Things Held Sacred
It began, as most things in their relationship did - as their whole relationship had - without Keith noticing that it was happening.
Or, no - to be more precise, it began without the conscious side of Keith's mind noticing that it was happening. Subconsciously, he'd been aware that huh, he felt colder than he used to in the mornings, and huh, the blankets that he'd had for years smelled more like Lance's evening face mask than anything, and huh, he was waking up more often during the night than usual, and huh, the times he woke up in the middle of the night and the times he felt colder waking up were usually the same times, fancy that.
Huh, huh, huh.
Apparently, Keith was a house divided, and his subconscious needed to stop withholding valuable information, because this was turning into an Issue-with-a-capital-I, and more likely than not it had always been headed in the direction of becoming an Issue, but maybe it would've been less of one? Maybe?
He sat up on his bed and pressed a hand to his forehead. Next to him, Lance was curled up like a burrito in his blankets, on his bed, shamelessly leaving his boything (that was the term they'd decided on, because Lance had a thing against the term boyfriends that Keith couldn't grasp despite Lance expounding upon the reasons for several days before they compromised: Lance could call them boythings, as long as he promised never to call them that in public) in the cold.
Who was he kidding. Every issue they'd ever had with each other was an Issue-with-a-capital-I, and better timing wouldn't have changed that.
Without thinking too hard about what he was doing, he reached over and shook Lance awake. "Hey. Hey. Wake up."
Lance made a soft sleepy noise and turned over.
He shook Lance a little harder. "Lance."
"Mmmmurgh, what?" Lance blinked at him sleepily. It was so adorable. It was really, really adorable.
No, this was not the time to think about that. Keith took a deep breath in, and used it to fuel the Stern Voice that he'd more or less ripped from Shiro. He couldn't pull it off as well, but Lance liked it a lot.
He reconsidered for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't use the Stern Voice if he wanted Lance to be interested in talking. Also, it was four in the morning, what the fuck was he doing, waking Lance up? They had work in the morning. They could deal with this later.
Except.
Except Lance was making that bratty whining sound now about being woken up, and Keith was just irritated enough about the appropriation of his blankets that the Stern Voice came out without his permission. "Don't. This is your fault." He nudged Lance's sternum for good measure.
Lance stilled. His eyes got very wide. "Oh," he said, and licked his lips. His grip on the blankets went completely slack.
Keith tugged the blanket off, and forgot to brace himself, because somehow he'd forgotten how pretty Lance was and how soft his skin felt and especially how it got hot to the touch when Lance was aware of his stare.
Lance whimpered, and the sound completely bypassed Keith's brain and went straight to his dick. His heartbeat was loud. Why was it so loud? No, shit, he knew why it was so loud. He just hadn't realized that they were both this easy to work up.
Fuck. Well. Um. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
At least he probably wasn't going to wake up cold today. Lance was serious about his post-coital cuddles.
Because life wasn't fair, he did wake up cold.
He also woke up to Lance being mad at him, because we have work today, what the hell man, why'd you do that? Which, okay, fair. He'd even thought about what a bad idea it was. He just hadn't been able to stop himself.
But that didn't mean he was going to lie down and take it. "It was your fault, and you liked it," he said accusingly, shoving Lance a few inches to the left so that he could reach his razor.
"That is so not the point, babe."
"Don't call me babe."
Lance rolled his eyes. "Whatever, babe. Where's my shower cap?"
"Wherever you put it."
"Well, it's not there!" Lance put his hands on his hips.
"Well, I didn't touch it."
"Then where is it?"
"I don't know. Just take your shower and dry your hair like a normal person, god."
"Too much hot water is bad for your hair, mullet! I know I've told you that before."
Keith shrugged. "I'm not the one who takes such long showers that the hot water runs out."
Lance uttered a cry of frustration. "What's up with that, anyways? Why do you live in an apartment with such a low reserve of hot water?"
"I...don't think that's how it works," he said.
But Lance was jumping into the shower and, in lieu of continuing the argument, he gave Keith the middle finger, which was probably a better argument than the one he would've come up with, anyways.
Keith shook his head, grinning, and started brushing his teeth.
These days, he didn't second-guess himself so much when he texted Hunk or Pidge about Issues-with-a-capital-I. Yeah, it was true that they were Lance's friends first, but he'd gotten to know them pretty well over the past year. And he'd made good use of their experience with Lance, who was the human equivalent of a really strong seasoning salt - so much better with a bit of dilution.
