Chapter Text
They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, but Keith thinks Shakespeare would do the job just as well.
Perhaps he was being dramatic, but analyzing the significance of ghosts in a story about revenge and how Shakespeare's literacy devices amplify that theme is something Keith wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. It's pointless and boring and cannot possibly aid Keith in any aspect of his life, future or present.
So he cheats.
But only on the homework. He's honest about his work when he takes tests but for essays and worksheets he just googles the answers or copies Pidge (a mostly willing party depending on what Keith has to offer in return).
Shiro walks past his set up in the living room, stealing a quick glance at his laptop and paper, and Keith prepares himself for the stupid fucking comment he's about to make. Keith anticipated this; Shiro can never help himself. Self righteous bastard.
“You won't learn anything that way.” Shiro remarks smartly as he returns to the kitchen to watch his broth boil. Adam is beside him chopping up several vegetables; he seems considerably less bothered by Keith's academic choices and more frustrated by the baby carrots that keep rolling on the counter.
“It's Shakespeare. I think I'll be Ok.” Keith assures him, remaining steadfast in his dishonest work.
“That how you got to be top of your class?” Shiro asked with faint condescendence: a low blow. Keith doesn't fall for the bait.
“Lay off, old man.” Keith scoffs, typing in the next question word-for-word and quickly finding a Quizlet with the answers. Score.
“I'm just saying, you could stand to be a bit more honest with your schoolwork.” He’s using his stupid older-brother-role-model voice and it's starting to annoy Keith. He looks up to glare at Shiro and finds Adam doing the same.
“Takashi, I literally took all your notes in chem while you napped.” Adam reminds him, resuming his battle with the carrots before he can see Shiro's reaction.
Shiro goes a bit red in the face, clearly not unfazed by Adam's sudden counter. Keith only smirks back and tilts his head at his brother, daring him to try and continue his lecture after that.
“As you were.” Shiro curtly nods and clears his throat, checking the temperature of his broth intensely.
“Thought so.” Keith smiles. Adam gives him a wink before continuing his struggle with the carrots. Keith goes back to cheating with a fresh reminder of why Adam is his favorite.
They work in a comfortable silence: Shiro with his broth, Adam with his cutting board, and Keith with his cheating. There are vegetables crunching under a knife and keys clacking under fingertips.
(And in the back of his mind he’s reminded of everything it took to get to this point and suddenly his bones feel tired. He never wants to leave this moment).
Keith is almost finished with his dishonest work when Adam puts the knife down and wipes his hands on his shirt.
“Veggies are chopped. I’m gonna finish my lesson plans for tomorrow. Let me know when dinner’s ready.” He leans over and gives Shiro a quick peck on the lips. Keith makes a show out of fake gags and choked sounds, earning himself a celery stick to the head–courtesy of Adam. Keith glares at him before softening his look at Shiro, emphasizing the fact that he’s the victim in this scenario. Shiro shrugs indifferently.
“Have fun.” Shiro remarks as his boyfriend disappears up the stairs and into his study.
“Traitor.” Keith grumbles under his breath. Shiro rolls his eyes and starts dumping the vegetables into the broth.
There’s a moment of silence and Keith thinks he’ll have a good few minutes of productive work as he finishes his assignment, but it doesn’t take long for Shiro to start talking again. By the tone of his voice, Keith anticipates some degree of annoyance by the end of the conversation.
“You have a bruise.” Shiro comments.
It’s a small mark in the middle of his forehead from when he banged it against the lunch table. It’s only varying shades of brown–minor and almost undetectable, but apparently very noticeable to Shiro.
“What an astute observation.” Keith deadpans, copying his answers word for word from the computer.
“How’d you get it?”
As if he could explain that. What the fuck was he supposed to say? That he smacked his head really fucking hard against a table because he got too warm and cozy with Lance’s hand against his skin and when he let go he forgot to function for a bit? Keith thinks not.
“Does it matter? It doesn’t hurt or anything. I feel fine.” Keith deflects the question easily, as nonchalant as he can. For a moment he thinks Shiro is done and that Keith has flown far from his detection, but then he asks him something completely unexpected.
“When’s the last time you talked to Dr. Kolivan?”
