Work Text:
I Only Have One Match (but I can make an explosion)
“Shiro.”
“What the fuck?!”
Keith dodges the lunchbox a very startled Shiro throws at his head. “For the record, lunch boxes are awful projectile weapons.”
“For the record, what the hell are you doing in my apartment? In the dark? Like a crazy person?” Shiro’s blood is roaring in his ears. His hands may be shaking. He’s really glad he didn’t hit Keith with the lunchbox. It’s an old-fashioned metal novelty lunchbox with little green aliens all over it because his brother gives the best/worst Christmas presents ever. Keith’s hard head could have dented it. It’s vintage.
Keith sighs. “I picked the lock. And I didn’t turn any lights on because I didn’t want any lights on.”
“Okay, that’s what we can a ‘non explanation’,” Shiro says, “One of those things you do when you don’t want to answer my questions. Why are you here? Also, at what point in our relationship did I ever tell you it was okay to break into my apartment?”
“You said I could stay here if I ever needed to.”
Shiro sighs. This is like pulling teeth. He’s having flashbacks to ten years ago. He thought fifteen-year-old Keith was safely in the past. Oh well. “Okay. Let’s just…put that aside. What do you need, Keith?”
Keith shrugs awkwardly. “I just want to stay here right now.”
“You just randomly decided to drop in unannounced? On a Monday night?”
“I have shows this weekend.”
“So this was planned?”
“No. Just. If I had to be at work tomorrow I’d have slept at the theater.”
Shiro stares at him, “Keith. Did your house burn down?”
Keith blinks, “What? No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Keith huffs and Shiro’s pretty sure he’s caving. Keith mumbles something. Ha, totally caving.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Lance and I had a fight,” Keith tells his feet. He’s curled up on Shiro’s couch, his duffle bag at his feet, his jacket collar flipped up defensively. He looks really pathetic.
Shiro’s first response shouldn’t be a really skeptical “Seriously?” but it’s been a long day and his brother is being weird.
Keith glares at him. “I live next door to him. And his two best friends. Staying at home wasn’t a good idea.”
Shiro sighs and reminds himself that Keith doesn’t really understand how human relationships work. That he’s trying but he’s never actually had a serious relationship before. Or really witnessed one outside of television, Shiro reminds himself wryly. It’s not like Shiro’s dating history is anything to write home about. The main difference between his and Keith’s approaches to romance is that Shiro tries to find normal, stable serious relationships and ends up with natural disasters and Keith just skips the first step and jumps right into bed with the natural disaster. This ‘real, emotionally involved, mutually respectful, affectionate, grown-up relationship’ thing is kind of new to him.
Honestly, Shiro’s a little proud of him for making it this long without freaking out and running home.
He sighs and dumps his gym bag by the door, coming over to sit on the other end of the couch. “Okay, what was the fight about?”
Keith blinks, “Um. I don’t actually know? We were talking about something and somehow it turned into a fight? I don’t remember, we just ended up yelling at each other and then I left.”
“You left.”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you leave?”
Keith just shakes his head like he doesn’t know the answer to that either, “It’s what Mom did.”
“What do you mean?” Shiro knows there are pieces of Keith’s childhood he’ll never know – whatever happened between summers. He just wishes they’d stop showing up like landmines in their conversations, sudden, unwanted surprises.
Keith shrugs, “She’d leave when a things got too bad. If she was fighting with someone she’d leave when it got intense. She’d leave towns too, when things got too rough there. We’d just go somewhere else.” He rests his chin on his knees and looks very young. ‘There’s always somewhere else that’s not so bad’,” he quotes, “‘When the going gets tough, the tough get the hell out of here.’”
Shiro runs a hand down his face and reminds himself that it could have been worse. His brother could have been raised by a pack of wolves. That would probably be worse.
Maybe.
Definitely. Wolves wouldn’t have taught him how to speak or wear clothes. That would have been much worse than Mom.
Shiro runs a weary hand down his face and walks over to sit at the other end of the couch. “Okay, buddy, I’m going to impart some wisdom so I’d appreciate it if you stopped wallowing in angst and listened to me.”
Keith looks like he’s considering sticking his tongue out at him but ultimately opts not to. “Go on,” he says magnanimously and now it’s Shiro’s turn to fight the urge to stick his tongue out at his brother.
“Oh, thank you so much, kind sir,” Shiro says dryly instead, and rests a hand on Keith’s head, shaking it a little, “Newsflash, kiddo, true love isn’t magic. It’s hard fucking work.”
“Literally?” Keith asks with a hint of a smirk.