That didn't mean it was less embarrassing to deal with Hunk texting back, [Okay that's actually adorable.] when he asked what to do about the blanket situation.
[That doesn't help me, Hunk.]
[I can't help it! It's so adorable! Does he really do the burrito thing?]
[Yes. It's a problem.]
[Picsss?]
[No, sorry.]
[aw man]
[Sorry.] Was it weird to say that again? He didn't know what else to say, though...
[Dude next time we have a sleepover I am totally going to stay up later than him and see if he burritos]
Keith blinked. Sometimes, though more rarely nowadays, it amazed him how close Lance and Hunk were. He didn't know anyone else who still had sleepovers with their best friend. It had made him a little jealous, at first, but Hunk had been so friendly and Keith couldn't hate him if he tried. The jealousy was still there, but it was small and fading. [So...I'm guessing you wouldn't know any secret ways to get him to relinquish my blankets?]
[Sorry, hold on, give me a moment to get collected?]
He snorted.
A second message came about a minute later. [Okay, okay, I'm good now.]
[Okay.]
[Is he, like, actively stealing the blankets or just, you know]
[Well, he's not actively doing it. I think.]
[Okay...not saying you didn't already try this but...did you try talking to him?]
[I did. We got distracted.]
[Say no more. Please. Say no more.]
He laughed.
[idk man. Besides talking to him I don't know what else you could do? Talking's good. Talking solves a lot of problems.]
[Only when it's somebody other than me talking.]
[Awww, bro]
[It's true, though.]
[...maybe a little?]
He laughed again, and felt a little better - not anywhere close to enlightened, but still. Better. [Thanks anyways. BTW do you know where Lance usually hides his showercap?]
[lol I think he changes it like every week]
[I figured.]
Pidge was a different story, because Pidge was always a different story. He still didn't know how Lance and Pidge became friends, because they were really, really different. Not the kind of different that he and Lance were, either, full of the fire that came from opposites attracting. No, Lance and Pidge had orthogonal personalities, criss-crossing precisely on the one thing they did have in common - Hunk - and somehow nurturing a sort of camaraderie out of it. If Hunk was the mom friend, they were the sibling friends - they didn't always like each other, but they always loved each other.
He actually thought twice about asking Pidge for relationship advice, though, and he never thought twice about...anything, really. Pidge didn't do relationships. Lance had told him, off-handedly, that she never had - that it was just something she'd never been interested in. But it seemed that she still took plenty of interest in the relationships around her, because she definitely knew and remembered things about his and Lance's relationship that didn't happen in front of her.
Whatever. He sent the message anyways. [Lance is stealing my blankets. Help?]
[ur fault mate u new he was like this] came back just a few seconds later. He was pretty sure she was supposed to be working right now. He was also pretty sure she never stopped texting.
[Actually I didn't, if I had known he would take all my blankets away from me I might not have asked him out in the first place]
[lol liar, u 2 are gross]
He sent her a middle finger emoji for that. She sent him an odd, complicated emoji with two Kanji on either side. It took him a moment to realize they were also middle fingers.
[u want my advice tell the boy no sex til the blankets are returned safely]
[Um]
[wat]
[We...might have gotten distracted while I was trying to talk to him about it?]
[Keith it DOESN'T WORK if you fuck him when he steals the blanket]
[That's like Pavlov]
[You're literally training him to do it]
[Wow your grammar got really good all of a sudden.]
[It's because I need to tell you exactly how dumb you are and I don't wanna strain your head-muscles.]
He sent her another middle finger emoji. [Okay but seriously what do I do?]
[punish him and reverse ur training dipshit]
[no wait I know]
[you need one of these: coverclamp . com]
[What the hell is that]
[it's a cover clamp read the url]
[But what does it do?]
[clamps the edge of hte blnkt to ur side of the bed]
[...Pidge...]
[wat u wanted my advice u got it]
[I think he'd just break the clamp...]
[dude video it if he does please]
[What is with you and Hunk and getting embarrassing pictures/videos of Lance?]
[u been dealing w the boy this long the real question is why U dont want video of this shit]
[He literally does something embarrassing every minute. Why do I need video?]
[...ok u made me laugh. i approve, u have my blessings]
[Blessings for what?]
[oh boy]
[For what? Pidge!]