His psychologist. Why does it matter?
“Hmm? A couple months ago. Why?” Keith looks up at his brother with furrowed brows. Shiro is busying himself with stirring the soup, making a grand effort not to look Keith in the eyes.
“Do you have another appointment planned?”
“Yeah, in a month.”
“Do you think you should start seeing him more often?”
Shiro looks up from his soup and Keith’s heart stops. There’s fear in his face. Something resembling sadness, but softer. There’s a hint of something akin to disappointment in his frown. And Keith knows he’s not looking at him. He’s not seeing Keith–he’s seeing someone else, someone Keith has long since buried.
“What?” Keith croaks out.
“I’m just worried that you’re falling back into some old habits.” Shiro answers honestly, fidgeting with the wooden spoon he’s using to stir the soup.
Keith hates it. He hates the way Shiro is looking at him, like he’s fragile, like he’s a breath away from falling apart. He wants to snap back at him, but he knows that will only cause more room for concern. He counts his breaths, he holds his air, he blinks his eyes, and he answers as reasonably as he can.
“Jesus Christ Shiro. I’m not getting in fights. I fell during gym and smacked my head against the bleachers.” The lie comes out smoothly–as they often do. He hadn’t even prepared this one; it slid quickly and effortlessly off his tongue.
(He’s relieved to know that his skill is still intact. He wasn’t sure after the last attempt he made at lying.)
(He’s angry to know that Lance remains the only exception across all boards.)
“You promise?” Shiro’s voice sounds small, weak–hopeful.
“Swear to God. I’m not like that anymore, Shiro. You know that. I’m doing better now.” He assures his brother. It’s true. He knows it’s true. He hasn’t gotten into a fight in years. So why does he feel so guilty? Why does he feel like he’s lying to him still? Like he’s withholding more information than just the bruise?
“You’re right.” Shiro sighs and turns down the heat on his soup to a simmer, visibly more relaxed than a few moments ago. “I’m sorry. My thoughts run wild sometimes.”
“It’s fine. I guess it comes with age.” Keith smirks, earning an eye roll from Shiro.
Keith tries to go back to his work, intending to replace this feeling with general productivity. He didn’t like feeling this way–whatever it was: a general wrongness, a deep disconnect, and gnawing sensation in his stomach. His thoughts are interrupted by a ping from his phone.
Sexiest Man Alive 7:12pm
after some thoughtful consideration
ive decided to help u with ur crush on james griffin
Me 7:12pm
help?
Sexiest Man Alive 7:13pm
win him over
wow him
woo him
seduce him
if u will
Me 7:13pm
OK you can stop now
I did not ask for that btw
Sexiest Man Alive 7:13pm
didnt have to
its what good friends do 😎
Me 7:14pm
beg to differ
Sexiest Man Alive 7:14pm
heres what i was thinking
u and i go to his game friday and cheer him on or whtver
he sees u in the crowd (we sit close) and its love at first sight 😍
Me 7:15pm
weren’t you gonna go with Elena?
Sexiest Man Alive 7:15pm
ye but if i tell her its an emergency (ur love life) shell understand
she wont mind
trust
Me 7:15pm
right
Sexiest Man Alive 7:16pm
ill pick u up at 6 😎
pls wear smth thats NOT a hoodie
Keith rolls his eyes at his phone but doesn’t acknowledge Lance’s persistence much more than that. He turns to Shiro to quickly let him know.
“Lance and I are going out Friday. I’ll be home late.”
“Cool. Can you get Adam? I’m almost done.”
“Sure.”
Keith pushes up off the floor and treks upstairs to get Adam, an unsettling wave of guilt washing over him.
He doesn’t finish his homework that night.
Keith is reminded rather quickly of why he doesn’t attend any sport events.
The bleachers are packed close and tight (which is mostly Lance’s fault with his childish insistence on being as close to the ground as possible) and the crowd is in incomprehensible roaring buzz in his ears. When Lance talks to him he has to yell and Keith can slowly feel his sanity draining.
Most everyone in the stands were currently on their feet cheering on the home team–Keith and Lance amongst the crowd. Keith intended on sitting in his seat and finishing the book he brought, but Lance had promptly grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet (and maybe the touch would’ve felt warm against his skin had it not been for the chilly air and his ever-growing annoyance).