Shiro rolls his eyes and retracts his hand. “Poor choice of words but my point still stands. Kiddo, it’s not easy. It’s never easy. Love? Loving someone like that? It’s a choice. And it’s not a choice you get to make once and then you’re set for life. It’s something you choose to do every single day. And yeah, it’s not conscious most days. Most days it’s just like breathing, completely natural and right to love this person. But other days you have to think about the choice – really, really think about it.”
“Still makes it sound easy,” Keith mutters mulishly.
“Okay. How about this for examples?” Shiro offers, “You decided back in high school you were going to work in a theatre someday, right? Well, once you decided that did you just assume it would all magically happen without any effort from you? Without any conflict? Without any times when reality showed up like ‘hey, Keith, I’m here, remember, life can suck sometimes’? No. You didn’t assume that. You worked for it and you fought for it and you were invested in it. Relationships are like that. Any relationship, friends, family, partners, it’s all work.”
“You make love sound like an episode of The Office,” Keith says flatly, “They should show this in schools to scare teens into abstinence. It’s really effective.”
“Shut up and let me educate you.”
Keith sighs, he looks tired. “I’m listening.”
Shiro sighs. How to make this kid get it? “You remember The Great Gatsby? How Gatsby loved Daisy so much? Through all those years? Did all those things just for her? He picked her and just decided that yes, this was the girl he was going to love. But she didn’t choose him in the end? She wasn’t willing to go that far for him. She compromised, she chose her husband. She chose that relationship and sacrificed for that relationship. Their commitment was unevenly matched.”
“I’m not sure where I fall in this metaphor.”
“It’s not a metaphor, it’s an example, dammit. I’m trying to speak your language. Gatsby and Daisy didn’t last because he invested too much and she invested too little. They didn’t match. In a twisted sense, Daisy and her husband were evenly balanced – they were willing to accept all the negative pieces of their relationship and carry on in half-hearted happiness together because other things were more important to them. Like money.”
“You should write cards for Hallmark. You’re really lifting my spirits.”
Shiro is fighting the urge to face-palm with the nearest wall. “Do you get what I’m trying to tell you?” he demands, “Are you just being difficult?”
Keith sighs. “Yeah. I get it. I do. I just don’t know…I don’t know if can do that, Shiro. If I’m capable of loving people. All your examples seem to revolve around people being miserable, around romantic love being some kind of drudgery.”
Drudgery. The kind of words his baby brother just casually throws into conversation. Shiro huffs, “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice! Literally any Jane Austen couple! The Bennets make no sense on the surface! She’s flighty as hell and he seems exasperated or amused by her and yet they’ve been married for years without turning bitter or hateful! Darcy and Elizabeth – they literally can’t figure out they love each other until they’ve been through several crises, grown as people, and learned to meet in the middle and support each other even when the other is being silly or insufferable.”
“You’re very fixated on Pride and Prejudice.”
“You left your copy here and I started reading it last week on my breaks. It’s surprisingly good.”
“Cool. We can watch the BBC mini-series next time I visit,” Keith says vaguely and the words seem like something that would fit into any of their conversations but the tone is off, he sounds distant and confused.
Shiro sighs, “Keith. Okay. Here’s my last example. Do you love your family? Do you love me? Did you love Mom?”
Keith stares at him blankly, “Of course.”
“Was it hard sometimes? Did you ever resent Mom for living the way she did? Did you ever hate me for not being there? Were you mad at Mom for dying the way she did? So pointlessly?”
Keith flushes and opens his mouth as if to argue but stops, seems to think about it a moment and subsides. “Yeah,” he whispers. Shiro is pretty sure his eyes are shining in the lamplight. “Yeah, sometimes…sometimes I was so angry with Mom. Sometimes all I wanted was to live in the same place for one goddamn year. One whole year. In the same place. And fucking vegetables. I wanted vegetables with every dinner so bad. I wanted a house, and a yard, and a dog, and a Mom who would make me wash up for dinner and fucking – fucking eat dinner on time, okay? Life was one big adventure with her and sometimes it was fun but sometimes I just wanted something, anything normal and I only got that when you were around and even then I knew, I knew it wasn’t real normal. It was pretend. A little kid game. You had the real thing when you went away. I hated that. But I never, never,” and there’s fierce Keith, there’s Shiro’s little brother, furious and stubborn and utterly sure of the truth of what he’s saying “never stopped loving you or Mom. Ever.”
His eyes are bright with unshed tears and there’s something in his expression that’s just…pleading. Begging Shiro to believe him, despite Shiro never doubting what he said was true. “I know, kiddo. Trust me, I know.” He didn’t want to dig up the past like this, but maybe it’s good. Maybe it needed to happen. You have to drain the pus for an infection to heal. “But do you get it now? You didn’t give up on loving us. You didn’t stop just because it was hard or you were upset.”
“Of course not.”