[i didnt say nothing]
[none of this happened]
When Lance came back later that night, he was holding his workbag and, bizarrely enough...his showercap.
Keith looked him up and down, and decided that he wanted to hear this story way more than he wanted to talk about an Issue. "Okay, where was it?"
Lance glared at him. "It was at my place," he admitted, scowling.
Keith was silent.
"Shut up," Lance said.
"I didn't say anything," he said, laughing.
"I could hear your judgment from over here. Hope you're not hungry cuz I'm suddenly not feeling up to making dinner for two tonight."
Keith laughed and walked around until he was right at Lance's back. Then he wound his arms around that slim waist, and smiled, and waited.
After a moment, the inevitable happened: Lance loosened and went slack against him, leaning the firm line of his back onto Keith's chest. "That's not fair," he mumbled.
"All's fair," Keith said, "in food and war."
Lance chortled. "La-ame. Alright, alright. I'll make ya dinner. You better be thankful."
"Oh, I am." He put his chin on Lance's shoulder and watched as Lance chopped vegetables for a dish that he couldn't pronounce for the life of him, that he still tried to pronounce anyways - Ar-rose con polo? Am I close? - just to see Lance's eyes and mouth crinkle into a soft, genuine smile - You're getting there, babe.
He only realized later, when they were in bed, that he'd forgotten to have a talk with Lance. He rolled over, the first words almost making their way out of his mouth - but then got sidetracked by Lance, fully awake, gathering up the blankets and settling in with a smug grin on his face, not even pretending to share anything, and Keith desperately wanted to punch that smirk off his face but equally desperately wanted to kiss him until he begged - and oh, no. Oh, no.
And then it happened again the next night.
And again.
So maybe, just maybe, Pidge was right. Maybe, just maybe, Keith really had shot himself in the foot with his first attempt at resolving the blanket-hogging situation, because now Lance seemed to think it was a game and the rules were steal the blankets, get sex.
To be fair, Keith hadn't exactly been...dissuading him very well.
Okay, fine, he hadn't been dissuading him at all, because after a while they settled into cuddle routine that did keep him warm most of the time. They'd been going through a bit of a cool period recently, and Keith had missed the near-constant sex and snuggles, so this was nice. Really, really nice. It would've been better if he could figure out why they'd stopped in the first place, but Lance hadn't been forthcoming - for the first time in his life, probably, or at least for the first time in the history of this relationship.
So even if the blanket situation remained unsorted, more important things were looking up. Keith figured he could let it go for now.
Sadly, the sudden wave of affection didn't make up for everything. It didn't even make up for the loss of his blankets, because the city got hit with a random cold front one week and suddenly he was waking up every time the blanket lifted up - which happened a lot.
And he was tired, and annoyed, and frustrated with Lance and his attempt to be exceptionally Lance-y when it was obvious that something was eating him, or at the very least nibbling at his ankles, and it all came down on Keith at once.
He didn't realize he'd shaken Lance awake until Lance groaned softly and rolled over to nose at his throat. "Dunno what's gotten into you lately, babe," he murmured. "But I'm lik- "
"Lance," he said, and this time it wasn't the Stern Voice that he put on for Lance's benefit.
Lance instantly went rigid. "Keith?"
He breathed in and out, and tried not to raise his voice. "You're pulling the blankets. It's cold as fuck. Don't do that."
"...oh." Lance was quiet. He pulled back, the line of his body moving out of contact with Keith's. The blankets went loose. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine." But Keith's mind was still buzzing, his skin hot with agitation. And the most frustrating thing was he didn't even know why.
They were both quiet, except for the tiniest "I'm really, really sorry," from Lance's direction, and Keith saying, as calmly as he could, "It's fine."
It was awkward the next morning. Keith did his best to be normal, to touch and hug and murmur, "Good morning" the same way he always did, but Lance was lukewarm at best, and the difficulty of hugging someone who clearly wasn't in a hugging mood quickly brought an end to Keith's efforts too.
They weren't fighting. It would've been easy to explain, or at least easier, if they were fighting. But this wasn't a fight so much as it was a realignment that didn't quite meet up on both sides. They'd worked through awkwardness before. They'd worked through anger and tears and commitment issues. But this weird sense of asynchronicity was new.
Lance texted him after he went to work, [Gonna sleep at my apt today.]
Keith stared at his phone and resisted the urge to throw it. [Ok.] It was very difficult to type the next few words. [I'm not mad at you.]
