.”
A smile breaks across his face, a really big one with all his teeth. So bright it steals the breath from me. Gosh isn’t he just so pretty.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I kiss him before I can think about it.
His lips are cold from the air. He makes this startled sound against my mouth (which I can’t deny, I love it), then grabs the front of my jacket and kisses me back with surprising force, like he’s been holding himself still for too long and finally gave in. It’s clumsy for half a second, a rush grasp of us trying to hold onto each other. It’s perfect.
“Well,” I say. “That was disgustingly romantic.”
“Shut up.”
“My boyfriend just kissed me.”
“You kissed me.”
“My boyfriend allowed it.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
He shakes his head, but there’s no fight in it now. Only warmth.
“You, Lance are a pain in my sorry ass.”