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Keith did not handle emotions well.
For as long as he'd been alive, he was always pretty emotional. Whenever his daddy got mad at him, even if he didn't yell or hit Keith ever, he still always ended up sobbing until his daddy held him and told him he was okay. The same for school— whenever he got bullied, he just got so mad he lashed out. Then he had to spend all day in the principle's office…
Besides emotional, the other thing he always was was a bored eater. As a small child, he frequented the pantry whenever he felt bored or sad. He didn't know why it made him feel better; it just did. His father always laughed it off a bit and said he was a growing boy before kissing his cheek and sadly locking the pantry up.
Food was always a comfort. Between snacking when he was upset and having a father who expressed his love through cooking, it didn't take long for his little mind to associate food with safety. Which was fine. He was a little chubby as a kid, but his daddy just tickled his tummy and teased him as he went, "Daddy! That tickles!" He burnt extra calories off while playing anyway and he never ate more than what was healthy (besides secretly snacking but even those were small things).
He just didn't realize that the person who made him feel safer than any warm pancake or savory bulgogi would be gone.
"Hi sweetheart… I'm so sorry to tell you, but your father died. He won't be coming back, but you're going to go with some very nice people and we'll figure it out, okay?" But he just remembered standing there at seven years old feeling completely numb.
Daddy won't be coming back? But how come? Was it something he did?
But the lady at his door assured him it wasn't his fault.
But that didn't make him feel better. He wanted his daddy. He wouldn't care if daddy was mad at him forever if it meant he would come back.
Where would he go now? Who would he live with? His mommy left him. He only had daddy. Who would cook him meals or give him kisses anymore if he was gone?
As the lady drove him away from his house, the one that had all his memories with daddy as well as all his things, his questions were answered.
There wouldn't be anymore kisses. No more daddy cuddles. No more tickles. No more bedtime stories nor camping with daddy. It only took a few homes to realize that. The first few were kind, but it only got worse from there after he wouldn't stop crying and kept eating more of their food.
His foster "parents" didn't make him feel better. But when he stole an extra granola bar or snuck seconds at the dinner table, he did realize something.
There was one thing that didn't change. That he could still find comfort in from his daddy; even if everything else was gone.
Food.
-
Keith walked through the grocery store, cart in hand with wheels bouncing at the grooves of the concrete underneath it. He was listening to music with his earbuds in while people who's faces he wasn't paying attention to walked past him.
He ran out of groceries, and he was having a hard day. So he decided to just do some shopping.
It was simple. In and out.
He took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. That was it. Just a few things. Then he could go home. Lance and him had a grocery list; he needed to stick to it. They just moved in together and Lance hasn't bared to witness all the plastic containers and cheap foiled wrappers in the trash.
A shiver went down his spine. He couldn't let Lance see that part of him.
At first, he just grabbed a few things he needed, like bacon, kimchi, raisin brand, microwavable tteokbokki… But then he felt this tug when he walked past the bakery aisle.
It was a simple set up: various sweets and goods all neatly placed and stacked on top of wooden tables. There were balloons tied to the legs of the table, as well as discount pricing over a few of them. The cheap prices felt inviting and the fact he could just throw them in his cart and it could be a couple extra dollars felt so easy…
He bit his lip with a shake of his head.
'Just get what you need to.' He told himself.
But then he kept stealing glances and the feeling in his chest got stronger. Like he needed it. Like he'd be missing something important that he could never get again if he didn't throw the food in his cart.
He gripped the handle of the tighter before speeding up. He couldn't stay in the aisle. He knew it'd just lead to grabbing more than he needed to.
Relief filled his chest when he almost made it, just a few steps more and he'd be in the fruit aisle.
But right as he was about to walk out, there was something that caught his eye right on display. Right in front of him were neatly stacked trays of cornbread, the edges a golden brown while the center was yellow and honey coded. He practically licked his lips at how he imagined the crumbs would taste. The price above it read '5.99 WITH CARD — Discount', almost like it was tempting him.
Suddenly, a core memory went through his head. Memories of when he was little and nibbling on his dad's cornbread. His dad always made the best cornbread. "Here, baby. Have more…" Followed by grabby hands.
A strong feeling of grief went through his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes at the memory, making his lips wobbled. He wanted his dad.
He grabbed one.
Then another.
Then another.
Then a few other things to go.
Now he was at home, feeling like a failure and just gorging himself out on whatever food he got.
"Fuck." He swore quietly. He couldn't help himself. He tried to, but he couldn't stop. He never could.
Tears rolled down his cheek as he sat on his couch, the curtains in his home drawn in shame. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. His hands were buttery from all the cornbread, crumbs on his shirt and the couch. In front of him were two empty trays of cornbread, a soda, and candy, the wrappers crumbled up. Each sweet and savory bite mixed with salty tears filled the hurt in his stomach, just a little bit. Even though his stomach was aching and begging him to stop, his tummy bloated with his shirt tight, he couldn't.
A hiccup came from him as he picked up another slice of cornbread. The baked-good went into his mouth but it tasted like every other bite. It didn't even taste that good anymore.
The TV played loudly in front of him; an attempt to distract himself from more unpleassant feelings and giving him something to focus on while he hate. He didn't know if the TV was white noise for the food or if the food was white noise for the TV.
After an hour or so, he ate and drank everything and felt disgusting. His face was puffy from carbs and all the sugar made his tongue feel gross.
Nausea made his stomach cramp and a gurgle came from him. He felt absolutely sick.
Suddenly, a larger wave of sickness overcame him. A small whimper fell from his mouth as he curled in on his bloated stomach.
He's done this enough times to know what was going to happen now.
Slapping a hand over his mouth, he ran to the bathroom and threw himself onto the floor. His knees ached from the impact of the cold ground against his skin but it was nothing compared to the pain in his stomach.
For a couple moments, he tried to hold back. Tried to fight back against the nausea in his stomach. He didn't want to throw up— he hated throwing up.
Sadly, his stomach churn and bile started to fill his throat. "Hmrrh…" He went, pressing his hand harder against his lips.
Why did he have to do this to himself? Why couldn't he just be normal? Why did he eat so much it literally made him sick?
Suddenly, his stomach gave a sickening crunch before he hunched over and threw up into the toilet. A disgusting gagging sound filled the bathroom before his insides released, hot vomit projecting into the toilet.
Tears ran down his cheeks as he hacked up more. There were plops from all the cornbread, candy, and everything else he ate in the toilet, creating a revolting swirl of chunks and color. It looked like all his shame was looking right back at him, mocking him in his face. Even worse, it felt like the one thing that kept him close to his dad he couldn't even keep down.
He didn't care how weird or maybe even gross it sounded; food made him feel like he was with dad and he ate so much of it he just threw it up. It almost felt like losing him all over again.
Puke continued eroding his throat and spilling out his mouth for what felt like hours. Just when he thought he was done, he was coughing and throwing up again. His whole body was shaking, his stomach flipping.
Maybe this is what he deserves. Maybe
Suddenly, a soft, concerned voice spoke up. "Babe…?" He jumped as he heard footsteps walking behind him.
