#if my& tone sounds flat & exhausted its bc it is. ive&. just. been having a ''bleh'' last couple of weeks. lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lazyfox411 · 6 years

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Not You, Not Me, but Us.

So I wanted to whump keith but then it turned into this whole long angsty established klance 14k+ fic that I spent months working on....yeah...somebody be proud of me lol its the longest thing ive ever written and I'm finally done!!!! thanks to @hastalalaterkeith7152 and @chasethethace223 for sticking with me throughout this mess XD

a slightly more coherent summary: while Lance is away on a business trip, Keith unwittingly shares a kiss with someone else. Lance doesn't take to this kindly, and throws Keith out in the cold. Unfortunately for Keith, bad people roam the streets at night.

warnings I guess for violence and injury even though I'm bad at writing fight scenes ahaha and alcohol use I guess, also a kiss and interactions that could be considered non-con, basically just use your own discretion my lovelies <3 id love to answer any questions you guys might have about this story

length is 14467ish words

“Come on, Keith, don't give me that look,” Lance pleaded, doing his best to avoid his boyfriend’s puppy dog eyes.

“But I'm going to miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t even realize I'm gone.”

“Are you sure about that?” Keith asked, hefting Lance’s suitcase from the trunk of the car. “It feels like you packed everything but the kitchen sink. Just how long are you planning on staying?” he teased.

“I won’t be able to go anywhere at all if I miss my flight. Hurry up, I still need to get my luggage checked.” Lance pulled his scarf tight against the sharp January wind, and scurried towards the entrance, Keith just steps behind him.

Keith tried not to be clingy. He really did. But Lance was one of the few people in his life who hadn't left him, and Keith hated saying goodbye, even if it was only for a few days while Lance travelled for work.

“You need to let go of my hand now,” Lance informed him, chuckling.

Keith let go, then promptly pulled Lance in for a tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too, angel,” Lance murmured. “Just a couple of days, okay? It’ll be fine.”

Keith nodded. “Have a good trip. And be safe,” he called after Lance had shouldered his carry-on and strided to the gate.

He and Lance didn't live together, though they had been talking about it for some time now, but they spent almost all of their free time together at one of their apartments. When Keith parked the car- Lance’s car, that Lance had lent him while he was away- and entered his apartment, he found it dark and completely devoid of life. A thin sheen of dust covered the furniture, and this time Lance wasn't here to scold him for neglecting to clean it. Keith didn't need to counter with the excuse he had no time to clean, he was always working or spending time with Lance. He flopped onto the couch and closed his eyes. Maybe he could catch up on some sleep. Work wasn't just an excuse, it was the truth. He’d had night shifts at the pharmacy for the past week.

The next morning, he crossed off Monday on the calendar, and put a little star on Friday, the day Lance would return. Then he sighed, and got ready for work. At least he didn't have night shifts this week. And he had something to look forward to at the end.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, Keith was exhausted. All he’d done was work; he hadn't declined any extra hours since he had nothing else to do. He was more than content now to let his body meld to the couch, lungs huffing out a relaxing breath. Only three hours until he had to pick up Lance at the airport. They’d texted a little bit, but Lance was busy with meetings most of the day and Keith had work, and the difference in time zones made the whole thing a jumbled mess. It would be good to talk to Lance for real, face to face.

The sound of a notification from his phone woke Keith from a peaceful nap. He searched for Lance’s name in anticipation, but it was a text from Shiro.

Shiro> Party tonight. Just a couple university friends. Want to come? I can give u a ride

Keith> Can’t. I need to pick up Lance in an hour

Shiro> Bring him with u

Keith> He’ll probably just want to rest

Shiro> Ok then bring him home and then I’ll pick u up

Keith frowned. Something was up. Shiro was never this pushy.

Keith> I wouldn't want to go without Lance

Shiro> Hang on I'm going to call you

“Great,” Keith muttered. He picked up on the first ring.

“I’m sure Lance wouldn't mind if you came without him,” Shiro said immediately. “You deserve a break. You’ve been working all week.”

Keith sighed. “Why do you want me to come so bad?”

Shiro paused before saying, “Allura is going to be there.”

“Of course,” Keith groaned, “and you want me to keep you from making a fool of yourself.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Yeah, no,” Keith replied bluntly. “I need to pick up Lance, and I am not going to a party without him. Find somebody else to put on Shiro-the-Love-Struck-Blubbering-Idiot duty.”

“Come on, Keith, you’re like my wingman. Plus I have nobody else.”

“What about Hunk?”

“Busy.”

“Pidge?”

“Also busy.”

“Well, I'm busy, too,” Keith said in frustration. “Allura is just going to have to love you for the hopeless romantic that you are.”

“Thanks a lot,” Shiro said sarcastically.

“Anytime,” Keith replied, matching his tone perfectly. The call ended.

He was just about to leave for the airport when he got another text.

Lance> Hey babe. Flight got cancelled bc of the weather. I was really hoping to see you tonight :( but the next flight out isn't until tomorrow

Keith sank back into the couch and dared a peek out the window, where a few shimmering white flakes were gliding from the sky.

Keith> Ok no problem. Just text me when you need to be picked up

He sent the message and pouted at his phone. One more night. He could wait one more night. Couldn't he?

Keith> I miss you

Lance replied with a collection of carefully selected emojis, and Keith sighed. There was a tight, cold feeling worming its way into his chest. Maybe he should get a cat, a goldfish, something to cure the loneliness bubbling inside him. After a full week of keeping to himself, waiting for Lance, only to have his arrival put off by another painstaking day...Keith was sick and tired of being alone. It was that thought that made him open Shiro’s contact.

Keith> Change of plans. Come pick me up whenever

The house was enormous, set on a lake, the driveway a mile long and revealing through the trees a colorfully lit balcony that overlooked the glistening water. The air outside freezing, filled with the muffled sounds of loud music, but upon stepping over the threshold, Keith was hit with a blast of noise and heat that was generated by people pressed together, laughing and dancing and drinking.

“I thought you said only a few people.” Keith had to yell to be heard over all the music and voices.

Shiro just grinned and shrugged apologetically. He had lied.

Of course. Ever since enrolling for med school, Shiro seemed to have changed, dragging Keith to parties and outings, only to have Keith play third wheel for him and Allura, whom Shiro had been head over heels for ever since discovering she lived on campus nearby him.

Shiro was immediately pulled from Keith’s side by a boisterous group of partiers, leaving Keith to be jostled mercilessly through the crowd. People bumped his elbows, brushed against his shoulders, and breathed their smelly alcohol breath in his face. He couldn't see where he was going, the room was dark one second then alive with neon lights the next. The music blared, bass rattling through his bones and piercing his eardrums, warping the room around him into a colorfully numb, tripped out alternate reality. It was too much. All he wanted was to relax, not get stuck in the middle of this, heart pounding and chest tightening. He had to get out.

He had to get out he had to get out he had to get out.

Keith shoved his way to the edge of the room, away from the lights, away from the people. He pressed himself flat to the wall, wishing wildly for Lance. Lance knew huge social gatherings made him anxious, Lance knew he hated to be surrounded like this. If Lance was here, he’d gently take Keith by the hand, lead him away, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, and sit with him until he could calm down. But Lance wasn’t here. Even Shiro was nowhere to be seen.

People were starting to look at him weird. Keith did his best to smile politely, and ducked away from the confused and somewhat disgusted faces, finding himself stuck behind yet another wall of people.

“Excuse me,” he squeaked, pressing through. And then he spotted it. A doorway. An escape.

It was slightly ajar, and whatever was behind was shrouded in darkness, but anywhere was better than where he was now, Keith figured. He pushed into the door, which delivered him into a narrow hallway. The air here was less stuffy, still stale, but contrasted by the cold, fresh breeze streaming in through an open window. Keith leaned his face on the cool glass, breath fogging as he gulped the night air like a drug, like it was his lifeblood. The music and voices were still loud, but not so glaring, separated by the door Keith slammed shut. Slowly, his heart rate decreased to something more acceptable.

While one problem had been solved, it was quickly becoming apparent that another had been created. Keith was essentially trapped; there was no way he was going back the way he’d come. People were screaming and now something glass was shattering. He looked around for another exit. The window was out of the question, it was way too high off the ground to make a safe jump. There was a door to his left, but upon turning the handle he found it locked. He heard a toilet flush from inside and decided he didn't want to go in there anyway. That left the stairs at the end of the hallway.

The damp, musty smell of basement got stronger with every step. Keith nearly tripped down the stairs when he heard a series of hair-raising, ungodly cries coming from what could only be a bedroom somewhere.

