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College students, by nature, are creatures of the night. Be it partying, studying, or staring up at ceilings and talking to roommates, campus is far from deep slumber in the late hours.
Which is why Lance is really, really trying to cut Keith and his crazy odd hours some slack. It's not his fault he's a light sleeper and the dorm walls are paper thin, but being awoken by the creaky front door at— he squints at his phone— four in the morning? Doesn't exactly endear him to his weird night owl roommate.
It's only been a couple weeks of first semester, and all Lance really knows about Keith is his last name (Kogane), major (biochem, gross), and job (delivery boy for some shady takeout place— he suspects a drug front.) Otherwise, they both mostly keep to themselves, though not for lack of trying from Lance, who secretly craves that special college roommate Connection™. Right now, not so much craving a connection with this guy's stupid late job hours.
Now that he's awake he can't go back to sleep, especially not with the sounds of Keith pitter-pattering around the dorm. He has to give the guy credit for trying to be quiet, but it's a lost cause. Sighing, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and sets off to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Keith is putting something away in the fridge when Lance walks in, yawning and stretching. He straightens up, somehow managing to look surprised with his brows in that permanent furrow. “I didn't know you were up.”
“I wasn't, til three minutes ago.”
He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry. Someone got fired recently and I have to fill in for them. I swear, I'm not trying to be obnoxious with the whole—” He gestures towards the door.
“It's alright, man.” Lance is kind of cranky, but it's not fair to take it out on Keith. “Not your fault I'm a light sleeper. Or that I have an eight am tomorrow— well, today.” Okay, he's taking it out on Keith a little, some irritation bleeding into his tone.
The other boy bristles. “Look, I really don't have control over what time I get back—”
“No, it's fine. I’m just tired. Whatever.” Fighting would require energy that Lance does Not Have. “I’m gonna go sleep. You should, too.” He crosses the kitchen, forgetting entirely about the glass of water.
“I. Yeah. Good night.” Keith's farewell is met with a flappy hand towards his bedroom door.
~
When Lance walks into the kitchen the next morning, he's surprised by the aroma of coffee permeating the air. Does Keith even drink coffee? The dorm is empty, but Lance heard Keith locking up fifteen minutes ago as he was going for a shower.
He peers into the pot. It’s full, and fresh. One thing Lance refuses to compromise on with his college student budget is decent coffee. In fact, he’s a little miffed that Keith just up and took some of his hard-earned blonde roast— but there only seems to be enough for one person in here? Keith definitely didn’t take any for himself. In fact, he’s pretty sure he remembers Keith scrunching his nose up at Lance’s coffee machine on moving day.
Shrugging, he pours himself some into the turquoise-scarlet acrylic mess of a “World’s Best Uncle” mug his niece Melissa made for him last year. She had presented it to him wrapped in newspaper with little smiley faces on it, proclaiming it was a painting of a sea dragon slaying an army of puny humans. Lance had instantly declared it his favorite mug.
Taking a sip, he sighs. It’s not exactly how he makes it, but in any form, coffee is the elixir of the gods. He wanders over to the table where Keith left his laptop open. Not that he wants to invade the guy’s privacy, but he’s a little curious. It’s not like Keith was looking up porn and left it out in the open, right?
Upon tapping the touchpad, the screen lights up, displaying a WikiHow article entitled “How To Use a Coffee Maker (with Pictures).”
Lance sets his mug down. He’s not sure what surprises him more, than Keith, in twenty-two years, never learned how to use a coffee maker, or than he took the time to look up how to just for Lance. It’s kind of precious, thinking about it.
His phone buzzes.
hunkiest mans <3: Where are you? class starts in three minutes!!
“Shit!” Lance downs the rest of the coffee, wincing at the burn in his throat, and dashes into his room to change, grab his stuff, and sprint across campus.
Throughout the criminally early lecture, Lance’s mind keeps drifting back to the coffee.
