Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Keith is not fond of silence.
In fact, he'd go as far as to say he hates silence.
Because his life has only ever been non-stop noise; one thing after the other and that was something he'd grown familiar with–something he relied on. The brief moments between each disaster were filled with anxious waiting and dreadful anticipation.
It's just the calm before the storm and Keith thinks he prefers the storm. At least the storm was honest with how it hurt him. At least the storm welcomed him back each time with wayward branches and bloody leaves. The storm was something and the calm was nothing , and something was always better than nothing.
Of course, he'd never admit it out loud. People seem to be under the impression that Keith is partial to quiet solitude, and he's more than content with letting them think that. Sure, he enjoyed being alone, but that was more for the sake of reliability rather than peace. Nonetheless, people leave him to his empty noise and Keith's too unbothered to tell them otherwise.
And yet, Lance somehow already knows.
Or maybe he doesn't know? Maybe he just fills the gaps naturally and maybe that's why Keith doesn't mind silence when it's coming from Lance–because it's never still.
Keith's more than content to walk the damp streets with the only thing leaving his lips being the smoke from his cigarette. Lance seems content enough to fill the silence with the sound of a stupid rock fumbling across the road. Their path is erratic and astray in order to keep up with the rock, but Keith thinks he wouldn't have it any other way.
Keith knows this night won't be filled with distilled silence like he wants, because Lance is far too focused on the path of his rock and is trying far too hard to keep Keith as close as possible, as if he'd run away if Lance wasn't within grabbing distance.
“I don't like it when you smoke.”
And that's probably why.
(To be fair, Keith thinks he might have ran if Lance wasn't within grabbing distance, just to piss him off. His tactics are stupid and his impulse control is weak.)
Lance brings up his disdain for Keith's addictive habits at least once a week. He's never once hesitated to voice his opinion, and Keith's relationship with cigarettes was no exception. Keith brushed off the comments at first, but they slowly got more persistent, pestering and warm and expected and honest–and Keith thinks he prefers the silence on this one.
“I know.” Keith grumbles, taking another drag of his cigarette.
When he looks over, he sees Lance staring him down with a frown. He doesn’t seem angry or disappointed or frustrated, he just looks sad, and Keith knows it’s his fault. Lance is rarely serious but he’s equally rarely dishonest. So Keith does what he does best and avoids Lance's gaze. He watches his feet pick up and drag against the group still wet from hours of raining and lifts his hand to his mouth. He can’t do it, though. He can’t muster the strength left to take another drag. The farthest he can go is zipping his jacket up to his chin and choosing his next words carefully.
“I’m trying to…quit.”
No, he fucking wasn’t.
He had no intentions of quitting any time soon, but he thinks he wants to. He wants to have those intentions, those values; he wants to find a less damaging outlet than filling his lungs with smoke, but he also doesn’t care enough to change. But Lance cares enough, he cares more than enough, and that makes Keith want to care. The cycle is exhausting and dramatic and absurd and Keith hates it, so he smokes.
“You’re doing great.” Lance deadpans, clearly unamused by Keith’s blatant lie.
(Keith doesn’t even feel the slightest bit ashamed. He should probably feel ashamed?)
“Thanks.” Keith retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Why don't you try a rock?” Lance pauses to reach down and pluck his rock off the ground, offering it to Keith. Keith glares at him before deliberately walking ahead of Lance down the road.
“Kinda hard to smoke a rock.” Keith makes a show of blowing smoke rings. Lance sprints to catch up and watches the smoke dissipate into the air. Keith knows that Lance thinks they’re cool (as much as he tries to deny it) and has since perfected it. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Lance staring in awe at the circles. Keith can’t stop the smirk forming across his lips nor can he stop the way Lance blushes in shame and anger as he looks away.
“But you can kick it.” Lance ignores the smoke rings entirely now, throwing his rock back onto the ground and proceeding with his silly game.
“I guess crystal meth counts as a rock?”
“Please don’t smoke crack.”
“You suggested it.”
Lance giggles out loud. It’s airy and sweet and syrupy and Keith turns his head to hide his smile.
(Friends don’t feel warm and safe when the other laughs. He keeps reminding himself that. Maybe if he says it enough then the warmth will fade away.)
(It never will.)