Oh my god. This couldn't be happening. Lance couldn't see him like this. He already walked through the living room to get here; he must have seen how fucking greedy Keith was with all the food he bought and consumed. Now he was standing by the door frame, surely looking at Keith's pitiful state. Vomit on his face, his stomach bloated and bad looking, and the lights not even turned on because he had to rush to get here and didn't have time to flick them on.
He must look terrible.
Almost too scared to speak, his voice stuttered with a small crack, "L-Lance? Why are you back early?" He asked quietly.
Lance kneeled down next to him, the light from the door way making it hard to see his features, but based on the frown he could make out, he seemed worried. "My boss let me go early— But what's going on? Are you sick or something?" His hand went to Keith's forehead but he didn't feel a temperature.
Guilt filled Keith's chest as Lance fretted over him. Would he still care if he knew what Keith just did? Surely not… He was disgusting.
"I-I don't know…" His voice came out in nearly a whine, tears welling in his eyes once again. He didn't know what to say. He didn't think Lance would be home early. He didn't have an excuse.
For a moment, Lance was silent, simply rubbing Keith' s back up and down. He coughed a few more times into the toilet bowl.
Carefully, Lance addressed the elephant in the room, "Can I ask why there's so many trays of food in the living room? Did you eat too much and get sick?" His voice carried no judgment but it couldn't outmatch the shame Keith had.
His lips began to wobble as tears went down his eyes. "I don't know," Before he could stop himself, a hiccup fell from his lips, then his shoulders started to shake, and before he knew it, he was sobbing. All the stress of keeping this a secret felt like it was crumbling down and now he was completely exposed.
Lance was going to leave him for seeing exactly what he was.
It all felt like some sick joke— having his boyfriend walk in after a binge to see him throwing up and crying into a toilet bowl. And for what? Because he missed his dad and couldn't self-regulate? Now Lance was going to tell him to leave— that he's disgusted— that he should just—
Warm arms suddenly embraced him and his eyes widened.
"Hey, hey— look, I don't know what's happening, but it's going to be okay," Lance whispered into his ear, like he was calming down a scared animal. Carefully, Lance grabbed a tissue and started dabbing the puke away, making Keith cry harder.
He didn't understand— wasn't he upset? Grossed out? Why was he so calm?
Sniffling softly, Keith pulled away ever so slightly while looking Lance in the eyes, the other completely calm. "I don't understand… isn't it gross I ate so much? I just threw up," This was not the reaction he got when any of his past foster parents or old friends saw him binge.
Letting out a small, disbelieved scoff, Lance firmly said, "Of course not." He cupped Keith's sickened face, making the other just feel smaller. "You're my boyfriend. And this seems like its… beyond just this one time. I'm worried," He murmured, brushing his thumb against his cheek.
He looked down at the toilet bowl that contained chunks of food with a frown.
Lance continued carefully. "I won't pressure you, but I'd really appreciate it if we could just sit down and talk about it? No judgment or anything. I just want to help,"
Keith contemplated. Would it be worth it talking to Lance? He was being supportive right now and he didn't seem to be judging Keith. But on the other hand, he didn't want to open up and have that be the thing that breaks the camels back.
Gnawing his chapped, bitten lips, he finally replied with, "Okay…" Either way, Lance deserved some sort of answer.
Giving a small smile, Lance kissed his temple and helped him up. "Get yourself cleaned up. I'll tidy up the living room, m'kay?" He stroked Keith's hair and Keith shakily nodded in reply.
Without further words, Lance left the bathroom to go clean up Keith's mess, leaving him standing alone in the puke-filled bathroom. Anxiety started simmering in Keith's chest again when he was left alone, making the room feel too suffocating.
Pulling the toilet handle, he listened to the loud noise of the water going down the clog along with his confidence. Sniffling smally, he walked to the sink and washed his face, the coldness of the water making him shiver. His face looked back at him from the mirror and looked a mess.
If Lance saw him like this and still wanted to talk about it, maybe it was going to be okay…
Soon, he finished cleaning up as best as he could. Though he didn't feel very clean. His stomach was still bloated; his body still felt sore from throwing up so much.
Hesitantly, he walked out of the bathroom while looking down at his feet. It didn't take long before he got to the living room, which looked a lot cleaner with the coffee table having none of the previous wrappers or containers on it. Lance was sitting on the couch with open body language, a smile on his face.
"Hey, come sit down, baby…" He patted the spot next to him on the blue cushion.
The pet name made his stomach flip and only served to make him shrink in on himself when he sat down. He had his arms crossed with his back hunched over, trying to make himself as little as possible. He didn't want to be looked at.
Carefully, Lance wrapped his arm around Keith's shoulder before tugging him into his side. Instantly, the action made Keith sniffle and he snuggled deeper into his boyfriend. A hand went into Keith's hair as he slowly started to brush it again, loosening some tension in Keith's poor body.
"So, are ya gonna tell me what's up?" His voice brushed over Keith's hair, his warm breathe making him feel soft and tender. How was Lance so sweet?
God. Where does he start? With his dad? With how he loved food and now he hated it? With how many nights he spent feeling like he was drowning in shame but he couldn't stop thinking about how he wanted more food to fill the hurting, aching void in his chest?
"I…" He took a shaky breathe in. "I-I dunno… It just started one day…" Lance gave a slow, attentive nod while rubbing his back. The touch was enough to get him to keep going. "Food just makes things feel easier? Like, I eat and it feels like I'm less upset but then when I eat too much I feel bad, but I can't stop either and then I feel sick." He rambled, his words spilling out like the vomit earlier.
Lance squeezed him a little tighter, a frown on his face as Keith kept talking which only served to tighten the anxiety in his gut.
But he didn't stop, "My dad just always made me food when I was little, so… I guess it just makes me feel safe but then my dad died a-and food just became something that made me feel closer to him? I don't really get it. But now food doesn't feel good anymore… But I just can't stop eating and I feel…" His cheeks got hotter and hotter as he kept sharing.
Lance tilted his head, waiting for Keith to finish his thought.
Ever so quietly, Keith managed to murmur out, "Ashamed…" Then tucked his knees to his chest.
Before he knew it, he was letting out small hiccups. Small tears gathered in his eyes before slowly going down his cheek, then drippling down his chin. Talking about it just made him feel so raw and naked, like he was taking out a piece of glass stuck in his skin for years.
Suddenly, he was pulled into a hug so tight it almost hurt. Keith shakily gripped the back of Lance's shirt as he buried his face into Lance's shoulder, more sobs pouring out as the skin absorbed his tears. Ever so slowly, Lance started rocking them back in forth while cupping the back of Keith's head and Keith just needed to be held so bad.
"Keith… I'm so sorry," Lance sniffled himself, making Kieth's heart clench. "That must have been so hard. Like— holy shit?" He let out a wet, humorousless laugh. "Sorry. I just feel really upset for you," His lips wobbled before he shoved his face in Keith's shoulder.
Lance crying only made Keith cry more because he's never had someone cry for him. Like him being hurt was so upsetting that another person couldn't hold it in. Part of him felt bad about it but the other part felt so cherished.