When he dropped off the staircase he was enveloped by a large room, stained white carpet underneath him and ductwork protruding from the low ceiling above. His shadow danced around the faded wallpaper, cast by the dim glow of a lamp that sat amongst the scattered furniture.

It was quiet here, or quieter. The commotion upstairs had faded to background noise, replaced by an old Pink Floyd album playing from a CD player. Keith grabbed a seat on a sinking, tattered old sofa, sparing a quick look around. The room was vacant, save himself and a couple seated on a couch against the far wall, making out. They didn't even stop to glance at him, and Keith sighed with relief. Maybe he could hide out here until things died down, then just head home. He had no idea what he’d been thinking. Coming to a party, when even he himself knew he was a loner.

He was a loner, but he didn't want to be alone. If only Lance were here.

“Mind if I join you?”

The voice clawed at Keith’s already shredded nerves and he let out a sharp gasp. He jerked his head around to see who it belonged to, and found himself looking into the jarring blue eyes of a stranger. He smiled at Keith, revealing a set of dazzling teeth.

“Uh, sure,” Keith said. He really wasn't in the mood for company.

The boy sat next to him, a little closer than Keith would have preferred, but he didn't say anything. This boy, or young man, Keith deduced to be about his age, maybe a little older, smelled like mint.

“Hey, are you okay?” There was that stupid display of teeth again.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Keith said quickly. “Just, um, parties aren't really my thing. Especially not this one.”

“Huh. I guess I'm a pretty bad host, then, aren't I?”

Keith felt his face go beet red. “You...host? This is...your?” He stammered, eyes going wide.

“Haha,” the guy laughed good-naturedly, “no worries, gorgeous. You didn't hurt my feelings. But hey, look at me, still being a terrible host. Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith said. Maybe that was just what he needed. His nerves were about to jump off a ledge, and this guy wasn’t helping, with his unnaturally perfect teeth and pointed chin and shoulder slapping and long blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white.

The guy, Keith still hadn't caught his name, vanished gracefully up the stairs. Keith searched for an exit again, coming up empty-handed. Well, he supposed, being stuck with one person is a lot better than being stuck with a hundred.

He returned surprisingly quickly, carrying two glasses and an assortment of bottles. He poured them each a drink and handed one to Keith, who hesitantly sniffed the sweet-scented liquid and then took a drink. He had expected the alcohol to rake down his throat, but instead it slid down easily and settled in his belly, almost immediately kindling a slow burn.

“So, what do you do?”

“Huh?” Keith shook himself from his thoughts.

“You know, for work. Like a job.”

“Oh, right. I work at the pharmacy, in town. Mostly stocking shelves.” The flush that had finally begun to recede from Keith’s cheeks was returning. He hoped it sounded like a boring job. If he was boring enough, maybe he would be left alone.

“Neat.”

No, Keith thought, not neat. I’m boring. Go back to your party, dude, you’re creeping me out. It was true, this guy, Keith still had no idea who he was, was even closer than before.

“You really don't want to be here, I can tell.”

Keith blanched. “What? No, no, it’s not that, I uh...”

“It’s okay. I get it. You've probably got way cooler things to do with your Friday night.”

Keith couldn't help but scoff out a laugh at that. “Are you kidding? The only reason I’m here is because Shiro practically dragged me. Do you know Shiro?” Keith asked, just in case. He should know who Shiro was, Shiro had said the owner of the house was his friend, hadn't he?

“Of course,” the blond-haired boy rolled his eyes. “Everybody knows Shiro. How long have you known him, though? I haven't seen you around campus.”

“No,” Keith cleared his throat, “I don't go to the university. Shiro and I have known each other our whole lives, pretty much.”

“Your name is Keith, isn't it? I think Shiro’s talked about you before.”

“Yeah, that's me.” Keith smiled a little bit. Somebody actually knew who he was. He wasn't some loser who was only here to be a third wheel.

“He asked you to come because of Allura, didn't he?”

“He did,” Keith laughed softly, “how’d you know?”

“You’re not the only one he drags places. And I gotta say, Allura is a nice girl. Not my type, though. I’ve...got my eye on somebody else now.” He flashed his sparkling teeth again.

Keith felt his ears go red for some reason, and he looked down at his lap. He was surprised to find that he was holding an empty glass. When had that happened? Had it happened more than once tonight? He couldn't recall. They’d been talking for a while.

“I can get you another one,” the guy piped up. Keith made a point to find out his name soon.

Something deep inside him told him that maybe this was a bad idea. Something was off. But he felt warm inside. He wasn't anxious anymore. He felt okay.

“Sure, I’ll have another.”

When he had replenished their glasses, Keith decided to ask, “Hey, what’s your nam-”

“Can I ask you something?” He was cut short.

“Okay.”

“Do you think,” the guy set his arm on the back of the sofa, strangely close to Keith’s shoulders, “that some people, even though they don't know each other that well, are just...really good together?”

Keith sat quietly, sipping his drink. He was confused. What was this guy talking about?

“You mean like Shiro and Allura?” Keith asked.

There were the teeth again, paired with a somewhat exasperated chuckle. “I guess, but I was thinking of someone else, someone...closer...” he trailed off, eyes rising and settling on Keith’s. It was unnerving. Like a tiger locking onto its prey.

Suddenly there were fingertips resting on his cheek, burning into his skin. Keith froze, eyes wide as an owl’s. The fire inside of him flickered, then was doused to smoke. The guy was leaning in. He was leaning in and he was kissing him.

Keith couldn't move. He was stuck, time had stopped, he was trapped and he was kissing someone. Someone who wasn’t Lance. Why didn’t he stop? Why wouldn't he move? His limbs didn't want to cooperate, his head was filled with white noise, he was frozen in shock, he couldn’t even breathe. He couldn’t get free. Why was this lasting so long, why couldn’t he make it stop?

When their lips finally broke apart, Keith was still petrified. He couldn't figure out what had happened or why. What had just occurred? What had brought it on?

The fingertips were coming at him again, probing his face, searching for another kiss.

“No,” Keith forced the word out of his mouth. “No, I...I can’t. I have a boyfriend. I have…” He had to get out. He had been wrong. One person was way, way worse than a hundred.

Keith stood up, fighting against the room as it spun around him. Whatever he’d been drinking was catching up to him. He needed out. Stairs. The stairs would get him out.

He darted up the stairs, feet catching and sending him sprawling. He shakily rose and continued the climb. He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to.

Upstairs, the crowd had thinned to a more tolerable throng. Maybe it was late, or early into the next morning, Keith couldn’t tell. Time wasn’t exactly working for him right now.

“Shiro!” he cried, spotting his friend’s undercut and broad shoulders.

“Heeeey, Keifth,” Shiro dragged out the words, and his pronunciation was more than a little off. Great.

There was a girl latched into Shiro's arm, and she appeared to be the only thing keeping him from toppling flat on his face. Judging by her undeniably beautiful dark skin and silvery hair, this was probably the Allura that Shiro never shut up about. So he had managed to woo her without Keith’s help after all.

“I don’t fthink really I can drive, man,” Shiro slurred, “I’m have to thpend the night here.”

“Yes,” Allura chimed, “I really don’t think he’s in any state to be behind the wheel. Will you be able to get home, Keith? That is your name, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith said. He honestly wasn’t sure which question he was answering. Damn Shiro, standing there with rosy cheeks and glassy eyes, stupid grin plastered on his face. Making him come here, only to ditch him and get hammered and leave him stranded without a ride home.

“Goodnight, Shiro,” Keith muttered. “Nice to meet you, Allura.” He turned on his heel, and didn’t even care if anyone stared when he slammed the door on his way out.

His first thought was to call Lance. Lance could come pick him up. But no, no he couldn’t because he was away, and if Keith called him then he’d know he was at this party and maybe would figure out what had happened, that Keith had kissed somebody, somebody he definitely should not have.

A cab was his next option. He quickly found a number on his phone and punched it in, then sat down on the front step to wait. He'd rather freeze to death out here than go back in that house ever again. Though surprisingly, he didn’t feel all that cold. He was shivering, but he wasn’t cold. It was a strange feeling.

Keith woke the next morning nursing a slight headache. He cracked his eyes open blearily and found he was draped unceremoniously on the couch, jacket and shoes still on. He forced himself to the bathroom and splashed some cold water over his face, and as he reached into the medicine cabinet for aspirin, last night’s events came flooding back to him.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked dirty. He felt dirty. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, but now all he could see were those horribly perfect teeth. What the hell had he done? What the hell had he done? What was he going to tell Lance? Keith groaned. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He didn’t want to deal with this at all. Sleep beckoned him, and he yearned to go, to fall asleep and forget this entire week had ever happened. The shrill buzz of his text alert made him wince.

Lance> Good news!!! Planes are flying today!!! My flight should arrive around 2pm, do u think u can pick me up?