Was it out of guilt for waking him up so early? Probably. But it’s a sweet gesture, one that Lance intends to repay somehow.
Upon finally being released from class, Lance heads back to his dorm and makes a beeline towards the fridge. Him and Keith had decided which fridge shelves belonged to whom early on in the semester, meaning he never actually paid attention to what groceries the other bought.
There's a case of tiny plastic bottles with red foil lids. Lance squints at the labels. Biofeel? He's seen Keith drinking these around the dorm, finding his room littered with them on the rare occasions he's allowed in. Only two are left.
Lance pulls out his phone and grabs his keys, tapping “where to find biofeel drinks” into Google. He's a man on a mission.
~
There’s a knock on Lance’s door. Either an exceedingly polite home invader has gotten in, or Keith is back from class.
“Come in,” he calls.
Keith opens the door and sort of edges his way into the room. He’s holding something behind his back.
“How was class?” Lance can tell Keith isn’t great at starting conversations, deciding to give him a little help.
“Huh? Oh, good! It was good. I, uh, wanted to.” Keith draws in a breath. “Okay. I wanted to thank you for getting me these.” He holds up one of the tiny bottles. “They’re, like, my childhood favorite drink and it was really nice of you to get them for me even though I’m an asshole who gets back too late and— yeah. Thanks.” He holds out a fistful of singles. “Here’s the money for it.”
“Dude, what?” Lance laughs. “You don’t have to pay me back, and it’s not your fault your weird takeout place makes you run late hours. Plus, you googled how to make coffee for me. That kinda gesture? Priceless.”
“What, you— oh. You saw that.” Keith’s mouth pinches, looking embarrassed. “Was, was it good? I’m not a coffee person, really, so I don’t know if it turned out okay and I had to leave for training—“
“It was. And that was really nice of you too, man. Thanks.” Lance smiles at him, and Keith smiles back, looking a little flushed.
“I wanted to know if—“ He pauses, struggling with his next words. “Maybe— do you wanna watch this new movie with me? It’s a Netflix original and I’ve heard it’s really good, and you could try some of these.” Keith wiggles the drink towards him, looking hopeful.
Lance has a half-written essay due tomorrow sitting right in front of him on Google Docs.
“Sure.”
ECE is actual, literal hell to understand. Especially during late classes at the end of the week. Lance slumps over as he fiddles with the keys to the dorm, exhaustion inhibiting his fine motor skills. He manages to jam in the right key, twisting it until he falls forward as the door gives way. He doesn’t even care how uncoordinated he probably looks right now, Keith is usually out or in his room doing something involving occasional clanging noises at this hour and— definitely not in the kitchen with his hair scraped back and a bubbling pot of something in front of him.
“Yeah-huh?” Lance isn’t super concerned with sounding like a master of the English language right now, waving his hand vaguely towards the pot and hoping his question comes across.
“I was just making some tea. You want some?” If Lance wasn’t so exhausted, he might have noticed the two mugs already sitting on the counter.
“Sure. Gimme a sec.” He kicks off his shoes, heading towards his room to shrug off his backpack and change into pajamas. The surprisingly efficient infrastructure in the dorms keeps all the rooms just this side of toasty in the autumn months, which is good for Lance’s inability to function in under fifty degrees.
Keith is pouring the tea out into the mugs when he returns, something sweet-smelling and heavy. Fruity, almost? “What is that?”
“Uh, passionfruit tea. It’s my favorite.”
“Smells good. Where’d you get it?”
“My brother gave it to me to try out and, well,” Keith motions to the five boxes stacked on the corner of the counter.
“You have a brother?” Lance suddenly doesn’t feel so tired anymore, perking up at the opportunity to get to know Keith more.
“Yeah, Shiro. You might've seen him, I think he works in the engineering department?”
Lance, having just taken a sip of his tea, splutters a little. “Hugh— wait, Shiro? Physics whiz Shiro?”
Keith raises his eyebrows. “You okay? And yeah, he’s a huge nerd. You know him?”