Together, the two of them cried together, just holding each other with Lance trying to calm Keith down despite his own feelings. He kissed his temple, pet his hair, nuzzled his nose across his cheek, anything to get his boy to calm down.
Slowly but surely, Keith was reduced to just tired sniffles, his body limp and exhausted from the catharsis. His fingers tried to cling to Lance but they were becoming more unsteady. His eyes drooped as he sunk into Lance's side.
Lance rubbed his arm up and down, further coaxing Keith into him. "You're gonna be okay, baby… We're going to talk about this in the morning, 'kay? It's gonna be okay…" He tenderly placed a lingering kiss on Keith's forehead.
A small pit of anxiety stayed in his stomach from the conversation they were going to have tomorrow, but for now, he let himself simply nod and try and get some rest. They could talk about it in the morning.
It didn't take long before Keith eventually nodded off, his cheek pressed against Lance's damp rumpled shirt. A small, sad smile spread on Lance's face, making him tuck Keith closer, more securely.
Lance let out a sigh; tomorrow was going to be a long day.
-
The next day, they talked about it. They sat down, took turns speaking, held each others hands, and really talked. It wasn't easy— in fact, it might have been one of the hardest things Keith has done. Sitting down, baring this shameful thing he kept to himself to his boyfriend felt like getting on his hands and knees while begging for him to stay.
Fortunately, it didn't come to that. Not even close.
"So, it's your way of coping, yeah?" Lance brushed his thumb over Keith's, keeping his voice low.
His chest tightened at the question. "Yeah…" Keith replied wobbly. "I haven't been to therapy before— uhm, it's just— I don't want to be…" God, why was this so hard?
"Judged?" Lance guessingly added to his sentence.
Taking a deep breath in, Keith nodded. "Yeah, that." Compulsively, he tucked his knees to his chest.
The idea of therapy scared him bad. Because it didn't just mean talking to another person. It meant having to confront himself and another person about all the things that food covered up. It meant he couldn't just say "I felt like getting myself a treat because today was rough." It meant saying "Fuck I miss my dad so much it physically hurts."
He doesn't know if he can do that.
A hand rested on his shoulder, making Keith look up from where he was hiding.
Lance smiled down at him, his eyes softened and not holding any judgment like his past foster homes or social workers did. "Hey. It's gonna be okay, okay? I'll go with you, at least if you want me to,"
A tightness in his chest started to form as he looked up at his boyfriend, his eyes starting to water. "You don't have to…" He sniffed with a wobbly lip.
Then, Lance cupped his face. "Of course I do…" Lance murmured against Keith's forehead. "You're my boyfriend. It's kinda part of the job," He said it with such certainty it almost crushed all the doubt he had.
Before he could realize it, tears were going down his face. "Fuck." His arm aggressively wiped them away but they kept spilling. "Lanceee," A pathetic croak came from him as he tried to decease the tears.
Stupid tears. Stupid emotions.
Lance's thumbs brushed them away, "Awh! Don't cry, Mullet. It's gonna be fine," He tucked Keith closer, letting out a fond sigh when the other cried more. "It's gonna be okay…"
His cheeks burned red from embarrassment when snot got onto Lance's shirt, but he couldn't find himself caring too much. "Thank you," Anther hiccup fell from him.
Easily, he replied with, "It's no biggie. Anytime,"
The rest of the day was gruelingly spent searching for a therapist. They sat down together, pulled out Keith's flimsy health insurance card, learned how to work PsychologyToday's silly website, and picked a list of people to chose from until they narrowed it down.
Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, as funny as the name was, seemed to match Keith's needs the best. A lengthy description saying, 'Well hello there, lads, laddettes, and ladels! I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe— a licensed CBT and EMDR therapist! Quite spectacular really! I am to focus helping those with grief, eating disorders, and trauma. I hope through a bit of assistance, we can work together to give you a more peaceful mind!'
Even though it was a little goofy, there was something about it that also didn't feel judgemental. There wasn't any pretension or cold-professionalism that made him feel like he wasn't talking to a person. It felt human and whimsical. Like Lance, in a way.
Keith attempted to write an email, his fingers bashing the backspace every few words before Lance snatched it from him and wrote it himself. The other scoffed but let Lance type it, clicks filling the living room before a good enough email was made.
After that, they sat down and looked at at-home help for binge eating. Articles filled numerous tabs, easily to the point it bothered Lance, but he managed to push through the annoyance of having to click through all of them in favor of Keith. Obviously.
"Do you think this article is legit?" He scrutinized the screen that had multiple Walgreen weightless pill recommendations.
"Probably not," Keith said easily and Lance sighed before closing that tab and opening another.
Collectively, they managed to read through enough articles they had their own list of coping skills and household adjustments. Some of them were easier— keep food less visible, meal prep (Lance did that), be careful at parties that Keith hardly ever goes to.
But a few of them felt… really hard.
Like eating without any background noise, or having to focus on his feelings before deciding to grab a snack, or unlearning to restrict all day.
"I don't know if I can do this…" He sniffled while holding Lance's arm. His shoulders ached from them drawing up to his ears, his jaw tight.
He really wanted something to eat. It felt like a small seed planted in his mind but now it lingered.
He felt really hungry.
Lance frowned when he noticed Keith starting to squirm a bit, his teeth baring into his lips. "Wow, hey. Yes you can— if anyone can, I know you can." His voice was gentle, yet firm.
Quickly, Keith shook his head. He couldn't— He couldn't do this. It felt like his mind was siting in a body of acid and like his skin was being pricked by needles. He needed something— a snack, a drink, anything. It felt intolerable.
"I can't," His voice broke, becoming frail and not cutting through like how he usually spoke.
Lance shook his head and gripped Keith's shoulders. The other looked up at him, then saw the uncharacteristically serious expression on Lance's face. "Yes you can. You're struggling right now— that's normal. Lets just sit with the feeling for now, okay?" His hand went to Keith's back gently yet firmly.
Despite the intense, compulsive urge to just get up and grab whatever snack they had in the pantry, he remained seated. Lance sighed in relief before gathering him into his arms, kissing the top of his head. The brief kiss felt like an ointment on a wound, making his shoulders loosen ever so slightly, but it just wasn't enough.
He didn't like feeling things like this— he didn't want to sit with it. His whole life he always distracted himself. School, misbehaving, food and having to just feel it felt like getting thrown to wolves.
They tried their best to sit there, to have Keith just regulate his breathing. They tried watching a TV show and talking about it.
But after fifteen minutes he just couldn't do it.
And Lance didn't think restraining him was going to work.
So, that begins the long conversation of what would soon be his first conversation with his new therapist.
-
The chairs to the room felt odd, not inherently uncomfortable, but they didn't make him feel at home either. There were several crab fidget toys on the desk, a weird but kinda charming decoration. His bum began to become sore from sitting down for so long but it paled in comparison to how uncomfortable he felt during this conversation.
"But now I'm here and I don't know what to do," His thumbs twiddled together while he looked down at his lap, Lance giving him a supportive rub on the shoulder.