Keith> Yeah ill be there

Lance> Can’t wait to see you!!!<3

Keith let out a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl, shuffling back to the couch. He wanted to just crawl in bed, but he knew if he did that there was a good chance he would never get up. What was he going to do? He couldn’t tell Lance. Could he? Lance would flip. Or would he? Lance seemed to freak out over trivial matters, but when things got serious so was Lance.

Keith didn’t know what to do. He was tired and confused and achy, and through his muddled thoughts he wondered if maybe he was making too big a deal of this. After all, he hadn’t been the one doing the kissing. He’d been kissed, yes, but he hadn’t started it, he hadn’t condoned it, he hadn’t asked for it. Surely, Lance would understand that. Wouldn’t he?

Waiting in the airport terminal, Keith felt sick. His hands were clammy and wouldn’t stop shaking, he was cold and queasy, sweating through his jacket but shivering as nerves churned in his stomach. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to say to Lance.

“Keith!” Lance's smile, though bittersweet to Keith, brought a sense of warmth and comfort. Lance jogged from the gate, dodging cranky travelers and luggage carts, and let his own luggage fall to the ground so he could wrap Keith in his arms and swing him around. The room was spinning when Lance set him down. He must have paled, because Lance seemed to notice something was off. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith replied quickly. He snuggled into Lance's embrace, breathing in his familiar scent. Not mint. Better than mint; he smelled like Lance.

“You sure? You don’t look so good,” Lance murmured, pressing a hand to Keith's forehead to check for a fever that was non-existent.

“I just missed you.”

“I missed you, too. So much. And I’m so glad I'm back, because the whole time I was gone there was nothing more I wanted to see in the world than your face.” Lance smiled sheepishly when Keith didn’t respond. “Sorry. Too sappy?”

Keith shook his head. “Lance, I… I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Lance asked gently. He was still smiling, encouragingly, sweetly. Keith ran his gaze over Lance's beautiful, perfect teeth, the teeth he loved to see, the teeth that would never be pushy, or creepy, that would always care about him. He stared into the sea of Lance's eyes, getting utterly lost as waves rocked the pathetic little raft he was floating on. Waves of love, unconditional, undying love, they were drowning him. But it was so warm. So safe. Not like the warmth he'd felt last night, no, this felt good, this felt right, not forced, not rushed. Lance loved him. Nobody else loved him, not like Lance did. Nobody else had ever really loved him.

What if, after what had happened, Lance didn’t want to love him anymore? Keith didn’t think he could handle that. He couldn’t take the chance. He couldn’t lose the best thing he'd ever had.

“What is it?” Lance repeated, frowning as he watched Keith space out right before his eyes.

“Smile again? Please?”

“Uh, sure,” Lance chuckled, parting his lips awkwardly. Keith was sure. Those were truly the most gorgeous teeth he'd ever seen.

“You have really nice teeth,” Keith said.

Lance smiled wider. “Thanks. Now, I don’t know about you, but I am totally ready to go home.”

Keith nodded. Lance picked up his bags and put an arm around Keith's shoulders as they started walking. “Do you want to hang out at my place?” he asked.

Keith gulped. That didn’t sound like a good idea right now. “I’m…kinda tired. It’s been a long week.”

“No kidding,” Lance huffed dramatically. “That’s no problem though, I have some notes to go over anyway. Stupid business presentations…” he then launched into a detailed recap of his trip. Keith listened without really hearing, leaning into Lance's warmth, knowing full well he didn’t deserve to. He didn’t deserve Lance's affection. He didn’t deserve Lance.

Guilt. It had settled in Keith's stomach like a ton of bricks, hard, heavy, and painful. Storms roiled in the back of his mind, rumbling feelings of doubt and shame. He told Lance everything. Everything. And in turn, Lance was open and honest with him. So why, all the times that he'd tried to say something, to call, send a text, why had his fingers frozen, his voice stopped, lungs shriveled away inside his hollow, guilty chest? It wasn’t even his fault. He hadn’t been doing the kissing. But he hadn’t pulled away either.

It was eating him up inside, stomach twisting into knots and gnawing at his ribs like a lion licking its kill clean. Keith couldn’t stand it. He tried to tell himself he'd done nothing wrong, that he wasn’t at fault, but then, surely it must be? He couldn’t bring himself to admit to Lance he'd done something wrong. Because then Lance might not want him. And that rejection would be even worse than the one he was feeling right now.

He lasted about a week. Until he was shaking because he couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t function, knowing he'd done something that could hurt the person he loved most in the world, and he still hadn’t come clean about it.

Keith rolled over in bed and picked up his phone to check the time. 2:36 am. Sleep wouldn’t come, he was beyond tired now, practically zombified and just roaming the streets under a barely human disguise. What would Lance do if he were me? he asked himself, like he'd done countless times before. And he knew. Lance would feel awful. He'd be disgusted with himself, just as Keith was now. But he would be honest. Keith opened his phone again.

Keith> Hey r u awake?

Lance> Barely. Whats up

Keith> Can I tell you something

Lance> You can tell me anything babe. U alright?

Keith froze for what felt like the millionth time that week. You weren’t supposed to break up over the phone. Not that that was what he wanted. No, that was the last thing he would ever want. But it was easily what might happen.

Keith> I think it needs to be in person. Can I come over

He knew full well it was late. Or, technically early. But this couldn’t wait. Not any longer.

Lance> Sure

There was only one bus that made a run at 3 in the morning, and Keith was the only one on it. He paid the driver and stumbled out onto the curb in front of Lance's apartment. If he didn’t do this soon he was going to be sick.

As soon as Lance opened the door, he knew something was wrong. Keith's eyes were red, not teary yet, but on the way.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked immediately, leading Keith to the couch and sitting close beside him. Keith shied away.

“I…I need to tell you something, Lance,” Keith choked out, struggling to stifle the thick layer of emotion that was stuck in his throat.

Lance looked like he was almost scared, rubbing Keith's arm. “What is it, baby?”

The words came out in a rushed, stuttered mess, and once they started Keith couldn’t make them stop. “While you were-were a-away, Friday night, Sh-Shiro d-dragged me to this stupid party, and, and I told him, I told him I didn’t want to go, especially not without you, but he kept saying something about being a wingman, and I don’t know, I went, Lance. I went, and there was this guy, and he…we…kissed.”

Keith felt his heart clench when the hand on his arm stopped stroking, and Lance's face fell. There was a new expression there, one he hadn’t quite seen before. Hesitant anger, festering sadness, overwhelming confusion, all stemming from betrayal. And above all, hurt. It was a physical pain, beating throughout his entire being, to see Lance hurt. It was excruciating to know he'd caused it.

“You…what?” Lance nearly whispered.

“Lance, please, I'm sorry,” Keith pleaded, taking his boyfriend’s hand, “it was an accident, I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear.”

“You don’t just accidentally kiss someone, Keith.” Lance's eyes were cold. His voice shook.

“It’s not my fault, Lance. He kissed me!”

“Well, did you at least try to stop him?”

“I couldn’t! I don’t know, it was like I was frozen, I couldn’t move, I didn’t know what to do! It didn’t mean anything, Lance, you have to believe me. And it’s just been eating me up inside, I had to tell you, I'm sorry.”

“So the only reason you told me was because you couldn’t deal with the guilt.” It wasn’t a question. Lance jerked his hand away, expression steeling over.

“No, that’s not what I meant, I…” Keith desperately searched for any hint of compassion in Lance's features. It was fruitless. “I'm sorry! I didn’t want any of this to happen, Lance, I didn’t! I love you! You know that!”

Lance shook his head in exasperation, staring up at the ceiling with a humorless laugh. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“Too good…to…what? What are you talking about?”

“You,” Lance waved his hands between them, “us! This! This perfect relationship, with the perfect person. It was too good to be true, because you can’t just go around kissing random people without meaning it! That’s not how life works, Keith! What about when we kiss, does that mean anything to you?”

“Lance, of course it does! It was just a kiss, okay? What we have is real, that was just…just…” Keith felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. His throat prickled. What was this? What was he doing? He wasn’t a crier.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Lance wasn’t usually a crier either, and yet here they were.

“What do you want to hear, then? I'm sorry? I’ll say it a million times, Lance, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you! You think I'm just going to bend over backwards because you apologized? I'm not that shallow. I'm not you.”

Anger and pain flared in Keith's belly. Couldn’t Lance see how awful he felt about this? Why was it so hard to forgive? It was one stupid kiss, and this was one stupid, stupid fight…

“I'm not perfect, okay, Lance? Surprise! I have flaws. I make bad decisions and I do things I regret. But you’re not perfect either!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lance cried indignantly.