[I know. I'm not mad either.]
And then, somehow, it was easier after that. [Are you okay?]
[Yeah.]
[Okay.]
[Are YOU okay?]
No, Keith thought. You're not coming home tonight. Why would I be okay? But that sounded bad, even in his head, so he sent the equally true [I'm okay. A little sleep-deprived, though.]
[Take care of yourself. I love you.]
[You too. I love you too.]
"Maybe you should go to his apartment and talk to him," was Shiro's incredibly unique input on the matter, because Shiro was a reasonable adult who didn't understand the ways of people like Lance. It was entirely because Shiro was a reasonable adult that Keith hadn't gone to him first.
Keith, who was neither a reasonable adult nor insightful in the ways of people like Lance, put his water bottle down and groaned.
"Let me rephrase," Shiro said, with a twinkle in his eye. "You should talk to him."
"Talking," Keith repeated, in such a way that it carried all the feelings he had about his skill in that particular field.
"Yes, talking," Shiro said patiently, because Shiro was too good for him. Shiro was, as a matter of fact, too good for this earth. Keith still didn't know how he'd managed to land Shiro as a best friend, but the man was a lifesaver.
"Do you and Hunk and Pidge hold conferences to make sure that you give the same exact advice?"
Shiro grinned. "You spoke to Hunk and Pidge?"
"Well, yeah." He shifted uncomfortably. "They know Lance. And. And we get along really well? Which is odd, because they're Lance's friends, so you'd think they'd be...you'd think it would be too much Lance in one room. But they're not like him, actually."
"It's good to be friends with your boyfriend's friends." Shiro smiled. "It's good to have friends in general."
Keith rolled his eyes. "Yeah, except none of you guys have any better ideas than talk to him, Keith. Well, Pidge also suggested a clamp."
"A clamp?" Shiro's eyebrow went up.
"There's apparently a clamp that you can use to pin the edge of the blanket to the sheets on one side of the bed."
Shiro closed his eyes. "That sounds like a thing Pidge would suggest. I hope you're not planning on doing it."
"I might, if he keeps taking the goddamn blankets."
Shiro patted his shoulder consolingly. "At least it's not every night?"
Keith lifted his head in confusion. "Why wouldn't it be every night?" he asked.
Shiro raised an eyebrow slowly. "...hold up. He's sleeping in your bed every night?"
"Yes?"
"And he never goes back to his own apartment?"
"Well, of course he does. My closet isn't big enough for him - he's still trying to take it over, though." He rolled his eyes, bathed in the familiar mix of affection and annoyance that Lance brought out in him.
Shiro made a surprised noise. "Huh."
"What?" He squinted at Shiro suspiciously.
"No, nothing. I'm just thinking...are you sure you're fighting about blankets?"
"We're not fighting. I know fighting. This is - I don't know." He rubbed his forehead. "It sounds stupid, right? Who gets into a serious argument about blankets?"
"Anything can be the substance of an argument if you're actually arguing about something else," Shiro said. "Anyways, go talk to your boyfriend. I bet it'll help."
Keith looked at him.
Shiro amended, "Well, at least it probably won't hurt?"
Keith kept looking at him.
Shiro amended again, "At least it'll be like ripping off a bandaid?"
And Keith stopped looking at him, because he was too busy putting his head against his knees and groaning.
He didn't go to Lance's apartment. He didn't have to, because Lance was in his, waiting for him to come home from work.
His immediate reaction was to rub his eyes and make sure he wasn't dreaming. His next-to-immediate reaction was to practically tackle Lance and hug him half to death.
"Babe," Lance said, bringing his arms up around Keith's neck. And then he started to cry.
Keith panicked a little. "Oh my god, don't cry. Don't cry. It's okay. You're okay."
"I know I'm okay," Lance warbled through the tears. "I literally told you that a couple hours ago."
"But you're crying," he said.
"I'm pretty sure I know that too, babe," he said, with a weak chuckle. Then, after waiting a moment, his smile wavered. "You didn't tell me not to call you babe."
Keith winced. "You know I don't actually," he started.
Lance snorted a little. "Yes you do."
"Okay." He smiled helplessly. "Okay, maybe a little."
Lance rested his forehead on Keith's shoulder gingerly. "Hunk told me I was being stupid and I needed to talk to you," he admitted.
"Hunk is very wise."
"And Pidge said the same thing."
"Pidge is very smart."
Lance giggled. "Not wise?"