Coran gave a thoughtful nod punctuated with a hum before scribbling something down. Keith wasn't sure how he felt about that yet; social workers did that too and he associated it with trouble. But something about Coran's inquisitive and open nature made him want to give the benefit of the doubt.
Softly, the older replied with, "I see… Well lad, it sounds like you're going through quite a challenge! But there's no shame here— we all struggle and go through something and just because yours isn't what's typically talked about, it doesn't make it less important!" he raised his finger up in absolutes, giving his pin a click.
Some of the tightness in Keith's chest before he muttered out a short, yet sincere, "Thanks…"
Coran tilted his head before asking, "And what do you think makes you binge, Keith? Is there a pattern, my boy? Old habits die hard is what I hear some of the younger folks say!"
Speaking to him felt so serious, yet unserious at the same time. Like a juxtaposition.
"Uhhh…" He hesitated, giving a glance at Lance who made an encouraging gesture for him to speak more. Sighing, he brought his legs closer to his chair before continuing, "Stress? I guess? I don't know. Kinda whenever I feel strongly about things,"
Which was a lot.
Coran gave more nods and scribbled more things down, "I see, I see. And what are some examples of what a stressful situation looks like for you?"
Each question felt like peeling apart more and more layers that he tried desperately to hide, and he didn't like it.
"Things that remind me of my pops," Food, smells, places, anniversary dates. Almost every time any of those popped up, he just wasn't able to stop.
The hand on his shoulder tightened. "He told me he saw food that reminded him of his dad— it was…" He looked at Keith who murmured 'cornbread'. "Cornbread, yeah. And then he started binging and he was sick when I got home,"
Keith felt a small well of shame in his stomach at the shared information but managed to take deep breathes.
"It's not uncommon for people to have niche triggers, there's no shame in that," Coran dutifully assured.
Sighing quietly, Keith replied, "I guess…"
Coran gave him a comforting look, "There really isn't, my boy. We all find comfort through various means, even if they may seem illogical at the moment." He spoke in a way like he knew.
A curious brow raised on Keith's face, the tension in his stomach lessening. However, he felt too awkward to ask.
So, he just crossed his arms and gave an agreeing, "Yeah…"
The rest of the session was spent getting to know each other and exploring some possible recovery options. In the end, they decided on trying EMDR down the line and CBT. Coran assigned him some binge-eating workbooks and spent the last 10 minutes of the session coaching Lance on supporting someone with an eating disorder (with Keith listening while he read and inserting his opinions of course).
On the way home, Lance was rubbing Keith's thigh up and down, the other practically nodding off on the Subaru's car seat. "You okay, baby?" Lance asked softly.
Keith hummed at the warmth grazing his clothed leg. "Tired. Really tired, actually," Right on time, a yawn fell from his lips. He wasn't sure if he's ever talked about himself that much in one-go ever.
Lance gave a 'fair enough' shrug before patting thigh and concentrating back on the road.
After a little while, they got home, Lance putting a firm hand on the back of Keith's car seat while whipping his head around to back into their driveway. As much as Keith wanted to focus on the cute way Lance's face pinched up in borderline sexy concentration, his eyes were betraying him, feeling far too heavy.
The sound of the car door popping shut followed by his own door opening is what stirred him awake.
Making a tired noise, Keith's eyes fluttered open. "Mmm…" He hummed blearily.
Lance's face came into view with the light from their porch illuminating his tan skin ever so slightly. "Hey handsome… ready to hop inside?"
Everything outside was dark, crickets chirping with the crisp cold nipping at his skin. It felt oddly nostalgic; like when his pops and him would get back from a doctors appointment late at night and get McDonalds or when they returned from a camping trip.
A small pang of grief hit him in the chest but he tried shaking it off.
"Yeah," He replied, his voice quiet and a bit elsewhere.
Lance frowned at the small shift in tone but didn't point it out. "Alright, let's go," A hand reached out to Keith and Keith eyed it for a moment before taking it.
The wind blew against their faces as they walked to their front door, the cold almost comforting somehow. However, a stronger breeze came along, making Keith's hairs stand on edge. Dutifully, he wrapped his arms around himself. It didn't do much to help, but at least the cold kept his mind off his dad, sort of.
If his dad were here, he was sure he'd scoop him up before he could even complain about feeling cold.
Maybe the cold wasn't actually that distracting.
Suddenly, a warm, coconut scented material went over his shoulders. With a blink, he looked down and said Lance's green-brown jacket resting over him, the material soft and cozy. He turned to Lance, who was nonchalantly shoving his hands in his pocket.
For a moment, he stilled, letting his fingers dig into Lance's jacket but then shook it off and continued as quick as he stopped. The pain in his chest lessened as the warmth seeped into him, steaming away the bad emotions he felt moments ago. It wasn't gone completely— grief never was— but it felt easier.
When they got inside, the lights were off, only the porch illuminating the inside. Lance muttered something under his breath about not wanting to flash them with the ceiling light and just turned his phone's flashlight on. They trudged through the living room to the hall, Keith almost shamefully adverting his eyes away from the kitchen in passing as they did so. All his snacks were out of sight anyway.
When they got back to their bedroom, they started undressing to get ready for bed. They were both beat from the long drive and the emotional toll of the session, especially Keith. Lazily, clothes were discarded on the floor and left to be picked up later. Lance tossed on some soft, luxuries robe-like pajamas whereas Keith just got some plaid pants and opted to sleep shirtless.
However, when he looked down at his tummy and saw it bulging slightly, embarrassment washed over him.
Scratching his arm stiffly, he asked over his shoulder, "Can you throw me a shirt?" Not daring to turn around.
A few days ago, while they waited for Coran to get back to their initial email, he had another binge. It was so stupid too. He was having a shitty day at work; he was driving the ambulance for his partner on shift (since his partner was a paramedic and he was just an EMT). Their call was going well, pretty good in fact. Until the patient was combative and assaulted his partner and then him when he tried to help. Honestly, he didn't even get hurt too badly, but it brought him back to days in foster care.
After that, he got home and tried so so hard to use the skills he read in so many articles that he almost scoffed at, thinking"That's easy enough." Only to fail with a box of cereal and carton of milk in front of him, a bowl that's already been twiced emptied being refilled again.
At first it started with him trying to reason it out— he had a long shift and long day. He was hungry.
Another bowl.
It was a treat. He deserved it. He'd only have two. If he restricts tomorrow, it'll be fine. He can make it up for it.
But of courses, after he ate all the milk and cereal, his stomach bloated and uncomfortable, he didn't feel like it was a treat anymore. His tummy ached, a rumbling sound coming from it while he swallowed down bile in his throat.
Lance found out, mostly because Keith was sobbing his eyes out at the kitchen table but the empty box and carton were pretty good pointers too. Without hesitation, Lance hugged him tightly, rocking him back and forth as Keith sobbed in deep deep shame. Murmuring how he tried, but today wasn't his day— he was already doing better with not binging as much. Still, Keith felt a pang of disappointment and failure. Surely if he were strong enough he could stop himself, but clearly he couldn't and now he felt like he was swimming regret.
A sigh left his lips as he recalled the memories. To regret one's experiences is to arrest one's personal development— Oscar Wilde, or something like that he read in a book in foster care.