“It means…it means,” Keith searched for the words. He could feel his lips trembling. “You're annoying! You sing too much, and you never shut up about your family, and you always spam my phone, and post too many selfies, and what about Nyma, at the office? You're constantly flirting with her!”

Lance's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “You really wanna go there, Keith? I can play the game, too. You work too much. You're impulsive. You never clean your apartment, and you refuse to get a haircut. And don’t even get me started on how clingy you are. God, you are clingy. And you're talking shit about my family? And accusing me of cheating, when you're the one who went and kissed somebody behind my back? I can’t believe I ever loved you!”

“Take that back,” Keith snapped. His entire body jerked with the force of the statement. He couldn’t see properly; his eyes were welled up with tears.

“I will not! It’s the truth!”

“Please, Lance,” Keith tried one more time, “I'm begging you, you have to know I didn’t intend for this to happen. Shiro dragged me there, and then we started drinking, and I don’t know, things just got out of hand.”

Lance looked like he hated Keith in that moment. Keith felt a strong, genuine urge to kiss him. He held back.

“Get out,” Lance hissed.

“But—”

“Get the hell out, Keith! I never want to see you again!”

Keith shakily rose to his feet. Lance wasn’t joking. He spared one last glance behind him, at the boy he loved, the only person he could truly be himself around, who hadn’t left him, the only person he could ever be happy with, the only one he ever wanted to be happy with. Lance glared back.

“I'm sorry,” Keith said softly, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.” He left Lance's apartment for what might be the last time.

It was a cold, starless night. Wind whipped at his hair, and froze the tears that streaked his face. They kept flowing, steady and frigid, no matter how hard he wiped at them. Why hadn’t he brought a coat? Or some gloves, or a hat, or anything that might ease the numbness that was taking over his body. But perhaps that wasn’t entirely from the weather.

Even with the wind buffeting past his ears, Keith heard the telltale whine of heavy brakes. The bus. He was still two blocks away.

“No, no, no no no,” Keith muttered, willing his legs to move faster. He skidded around the corner, but it was too late. He stumbled after the fading tail lights of the bus, only to collapse in defeat against the hard, frosty surface of the bench that sat at the bus stop. The street was shrouded in darkness now, except for a single streetlight that hung above Keith’s head. A spotlight, saying “hey, everybody. Look at this loser.”

Keith put his head in his hands, fresh tears spilling into his palms. How had he managed to screw things up so bad? He hadn’t meant any of the things he'd said about Lance, Keith loved his singing, and his family, and he knew that Lance and Nyma were nothing more than friendly colleagues.

“Stupid,” he muttered, raking in breath, “stupid, stupid, stupid. You just had to go and mess it up, just like you always do. What did Lance ever see in you anyway?” Keith asked himself, face tipped to the sky as a dusting of precipitation—rain, snow, he couldn’t tell, he didn’t care—came falling upon him. Maybe this was for the best. Lance deserved so much better than him anyway, right? Right.

Keith shivered, wrapping trembling arms around himself in a useless effort to get warm. He would just have to walk home. He didn’t have enough money on him for a cab and there was no way was he going to sit around waiting in the cold for the next dumb bus to come.

The side streets were darker, but also faster, and so Keith ducked through alleyways and under sparsely lit streetlights towards his own apartment. He was pretty much all cried out, and what he could now tell was snow was washing away the salty mess that coated his cheeks. That didn’t stop a little hiccough from heaving out of his chest every so often. He couldn’t have stopped them if he tried.

He hadn’t gotten very far before he heard the crunch of pebbles against the sidewalk coming from behind him. A stray cat, maybe? No, these were footsteps, much heavier than a cat’s. A person. Keith quickened his pace, and the crunching behind him sped up, too. It was too dark to sneak a proper glance behind, but he was pretty sure he saw the glisten of a smile, menacing, hungry. After taking several random turns without shaking the guy, Keith was sure: someone was following him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, clumsily scrolling through his contacts. Without thinking, he clicked on Lance.

“Pick up, pick up,” he hissed, almost jogging now, hoping to lose whoever was trailing him. Of course Lance didn’t answer. Who else was there to call? Lance was closest, and by the time he got ahold of Shiro, or anyone else for that matter, he could be dead meat.

It had just occurred to Keith that calling the police might be a good idea when it happened. He felt it more than saw it, another presence, a figure surging towards him from the depths of an alley. And before Keith could react, someone had grabbed him.

“Get offa me!” he growled, struggling against strong hands that pinned his arms behind his back.

The only response he got was laughter.

“I called the cops!”

“No, you didn’t.” Someone, a man with a deep, rasping voice, was bending over pick up his phone from the ground, where it had fallen, unlocked, from Keith's grip. Keith could almost picture the smirk on the guy’s face as he asked, “Who’s Lance?”

Up until now Keith had thought he only had two assailants; one holding him and the other holding his phone. But a third voice piped up, a snarky, weaseling tone that said, “Oh, look, you’ve got a little heart by his name. Why don’t we give lover boy a call?”

“Leave him out of this,” Keith snarled, trying to jerk his arms free. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“Don’t worry, we just want to have a little fun.”

A fist slammed into his gut at the word, and Keith bit back a yelp, gulping for breath. This was not his idea of fun. If he could just get free then he could fight back. He stomped on his capturer’s foot. The hands around his wrists loosened, and Keith jerked free.

He could see the dim outlines of the three men. They surrounded him, still laughing, a sound that haunted Keith from the party. It was a funny sort of laugh, like maybe they were drunk.

Still winded from having the air knocked out of him, Keith swung his arms up just in time to block another punch. He wasn’t completely helpless. He could fight. But against three angry lunatics…

His strategy was defense. Duck, block, swing, repeat. The darkness wasn’t helping. As soon as Keith felt his fist connect with something, someone else’s fist connected with him. The fresh snow was slippery underneath his feet.

He took a hit to the face that sent him reeling, the sickening metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. He could feel it, hot and sticky, trickling from his nose, his lips, his knuckles, busted open.

Shaking away dizziness, Keith readied himself for another battering. He wasn’t prepared when two of his attackers charged him, pinning him to the wall. His spine rubbed against the jagged brick and he gasped for air as he fought their hold.

With two people holding him back, the third was free to do some serious damage. Keith couldn’t hold back the cries of pain that escaped him as fists and feet pounded him, no sign of slowing, no sign of mercy.

He wasn’t sure how far these people were going to take this. He didn’t want to find out. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t know if these people wanted to kill him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it happen. Using the two guys on either side of him to boost himself up, Keith aimed a kick that sent the third sprawling on the ground, crashing into nearby trash bins with a loud clash.

They were all tired. Keith could see it in their body language, the way their shoulders slouched beyond a normal fighter’s stance, the way their chests heaved. The one he'd kicked was still on the ground behind him, the other two backed into a corner in front of him.

Maybe he could win this. Maybe he could make it out of here. Maybe…

Maybe the guy behind him wasn’t as out of commission as Keith had thought. Because the next thing he knew, something had clocked him on the back of the head, and he went down, body smacking against the pavement, ears ringing, vision filling with brightly colored stars.

“Oh, shit.”

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know, and I'm not sticking around to check. Come on.”

Keith blinked wearily as the three people took off into the night, feet pounding against the sidewalk. He lay there in the alleyway, pain throbbing through his head, seeping into his limbs, searing across his chest. Tiny snowflakes landed on his skin. It hurt too much to brush them away. It felt kind of nice anyway, cool and soothing on the bruises that were beginning to swell. But it still hurt. Keith moaned as everything melded into one swirling, nauseating haze.

“Damn it, Keith,” Lance huffed, hovering over his phone. “Just answer me.”

Keith had called roughly ten minutes after leaving, which had prompted Lance to throw his phone across the room. But after staring at the wall in silence for the better part of half an hour, Lance had gone to retrieve it and sent Keith a quick text.

Lance> Hey

It had gone unanswered, so Lance had sent another.

Lance> I'm sorry I flipped out. Can we talk?

Still no answer.

Lance> Keith?

Lance> Keith I know you're mad at me but can u please answer just so I know you're ok?

Lance> keith

Lance> KEITH

And so that had led him here, pacing the floor of his apartment. The rational part of him—the part that was still furious with Keith not just for what he'd done, but also what he'd said—knew that Keith was just upset, and was giving him the silent treatment, payback for not picking up his call. But another part of him, the part that still cared, and probably would never truly stop caring about Keith—that part was afraid. What if something had happened him? What if his bus crashed? The weather wasn’t exactly great for driving. What if he'd gotten locked out of his apartment? It had happened to Lance often enough.