“Could, uh, could use a little more sugar. And cooling down.” Lance turns to grab the sugar out of cabinet. “I’m just— your brother is Hot TA Shiro?”
“Wait, were you the guy that hit on him during the first day of classes before realizing he wasn’t a student?”
He sets down the jar a little more forcefully than intended. “Um. No?” he says unconvincingly.
“Oh my god,” Keith is sort of hiding his smile behind his mug. Lance kind of wants to tell him he doesn’t have to. “He looks way older than a junior, Lance!”
Lance sinks his head down into his arms. “Please. Let me die in peace.”
“I can’t believe—“
“Tell my family I love them and they can sell my Yu-Gi-Oh collectors’ edition to pay off my student loans.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll let you off. For now.” Lance straightens up to eye level, catching the tail end of Keith’s laugh. His eyes are scrunched up, but Lance can make out the gleam in them. Gray. Keith’s eyes are gray.
“Are you telling me you don’t have any painful college stories?” Gently prompting for personal anecdotes seems to work, Lance thinks. The spoon clatters against the sides of the mug as he stirs in the sugar.
“Well.” Keith sips his tea, raising his eyebrows, looking for all the world like a reaction image.
“Oh, c’mon, there’s something, isn’t there?”
“You’re the second and only other person in the world who will ever know about this.”
“Of course.” Lance leans forward, swallowing a mouthful of now-drinkable tea. “Hey, this is really good.”
“Right? Anyway, uh.” Keith does the smiling-into-his mug thing again. “Oh god, it’s painful to remember.”
“Mhm?”
“Well, I walked into the wrong hall— which, everyone does, right?”
“Yep, if you have no sense of direction.”
Keith rolls his eyes and bumps Lance’s shoulder lightly. He almost jumps at the contact. Drunk-on-tea Keith is friendlier than any other kind Lance has met.
“Anyway, it turned out to be this high-level physics class that I couldn't follow for longer than two minutes, but I was too awkward to just leave, so I hid in the back and messed around on my phone. And then someone sitting next to me asked me about a problem, so I panicked and said, 'I'm gay, I can't do math!’”
Lance chokes on his tea. Keith pounds him on the back as he sputters.
Upon recovering, all he manages is, “Big fuckin’ mood,” before collapsing into laughter again.
Keith rolls his eyes, chuckling a little. “I don't think I've stepped foot in that lecture hall since.”
They pass stories back and forth for a while. Despite his initial awkward demeanor, Keith opens up a surprising amount. Perhaps not entirely, but with a hot beverage in hand and a little more visible comfort around someone, he's got a sharp tongue and wonderfully deadpan punchline delivery. Lance is quietly thrilled that Keith seems to feel this level of comfort around him, like he's being let in on some kind of secret. From what he can tell, Keith doesn't really have a lot of friends. Getting to know him opens a little pocket of giddiness in his chest.
Their mugs of tea have long since been drained, but they stay there, leaning against the counter side-by-side and giggling and shoving each other with little jabs. The tea sits warm in their bellies.
“So, at this point in the scene, my character is in shock and it’s essential that I keep a straight face. Director, main cast, and all my drama club friends are watching and I’m like, this is it. This is the Moment. And Pidge, who has never given a shit about my theatre career, ever, looks up from her script, looks me right in the eye, and says, ‘Then perish.’”
Keith covers his mouth, laughing into his hand. Well, into one of his stupid fingerless gloves. When Lance had asked him about them, he looked down and muttered something that sounded like, “My brother used to wear them and they looked cool,” which is so precious Lance has to make fun of it.
Eventually, Keith is stifling occasional yawns. Lance turns to grab their mugs and deposit them in the sink as Keith makes little smacky noises with his lips after a larger yawn. It's a little endearing.
“Damn, it’s getting late. Do you have any early classes tomorrow?”
Keith glances at the time and winces. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Lance pushes at his shoulder. “Go! To sleep! Eight am Keith is already gearing up to kick your ass.”