"Really?" Lance questioned. "You hate sleeping with shirts on," Footsteps went towards Keith, making the other tense before lanky arms wrapped around his middle.
He stiffened at the contact, Lance no doubt feeling where he was bloated. "I just want to today, I dunno," He answered lamely.
An eyebrow quirked at that, "And there's no particular reason?" Keith ducked his head down. "You can tell me…" A small, soft kiss was placed against his neck.
Looking back down at his tummy again, he murmured, "I dunno, I'm bloated…" Lance gave a hum of acknowledgment before planting another kiss, "And…" His voice got quieter, "I'm worried you won't find me as attractive,"
Lance let out a sad sigh, "Cariño," Hands tugged Keith closer, making the other try to relax and lean back. "You're beautiful. Besides, I don't mind any extra weight, that doesn't put me off. I just want you to take care of yourself," His voice was so sincere it almost hurt.
"Lanceeee," Keith drew out, tears gathering in his eyes again. Seriously, how many times was this gonna happen?
Snorting softly, Lance turned Keith around to smush him against his chest. "I don't think I've ever seen you cry this much," He softly teased.
Keith scoffed and flicked his forehead, making Lance whine. "Quiet," He admonished and the other huffed but complied.
Together, they climbed into bed, Keith shirtless as he should be. Insecurity still scratched at his head but he tried not to think about it— these past few days he tried not thinking about anything.
Yawning softly, Lance curled up to Keith's chest like a cat who got the cream. "Sleep, baby," Keith jumped when Lance's thumbs smoothed out his eyebrows.
Hesitantly, he sunk into Lance, his eyebrows relaxing. "'Kay… Love you…"
Kissing his chin, he simply murmured back, "And I love ya too, mullet." Then threw the blankets over them before shoving his face in Keith.
Minutes went by, Lance snoring softly without a care in the world, his grip on Keith now slack. However, Keith's mind was still crowded.
Was he really going to get better? Was therapy really going to help? Was it worth it? Was he worth it?
For a few hours, he stayed up, contemplating the future.
God, this was tiring.
Maybe he should just try to sleep…
After a little while, he curled into Lance like he was the last person on Earth and fell asleep.
-
For the following weeks, he went to therapy with Coran. Each session was absolutely draining, leaving him in bed for the rest of the day, maybe even next day afterwards. Lance noticed it and took it upon himself to make Keith some coco, sit next to him while playing with his hair, and watching one of Keith's favorite shows while they sat in bed wordlessly.
Even though he didn't have the energy to get up, Keith would slowly lean into the hand in his hair before letting out a long exhale. It was so hard but Lance made things so much easier.
Honestly, he wasn't really sure if he was getting better. In fact, things felt kinda more difficult. He hasn't openly thought about his dad or foster care this much in years— not unless it was being repressed by him shoving granola bars and ice cream into his mouth. Going to therapy where he talked about it felt like ripping open an ugly, old, infected wound hoping that it wasn't as bad as you think but then you see pus and gag at the smell. It felt easier to slap a band-aid on it over disinfecting it.
His binging did become less, he guessed… But he felt tired and emotional all the time too. Plus he still slipped up. After any time he did though, Lance held him, murmuring against his forehead about how its okay and he didn't fail, just slipped up. His heart hurt and the reassurance helped, but he still felt guilty.
But he guessed he'd keep trying.
-
There he was again, sitting with Coran in his office. This time, Coran decorated his desk with several rubber ducks with big eyes. They looked absolutely ridiculous, but most things in Coran's office kinda did.
Lance couldn't make it today— covering a shift for a co-worker last second. Their hospital unit was short staffed and they needed more pediatric nurses. Keith didn't mind that he couldn't make it, but he did feel more suffocated with just Coran and him there.
He sat in the uncomfortable chair again— seriously Coran needed to get better chairs— while fidgeting with his hands.
"I don't know if I'm getting better. I just feel tired and sad all the time," He confessed.
Coran hummed and wrote that down. "And why do you think that, lad? What's been on your mind when you're not binging?" He questioned softly, his voice almost fatherly. Keith could see Coran being a great uncle.
The question made Keith tense further, "Uhm… My dad," His voice came out in a whisper; any statements about his father never came out strongly.
"What about your father, my boy? Any specific feeling or memory perhaps?" He sounded genuinely curious, like he really wanted to know and wasn't just asking for the sake of pity or to question.
Biting his lip, Keith carefully replied. "Just thinking about him. In total. Not anything specific," A pain went through his chest, clutching onto every blood vessel and hairs on his arm it could. "I just— I…"
Carefully, Coran supplied, "Miss him?" While looking at Keith expectingly.
Sniffling softly, Keith nodded.
He missed his dad so much. He missed his hugs, his kisses, his food, their camping trips, his big strong hands holding him, the sound of his voice. He'd give anything to have him again— even just to have one more hug while he was in foster care. To hear the stories his dad told or to taste test for him again. Anything.
"Yeah," He croaked out.
For the first time, Keith watched Coran actually hesitate. The therapist looked down at the ground with contemplation before reaching over the desk and taking Keith's hands in his own. The action was so tender and sincere, it almost hurt.
Rubbing his thumb over Keith's knuckles, he lowly replied, "I understand, my boy… I do. Sometimes grief hurts the most because you get to keep the old memories and don't get to make new ones." He gave a squeeze and Keith nodded quickly with a tear down his cheek.
Old memories felt so tainted with dread and sadness.
"So, here's your homework for the week…" He kept his voice even and gentle, like a parent speaking to their child. Keith nodded in acknowledgment before Coran continued, "I want you to find something that has memories of you and your father. Pictures, old videos, anything like that. I want you to sit down with Lance, or yourself if that feels better, and let yourself look back at those old memories and feel your feelings."
Anxiety flooded in Keith's stomach as he whipped his head up to look at Coran. Did he even keep anything like that around? Did he want to look at that?
Coran didn't say anything, just let Keith process the request.
"I-I don't know if I can…" Keith admittedly nervously.
Coran simply nodded, "Alright… That's okay… But if you work up the courage, I strongly suggest it."
Keith licked his lips with a dismissive nod.
He looked at the clock and saw that their session was over. Without hesitating, he pushed himself up from the chair and walked to the door. Right as he turned the door knob to leave, he heard Coran say one more thing.
"I've been in your shoes… I know looking at the past hurts, but you'll be surprised when you look back at it and it doesn't hurt as much as you remember," Keith swallowed, "Just think about it, my boy… I hope this week treats you well,"
Then Keith left.
-
He doesn't know how he got here. He really doesn't. But after calling his mom and asking her if they had any old videos of him and his dad, he some how ended up here. She didn't ask what they were for; she wasn't ready to talk about him either.
The old camera had weight in his hands, metaphorically and physically speaking. The dust danced against his finger tips, leaving bits in the prints of his hand. The hoister was black and long, dangling off the old camera and was made perfect to be carried around for pictures. He turned it around carefully, investigating each part and design of it. Inside were memories, carefully conceived and stored here like a memory capsule to be opened and played with old storage space and downgraded voice quality that didn't lessen the nostalgia it created.