Lance knew he would never be able to sleep. He knew what he'd said had really hurt Keith, but Keith had really hurt him. Kissing somebody else? Lance would never have done that. He was a naturally flirtatious person, and he was well aware of it, but ever since he'd begun dating Keith, he'd made sure to be polite and nothing more to anybody else. Keith was the love of his life, and Lance would never do anything to jeopardize that. Even now that Keith had, Lance wasn’t sure he was willing to let go.

Lance> if you don’t answer me in thirty seconds I'm coming to find u

That was it. Lance pulled his jacket on, grabbed his keys, and went out into the snow.

Keith wasn’t really aware of time passing, but when he squinted out of swollen eyes, a dull, grey daylight was just beginning to sneak its way around the edges of buildings, still too dark to make out anything but shadows. He could feel the hard ground underneath him, and a pool of wetness that had been last night’s snow. He shivered, even though the cold was starting to fade, replaced by a strange, stinging tingle.

Pain stabbed at his chest when he drew breath, and a soft, whining moan left him on the exhale. Obviously no one had heard last night’s scuffle, because here he was, body throbbing against the wet cement. The melted snow felt good on his bruised skin, but that was about the only comfort he could find. Too exhausted and hurt to move, Keith lay there and let the world spin around him, hoping that someone would find him soon.

He allowed his mind to swim in and out of consciousness, listening to the gentle flutter of pigeons, and water dripping from rooftops. He focused on that, or tried to, tried not to think, not to feel the pain that coursed through his being. It was starting to disappear now, replaced almost entirely by the tingling sensation.

Everything around him was a blurry mess when he heard the squeal of brakes and slam of a car door, as if they were far away, separated from the real world by a fuzzy tunnel of time and space.

And then Keith heard his name. Is this what death feels like, he wondered, was some angel-voiced deity calling out to him?

“Keith!” He heard it again, louder this time. He knew that voice. This wasn’t some higher power, calling him to the afterlife. No, this was his boyfriend. He needed that voice.

“Lance,” he croaked.

“Keith, oh my god, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“Lance,” Keith rasped, “m’sorry. I...didn’t mean to—” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as Lance touched his shoulder, and winced at the way his chest rejected the sudden intake of air.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Lance murmured, quickly pulling his hand away. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

Keith mumbled something unintelligible.

“Keith, now’s not the time to play tough guy. I need you to tell me what hurts and how bad, right now.”

“Ev’thing,” Keith slurred. “Pretty bad.”

“Can you get up? Keith? Answer me, buddy.”

Keith moaned and pressed his face further into the ground.

“That’s it, I'm calling an ambulance,” Lance said, whipping out his cell phone out of his pocket. As he dialed the three digits, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Keith's near-lifeless frame. “Hang in there. Help is on the way.”

“He’s sleeping, but you can go in to see him if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Lance sighed as the nurse let him into Keith's room. He eased himself into an old wooden chair next to the bed and let his hand find Keith's.

Keith lay there, fast asleep under a mound of blankets that moved with the steady rise and fall of his chest. He'd needed stitches in his lip, and in a few other cuts on his face. Lance couldn’t bear to look at the grotesque bruises that marred his soft, porcelain skin, and he busied his eyes with the cream walls of the room and pale blue curtains pulled firmly over the window. But he wasn’t able to keep his eyes off Keith for long.

He ghosted his lips over the tender skin of Keith's cheek in a delicate kiss, gently tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear.

“I'm so sorry, angel,” Lance whispered. “This is all my fault.”

“Are you two a couple?”

Lance sat up in surprise, averting his gaze to the doctor who had just entered.

“We’re,” Lance paused. Were they still a couple? Keith had kissed someone, someone who wasn’t Lance, and Lance had told him to get out, that he never wanted to see him again. A slight part of him had meant it, but…

“We’re really close,” Lance replied. “He is gonna be okay, right?”

“Yes. I know he looks pretty rough, but with plenty of rest he’ll be just fine. You're lucky you found him when you did, temperatures dipped fairly low last night. Too much longer and he could have begun to develop hypothermia.”

Lance pressed his fingers over his lips. He couldn’t do anything other than nod. Keith could have died. He could have frozen to death, all alone, because Lance had screamed at him and made him go outside in the middle of the night, in the beginning of a storm.

“It’s my fault,” Lance said. His throat felt tight.

“What do you mean?”

“I…we fought…and I told him get lost. I made him leave, he never would’ve gotten hurt if I would’ve just calmed down and let him stay. It’s all my fault,” Lance rubbed furiously at the tears starting to trickle from his eyes, “it’s all my fault.”

“Sir, if you can't remain calm, I'm going to need to ask you to leave.” The doctor looked at him, eyes caring but voice stern.

Lance nodded. He took a deep breath. “I know. I'm sorry. I just…when I found him, lying there, he was so small and so still I thought he was dead. I could never live with myself if he was dead.” Lance shook his head.

“I trust the police were contacted about the incident?” the doctor changed the subject.

“Yeah. They filed a report and stuff, and they’re trying to find whoever assaulted him. They're going to come by and ask Keith a few questions once he's feeling better.”

“Good. Well, that’s all I have to say, other than to remind you to keep the both of you calm and comfortable. Someone on staff will be by to check on Keith in an hour. If he wakes up before then, just make sure he knows he's safe, and tell him to go back to sleep. The pain medication will most likely make him drowsy, so it shouldn’t be a problem. If you need anything, the nurses are always walking the halls. Don’t hesitate to give us a shout.”

“Thank you,” Lance said as he processed the information. “Thank you so much, Dr…I'm sorry, I missed your name.”

“Smythe,” the man said, turning on his heel and leaving the room with a wink.

Lance settled down in the old, hard chair, sneaking his hand around Keith's once again.

The first thing Keith was aware of was a sense of weightlessness. He was floating. Maybe he really was dead.

That possibility was immediately ruled out when he tried sitting up. Pain flared through his ribs and seized his brain as the world began turning much too fast. He flopped back down with a groan.

“Keith?” The voice was soft on his pounding head. Exhaustion tugged at every fiber of his being, willing him to return to the blissful darkness of sleep, but he knew that voice. He needed that voice. He did his best to speak back.

“La,” was all he managed, still fighting the swimming haze that clouded his mind.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” Lance cooed.

Keith blearily forced his eyes open. He blinked, and slowly took in the view around him. “Where’m I?”

“You're in the hospital, love.” Lance hovered over him, speaking like he was calming an abused puppy. His face was pinched with worry.

Keith panicked. Hospitals meant you were hurt, bad. Hospitals meant doctors and needles and stitches and anesthesia and no knowledge or control over what was going on. He had to get out.

Trapped underneath the mountain of blankets, Keith writhed to get free despite the heavy ache of every bone in his body screaming at him not to. A pair of hands pushed him firmly back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Lance said quickly, “you're okay, Keith. It’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” Keith whimpered. He wanted to slap himself for admitting that, but he couldn’t think straight and he had no clue what was going on and he needed Lance to understand.

“It’s alright, baby,” Lance murmured. “You're safe. I'm right here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just lie still, you're safe now.”

Keith couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Lance was crying. “M’sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, no,” Lance said softly, cupping a hand under Keith's jaw, “you don’t need to apologize right now. Just go back to sleep. Can you do that for me?”

Keith nodded slightly, his movements already weak from exhaustion. Sleep overtook him easily.

When Keith woke up next, he felt a lot less weightless and a lot more aware. He tentatively touched his fingers to his temple. His head still hurt. Everything hurt, a dull, persistent ache that settled over him and wouldn’t go away.

“Lance?” he coughed. No answer. A glance around the room told him he was alone, the lights dimmed, doors and curtains shut tight. Had Lance been here at all, or was it just a dream?

Keith sighed. Lance wasn’t here; he had no reason to be. Any relationship they had was pretty much over. Lance wanted Keith out of his life, he had made that pretty clear.

After struggling to disentangle himself from the blanket mound, Keith rose to his feet. Or, he tried to. His knees wobbled and the room spun, and he gripped the edge of the bed to keep his balance. Being upright hurt more, and he could feel what little energy he had leaking away. He was shaking after just two seconds.

Keith froze when the door clicked open to reveal Lance, of all people, sipping steaming liquid from a styrofoam cup.

Lance's eyes widened. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I…um…” Keith stared at Lance blankly, knees buckling. He had no idea what he was doing. He might have been a little more out of it than he’d like to admit.

Lance sighed and set his drink on the bedside table amongst the many other empty cups and soda cans that had accumulated there.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Lance reached out to him.

“No,” Keith snapped, pushing the hands away. He didn’t want anybody touching him, not right now, not when he was hurt and confused.

“Yes,” Lance clipped off the word. “Bed. Now.”

“I don’t need to listen to you,” Keith said, warily eyeing Lance's arms coming toward him again. He really didn’t feel well. Too much longer and he was either going to pass out or throw up.