"Pidge is one of those very smart people who make very poor decisions. No, she's not wise."
Lance giggled again, and it was warm and light and everything Keith had been missing in Lance's laughter recently. "I'm sorry. I freaked out a little."
"I freaked out first."
"Nah. That wasn't a freakout. That was you getting tired of an actual problem. That I'm really sorry about, by the way."
"It's okay."
"Hunk said you texted him a while back trying to figure out how to bring it up." He frowned a little. "You know you could've just...told me, right?"
Keith snorted. "Yes. I could have told you. With words. Which I am very good at using."
But Lance looked him in the eye, far too serious for the discussion they were having. "I mean it," he said quietly. "If I get too...too clingy or annoying or...or whatever, just tell me. I'll back off. I promise."
Keith frowned at him. "You're not clingy or annoying."
"You literally call me clingy and annoying all the time. My friends call me clingy and annoying all the time."
"We're joking!"
"It's only funny cuz it's true."
Keith felt his jaw slacken a bit. "What - Lance - "
"And I get it!" Lance ran his hand through his hair agitatedly. "I get it. Most of the time it's funny, right? Most of the time it's entertaining. All good stuff. But sometimes it's not and I can't always tell when that is, and I know you like to - to communicate with, like, your body, but I suck at reading you, okay?"
"No," he said, a little bewildered, "no, actually, you don't. You're better than pretty much anyone I know - with the possible exception of Shiro."
"Shiro is a god amongst men," Lance said, with a snort. And then he looked sad. "But I'm Lance, and I have to try really, really hard just to know if you wanna be hugged."
Keith frowned at him. "Is that why you haven't been hugging me as much?"
Lance winced.
Keith sighed. How to fix this? "I," he said carefully, "I missed it, you know. Hugging you. Sitting with you on the couch. Dragging you around because you won't let go of me. I missed all of it. You're right, if you leave it up to me, I won't go for it. But I miss it when it's not there."
Lance looked - really, astonishingly, heartbreakingly hopeful. "Really?"
"Yeah." He kissed Lance's forehead.
"Cuz I keep waiting for you to tell me I'm too clingy and kick me out, but - "
"You what?"
Lance looked at him, forehead wrinkling with confusion. "What?"
"Why would I kick you out?"
"Um." Lance scrunched up his face in thought. "Because I don't live here?"
"Yes, you do," Keith said, equally confused.
Lance stared at him.
Keith felt himself slowly, progressively, turning red. But he didn't take it back. He couldn't, because it was true. Holy shit. They were living together. They were living together. They were living together. How had he not realized this? Keith was going to have a stern talk with his subconscious, because blanket-hogging was one thing but accidental home-sharing was quite another.
"Oh," Lance said, very carefully, like he was handling a delicate piece of glass.
"Unless you don't - " Keith cut himself off, and turned even redder. He could literally see it on his upper chest.
"I roll up in your blankets because your bed's not comfortable for me so I need to put something between me and the bed," Lance blurted out. Then he turned red too.
"Oh." Keith blinked very slowly. "You...you could bring your own blankets, too, you know."
Lance winced. "They don't match the color scheme of your room."
"Are you serious," Keith said, but it wasn't a question. He already knew the answer.
"Yes," Lance whined.
"Then," Keith said, "why don't we get a new bed?"
Lance looked at him and made a peculiar high-pitched sound.
Keith shifted from one foot to the other, feeling oddly exposed. "I mean - it's - we were gonna need a new one, anyways, right? We've just been using my old bed, and it's, what, at least ten years old and counting, and you complained about the mattress springs once, I remember, and plus we can buy a bigger one while we're at it?"
"Keith," Lance said, sounding strangled. "I'm not sure a bigger bed will fit in your bedroom, buddy."
Keith paused. He'd gone through that whole speech without thinking about it more deeply than make Lance more comfortable so he keeps sleeping with you, which was...disconcerting. He'd always been the type to shoot first and think later, but this was hedging on ridiculous. "Oh. I didn't even think of that. Maybe we need a bigger bedroom, too."
Lance put his hands in his face. He looked red. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I can not deal with this right now. I just...oh my god, Keith."
Keith felt his stomach sink a little, because now it felt a little like Lance was just making excuses, and. That was bad, right? Excuses were bad. "I just - if the bed's the problem - the bed is the problem, right?"