Lance sat next to him, a smile on his face with an arm wrapped around Keith as they sat on the couch. "Ready to crack these memories open, babe?" He grinned.
Keith stayed quiet for a bit before quietly replying, "Yeah…"
He took a deep breathe, his fingers feeling like they were prying open the inside video camera rather than it gently opening. His eyes squeezed shut but a tiny beep from the device made his eyes open and he let out a gasp.
In dozens of four by five rows were pictures and videos, pictures and videos of his dad and him. Most of them were of Keith in frame, his father most likely holding the camera. His cheeks puffed out like tiny marshmallows, his bangs going over his face like gentle wisps. He looked cute, innocent, maybe three or four here. Surprisingly, a small smile went over his face without permission as his thumb rubbed over a picture of little him.
A gasp next to him startled him out of his thoughts.
"BABE! You're SO cute! What?!" Lance exclaimed tactlessly, leaning over to look at the pictures too.
Keith winced at the volume but laughed airily, "Yep. I think I'm three here, maybe four?" It was a guess.
Lance cooed again, "Oh my quiznakkkk. I just wanna— agh!" He gave Keith a little shake, making the other roll his eyes.
"Lanceeee," He dragged out, "Calm down." Hesitantly, he reached his thumb over to the control panel, looking through all the videos before choosing one.
He can't believe he's doing this.
Another beep sound is made as the screen turns black to load, then appeared one of the previewed videos on full screen.
They were in a living room, the old one from his dad's house. The furniture was surrounding an open space where a boxed TV and a record player sat on a table. Standing in the middle of the living room was him, dressed in little denim overalls with a red sweater underneath. His little voice babbled, making incoherent cooing sounds as he looked at the camera, then a deep laugh coming from behind it.
He tensed— was that his dad?
His eyes locked onto the screen and Lance's arm tightened around him as he rested his sharp chin on Keith's shoulder, the feeling oddly grounding.
"C'mon, Baby! Sing the rest of ta' lyrics!" The voice instantly had Keith in tears.
Pops…
He looked up at the camera with huge, gray eyes. In the background, lyrics to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" plays ("I come home in the mornin' light My mother says, "When you gonna live your life right?""). His little hips started shaking in a mechanic back and forth motion side to side, his chubby cheeks looking down while his hands swayed in unison.
More laughter came from his dad as Keith danced, making Keith let out little giggles. "Good girl! Yer as cute as a button! Dance for Daddy!" He cheered on, encouraging Keith further.
Tears poured down Keith's face as he watched the old footage, the tension in his chest raw and powerful.
Then, his father suddenly came into frame.
Keith gasped, his eyes widening, his hands trembling.
A concentrated expression overtook Tex's face, eyebrows furrowed and lips jutted out as he adjusted the camera. His face was strong and defined, eyes fierce yet kind, stubble there and adorning his jaw. Some parts of his hands were on the side of the camera, tan, calloused, and a little dirt-covered from long days in the garage and work, but protective nonetheless. When he stood up, he practically towered over Keith but the toddler didn't so much as give a flinch, just happily looking up at his Daddy like he hung the stars (which to Keith, he did). It was nothing compared to the anxiety and fear he had when he looked at all the upcoming adults in his life.
"Awwe…" Lance cooed quietly, leaning in closer while Keith kept crying silently, his heart clenching.
"Fun fun…!" Keith babbled, swaying while looking up at Tex who laughed heartily.
With an undeniable glint in his eyes, Tex picked his toddler up, spinning him around with the little one squealing. "That's right! Girlsss just wanna have fu-un!" He grinned widely before Keith threw his arms around his Daddy's neck and they hugged tightly.
The video stopped. The film dimming with a pause button over him and his dad's face while his reflected back in the old dainty glass.
An ugly sniffle fell from his nose, his eyes crestfallen and puffy. His chest that usually felt like it was full of damp cotton now felt raw and open. The camera shook in his hand before Lance carefully took it and placed it aside.
"Oh Keith…" The voice was so quiet and sympathetic that it only made him cry more.
Before he could stop himself, he threw his body into Lance's. Lance froze for a moment until he registered Keith's sobbing and desperate grip on his shirt that was quickly becoming soaked with tears. Without hesitation, he tightened a grip around his boyfriend, squeezing him against his chest.
"I'm so sorry…" He was nothing short of sincere as Keith shook against his chest.
Trying to speak through fast, unregulated hiccups, he managed out, "I-I ju-just miss him so much." Seeing his dad again made his heart ache but not in the way it usually did.
Resting his nose against Keith's forehead, Lance softly breathed out while trying not to cry at Keith's words either. "I know… I know, Keith… I'm here. I have you," A chaste kiss was placed between his eyebrows, making the other stutter a breath.
Lance wasn't sure what to do or what to say— what could he say? Keith was heartbroken. He was mourning and he didn't know how long it was since he was able to do that— if he was ever even allowed to mourn before. It felt like he was just doing guesswork to comfort his boyfriend and hoping he was doing it right.
Keith took in deep, harsh breathes as he was barely able to breathe in Lance's smell, blocked by snot and tears. It felt like his world was going through waves in a storm and Lance was the only thing holding him up.
For a long time, he just cried. The tears were fat and ugly, running down his cheeks with gross snot and spit getting everywhere. His face was red and blotchy, his jaw aching from how hard he was wailing. Occasionally, Lance would feel an intense pang of concern before giving him a tight squeeze.
Whatever dam he had before broke and left everything pouring out until he was dry.
After he was done crying, it was dark out. Small whimpers fell from his lips, his head pounding from the crying so much. When he gasped in a few short, quiet breathes, he noticed how raw his throat was from the intensity of his sobs. His hands on Lance's hoodie were more slack, albeit shaky. His whole body felt worn out with his mind feeling delicate and fuzzy.
He can't remember the last time he cried like that.
Tenderly, like tending to a baby animal, Lance brushed his fringes back, giving him a kiss on the forehead. Keith's eyes fell shut as he grew weaker and weaker against Lance. Lance looked around their living room before spotting the clock, seeing eleven fifty-two on it. Swearing under his breathe, he reached his arms under his boyfriends armpits before hauling him up to drape over him. He was going to be so tired tomorrow.
Keith was barely awake, the rest of his consciousness dedicated to finding comfort in how Lance held him against his chest. Warmth went through him as he was carried into their bedroom, Lance tucking him under the sheets before climbing in himself.
Turning over, Lance flicked the lights off and tugged the sheets up, gathering Keith in his arms.
A feeling of trust and exhaustion engulfed him, leaving him nodding off on Lance. His breathes finally evened out and left him weakly yawning.
"Goodnight, Cariño… I love you," Lance whispered.
Before he fell asleep, he tried to manage a murmur of, "Night… Love you…"
-
Surprisingly, things got a lot better after that.
It felt like rather than just not binging to avoid failing recovery, he started not binging to not distract himself from his emotions. Before, it felt like he was getting through the day because he had to— because it was the healthy thing to do and he wasn't supposed to binge.