“Yes, you do. Doctor’s orders. And if you don’t follow them right away, I'm calling him in here. So get your butt in bed, grouchypants.”

Keith sunk into the bed with a grunt, and fumbled to pull up the blankets. It hurt to move.

“Let me help,” Lance offered. He arranged the blankets and fluffed the pillow with military precision, but there was something missing, a loving-kindness that Keith had grown used to. Lance pulled his chair closer to the bed. “How’s that?”

“Good,” Keith nodded. Then he frowned. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What do mean by that?” Lance tilted his chin back defensively.

“I'm just going to end up saying something stupid again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much. And I have a right to be here, I am both your emergency contact and the one who found you knocked out and shivering in the slush.”

“Lance, what happened?”

“What happened?” Lance asked incredulously. “Why don’t you tell me? You're the one who was half dead in an alley! Broken ribs, borderline hypothermic, concussion, multiple lacerations, whatever the hell that even means—”

“No, I mean…what happened to us?”

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh, Keith thought miserably. All Lance seemed to care about was that he'd gotten beat up. Not one of his best days, sure, but all that had stemmed from the now-missing link in their relationship.

“I don’t know, Keith. I don’t know. I love you, but I don’t understand how you let that happen, kissing some stranger while I'm halfway across the country. And it’s just killing me to see you all laid up like this, when it’s my fault for making you go out in that storm, in the middle of the night—”

“Stop.” Keith groped around the top of the bed for Lance's hand and eventually settling on grabbing his wrist. “S’ not your fault. I should have been more careful.”

“Can we just not talk about it right now?” Lance asked. “You need to rest, and I…I just can't.”

“Okay,” Keith whispered. He let go of Lance's arm.

“How do you feel? Somebody is supposed to come around soon to give you another dose of pain meds.”

“Spectacular,” Keith muttered.

“This is humiliating.”

“Keith, there is nothing humiliating about a wheelchair. There are a lot of people who would be very offended by what you just said.”

“No,” Keith groaned, “not the wheelchair itself. The fact that even though I am completely capable of walking on my own, I'm being forced to sit and have you parade me around the parking lot.”

“Completely capable? Keith, you almost passed out because you sat up too fast. Besides, I think it would be fun,” Lance said innocently.

“Well, it’s not. Just hurry up and push me. I want to get out of this damn thing.”

Keith was pretty sure he fell asleep on the ride to his apartment, because the next thing he knew, he was home and Lance was easing him into bed. Whatever drugs they’d given him at the hospital must still have been taking effect, because he was too tired to protest.

“Do you want a snack?” Lance asked. “Or a drink?”

“No. I just want to sleep.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Go home, Lance. You don’t need to look after me.”

“I don’t like the idea of you here all by yourself.”

“I’ve always been by myself, Lance. I'm used to it. You're probably tired anyway.”

“You got me there,” Lance sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Thank god for crappy hospital coffee or else I’d be flat on my face right now.” He chuckled. Keith couldn’t help but feel it was forced.

With some effort, Keith managed to roll onto his side. He looked at the other side of the bed, the spot that had always belonged to Lance when he slept over. Not anymore.

“I'm not going to leave you here alone,” Lance decided, raising his hand to block Keith's protests, “but I definitely need a nap.” He eyed the same spot Keith just had, but he seemed to think better of it, for he asked, “Do you mind if I use your couch?”

“Sure,” Keith said.

“Okay. Holler if you need me.”

“Sleep well, Lance.” Keith felt his face drain as soon as he said it. You weren’t supposed to say things like that to someone who didn’t love you anymore.

Lance looked a little surprised. Then his face morphed to something more neutral. Almost bored. “You too.”

Keith spent his first waking hours moping. He was bored, and wanted to get out of bed, but he was too tired and sore to really do anything. A simple trip to the bathroom was enough to wear him out. Looking at the spread of snacks and drinks Lance had left next to his bed, he was glad he hadn’t forced Lance to leave. But at the same time, having Lance here was driving him insane.

“Keith, you have absolutely no groceries!”

“This is a crummy apartment, Lance, not a five-star hotel. What did you expect?” Keith grumbled. He had to yell for Lance to hear him from the kitchen, and it was taking energy he didn’t have.

“I wasn’t expecting a four-course meal, but come on, you have to have more than Mr. Noodles.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Lance’s head popped around the corner. He looked blankly at Keith in bed, buried in the comfort of what felt like a million blankets and pillows. “Forgive me, your highness,” he deadpanned. “I guess I'm stopping by the store on my way back from work. What are you going to do while I'm gone? I can call Shiro to come stay with you.”

“No, don’t bother Shiro. I'm fine by myself.”

“He’s a med student, I'm sure he'd like the extra practice.”

“Shiro didn’t spend thousands of dollars in tuition fees to watch me hobble around the house eating Mr. Noodles.”

Lance sighed. He sounded tired more than anything. “Alright, but call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” Keith repeated for the thousandth time. “Just go, before you're late for work.”

Lance nodded. He looked back at Keith, sadly, as if he were an injured animal. Keith caught his eye and Lance's face hardened. And then he was gone.

Keith didn’t mind Lance complaining about his lack of groceries. What he did mind was having Lance simultaneously taking tender care of him and then hating him for his betrayal. Why was Lance going through all this trouble for him if he hated Keith now? Keith didn’t know where he stood at this point. Maybe Lance was only here out of pity. Keith probably looked pretty pathetic, laid up in bed with only microwavable pasta to eat. But Lance had insisted he stay in bed as much as possible. Keith didn’t want to upset him any more than he already had.

Maybe that was part of it. Upsetting each other. Keith thought about what he’d do if he was in Lance's shoes. Yes, he would be angry. He would be furious, and hurt, and confused. But he couldn’t think that he would ever stop caring about Lance entirely. It just wasn’t possible to not care about someone who you had once loved. Who you still loved. If Lance still loved him then maybe he had a chance. Maybe he wasn’t going to be cast out, just as he had been cast out from his family, from school, even from Shiro after his first year at university. All those times Lance had tilted Keith's chin up, told him not to worry, that he would always love him, that it didn’t matter what his family said, because Lance was his family now—those had all meant something. They still did. Lance was a part of who he was now, and nothing was going to change that, whether Lance ever forgave him or not.

Moping aside, Keith also got in some restless nap time. It was in the middle of one such session that a knock at the front door roused him.

“Hullo?” he asked groggily. “Come in.” He wondered vaguely why Lance would be knocking. Maybe it was to be formal. Formal usually meant broken up. They might really be broken up. Then it occurred to him that whoever was outside might not be Lance.

Keith bolted out of bed so fast his head spun. He crept out of his room and towards the door, wrapped loosely in a blanket. Lance wouldn’t be knocking. Who would? Were tax collectors still a thing? Keith had never seen a tax collector. Maybe it was charity. Charity was good. What wasn’t good was if Keith had been somehow tracked to this apartment. Maybe the guys in the alleyway were really out to get him. For what, Keith had no idea. But they would come in, and beat him up again, or worse, and Lance would come home to find the mess and Keith would feel awful all over again.

He was on the verge of hyperventilating and jumping into a fighting stance when the door swung open gently to show Shiro, standing on the porch. He let himself relax.

Shiro looked him over, a sheepish smile quickly giving way to a grimace. “You don’t look so good. Lance told me what happened, how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” Keith scowled, blankets dragging on the floor as he made his way back to the couch.

“Listen, Keith. I'm really sorry. This was all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You're not the one who kissed some other dude, are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

Shiro blinked. He shook his head. “I thought Lance was just angry you went without him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Keith said. He pulled his knees to his chest. It hurt his ribs, but he felt safer this way. Shiro wouldn’t see the gaping hole where his heart used to be. No one would see how broken he was.

“Keith, you okay?” Shiro lightly brushed against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Keith replied. His mouth felt dry. His eyes didn’t. But he wasn’t crying. Not yet.

“You know you can talk to me.”

Keith sighed. What the hell, he figured. If he didn’t tell Shiro, then Lance would.

“I…I messed up, Shiro.”

Shiro sat closer to him, nodding, encouraging. Understanding. For the first time in a long time, Keith caught a glimpse of the Shiro he knew. The Shiro he trusted.

“I'm sorry,” Keith whispered as he began to shake. This was too much. It was all too much. Why had he been so emotional lately? He hated it.

Shiro understood. Somewhere beneath the newfound frat boy attitude, his old self shone through. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay, Keith. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Keith drew a rattling breath, one that hurt just about every part of him. “Lance might be breaking up with me. I don’t even know for sure because he won’t talk about it. He stays here in my apartment and looks after me, but he won’t talk about us.”