Shiro stares at his brother and waits for the penny to drop.
Keith blinks. “Oh.”
“So. I guess the question is how you feel about Lance.”
Keith blinks again. “Oh shit.”
“Uh-huh?”
“I really fucked up, didn’t I?”
Shiro gives him a fond smile. “Maybe running away wasn’t the smartest thing to do?”
Keith shakes his head “Oh, no, it was totally the right thing to do, I wouldn’t have figured any of this out on my own.”
At least he realizes it.
“But I didn’t take my phone with me so I’m probably failing at the communication thing.”
And Shiro is back to wanting to hit a wall. With his face. Several times.
“Ever think that your boyfriend, who, for some unknown reason, really likes you and has a vested interest in your continued well-being – ”
“Well, maybe not now,” Keith mutters.
“Shut up, quit moping, you’re not fifteen anymore,” Shiro manages to both snap and sigh at the same time, “- Might be a little freaked out if you left and then went totally radio silent?”
Keith goes pale.
“Exactly.” Shiro has no idea what he’s thinking right now but they had better be some very remorseful thoughts. (Shiro is also privately hoping that his prediction is correct and Lance got some sense talked into him much earlier by the sensible people he seems to be surrounded with and that he’s spent the last hour or so freaking out over Keith’s health and safty – everyone knows Keith is a reckless driver even when perfectly sane and sober, upset and all bets are off.) “Call your damn boyfriend.”
Keith’s face twitches through a complicated series of expressions. “But what if he doesn’t want me anymore?”
God save Shiro from Keith’s guilt complex. Yet another thing to lay at his mother’s (albeit unintentional) feet. When you know pretty much from birth that your dad didn’t bother to stick around long enough to see you come into the world, it can warp the way you think about yourself. It certainly has Keith.
“Call him and find out,” Shiro basically shoves the phone at him and Keith takes it with a look that’s half terror, half blind stubbornness mixed with raw determination. “I’m going to the convenience store across the street and buying all the chips and salsa they have. Because I’m hungry and I deserve it. I’m going to take a very long time to decide between red and green salsa and classic chip and scoop chip. You will take this time to sort things out with your significant other. If you have not figured things out by the time I get back I will beat you with my many bags of chips until you beg for mercy. Got it?”
…
When Shiro gets back Keith is putting his jacket on. There’s a small smile on his face. His shoulders are looser.
“Everything okay?” Shiro asks, setting his array of salsa (he got both red and green) and chips (classic only, scoop are just weird) on the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Good. Going home?”
The smile’s bigger, a healthy smile-size. “Yeah.”
“Good. More chips for me.”
“I’ll be back this weekend, though,” Keith says over his shoulder, “We’re marathoning BBC’s Pride and Prejudice.”
“You just want to fanboy over Colin Firth.”
“I do not have a thing for Colin Firth.”
“Whatever you and your many, many DVDs say.”
“Shut up.”
“Watched Bridget Jones’ Diary recently?”
“I’m leaving.”
“What about Mama Mia? The Importance of Being Earnest?”
“Gone! I’m gone! Bye! We’re still watching BBC this weekend!”
Shiro chuckles at his brother’s retreating back.
…
Keith goes to unlock the front door, finds it already unlocked and pads inside, only to find himself with an unexpected armful of Lance, who, true to form, flung himself at him.
“Don’t ever do that again, please,” Lance demands, burying his face in Keith’s neck and clinging like a barnacle.
Keith, still holding onto the doorknob with one hand, his boyfriend with the other, finds himself saying the first thing that comes to mind, “Why the hell is the door unlocked? Do you know how dangerous that is?”
Lance manages to smack his shoulder lightly without actually letting go, “Don’t start another fight. Those are always dumb. And then you disappear and don’t take your phone and I spend nine million years thinking you died in a fiery car crash like an idiot.”
“Am I the idiot or are you the idiot?”
“Both of us are idiots.”
Keith snorts, and presses his cheek against the back of Lance’s head, “No. I’m definitely the idiot here,” he says decisively, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m not…good…at this. I had to have some stuff explained to me.”
“Babe – ” Lance starts and then pauses, “Get inside, come on, this front porch reunion stuff is dumb and you look super awkward with the door and stuff.”
Keith misses the warmth of him against his chest immediately, but he lets Lance take his hand and pull him inside. Something twists in his throat, like his heart jumped all the way up there from his chest cavity and just lodged in place when it couldn’t escape all the way. The floor lamps in the living room are all on, painting it in shades of warmth, backlighting Lance as he pulls Keith inside, giving him an artificial halo.
God, he’s beautiful.
“You’re – ” Keith starts to say, but the words stutter and stop on his tongue. They’re not enough. Adjectives don’t work on Lance, they’re too small, too specific. “You.” He tries to convey all his wonder on that one syllable. He’s not sure how he did.