It wasn't to say he was recovered. He still bought more than he needed to and couldn't help but take a few extra granola bars out of the box when he was stressed, but it wasn't like how it was before. When he'd eat himself into sickness and barely had the ability to stop himself.
But watching that camera footage shifted something in him. Because for the first time, he just wanted to… feel things to feel them. Like, he didn't want to do it because it was the "right" or "healthy" thing to do. He just wanted to sit down and eat because he missed his dad and stop binge eating because it hurt his stomach and made the numbness in his chest worse.
Sitting in the chair that felt weirdly less uncomfortable, he quietly shared, "Yeah, I guess things feel easier. 'More direction…" For the first time in therapy, he was biting down a smile. This time, Coran's desk had goofy rubber squeezable frogs.
Coran gave a pleasantly surprised hum whereas Lance gripped Keith's hand and enthusiastically replied, "Yeah! He's been binging a lot less and he's soooo much less grumpy— like, I think I heard him giggle? Which I didn't know was possible but—"
"Lanceeee." Keith groaned out with a glare.
Instantly, Lance deflated. "Right, sorry." He apologized sheepishly.
But Coran absolutely beamed. "That's amazing number four!" An odd nickname he gave to Keith. "You certainty made progress! What changed?" He questioned lightly with a click of his pen.
"Uhm…" He ducked his head with a blush. "I took your advice, I guess…" He was never one to listen to advice; it felt odd doing it and telling the person who gave it to him he did it.
Folding his hands together, Coran exclaimed. "Oh my stars! Well that's progress if I've ever seen it. Good job, lad!" The praise sounded like it came from his whole heart, making Keith flush.
Lance followed suite, "Yeah, babe— seriously! You're making like," He did a vague gesture with his hands, "Great progress. It's crazy impressive."
All the compliments left him completely red. "Uhm, thanks," Was all he was able to manage.
The rest of the therapy session was relatively uneventful; jut check ins, writing down new skills, and creating a personal goal list. Before, he didn't have a motive for getting better, but now his list was becoming longer and longer.
He wanted to spend less money; he wanted to not feel sick after eating; he wanted sit down, eat a meal, and actually enjoy it; he wanted his clothes to fit right.
Lance held his hand the whole time he was writing his list, rubbing his knuckles while glancing over his shoulder. Seeing Keith go from tired, lethargic all the time to more content and peaceful had his heart swelling. He had suppress an ear to ear smile at how proud he was a Keith.
Soon, they left the old building. Another therapy session done; another one complete.
As expected, Keith crashed after therapy, instantly laying in bed and knocking out. At least he didn't feel as bad as he did before when he was done with therapy.
Gently, Lance scratched the top of Keith's head, the other practically purring at the pleasant sensation. His stomach didn't hurt and he was melting into the bed. Lance almost cooed at how cute his boyfriend was acting but re-framed.
"Go to sleep, Mullet…" He teased.
Without much arguments, Keith fell asleep.
-
Things were going well.
Or at least he thought they were.
But he guessed all good things came to an end.
His eyes felt heavy when he woke up, like a weight was placed on his eyelids and forcing them down. The bed next to him lacked its usual warmth and the sheets felt empty. Lethargically, he turned and saw Lance was gone.
Must have been at work already…
The world felt like it was moving slowly around him and like a weight was on his chest. His mind felt like there were a bunch of clouds in it but his hands felt like they were led. For the life of him he couldn't figure out why today felt so exhausting already, even though he just woke up.
He starred up at the boring white ceiling, his mind elsewhere yet nowhere in particular.
'I need to get up…' He thought but made no move to get up. It felt like an alarm clock was sounding in his brain but he just kept pressing snooze.
With a weak motion, he grabbed for his phone on the nightstand. He used what little energy he had to click the on button but it felt like he was lifting boulders. The phone screen lit up, aggressively illuminating his face with a picture of him and Lance on it, Lance grinning and kissing his cheek while taking Keith's ice cream with Keith looking bothered. His eyes flicked to it with less happiness than usual before they drifted to the date.
'December 14th, 2026.'
Then it felt like ice went through him.
Oh.
He forgot that was today.
Instantly, the heaviness in his chest tightened, feeling like a dam waiting dauntingly to crack. His eyes glazed over when his phone powered off, dropping it on the bed next to him.
He kinda felt hungry.
Within the next 30 minutes, he was trudging through the grocery store, people's footsteps and noises feeling like white noise. His arm brushed people occasionally and he didn't bother to apologize— he barely even noticed when it happened. He just wanted one thing. Something to make pressure in his chest ease.
Despite his mind being on autopilot, he ended up exactly where his thoughts told him he needed to be. Large birthday cakes all stacked on each other in cheap dome plastic stood in front of him. The price read '9.99 FRIDAY SALE' on a flimsy yellow sign.
He didn't hesitate to grab a chocolate one, feeling the weight bare in his hands like grief. The chocolate icing shining from the lights of the store, but it didn't look appetizing; it looked depressing. The fluffy layers didn't help either— it just looked dry and disappointing. He doesn't even know why he's buying it.
Regardless, he drags his feet to the self-check out, too tired to want to talk to someone. The machine told him the total and he grabbed his flimsy card before scanning, tuning out the robotic voice telling him to take his receipt. Picking the cake back up, he left the store and went back to the car to drive back home.
Lance's car was out of the driveway, but he didn't feel relieved like how he used to when Lance was gone during a binge. In fact, his stomach clenched and ached like it did right after a binge but this time it was from loneliness.
Like he needed anymore of that today.
The house lights were off when he went inside, the room quiet with just his buzzing thoughts making any noise. His eyes were glazed over as the plastic dome made a sharp pop sound when he opened it, the sickeningly sweet chocolate scent wafting into his nose. Clumsily, he threw the silverware draw open and grabbed for a fork, the metal clanking together as he finally pulled one out and felt the cold material against his hand.
A small overhead yellow tinted kitchen light barely shined over the cake in front of him, the rest of his surroundings dark. His hands braced against the counter, straightening his back while he glared into the cake like it every single ingredient wronged him.
His eyebrow twitched.
Fuck.
Shakily, he lifted the fork and shoved it in the cake and icing, watching it part underneath the talons of the utensil. Slowly, he scooped it up and watched a part of the cake crumble off with a larger portion still intact. Taking a deep breathe, he shoved it in his mouth.
Thick, sugary chocolate coated his mouth, the frosting struggling to go down his throat.
Giving another glare, he stabbed the cake again. Then again. Then again. Then again.
Until eventually there was chocolate all over his face, smearing his lips and cheeks.
He hated this. He hated today.
He hated his dad's death anniversary.
Tears went down his cheek, going over the frosting as he hiccuped, shoving in more bites. At least he had this— this one thing to feel better. Sobs racked through his body as cake fell out of his mouth, a gross mess in front of him. But he just kept going.
Eventually, he somehow made it to his bed with most of the large cake eaten, his stomach bloated with cake crumbs laying all over the bed. His body laid in bed, feeling catatonic and heavy.
The sadness in his chest that he thought would be muffled with cake and distraction stayed there, clawing at him more like it a beast he couldn't tame no matter how hard he tried. Why didn't it make him feel better this time? Even for a bit?