“He just wants you to focus on getting better.”

“How am I supposed to get better when he's making me feel so awful?”

“Tell him that.”

“I can’t.”

“You're going to have to.”

Keith sighed. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. Not with Shiro anyway. “What are you even doing here?” he asked.

“Lance texted me to come check on you.”

“Of course he did,” Keith groaned.

“Well, since I'm here, is there anything I can get you?”

Keith miserably sunk into the couch. “No.”

“Do you want to play checkers or something? You must be bored.”

“Checkers, Shiro? I'm not five.” Keith was, indeed, bored out of his mind, but really all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. His bed seemed even more welcoming than it had before.

“Okay,” Shiro replied.

They sat in silence. Keith shifted restlessly, but each time he moved he only became more uncomfortable.

“I’m really glad you're okay,” Shiro said softly.

Keith glanced at him. “Thanks.”

“I'm sorry I’ve been acting so weird. It’s just…” Shiro huffed, and dragged a hand over his face. “I’m not doing too well in school, and I guess I’ve just been trying to distract myself. But I'm getting it together. Starting with you. I apologize.”

Keith felt his jaw part in awe. Shiro was apologizing? Keith didn’t feel worthy of anyone’s apology. Especially after he’d just told Shiro what an ass he'd been to Lance.

“I mean it,” Shiro pressed.

Keith nodded. “Thank you.”

Lance came home late. Shiro had left hours ago, and Keith was still sitting on the couch. He had picked up a sketchbook and was working away on a detailed picture of the tv remote in front of him. He couldn’t watch tv because of his concussion, so he'd settle for this.

“Hey,” Lance mumbled. He dumped his stuff on the kitchen table.

“Hey.” Keith looked over at him. He was leaned against the table, eyes shut, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing.

“Sleeping on the couch can't be too comfortable,” Keith observed.

Lance gave a sort of half-shrug, half-nod. “Certainly not what I'm used to.”

Keith bit his lip. How was he supposed to say this without it seeming like he was just trying to get on Lance's good side? “You can take the bed tonight. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

Keith was surprised to see that Lance actually looked appreciative. He was not surprised to hear the answer, “No, it’s alright.”

Lance had taken his first advance at reconciliation well, so he decided to try another. “You look like you could use a massage.” Keith grimaced at how awkwardly that had come out. But it was something Lance had often done for him, and it was calming, and Keith could feel the tension coming off of Lance in waves. Lance declined.

“Okay,” Keith said. “I'm gonna head to bed, then. Goodnight.”

Lance didn’t say goodnight back.

The alley was dark. Water dripped from the pipes that ran up the sides of the buildings. Keith looked down at his hands. They were dripping, too—with blood. He looked up. Someone was hunched in the shadows before him, just out of reach. Keith leaned forward to get a better look at the hooded figure. He took a step forward. On the next step he found he couldn’t move his feet, and they stuck uselessly to the pavement as if he were part of a statue. He tried again, but the more he struggled the more stuck he felt, until a suffocating blackness yanked him free and rushed him against a wall. He was pinned there, by enemies he couldn’t see, without hope of escape.

Slowly, in one fluid motion, the figure turned to face him. Its eyes were shrouded with darkness. The only parts of skin visible were the thing’s hands and mouth. They glistened with blood, too. Keith sucked in a breath as it advanced towards him. It paused just before him, and he felt the impending sense of doom, waiting like a roller coaster teetering at the top of a slope. The mouth parted.

Keith jolted awake, gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe, his hair clung to his body in a sheen of sweat, all he could see was a row of perfect, sparkling, pointed teeth. He shuddered, nausea creeping up his throat, seeping into his nose, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t see he couldn’t think all he knew was there was something evil out there and it had kissed him and it was after him again and Lance was going to be mad Lance already hated him Lance was going to tell him he was stupid and mean and ignorant and uncaring and awful—Keith threw back the covers of his bed and stumbled out, bare feet hitting the ice cold floor, washed in gray moonlight. He managed two steps before crashing against a dresser and tumbling to the floor.

Keith was still shaking, he could tell as he raised a hand to dab at the mess of tears spilling down his face, wondering what the hell he was doing here on the floor. He had to get up, he had to move, had to run, those perfect shining teeth were coming to ruin his life all over again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get up, still couldn’t get a proper breath, couldn’t hear anything over the guttural sobbing coming from his mouth, and so he lay, skin exposed to the freezing linoleum. His fingernails found the edges of the floorboards, and he gripped as hard as he could. And he wept. He wept, because of the dream, because of Lance, because he was tired of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, and just tired in general.

The bedroom door creaked open. A pair of feet shuffled in, clad in a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. Keith squinted through the hazy mist of tears and moonlight, eyes following from the slippers, up the legs, chest, and to the face of Lance. It was stuck mid-yawn.

“Lance,” he whimpered. “Lance. Lance, the teeth. His teeth and he kissed me and I love you and I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Keith sobbed, “I never meant to, I didn’t want to, he had teeth and he kissed me, Lance, he kissed me and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Lance knelt down, tentatively resting a hand on Keith's back. “Hey,” he murmured. “Hey, Keith, hey. What’s going on? Hey, hey, look at me, you're okay. You’re okay, it’s okay.”

Keith looked fearfully into Lance's eyes. There was no anger there, only concern. “Lance,” he croaked.

“Yeah, it’s me. I'm right here. I think you had a bad dream, buddy. Is that what happened? Did you have a bad dream, Keith?”

“Y-Yeah, I- I think so.”

Lance sighed. He sounded relieved. “Let’s get you back in bed. You're okay.”

With Lance’s steady hand on his back, Keith crawled back into bed. He couldn’t make himself stop shaking.

Lance sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Don’t go.”

“Yeah, that’s what stay means, silly.” Lance swung his legs up onto the mattress and leaned back. One arm pillowed his head, the other draped over Keith. “Try to sleep,” he murmured.

When Keith leaned into him, eyes shut tight, soaking up Lance's warmth, Lance wasn’t sure what to do. So he didn’t do anything. He held still, felt his arm rise over Keith's chest as he breathed. He soon stopped shaking under Lance's touch, and his eyelids fluttered, lashes brushing against Lance's skin as he drifted off the sleep. Lance wished he could do the same. But now he was torn, inner turmoil wreaking havoc like a tornado through his brain. He should be mad at Keith, right? Keith had betrayed him, for lack of a better word. But Keith was sorry. There was no doubt about that. And Lance knew he shouldn’t be bending over backwards because of apologies alone, and he wasn’t.

Keith needed him, that much was obvious as he clenched his jaw in his sleep and clutched fitfully at Lance's t-shirt. Lance rubbed his back, and murmured to him, and he settled. He'd never even considered the psychological effects getting jumped in an alley would have on Keith. No wonder Keith was being so high-strung and looked like he was about to lash out.

Lance felt like a horrible person. He'd made Keith go out in the dark all alone. He'd left Keith to deal with the aftermath of being attacked all alone. But was that really why he was here now? Because he felt guilty? No. He'd been assuming Keith deserved all of it. But he didn’t, not really. It hurt to see him suffer like this. That brought the question again; why was Lance here? It wasn’t pity. No. it was something deep. A connection. Love.

He still loved Keith. He would probably never stop. It was impossible to just stop caring about someone who you had invested so much time and emotion and feelings into. Even if something had changed, the feelings were still there. Feelings don’t just go away. Lance had never been one to ignore his feelings. He wrapped his other arm around the sleeping Keith and pulled him close.

Keith was still curled around him when Lance woke, his head tucked neatly into the crook of Lance's neck. His breaths were soft and even, starkly different from how Lance had found him last night. He was warm, keeping Lance from feeling the chilly edge of apartment air.

Lance would never know the reason, but he felt a hint of panic when Keith stirred. It was replaced by a softer, easy warmth in his chest when he looked at the way Keith's forehead wrinkled as he yawned, and he felt Keith's fingers curl tighter around him for a moment and then let go. His eyes flicked open lazily, and he blinked a few times, until his eyes found Lance.

A red hue crept onto Keith's face when he noticed Lance was staring at him. He realized he was wrapped around Lance like a human sushi roll, and he quickly disentangled himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice still husky with sleep.

Lance didn’t reply. Instead, he said, “I have the day off today.”

“That’s nice,” Keith said.

“Yeah.” Lance decided not to mention that it was because his boss had heard about Keith's little hospital trip, and insisted that Lance take the time off until Keith was better.

“I'm hungry,” Keith said. “Did you buy groceries?”

Lance sighed, “No. I was tired so I just came back here.” He felt bad about it now, especially since Keith was finally showing some sign of an appetite since the whole ordeal.

“Oh. I guess I’ll go heat up some Mr. Noodles.”