“He can't do anything. I'm in control of his physical and mental state. I could break both of my legs right now and where would he be?”
“Keith. Go to sleep.”
Keith heaves a sigh. “Fine.”
They both cross to their respective doors. Lance half-turns and wiggles his fingers.
“G'night, Keith. Thanks for the tea.
“Good night, Lance. Thanks for… thanks.”
Lance is on top of the fucking world. His 366 class had let out fifteen minutes early, meaning he had more time to hang out with Hunk at lunch, and, more importantly, drop by the store for a little something.
He grins, setting the case of cans down on the dining table. After dropping the rest of his stuff and changing into sweatpants, he leans back in one of the chairs and goes to crack open a can when the door bursts open and he nearly shits himself.
“What the fuck?” Lance clasps at his heart. “What chased you up here from the depths of hell?” He finally registers his inky-haired roommate, drenched to the bone and still wearing his ugly red-and-white delivery boy uniform. When did it start raining?
Keith is panting, hunched over with his hands on his knees. “So,” he wheezes out. “Turns out that place was a drug front.”
Silence hangs in the air. Only to be broken by Lance’s mutter. “I fucking knew it.”
“Oh my god, Lance, is that all you care about?” Despite his words, Keith’s tone is light as he pulls his hat off, shaking out his wet hair like a dog.
“Hey, don’t spray me!” Lance ducks for cover, only peeking up to see Keith start unbuttoning his striped shirt. His mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.
“Uh, buddy?” Don’t be weird, don’t be weird. “Maybe strip in your own room?” Why would you say that that’s the exact OPPOSITE of what you want—
Keith huffs. “My towel’s right here.” He gestures towards the chair across from Lance with a towel thrown over it. “And it’s warmer in here. I’d rather not drip all over my room’s carpet and be cold.”
“Right. Yeah.” Lance turns his attention to the green can in front of him, trying to herd his thoughts away from since when is Keith looking like a drowned rat at all attractive and don’t look up I bet he has really nice arms don’t look up don’t—
He looks up.
Keith has nice shoulders, Lance’s brain unhelpfully notes. Like, really nice. Broad. Stocky. Leading down into equally very nice arms. Arms that are grasping the red towel and rubbing at his hair and snapping in front of his face?
“Lance?”
“Yeah?” Right. Keith’s eyes are up there.
“Whatcha spacing out over?”
You.”Your job! Why, uh, what had you sprinting home in the rain?”
“They kind of… busted into the kitchen and told us all to get out ‘cause the cops were coming. And maybe threatened to track us down if we said anything to the authorities?”
Lance’s eyes widen. “Keith! Are we gonna be hunted down by the feds?”
“No, it’s fine.” Keith waves a hand, worryingly nonchalant about the possibility of getting fucking arrested. “This goes up to local level cops at most, and I got out before they arrived.”
“Don’t they have, like, written record of you working there?”
“I don’t think they kept records of any employees? My monthly pay was always in cash.”
“Keith!” Lance throws his hands in the air. “That’s a total drug front move!”
“Well, I needed the money!”
“For fuck’s sake.” Lance’s head is reeling, both from his roommate’s potential pending felony charges and his brain’s utter betrayal of realizing how Hot he is at the Worst Time Possible. He snaps open his can and finally takes a deep gulp.
“What’s that?” Keith takes a break from being Hot to peer curiously at the cans on the dining table.
“Canada Fucking Dry, my friend.” Lance gestures grandly with his can.
Keith shrugs. “Never had it.”
“What?” Lance flails his other hand in the air. “Unacceptable. Get yourself some dry clothes and we’re going to change that right now.”
For the sake of my continued cognitive processes.
Keith half-smiles in that way he does when Lance is being a little extra and complies. As soon as his room door closes, Lance slaps himself across the face.
“What. Are you thinking.” he mutters to himself. “Keith isn’t hot.” Which is a bald-faced lie. He’s hot. And nice, sometimes. And has a little smile and broad shoulders and stupid soft-looking hair and shit, goddamn it, fuck.