"Keith?"
The voice had him whipping his head up, his face now illuminated from where light poured in from the hallway with Lance looking back at him, his expression not visible from the shadows.
His chest tightened.
Lance moved forward, looking at the mostly eaten cake before carefully shoving it on the nightstand, letting it knock over the random junk on top. Gingerly, Lance sat next to him and put a hand on his back, rubbing warm circles while a concerned expression etched onto his face.
"Talk to me. What's wrong?" He questioned in a hushed voice, eyes tracking the chocolate stains and dried tears on his boyfriend's face.
The ache worsened.
He tried to open his mouth to explain but then his lips retreated back to being closed. Suddenly, it felt like a knot was in his throat and his jaw felt tense and achy.
Before he could stop it, his face crumpled into his hands with his mouth falling open with sobs. "I-I miss my dadddd," He dragged out with his shoulders shaking violently, drool falling from his mouth from the voice of his sobs.
He can't do this. He wanted his dad.
It hurt so badly today.
"Oh babe…" Lance scooted closer and threw him into a tight hug, the other crumpling against him and sobbing so loudly he started giving himself a headache. The intensity of the crying made Lance tear up too. He sounded so anguished and hurt— and he couldn't do anything! Lance can't imagine losing any family members; seeing Keith so in despair hurt too.
"Wh-why did he leave me? He left me all alone with no one to protect me and he told me he'd always be there. Why did he lie?" He knows his dad didn't mean to leave him, but it didn't make it hurt any less.
Being thrown into foster care not knowing where he'd live, where he'd sleep, who was gonna protect him, who was gonna hurt him; all of it was rocky and unpredictable. To wake up not knowing where you're going to be next when before all you wondered was if your dad was gonna be late picking you up from school because of another emergency call.
He felt mad.
But he didn't want to feel mad at his dad.
His dad wasn't even alive to be mad at.
So why was he so mad?
His lips only wobbled more at the unanswered question and he shoved his face into Lance's shoulder to try and push it away. Lance cupped the back of his head tightly, pushing him in further while hushing him. All of it made him hiccup and feel like he was a little kid again which he wasn't sure if he liked or not.
"Shhh, I'm sorry cariño… I know, I'm so sorry," He placed a kiss his head while whispering to him with his own shaky voice.
Shaking his head quickly, Keith let out a protest of, "Nooo…! No!" He coughed on his own spit. It hurt so badly— it felt like it was killing him. "Make it stop…" He pleaded while giving small jerks, making Lance hold him tighter.
A few tears went down Lance's face as he started rocking his wailing boyfriend against him. "I can't, I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do," He weakly said with a helpless he hated.
Clutching onto him tightly, his fingers threaded into the dark blue fabric of Lance's hoodie, he just cried his heart out. His stomach hurt. His heart hurt. His everything hurt.
He missed his dad.
"I'm here…" Lance reminded gently.
He sure hope he was; otherwise he wouldn't know how he'd get through this.
-
He recovered relatively quickly after that week. At least compared to every other year. He was still tired, still cried, still occasionally took extra servings, and still got aches and pains when he tried to hard to push his feelings down.
For the first time in years, he realized things were feeling lighter. The anniversary almost felt like a test of how hard he'd been working and how well therapy's been going.
He realized that there will always be a part of him that hurts and aches for his dad, but that part doesn't need to be pushed away and buried under cheap food and distractions. It's allowed to be there.
As the months went by, he started hanging up old pictures of his dad and even spending late nights talking to Lance about memories he had. Lance even came with him to visit his dad's grave which he hasn't done since he saw the casket be lowered into the ground, to which he stood there until a social worker took him away.
Binging still happened sometimes, but it was a lot less. When he did have them, Lance just held him without any judgment until it was over, then they talked about what went wrong.
Now for the first time in years, Keith was sat down at the dining table with Lance, the house quiet aside from their eating. In front of him was cornbread— homemade this time, accompanied by chili that was his dad's recipe. For dessert, they were having ice cream and churros which he was actually looking forward to. In his pocket was a wonky little hippo squeeze toy Coran noticed him staring at on his desk that he gave to Keith; a gift for his progress and switching his sessions to once every two weeks rather than weekly.
His hands were buttery from all the cornbread, crumbs on his shirt and the table. Each sweet and savory bite mixed with appreciation that filled the hungriness in his stomach, the comfortable amount. Even though his mind was telling him to eat more than he could handle, he took deep breathes and smiled at the flavor in his mouth.
This wasn't like the last bit of cornbread he ate almost a year ago.
Suddenly, a hand was on his face and brushing the crumbs off. He looked up from his plate and looked at Lance giving him a tender smile.
"Got a little cornbread there," He commented before using his thumb to get it all off.
Keith just smiled and let him wipe it away, leaning into his boyfriend's warm hand. "You could have warned me," A small grin spread on his face.
Lance huffed and rolled his eyes, "Oh shut up. You're so dramatic," When he finished cleaning Keith up, he sat back in his chair, his own plate almost finished with the birds chirping in the background.
Keith picked up his coconut milk, courtesy of his lactose intolerance, until he got a glimpse of tears on Lance's cheeks. Alarmed, he placed his cup down and asked, "Lance? What's wrong? Is something—"
Shaking his head quickly, Lance sniffled and wiped his tears. "S-sorry, I'm just really proud of you. Like really proud, you've come so far," His voice was wet and wobbly, a shaky smile on his face.
The sudden display of emotions had Keith's chest clenching with a blush running to his face. "You don't need to cry about it," His eyes softened as he reached a hand over, threading his fingers with Lance's who took his hand eagerly before sniffing again. "I couldn't have done it with out you…" He reminded gently.
Laughing softly, Lance squeezed his hand. "I'm just doing what any boyfriend would do, ya know? You did all the work…" Lance was so sappy.
As bashful as he felt, the praise did mean something to him. It felt good.
"Thanks, but you being with me really helped… I've never had someone be there with me like that," And it was something he planned on never taking for granted.
The compliment had Lance blushing back before softly whispering, "I love you…" With a tender expression in his eyes.
Melting at the confession, he easily said back, "I love you too, Lance…" For the first time in a long time, things felt serene.
They held hands for the rest of breakfast, eating in a peaceful quiet. Occasionally Lance would give his hand a kiss and Keith would rub his thumb over his knuckles.
At the end of their meal, Keith felt full but saw more still remaining on his plate.
Picking up the plate carefully, Keith walked towards the kitchen and announced, "I think I'm gonna save the rest for later,"
Lance gave a grin with a thumbs up.
When he walked to the fridge with his unfinished meal, he caught a glimpse of the picture he hung up of him and his father. Keith wearing his fire hat at age five, sitting on his knee with his dad grinning while looking down at him.
With a softened expression, he kissed his index and middle finger before placing it on his dad's cheek, feeling the lamented paper under his fingers.
"Love you pops, hope you're proud," But based on the gleam in his father's eyes, he had a feeling he absolutely would be.
Without another word, he put his food in the fridge.
He had a feeling he'd be okay.