"Nope. We're not doing this conversation right now. This is a Not Today kinda conversation. I will need to be at least a day older to deal with this." He stood up and got his jacket. "This is me, hitting the Pause button."
Keith stared at him, immobilized by the weight in his stomach. "Lance?"
"Not today!" Lance called, speed-walking towards the door. "Respect the Pause button!"
"Lance - " he stood up, something like panic kicking against his ribs. He ran after Lance, but Lance had the advantage of half a minute's headstart and longer legs, so by the time Keith reached the railing in front of the stairway, Lance was already halfway down. "Lance, hold up - "
"Do you want pancakes or waffles?" Lance bellowed back.
Keith couldn't figure out how he'd lost control of the situation so badly, but it had happened, control had been lost, turbulence was kicking in, and he had no idea how to crash land this plane. "I - pancakes?"
Lance gave him a thumbs up. "Okay! See you tomorrow for breakfast!"
Keith stared at him and forgot to say anything back. He had no idea what just happened.
So he did what he always did when he was confused as shit - he called his best friend.
"Keith, what did you do?" Shiro's voice was gentle but prepared for a storm. He had to be. Keith's life was sort of a disaster even on the best of days.
Still, Keith felt a little bad. This was not a storm, this was a hurricane. "So...I talked to Lance."
"That's...good?" Shiro sounded cautiously optimistic.
Keith chewed his lip. "He - he told me he was waiting for me to kick him out for being too annoying, Shiro."
Shiro was quiet. "Oh," he said, and he sounded so soft and sympathetic that the rest of the story just came rushing out. At the end of it, Shiro made a gentle noise of encouragement. "So it was a good talk?"
"I think so? Except I don't know why he ran off."
Shiro laughed. "It's Lance - some of the things he does are...inexplicable."
"Even for you?" Keith asked, teasingly.
"Even for me," Shiro said. "Did he really call me a god amongst men?"
"Yep."
"Oh, Lance."
"God, why is he such an idiot," Keith said, fondly.
"Well, you're living with him, so you've brought this upon yourself, buddy."
"Not officially!"
"Well, if you find a new apartment soon - "
"Wait, wait, who said anything about a new apartment? I like this apartment."
Shiro paused. "Keith," he said, interminably gently, "you did."
"...No?"
"Yes."
Keith thought about it. And thought and thought and - "Oh my god," he said weakly.
"Yes, Keith," Shiro said, clearly holding off laughter by a thin thread of restraint.
"Shiro, I'm an idiot!"
"What, are you having second thoughts?" he asked, but the question was placid and unworried.
"No," Keith groaned. "I just - I don't know what I was thinking. For some reason I thought I'd be taking a hammer to my wall and breaking it down so we could fit a bigger bed. But that's not happening."
"Well, I wouldn't put it past you."
"Oh, screw you," Keith said, grinning slightly. "No, it's fine. I guess we are looking for a new apartment, then." He paused. "Or, um, actually, I guess I'm looking for a new apartment. Unless we move in together." He paused again. "Oh my god, Shiro - do you think he thinks I was asking him to move in with me?"
"I think," Shiro said, amused, "that you should try to clarify that as soon as possible."
"...was I asking him to move in with me?" Keith asked out loud.
"I'm not sure you should be asking me that question," Shiro said patiently.
"Oh shut up."
"But how will you realize things that should be completely obvious to you if I shut up?"
"Pidge is cool. Pidge can be your replacement."
"Pidge told you to solve your relationship problems with a clamp."
"I'm not convinced she was wrong."
"Keith, do not try to solve your relationship problems with a clamp."
Keith laughed.
It was quiet for a while, as he listened to Shiro humming gently on the other line. He really was lucky, wasn't he. In spite of being a human disaster, he'd done pretty well for himself.
"Shiro," Keith put the phone closer to his mouth and said, in barely a whisper, like he was worried about breaking the strings holding his reality together, "Shiro, I fucking love him."
"Well," Shiro said, obviously grinning, "then it's good that you're together, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he said, shaking a little. "Yeah. Shiro - "
"You're not going to mess this up," Shiro said.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"You're not. Going. To mess this up," Shiro repeated emphatically.
"Are you sure?" he asked again.
"Keith," Shiro said, exasperated.
Keith laughed. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Bye Shiro. Thanks. For everything."
"Good night. And good luck with Lance."
"Good luck with Matt."
"Keith."
"What, you can dish it out, but you can't take it? C'mon, Shiro."