Lance is forced to cut his bisexual panic short as Keith steps out, hair ruffled from being toweled off. He motions for Keith to sit across from him, sliding an already-opened can to him.
Keith takes a sip, furrowing his brows. “It's kind of… nothing? Why are you so obsessed with it?’
“What, do you— do you not have taste buds? Singing in the glory of ginger ale? The understated sweetness? The subtlety of the ginger? The tang? The Experience?”
Keith shrugs again. “It just tastes like Sprite but. Off?”
Lance flops back in his chair dramatically. “Unbelievable. And here I thought I was rooming with a man of culture.”
Keith rolls his eyes. “Why do you like it so much?”
“Well, I guess I’m biased because it’s sort of… homey to me? Like,” Lance pauses to take a sip, smiling fondly. “My mami used to give it to me to soothe my stomach, and I just kind of feel it’s like a comfort drink now, y’know?”
“Yeah.” Keith sounds distracted. When Lance turns his attention to him, he’s smiling at him, a little curl up his right cheek. He startles, as if caught.
“Uh, tell me, tell me more about your family.”
“You sure? I’ve been known to go on for hours about them.”
Keith smiles. “I want to hear about them, Lance.”
Lance is not at all equipped to deal with how sincere his voice sounds. Stumbling a little, he starts listing off members, trailing off into anecdotes about this one time or that other thing. He can’t imagine his rambling being too interesting to listen to, but Keith nods along and interjects and… genuinely seems like he cares.
Eventually, it devolves into him pulling up pictures of his siblings with accompanying embarrassing childhood stories.
“Your family seems interesting. And, uh, colorful.” Keith looks pointedly towards the picture Lance has up of one of their crazy reunions.
While scrolling through pictures, they’ve ended up leaning towards each other over the table. Lance sort of bumps Keith’s arm with the back of his hand. “They all wanna meet you, y’know. Can’t imagine why.”
Keith raises an eyebrow. “What, have you been talking about me?”
Foot, meet mouth. “Uh, well,” Lance stutters, “I’ve mentioned you. A couple of times. I mean, they wanna know why I’m rooming with a weirdo. With weird job hours. And no fashion sense.”
“What?” Keith looks down at his t-shirt, the words “The Truth Is Out There” emblazoned across his chest. “What do you mean?”
“Okay, not no fashion sense,” Lance amends. “But you have so much potential that you limit with X-Files t-shirts and sweatpants.”
“What potential?”
Lance looks at him dead-on. “Dude. You’re hot.” Keith splutters on his sip of Canada Dry, but Lance plows on. “You have this whole, whole ‘carelessly attractive’ thing going on. Like, Korean street fashion. Pastel. Denim jackets. The world is your oyster!”
“Uh. I mean.” Keith’s cheeks are flushed a pleasant pink. “Thanks? I don’t know, uh, that much about fashion but those sound. Cool.”
Cool cool cool I just called him hot to his face no doubt no doubt no doubt— “We should go shopping! Downtown!” Lance says too loudly. “This weekend, if you’re free?”
Keith drums the table in mock thought. “Well, considering that I’m unemployed now, I guess I can make some time.”
Lance grins back at him, willing his ears to stop burning. Thankfully, his “class starts in ten minutes, dumbass” alarm chooses that moment to blare from his phone, and he’s up and bouncing around to prepare facing the downpour outside within seconds.
“See ya!” he calls over his shoulder as he hefts his umbrella upward. There’s a bounce in his step as he pushes through the door and out into the rain, and he thinks that bubbliness might be from something other than the ginger ale.
A crash in the kitchen jolts Lance from his extremely academic and productive perusal of Instagram for thirst follows. It’s not like he wants to get up, but he doesn’t want his roommate bleeding out on the kitchen tiles either, so he tosses his phone aside and goes to investigate the sound.