“Hang on. Let me get dressed, and we can go out somewhere and get real breakfast. My treat.”

“Okay.”

When Lance was ready and Keith was bundled up in more layers than was probably necessary, they buckled themselves into Lance's car. Keith didn’t know where they were going, but Lance looked confident behind the wheel so he didn’t ask.

“Keith?”

Keith raised an eyebrow in Lance's direction.

“Who was it? That you—that kissed you?”

Keith bit his lip. This was a story Lance wasn’t going to enjoy hearing.

“I won’t get mad. I just want to know.”

The way he said it was sincere, so Keith told him, “I don’t really know much about him. I only met him that night, and, honestly…I didn’t even get his name.”

Lance frowned.

Keith sighed, “I was kind of freaking out, because I couldn’t find Shiro, and there were too many people, and then I ended up pretty much alone in the basement with this guy. He was kind of weirding me out at first, but he was nice, and I don’t know, we just talked. And had a couple drinks. I don’t know,” Keith repeated. He felt awful talking about it, but Lance deserved to know. “He just sort of leaned in, and…kissed me. And I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. It was like I was paralyzed. And when he pulled away, I guess I came to, I don’t know, but I told him…I told him it wasn’t right, I told him…I told him I had you. And that was all I needed. I got out of there right away.”

Lance was quiet, which was unusual for him. Keith stared down at his hands. He didn’t even look up when the car came to a stop.

“Hey. Earth to Keith. You still hungry?” Lance asked softly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Keith mumbled. He hadn’t really been eating enough lately.

Lance waited patiently for Keith to extract himself from the car, and walked by his side through the parking lot. Keith thought about taking his hand, but then decided it probably wasn’t a good idea.

He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was when he stepped out of the car, just following Lance. Only after walking past the large yellow M above the doorway and smelling the aroma of fry grease did he realize Lance had driven them to McDonald’s. Keith couldn’t help but notice how the other people waiting in line were giving him strange looks. They were probably concerned about his face, he figured, he still looked pretty beat up. Normally he wouldn’t be bothered but today he just felt so out of place he wanted to curl up and be a hermit the rest of his life.

Lance had noticed. “Why don’t you go grab us a seat,” he suggested gently, “and I’ll order us hash browns or something.”

Keith nodded. He liked hash browns. He was glad the breakfast menu was available all day; the analogue clock on the wall said it was more like lunch.

He picked a little table in the corner, away from the people, save for a sweet-looking old couple a few seats down. Keith sat and waited for Lance, busying himself with flicking some stray crumbs off the table.

“Hey.”

Keith looked up, expecting to see Lance, but he was met with a blinding smile and a swish of long ash-blond hair.

“You,” he stammered out, “w-what are you doing here?”

A shrug. “I guess I just like the company.”

“You need to leave.” Keith's voice was low. Dangerous.

He was ignored. “Man, what happened to you? Such a pretty face, all covered in bruises.”

Keith felt a snarl crawl up his throat. “Leave. Now.”

“Aw, come on. Listen, I just want to apologize. I was drunk, and impulsive,” he got closer with each word, “and what can I say, I'm weak for something so beautiful.”

No. This was not okay. Nothing about this was anything even resembling okay.

“Get away from me. You’ve ruined my life already, so just leave me alone.” Keith saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Lance.

“Hey, babe,” Lance said with fake cheer, sensing that something was up. He sauntered over with a tray of breakfast food. “Who’s this?”

“Someone who was just leaving,” Keith growled. Lance frowned.

“Damn, you said you had a boyfriend, but you never said he was this hot.”

That was when Keith snapped. Injuries and etiquette be damned, he was going to flatten this guy. Hands balled into fists, he lunged forward.

Lance beat him to it. The tray toppled to the floor, and the guy went flying over the nearest table with a crash of chairs. He didn’t get up. The old couple stared with mouths agape. Lance gracefully picked up the tray and stray food, as if nothing had happened. He led Keith out of the McDonald’s.

Keith couldn’t keep up with him, he was walking too fast. But Lance stopped in the middle of the parking lot, still gripping the tray. He picked up a hash brown and bit into it fiercely.

“That was him,” Keith explained solemnly.

“Yeah,” Lance said, oddly focused on eating his hash brown despite it having fallen on the floor. “I know. I knew the second I saw him.”

They went grocery shopping after that. Lance didn’t speak other than to ask about milk, “two percent or one?” Keith answered two, so they bought two. When they got back to Keith's apartment, Lance insisted on spending the rest of the afternoon preparing a “proper dinner. No more Mr. Noodles.” He refused to let Keith help, insisting that he go to bed and rest. Keith didn’t protest. He was exhausted.

It was hours later, from a deep and dreamless sleep, that Lance came to wake him.

“Hey, sleepyhead. You hungry?”

“Mflmsflrem,” Keith mumbled.

“What?”

Keith groaned and tried to wake himself up. He was pretty sure he could hear his bones creak.

“I see how it is,” Lance said, “you think I'm a terrible cook.” There was a small smirk on his face.

“I like your cooking,” Keith protested, doing his best to sit up, “I'm just stiff. S’hard to get up.”

Lance frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. “What hurts?”

Keith didn’t answer.

“Come on,” Lance sighed, “don’t be like that.”

Keith sighed. “Shoulders,” he shrugged a little, “ribs.”

Lance bit his lip and reached out a hand. “Can I?”

Keith didn’t say no, so Lance gently set his hands on his shoulders and prodded at the tense muscles.

“Gee,” he said. “You must be sore.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Keith muttered, though his voice lost all its edge as Lance began to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Better?” Lance asked after a minute.

“Better,” Keith nodded.

“Alright. Let’s eat.”

Dinner was nothing short of fantastic. Lance had outdone himself with an array of what could only be described as comfort food, taste fit for a king, with enough carbs to fuel a full-grown moose running a marathon.

“This is good,” Keith told him. “Like, really good.”

“Thanks,” Lance grinned. Then he chuckled.

“What?” Keith frowned.

“Don’t pout,” Lance was still laughing, “you just, you got a little something.”

Keith just pouted more and grabbed a napkin.

It was after dinner, curled up on the couch, that Keith felt fatigue take over his body once more. He stifled a yawn and raised his head to ask Lance what time it was.

“No clue,” Lance said, masking a yawn of his own, “but I'm tired.”

“Me too,” Keith said. “I'm going to bed. You…you, um, don’t have to sleep on the couch. If you don’t want to. You can sleep in the bed…with me…if you want.”

The corner of Lance's mouth quirked up in what could almost be called a smile. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” he said.

Keith got up from the couch and gingerly stretched his arms. He trudged off to get cleaned up and into bed, thinking he would wait up for Lance, but once he was nestled under the covers, the gravity of sleep pulled his eyelids over his eyes, and he was dragged down with them.

The early hours of the morning replaced the dark peace of sleep with restless waking. Keith shifted uncomfortably and tried to force himself back asleep, but napping for so long earlier had given him no reason for more rest.

Lance was next to him, he realized after a moment, not touching him but close enough to radiate warmth. Curled up on the other side of the bed, wearing an old t-shirt of Keith’s, his small frame rising unevenly under the fabric. Lance wasn’t sleeping either.

“Lance?” Keith ventured tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“I…I can't sleep.”

Lance sighed. “Me either.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Keith felt Lance's eyes on him, and he turned his head to meet them.

“You,” Lance said.

“Me?”

Lance nodded. “Honestly, you're all I can think about. The past few days have been hell. It’s not the same without you by my side, Keith. I...I’m not happy. I'm tired, and grumpy, and I miss you. I overreacted to this whole thing.”

“You didn’t overreact,” Keith said quietly.

“Fine, I wrong-reacted, then. Either way, I ruined everything, and now I'm just running around pretending I'm okay, because if anyone knew…if they knew, that on top of everything else, I screwed this up, too…” Lance roughly turned to face the wall. His voice was muffled in the blankets, but Keith was pretty sure he was crying. “All I ever do is make mistakes. And this just proves it. I've lost you. And now I don’t know what to do. I'm sorry, Keith. I'm sorry.”

“Lance,” Keith tugged at his arm, “hey. Come on,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

Lance sniffed and let Keith pull him to his other side. He shut his eyes and bit down on his lip. He heard Keith sigh, and then there was a hand, small and warm, rubbing his arm, and a voice, soft and safe, whispering it’ll be okay.

“You didn’t…you didn’t lose me,” Keith mumbled after a moment. “I still love you.”

Lance looked up at him with wide eyes. “I love you, too. Always. I don’t want this to be the end. I want us to work.”

“Me too,” Keith blinked, slow and sure.

“Does that mean we can…we can be us, again?” Lance asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Keith smiled, “I think it does.”

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