“Isn’t this fun?!” Lance turns and shouts at Keith.
“Mhm. Super.” Keith purses his lips and nods.
He has no fucking clue what is happening. He knows his school is beating the other one but he doesn’t know how or what the chances are that it stays that way. Lance seems entirely entertained, though. So, maybe Keith doesn’t mind all that much after all.
And then they win.
And everyone is shouting and hollering and whistling and jumping. Bodies are bumping and colliding with one another, cheering on the first win of the season, and Keith prays they lose the next 10 games if this is how people often act (not that he intends to ever attend another game).
“WOOHOO!” Lance screams alongside the crowd, his cheeks red and his eyes sparkling.
Perhaps he could tolerate it a little bit longer.
“We won!” Lance turns and shouts to Keith once again.
“I see that.” Keith lets out a small chuckle and nods at Lance’s words.
Once the cries have died down and people are starting to clear from the field and stadium, Lance quickly latches onto Keith’s wrist and starts pulling him down the bleachers. Keith promptly stumbles on his own two feet until Lance hauls him back up.
“Dude-!” Keith starts to protest whatever the fuck Lance is doing.
“Hurry! This way!” Lance smiles, ignoring Keith’s pleas–not an unusual occurrence. Because Lance is eager and impatient, he drags him through the crowd. And because Keith is weak and never should have learned to love him in the first place, he lets him.
“What are we doing?” Keith pointlessly shouts at his friend.
“We are seizing an opportunity!” Lance says matter-of-factly, stupidly pointing a finger into the air. Keith rolls his eyes and prays that Lance’s legs will stop working and that he eats shit on the rows of metal seats.
He unfortunately does not.
“Lance!” Keith growls. They’ve pushed past several people, earning several glares and snarls.
“This way!” Lance giggles.
“Lance-” Keith shuts his mouth and furrows his brows when he realizes that Lance is leading them away from the exit.
He is pushing and pulling and dragging him until they are flushed to the front of a small group. They are on the ground, level with the playing field, and only inches away from another exit.
No, wait, not an exit. An entrance. To the lockers. They were oddly close to the lockers. The home team lockers.
Shit.
Everything clicks in Keith’s head and he immediately starts to back away, but Lance is quicker than he lets on to be and already has a firm grasp on Keith’s wrist.
(Keith is strong for his size. He’s nimble. He’s witty. He’s taken on groups of people twice his size. He could easily wiggle from Lance’s grasp knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to catch up.)
(His strength is well beyond what it should be, but it’s nowhere near enough to pull away from Lance.)
“Lance, I swear-”
“James! James!” Lance cups his hands around his mouth and starts shouting towards the players making their way over to them.
“Lance, shut the fuck up!” Keith hisses into his ear.
“James!” Lance waves to get his attention.
“I am begging you, Lance.” Keith whisper-yells. It’s pointless. He knows it’s pointless. Lance was nothing if not stubborn and listening to Keith is his least favorite activity.
“Over here, James!”
Keith is ready to cover Lance’s mouth and drag him under the bleachers and beat him into silence, but suddenly James is jogging over to the two of them, helmet and gear jostling in his grasps with sweat-ridden hair strands matted against his forehead. If it were a normal day or Keith were a different person, he might think James looked good–attractive, almost. But all he can think about is how good Lance would look with his hair messed up and out of breath with sweat dripping down his-
“Lance! Glad to see you made it!” James stops in front of them, smiling when he sees Lance. It’s like Keith isn’t even there and Keith prays it stays that way.
“Me too! You did great!” Lance beams. Keith knows full well that Lance was not watching James, maybe not even the game, really. He just thrives off chaos and overtly boisterous crowds act like a drug on him.
“Thanks, man.” James chuckles. It sounds nothing like Lance’s. It’s breathy and dry. “Did you bring your girl?”
“Nah, brought someone better.”
Before Keith can overthink Lance’s words, before he can scoff at the stupid black paint on James’ cheeks, before he can turn and run away, Lance is wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. His grip is tight and maybe Keith would feel the sudden surge of butterflies, but he knows this is not for affection; it’s for insurance. “This is Keith and he’s a huge fan.”