“Keith?” he calls as he approaches the kitchen. All he hears is low muttering and some clanking. “You good, buddy?”
He gets his answer when he rounds the corner to see a stack of pots haphazardly scattered in the sink, like they’d been dropped. Keith is sitting on the floor, wrapped in a gray blanket and clutching a bottle of wine and a glass.
“Hey, you alright?”
Keith takes a gulp, straightfaced. “Stellar.”
“You sure?”
Keith doesn’t respond. Lance sits on the ground in front of him. He figures he’ll give him a second to gather his thoughts.
After a couple seconds, Keith holds out his glass to Lance.
“Want some?”
What the hell. Lance takes a sip, unphased by the cheap taste. He’s downed worse.
“Wanna talk about it?
“Give me ‘sec,” Keith mumbles.
“Okay.”
They sit in silence for a minute. Keith passes the glass over a couple times and Lance, against his better judgement, indulges himself. It’s not like he has anywhere to be tomorrow.
“You ever tell yourself, ‘I’m never going to take anything for granted,’ and then. Something comes along, and you get used to it, and then you step away and you realize you never looked hard enough to see that’s what you were doing the whole time?”
Lance swallows, taken aback by the note of desperation in Keith's voice. “I, uh, can’t say I can remember exactly if I have, but I get what you’re saying.”
“Me ‘n Shiro aren’t blood-related. Not that that matters. He’s as much a brother to me as he would be if we were. Does that make sense?”
Lance nods encouragingly. Keith heaves a sigh.
“I was… I’ve been in the system since I was eleven. And I met Shiro and he was, he always knew what to do. And he helped me figure out what to do. And he was there for me for so long, and I got used to it, and he’s still here, you know? It’s dumb.” Keith scrubs at his face frustratedly. Lance gently grasps his hand and holds it between his own.
“It’s not dumb.”
“Shiro’s been… busy. I get it, he has a, a job ‘n a boyfriend and all, y’know, but he’s. I.” Keith shakes his head frustratedly. “He’s got more important things to worry about than me being— being stupid or sad—“
“Hey,” Lance cuts in. “You’re his brother. He will always have time for you.” Maybe it’s the wine, but the thought of Keith thinking he’s not worth someone’s time is unbearable. “My little sister, Rachel, used to think that too. But,” he grips Keith’s hand tighter, “She talked to me about it. We worked it out. And even now, we call at least three times a week.” He bumps Keith’s knee with his own. “You don’t have to do it right now, but tell him how you’re feeling. Your problems aren’t— they’re not unimportant to the people that care, Keith. Shiro cares.” Lance tips Keith’s chin up so their eyes are locked. “I care.”
The air is heavy with something unidentifiable. Keith is the first to look away. “Thank you, I—“ His voice is low and rough. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Keith.”
Keith tilts his head back to rest against the kitchen cabinet. “What, uh, about you? Any family problems you feel like sharing?”
Lance makes an attempt at a laugh. “Just the usual. Big family, middle child problems, y’know.”
“No, I don’t know. Tell me.” Keith’s gaze is still… heavy. Lance shifts a little under his scrutiny.
“Well, me and Rachel are the closest, obviously, being the babies of the family. Everyone else is grown up with jobs and kids. And my parents are… they’re the best. Wouldn’t trade them for anything.” Lance smiles distantly. “They’re good to me.”
“Do you ever feel, I guess, pressure? Expectations? I got that from some families.” Keith takes another sip, wineglass and bottle near empty.
Lance sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not really like they’re pressuring me. I’m the one pressuring myself because I don’t wanna let them down.” He laughs. “I mean, can’t be the disappointment of the family for too long, right?”
“You can’t.”
“Huh?”
“You can’t be. You aren’t a disappointment.” Keith leans forward, close to Lance, too close. “You push yourself so hard when it comes to academics. And it, it fucking pays off. But not just— I mean, you’re also kind.” Keith looks down. “You’re— the most people person I know. You’re good at, at feelings shit.” He chuckles, motioning between them. “Knowing what to say. Figuring out what needs to be helped. I— I still haven’t really figured that out. But you’re good, good at things and just— good.” He looks up. “I can’t imagine them being anything but proud of you, Lance.”