Once Keith has complete control over his face he starts watching the road. Lance’s rock game has gotten considerably more intense as he’s kicking harder and chasing further as if it were a soccer ball. Keith has to jog to keep up and prays that the small distance between them is enough to cover his stupid grin and distasteful warmth in his belly.
A particularly hard kick to the rock sends it flying way to the left and Lance is far too focused on following it to take into consideration Keith’s personal space (not that he ever put Keith’s personal space into consideration). He knocks against Keith’s shoulder, causing Keith to stumble towards the ground.
Fortunately, Keith is quick enough to throw his hands out and stop himself from faceplanting onto the wet asphalt. Unfortunately, the cigarette between his fingers was a forced sacrifice for such luxuries.
His cigarette is now laying wet and extinguished in a small puddle alongside his hands. All Keith can do is push himself to his feet and stare as the last cigarette from his pack becomes soggy and useless in rainwater. He pouts at the sight but has no intentions of being bothered by it.
Until he hears Lance snicker behind him. He glares over his shoulder to see the idiot laughing at Keith’s current tragedy as if it were childish humor. His eyes crinkle in the corners and his lips are upturned and full as snorts fill the air. His cheeks are flushed and his laughter truly cracking and unflattering.
The wasted cigarette doesn’t bother Keith; Lance, however, pisses him off.
He tells himself he’s angry at Lance’s lack of empathy, but he knows Lance has no empathy when it comes to smoking. He knows he’s not mad at Lance. He’s mad at his sickeningly sweet laugh and tender eyes. He’s mad at the butterflies in his stomach. He’s mad at all these feelings and he’s mad that Lance makes him feel this way.
So, he soaks in the anger and lets himself be childish. He stomps over to the unattended rock and sends as much power as he can into his kick. The innocent sediment is relocated into the swale of a stranger's lawn. It wasn’t unobtainable but it wasn’t accessible without traversing through a marshy lawn that housed a handful of other rocks that all looked identical in Keith’s opinion.
Lance’s laughter is cut off with a disappointed frown and now it’s Keith’s turn to smile victorious.
“Hey!” Lance furrows his brows and glares at him.
“Oops.” Keith deadpans, continuing the walk.
“That was uncalled for!” Lance shouts at him.
“You owe me a cigarette.”
“You owe me a rock.”
“I’m not getting you a rock.”
“I’m not buying you lung cancer.”
Keith slows his pace and squints at Lance, gauging how he's meant to respond to this. Sometimes it's hard to tell when Lance is genuinely upset or he's just masking mild annoyance with playfulness. (Discerning emotions about himself let alone others was difficult enough.) The fluidity of Lance's words and steadiness of his strides were enough for Keith to feel at ease and continue with indifference.
“You irritate me.” Keith shrugs, looking away.
The comment must spark something in Lance because suddenly he gasps and is nudging Keith's shoulder to get his attention (as if he doesn't already have it. As if he doesn't always have it. As if Lance isn't all that he can hear and see and think about and want and-).
“You know who irritates me?” Keith knows that this is an opportunity Lance is seizing to rant about some superficial and absurd drama at school, but it's familiar. It's better than silence.
“Do tell.” And Keith, like always, plays along.
“James Griffin.”
Which is a name they’ve brought up before. It’s nothing more than surface-level with James. One minute he’s just a guy and the next he’s the spawn of Satan–or, at least, to Lance he is. Keith doesn’t let himself feel any sort of way towards James–he’s not worth the headache. Lance, however, seems to think he is, and the occasional ranting is more than amusing.
“The Garrison’s golden boy.” Keith scoffs.
“Pretty sure that’s you.” Lance corrects, as always. Keith will never understand; one minute Lance is insulting his very existence and the next he favors him above everyone else. Why does he do this? Why does he knock a cigarette out of his hand and then put him on a pedestal next? Why does he care so much how others view him? He doesn’t understand Lance. He doesn’t think he ever will.
“Pretty sure James Griffin doesn’t smoke cigarettes and kick rocks at 2am with his best friend.”
(‘Best friend’. There’s something wrong with that word. It creates a warm bubbly feeling in his chest. It digs a pit in his stomach filled with vicious anger and throws him into it. It clings to his skin like warm wool. It burns his flesh.)
“Exactly why he’s not the golden boy–he’s boring as fuck.” Lance continues, stopping by a patch of rocks and searching for a new one.