Lance snorts, “Kinda knew that, babe.”
Keith opens his mouth to explain, finds he can’t and subsides with a sigh. They end up on the couch, sprawled there together like they often do after a night at Pidge and Hunk’s, when they’re too warm and fuzzy and giggly from a little too much alcohol. This feels different, though, weightier. Keith feels aggressively real somehow, here. Like his soul is heavy in his body. Like he’s really, truly here. It’s uncomfortable.
“What were we fighting about?” Keith asks. He finds he wants to know. He isn’t sure how he forgot. Maybe a defense mechanism. Forget that which hurts you, it can’t touch you if it’s not there.
Lance snorts. Keith has his cheek pressed against his boyfriend’s chest; he can feel the vibrations of the sound. “Ironically, your terrible communication skills.”
“Oh,” Keith subsides a moment, “Why did you forgive me?”
Lance sighs, “I wasn’t that mad at first, okay? And then it escalated and you know when you’re fighting with someone there’s kind of a rush? Or maybe I’m just a terrible person.”
“No,” Keith interrupts, “No,” he repeats, firmly, like a truth, “You’re amazing.”
“Aww, thanks. Anyway, you feel kind of, I don’t know…powerful when you fight with someone you love. And suddenly you’re on this high and you can do anything, you can say anything, all the bad things you think that normally get drowned out by the good things. And it won’t matter because you’re both so angry it’s like you’re invincible. But the high doesn’t last and you realize how hurt you are and how much your hurt the other person and it’s fucking awful. The worst. But you don’t know how to make it better and you’re hurting so you’re mad you’re hurting. I don’t know.”
“Huh,” Keith thinks about it, “Yeah, I get that.”
“Anyway. You ran out and I didn’t go after you and five minutes later I felt like shit about not following you, you know? But it was too late, and I was still mad. So I called my mama.”
“Not your mom?”
“Nah, Mom would listen and make sympathetic noises and try to understand. Mama would get it right away and tell me the stuff I didn’t want to hear.”
“And did she?”
“What?”
“Tell you what you didn’t want to hear?”
“I don’t know.” Lance sighs, “She just listened and said ‘do you want in or out?’ like some kind of mobster. And I’m like ‘what?’ and she’s like ‘you had a fight. So now you choose. You want in or out? You want in, you fix it; you fix it no matter what. You take the space you need, you get your head on straight and you fix things. You want out? You let it fester, you ignore it and don’t fix anything.’ And I’m like, ‘But I don’t know how, Mama’ and she told me to stop whining. Then she told me a bunch of stories about the hilarious fights she and Mom have had until Mom chased her off the phone.”
“Your moms are cool,” Keith says, he feels warm, heavy, but in a good way, like he’s something solid and here, “I went to Shiro’s.”
“I know, you told me.”
“Yeah. He basically told me the same thing plus some weird literature metaphors and some very manly tears over our fucked-up childhood. The usual.”
Lance chuckles. “The usual.”
“Yep,” Keith yawns and presses his face against Lance’s chest, tracing the gorgeous sound of his heartbeat, “Are we okay now?”
“Yeah,” Lance sighs and tightens his arms around Keith, “We’re okay. I was gonna freeze you out, make you really work for it. But then you showed up at the door all not-dead, every though I knew you weren’t dead by then, but I was still pretty worked up and there you were and…so much for being cool about it.”
“That’s okay.”
“My dashing good looks make up for it?”
“Mmmhmm, sure.”
They lie together and just breathe.
“Keith?”
“Yeah?”
“I choose you, you know. I’m in.”
Something’s exploding in Keith’s chest. A star’s going nova. Tiny people in the chambers of his heart have figured out how to split the atom. Those are the only possible explanations. This is different than when they said ‘I love you’ the first time. This is someone choosing him. Someone who isn’t related to him, doesn’t need him to do anything other than be him. Someone who isn’t contractually obligated to care about him. Lance could walk away at any time but he’s not because he chose Keith.
He chose him.
“I choose you too.”
“Good. Glad we figured that out.”
Silence, and then. “My brother bought five family-sized bags of chips and like ten salsas. He’s going to make himself sick eating all of that.”
“Maybe he’s having friends over.”
“No, he’s totally trying his damndest to finish all of that before I visit this weekend, just to spite me.”
That’s enough to shake a laugh out of Lance and they’re both giggling, cackling, hysterical wrecks on the couch, and then, when they lose their balance, on the floor, tangled up together and laughing. Just like it’s supposed to be.
…
Shiro finishes the first bag of chips and the second season of Chuck around the same time. “One down,” he mutters to himself and opens a new one.