“No, I’m-” Keith starts to protest but suddenly there’s a sharp pinch at his side. Keith promptly shuts his mouth before trying again.
“Huge fan.” Keith deadpans.
“I know Keith.” James chuckles at the introduction, seemingly none the wiser to Keith’s disdain. “It’d be kinda hard not to when he’s top of the class. I didn’t know you liked football, Keith.”
“Yup. Love it so much.” Keith continues his deadpan expression and Lance pinches him again, harder. Keith quickly smacks Lance’s hand off his waist at the same time James not so subtly does a once over on Keith, looking him up and down and smiling. Keith instantly regrets pushing Lance’s hand away. He feels exposed now–raw and bare.
“You should come watch more often. I can hook you up with some good seats.” James kindly offers. Keith knows this trick, this farce. He’s seen James play it on several others, he’s seen plenty of guys try it as well. Hell, Keith’s considered going along with it in the past, but then he remembers the scent of cedarwood shampoo and warm tan hands and it doesn’t seem all that fun anymore.
“Mhm.” Keith hums in acknowledgement, clearly disinterested but he doesn’t earn another pinch from Lance (considerably a win).
“Anyways, James, Keith and I were gonna grab a bite to eat. Wanna come?” Lance quickly invites.
No, they were not.
They had plans of going fucking no where. They were going to walk around Keith’s neighborhood, kicking rocks and smoking cigarettes. Which was arguably a lot better than having dinner with James Griffin, but Keith keeps his mouth shut.
(He considers pretending to be a least a bit interested, but the thought makes him nauseous and he knows he can easily play off the aversion as embarrassment.)
“I wish I could, but I have work early tomorrow. Rain check?” James quickly declines and Keith feels a quiet sight of relief leave his body. He can’t tell if James is lying or not, but frankly, he doesn’t care. He’s just glad to have gotten out of future torture.
“Where do you work?” Lance asks.
“Autoshop, just off Olkari road.”
“That’s wild,” Lance starts and Keith knows he’s about to say some of the stupidest shit that’ll piss him off. “Because Keith actually needs to get his bike fixed or some shit. Isn’t that right, Keith?”
Lance nudges his elbow into Keith’s side and Keith glares at him before answering.
“Yup. Some shit.”
“You should drop by tomorrow. I could help you out.” James winks at him. Fucking winks. Keith feels his skin itch. His fingertips twitch. The hair stands up on the back of his neck.
“Sounds perfect! It’s a date!” Lance claps his hands together.
“Ok.” James chuckles at Lance’s excitement before starting to walk away.
“Bye James!” Lance waves to him. Keith remains still.
“Bye Lance! Bye Keith!” James waves back. Keith hates the way his name sounds in his mouth.
Once he’s out of sight and there’s enough room around them, Keith quickly pushes Lance onto his ass. Unexpected but deserved. Lance looks up at Keith in disbelief.
“Hey! What was that for?” Lance pouts. It doesn’t work on Keith. Not this time.
“Your life is going to end.” Keith tells him, starting to walk away.
“You’re so dramatic.” Lance scoffs, scrambling off the floor and catching up with Keith.
“In fact, I think it will end very soon.” Keith continues, looking straight ahead.
“You’ll thank me later!” Lance says in a sing-song tone, nudging his body in Keith’s personal space.
(Keith pushes him away and pretends not to regret this as well.)
“No, I don’t think I will.”
“Whatever. We need to plan what you’re going to wear tomorrow!” Lance beams with excitement.
Keith groans on the walk back to Lance’s car and promptly tunes out any and all suggestions Lance makes.
He’s starting to really regret his choice of crush. But, another part of him is giddy with excitement. Lance canceled his plans with Elena to do this with him. He’s predicting Lance will do that a lot more in the following weeks for Keith’s “love life”, which means more time with Lance and less time with Elena. And Keith doesn’t want to say that brings him joy, but it definitely doesn’t bother him as much as it should either. The attention is nice. It’s warm. It’s rewarding.
And for a moment, just a moment, Keith can pretend that it’s just the two of them again and nothing has changed.