Lance kind of wants to cry. Or kiss Keith. Or both. Even now, in a wine-drunken haze, he can feel himself leaning in closer. And maybe his perspective is addled, but he swears Keith is leaning in too.
A clunk has them both jolting back. Keith’s grip had slackened on the empty bottle, but luckily it was close enough to the ground to keep it from shattering.
Both of them try to say something at the same time.
“I sho-”
“I di-”
Normally Lance's brain would be in panic mode, but the wine seems to have muffled his internal screaming. He just feels sort of unsteady.
“We should. We should try and sleep this off,” he manages, doing his best to sound decisive and break out of the rosy haze that's telling him to finish what they were about to start.
Keith opens his mouth in protest, then hunches his shoulders and drops his gaze.
“Hey.” Lance taps his knee. “I was. Um. I was okay with that. But let's give it another try when we can think a little more clearly, okay?”
A nod. “Yeah. I— uh, okay.” Keith presses his lips together in a tired smile, looking a little more at ease. “What you said before, just. I care too, okay?”
“Okay,” Lance parrots dumbly, still unable to tear his eyes away from Keith's face. “And you. You're pretty good at this feelings stuff too. Thanks for letting me. Y'know.”
“Anytime, Lance.”
They sit there for minutes or maybe hours. Things aren't settled, but there's nothing that demands immediate action.
Lance can breathe.
Damn the bottle’s all sweaty and everything
You went and got this
A week later, Lance is puttering around the kitchen, pulling out a pot and setting milk, cornstarch, and sugar on the counter. He’s humming along to his Chill Vibes Spotify playlist in the background, murmuring absentmindedly when he can recall the lyrics.
The calm atmosphere is broken by Keith bustling in, stomping his boots.
“The forecast did not predict the fucking blizzard that I just walked through,” Keith announces, coughing as he swipes away the snow scattered on his coat and hat. Lance laughs, walking over to help.
“Poor you. But hey, no more walking to classes for the next month! How’d your last final go?” Lance yanks Keith’s beanie off unceremoniously, earning him a dirty look and a staticy mess of hat hair.
“It’s whatever. I’m just glad it’s over.”
Lance frowns a little at Keith’s sidestep, but decides not to pry. Things haven’t been awkward between them, per se, but they still haven’t really talked about last week. He hopes that now, without the stress of classes hanging over their heads, they can.
“Well, if you’re gonna whine about being cold, want some hot chocolate to warm you up?”
He gets a little smile out of Keith this time. “I’d like that. What, uh, is that all for hot chocolate?” He nods towards the ingredients on the counter.
“Yup. Secret family recipe. Give me ten minutes to work my magic.”
“We have instant mix, you know. And a microwave.”
Lance laughs softly. “Sometimes, it's nice to do things the long way round.”
Keith looks away again. “Yeah, I guess.”
After disposing of his winter gear, Keith pads into the kitchen in an oversized sweater. Lance’s stomach flips over pleasantly at the sight. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah.” Lance hands Keith an oversized chocolate bar. “Start breaking this up. And no snacking, it’ll pay off in the end.”
Lance starts heating up the milk as Keith makes short work of the bar. Once he’s done, he hops up to sit on the counter and Lance has him intermittently toss in chunks to melt.
Lance looks up at Keith, shredding the paper wrapper as he waits, and thinks perfect kissing height. Followed shortly by a mental slap to the face.
“Here, mix this.” Lance shoves a bowl of water and cornstarch into Keith’s hands, trying not to let his stupid mushy feelings get in the way of making good, rich chocolate caliente.
Keith keeps his eyes on the mixture. “How did your finals go?”
“Mmm, I’m glad they’re over. Thinking too much about how I did will just make me spiral, but… okay, I guess?”