"I am hanging up now."
And he did, to the sound of Keith laughing himself silly.
Come morning, he'd mostly worked out the kinks in his emotions, and he was coming to realize that he was actually...not worried about having this conversation with Lance. It felt, oddly enough, like it had been a long time coming.
He'd also realized that, despite having the blankets all to himself for the night, he wasn't sleeping any better than before.
So it wasn't just about the blankets for him, either.
Pensively, he stared at the ceiling, and thought about Lance's clothes in the closet and Lance's skin stuff in his bathroom and Lance's pots in the kitchen, and when he finally got up, he rubbed his eyes and blurted out good morning to an empty room, because his mouth was used to the words, used to having an ear to speak into.
God, it was so stupid that he never realized that they were living together. But maybe that was the way it always happened - like bubbles making contact, and rising together through the air.
Lance came back to the apartment at nine. There was no way Keith could've missed him, not with the way he banged the door open and yelled, "I come bearing gifts!" and dropped a bag of flour and a can of baking powder on the floor next to his shoes.
Keith jumped at the sound, and he nearly dropped the kettle, and did drop the teabag. He didn't particularly care, though, because Lance was home and it felt good. "Welcome back," he said.
Lance marched up to him and engulfed him in a hug. "Missed me?"
"Yeah," he admitted.
Lance went still, before squeezing him even tighter. "Yeah. Yeah, me too." He let go very slowly. "Okay, so pancakes?"
"Pancakes."
"So," Keith said, as Lance bustled around the kitchen cleaning every surface of its residual pancake and pre-pancake particles, "about yesterday."
"Yes," Lance said, brightly and not at all timid like yesterday.
Keith found himself smiling. He'd tried planning what he was going to say last night, but in the end planning was never his thing - he worked best when he was put on the spot. "Lance," he said, "I'm gonna make this as clear as possible, okay?"
Lance blinked at him. "Yeah, okay."
"I want," Keith said, savoring the words, "you to move in with me."
And Lance, Lance just grinned and leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Babe, took you long enough."
"This is nice," he said to Lance's hair. "And warm."
"Mmmm," Lance said, sleepily, sliding around the white blanket he'd brought from his place until it was spread out under the heavier duvet. He'd complained a little that it wasn't off-white enough to really fit in, but it was warm and it made the bed smell clean and familiar at the same time.
"We should do this every night."
"Mmmmmm," Lance said again. "Sounds like a plan."
"Good. Also, you should stop calling us boythings. I still can't believe you use that term unironically."
Lance nodded, as if he'd been expecting this, which made Keith feel a lot better about things. "What do you want to call us, then?"
Keith shrugged. "I don't know. Partners?"
Lance looked at him, and waggled his eyebrows, and Keith immediately regretted everything. "Woah," he said, in a terrible cowboy accent, "settle down there, pardner."
"Oh my god," Keith muttered, shoving Lance off his shoulder. "Go over there and think about what you did."
Lance scooched back and shoved him too. "You looooove it," he said, grinning.
"No."
"You loooooove me," he sang.
"Sometimes."
There was a short pause. Then Lance was putting his mouth right up against Keith's jugular and just - breathing. "I love you, too," he said.
Keith felt his breath catch. He swallowed thickly. "...yeah. Go to sleep, idiot, we have a bed to find tomorrow."
It was quiet for a minute. Two.
Lance's voice was so soft it barely even stirred against Keith's throat. "And an apartment."
"And an apartment," he agreed, already drowsy.
"...somewhere nice."
"Yeah. Somewhere in the suburbs, probably."
Lance snorted. "What, you wanna scandalize all the soccer moms by being out and proud in their backyard?"
Keith grinned. "I fully expect you to join them and win them over, actually."
It was very quiet for a moment.
Then, Lance said, a little less jokingly, a little less teasing, "I'd be the best soccer mom."
"Yeah," Keith said, not even slightly joking or teasing, "yeah, you would be."
"...We have got to stop talking about shit like this in the middle of the night."
He snorted. "Pause button?"
"Pause button. G'night."
"G'night. Don't steal the covers."
"Yeah, yeah, love you too, babe."
"Don't call me - "
"Would you prefer pardner?"
"...babe is fine."
"That's what I thought."
THE END(?)
Hey, guys. First VLD fic on here (technically the second though ;) ) and of course it's Klance. Those bois. Those BOIS. They kill me.