Keith still disagrees. Sure, he’s top of his class with considerably better grades than James, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t partake in extracurriculars and immerse himself in the community like James did. He didn’t bring donuts to the staff rooms or volunteer to tutor orphaned puppies of whatever the fuck it is that James Griffin does. He minds his business, he gets good grades, he smokes cigarettes, and he tries his best to stay out of trouble.
(Lord knows he’s already built a reputation from middle school. Something that he’s spent the past 4 years trying to erase, but it doesn’t matter how hard he tries or how far he runs, there always seems to be lingering eyes and stiff limbs around him.)
(Lance doesn’t act that way and Keith can’t tell if he’s kind or stupid.)
“Agree to disagree.” Keith shrugs.
“Sure, whatever.” Lance leaves the collections of rocks, unimpressed by the selection. “Anyways, I got stuck with him and some random girl for my calc project and all he does is flirt with her.”
“Lance,” Keith narrows his eyes at his friend. “You do the exact same thing.”
“Yeah, but when I do it, it’s funny. Plus, I get my work done. I multitask.” Lance defends himself.
“Did you just admit to flirting with random girls?”
“I do it with boys, too.”
“Gross.”
“Don’t tell Elena.”
Which ruins the entire moment.
Keith shouldn't feel bitter every time Lance’s girlfriend is mentioned. She's funny and chill and honestly a genuinely good person that Keith thinks he'd enjoy being around had it not been for the fact that she was dating his best friend. She's perfect for Lance. She's patient and kind and witty and perfect and all the things Keith could never be. Truly, Keith should be grateful. She's everything that Lance deserves. She's everything that Keith could never give him.
And still, he's bitter.
“Sure.” Keith quietly mutters. Lance–unsurprisingly–is oblivious to Kieth’s disdain and continues with his train of thought.
“Speaking of Elena, we’re gonna see a movie this weekend if you want to come?”
Keith isn’t sure if it’s normal or not, but Lance will consistently invite Keith to hang out with Elena and him. It makes him feel both disgusted and hopeful. He shouldn’t think too much about it considering he invites Pidge, Hunk, and Allura as well. It wasn’t specific to him and still he singled-out.
Does he want to see a movie with Lance and Elena? Hell no. Is he going to act interested? Sure. Will he use the excuse of being polite to mask the true pettiness of his behavior? Absolutely.
“What movie?”
“It Ends With Us.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a romcom, I think. It looks good.”
Why the fuck would he want to watch that? In fact, Lance is very aware that’s not his vibe; it’s nowhere near the type of media he watches. He can’t even pretend to be interested at this point.
“I’ll pass.” Keith brings his hand up to take a drag from a cigarette that’s not there and is thankful Lance is looking at the ground lost in thought and not gauging his reaction.
“Well, we might see something else. I’m not sure.” Lance is quick to speak. Keith doesn’t understand why he’s pushing this so hard, why he’s so desperate to have other people go on these dates with him. Does he feel guilty about spending so much time with Elena and not his friends? As jealous as Keith may be, he would rather spare himself the awkward interaction.
“I’m good.”
“Ok.”
And Keith swears, for just a moment, out of the corner of his eye, that Lance seems upset –that he’s disappointed, as if he genuinely expected Keith to say yes. It doesn’t make any sense. Lance knows he doesn’t like those kinds of things and Lance knows he’s never been willing to hang out with them before. What would have changed this time? Keith almost feels dizzy with confusion.
He’s said it before, but he truly doesn’t mind silence when it comes from Lance because it’s never still. This silence, however, is less than favorable. He doesn’t like how Lance has stuffed his hands into his pockets, preventing them from their usual acts of creating elaborate stories and poking Keith’s side. He doesn’t like how Lance stares at the road instead of the sky or the streetlamps despite Keith’s persistent pestering to stop staring at the lights . He doesn’t like how Lance’s lips are shut tight and thin, pursed and firm against each other so much so that not even a single sigh could escape.
Keith knows it’s his fault.
He misses the noise.
“What kind of rock do you want me to get?” Keith clears his throat.
Lance whips his head to the side with a hopeful glare, as if Keith has just offered him a million dollars. Does Keith want to look for a stupid piece of compacted sediment for Lance to kick around? Fuck no. Will he search every creek bed and gravel road looking for the perfect rock just to keep that stupid smile on Lance’s face? Maybe.
And maybe that was his problem.