“I should hope so, you were studying your ass off for weeks.”
“Yeah, well.” Lance bumps Keith’s knee. “Not all of us are assholes who do well without having to try.”
They banter as the rich smell begins to fill the kitchen. Lance is grateful for their back-and-forth exchanges, the verbal jabs familiar and easy. They’ve grown a lot from stilted, one-sided conversations. Lance pours out the thick drink into two oversized mugs, sprinkling a little bit of cinnamon in each, and hands one to Keith.
They clink their mugs and take a long draught of hot chocolate. Keith’s eyes widen.
“Oh my god.”
“I know.”
They’re silent for a minute just to relish in the creamy taste, taking little sips now because it’s almost unbearably rich. After some time, they take to chattering again, and the conversation turns to how exactly they got here from those awkward first weeks as roommates.
Lance leans leans against the opposite counter, his tone reminiscent.
“Remember when you didn’t know how to make coffee?”
“I still don’t really get it, so don’t go expecting to make you a fresh pot every morning.”
“Remember when I used to make fun of your gloves?” Lance steps forward to tug on one of them, leaning in closer to Keith’s space.
Keith levels him with a flat look. “Lance, you did that this morning.”
“Stop living in the past.”
“Remember when you guilt-tripped me into providing you caffeine?”
“Remember when I got you Korean yogurt smoothies and we were even? And not being petty over past wrongdoings?” Lance rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
Keith says softly, “We’ve come a long way since then, huh?”
“Yeah.”
And suddenly their mugs are clattering to the counter as Lance steps impossibly closer between Keith’s legs and Keith lifts his hands to cup his jaw and—
Their noses bump. Keith giggles and Lance muffles the sound with his lips and their mouths are warm and sweet and they fit together so, so well.
Time passes the same way it did in this very kitchen last week— minutes that could be hours, but neither of them care.
Lance pulls away.
Keith's eyes are gray, and the skin around them in crinkled into a tentative smile.
“Was that alright?”
“Was that— you dumbass, of course it was.” Keith laughs, light and giddy. His hands are still holding Lance’s face but they’re warm and Lance sort of wants to stay like this forever.
“Okay.” Lance can’t stop grinning. “Cool. Awesome. Alright isn’t the best review I’ve gotten, but—“
Keith cuts him off with another kiss, but he’s giggling too much and it’s contagious. They pull back again, foreheads touching.
“Are we a thing now? Does that mean I can tell you that your shoulders are to die for?”
Keith shoves at his shoulder. “Lance!”
Getting Keith flustered, Lance thinks, might be one of his favorite hobbies now. “And great arms. I mean Great arms. Brain-malfunction-causing arms—“
“Oh my god, shut up. And…” Keith looks at Lance, his voice dropping. “We are. If you’d like to be. A thing.”
Lance leans in again, this time just to muffle his goofy smile against Keith’s sweater.
“I would very much like to be a thing.” He nuzzles against Keith’s neck— warm, just like the rest of him. “How do you manage to run, like, ten degrees higher than a normal human?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s probably the gloves. And the hair, it’s thick enough to be a 100% organic ugly hat.”
“Hey!” Keith kicks at Lance’s side. “You can’t really hate my hair that much.”
“No, and that’s the tragedy,” Lance sighs mournfully. “Your face is pretty enough to make up for it.”
“You’re one to talk.” Keith flicks Lance’s nose. It’s so natural, their easy physical affection from before sliding into place between them now. “Being the prettiest boy on campus.”
Both of their cheeks are flushed and they pay it no mind. “Hey,” Lance interjects, reaching out to grab one of their mugs. “We aren’t letting my homecooked delicacy go to waste.” He pointedly takes a sip.
“Wait, lemme check if yours tastes any different from mine.” Before Lance can roll his eyes at how cheesy that set-up was, Keith is pulling him in for another kiss.
Tonight, we’re drinking straight from the bottle.