Keith had been there for only a little over a week. It was Thursday of his second week and he was shut in his room, after he had mumbled something about homework before almost slamming the door shut. He flinched; he hadn't meant to slam the door. But he was frustrated, okay? He had so much homework to do and he was so fucking tired after staying up late every night trying to get it all done.

But then he heard the cabinets and the fridge open and slam shut.

Shit. Was Rosalina mad?

He quietly crept from his room and listened at the doorway, just out of sight. He needed to do his homework, yes, but it was better to be prepared and know if they were angry at him.

"We don't slam doors, Lance."

"You let Keith slam the doors."

Oh fuck.

"And I'll talk with him about it after dinner," Rosalina replied, setting something on the table. Shit. He was going to be in so much trouble. "Lance."

Lance slammed another cabinet.

"Lance. Sit."

He slammed the utensil drawer shut. The silverware inside jingled and clanged together unpleasantly. Keith felt the rattling in his bones.

"Now."

Lance huffed but a moment later a chair screeched across the tile.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing."

"Lance."

"Mom."

Keith heard Rosalina sigh. "You're jealous," Rosalina said quietly. What? "You're jealous of Keith." What?! Why would anyone be jealous of him? "Why?"

"You let him get away with stuff like slamming doors and he doesn't join us after dinner and I tried to invite him to play video games with me but he said it was stupid and he had homework and he's too smart for me and you pay more attention to him than me and you like him more than me and—" He broke off into a sob. Keith's heart started to race.

Fuck. He made their kid cry. He was going to be beaten, or kicked out, or moved to another home.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

And he had liked it here, too.

"Oh, Lance," he heard her murmur. Keith looked around the doorway to see her moving around to sit next to Lance and pull him close. He clung tightly to her, sobbing into her shirt. Something in Keith's chest squeezed unpleasantly at the sight. "He's still adjusting. You know he was missing out in the desert for so long, remember? Just because he's here and needs my love doesn't mean that I love you any less."

Keith's breath caught. She—She wasn't—

He must have made too much noise because she lifted her head to look up at him. He startled at her gaze, then ducked out of sight and hurried back to his room.

He was so confused. What did she mean, that he needed her love? Did that mean she wasn't mad? That she wasn't going to kick him out? Should he start packing, just in case? All he had was the two backpacks (Rosalina had insisted he throw out the old one, but he smuggled it under his bed, just in case). Maybe Rosalina would be kind enough to let him pack before she kicked him out? Would she let him take the clothes she'd bought him last week? She said they were for him, but...

He took the books from his bag, setting them on the desk, just in case. He pulled out his mother's knife, setting it on the night stand so he could wrap it up in a shirt or something first. The hippo on his bed caught his attention. Surely—Surely if she had bought that for him, that meant she liked him at least a little, right?

Someone knocked on the door. He flinched, but took a deep breath. He couldn't hide, no matter how much he wanted to.

Keith quickly answered, not wanting to anger her further. He held a firm, determined gaze, chin tilted up slightly in defiance. "Rosalina," he intoned. He couldn't let her know he was afraid. She would just use that against him.

"May I come in, Keith?"

Instead of replying, he just stepped back and motioned her in.

Rosalina sat on the bed and pointed to his night stand. Shit. "I didn't know you had a knife."

Keith froze half-way into sitting in the chair. He slowly lowered himself the rest of the way down, eyes steadfast on her. He hadn't meant to leave it out. Was she going to take it away? "It was my mom's," he said slowly. "My dad gave it to me when I was young."

"Do you mind if I look at it?"

Surprised, he blinked at her. "Uh, yeah, I don't mind." Maybe she would be less mad if he let her look at it.

Rosalina picked it up and turned it in her hands before sliding it from the sheath. It was a beautiful blade, something Keith hadn't ever seen elsewhere, especially not the symbol etched into the jewel. He'd tried to figure out what it meant—many hours spent in the library until he was kicked out took up most of his weekends after his dad had died.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, almost reverently.

"Are you going to take it away from me?" Cold fear gripped at him.

"No. I won't confiscate it, as long as you only use it for self-defense," she answered.

"I promise," he said, maybe a little too eagerly. But he needed to keep it. He may hate his mother for abandoning him and never coming back, especially when he needed her, but... It was the only thing he had of her.

Rosalina slid it back into its sheath. "I wanted to talk to you."

"You're sending me away," he replied, carefully keeping his tone even.

The knife almost dropped from her hand. She placed it back carefully before turning to him. "No, no! Keith, why would you think that?"

"I made Lance cry."

"Everything makes Lance cry," she said, rolling her eyes. "He thinks you don't like him."

"I like him!" Keith shot forward in his chair, trying to convey how sincere he was. "I don't hate him. I just—What he said in the kitchen—I don't—I gotta get this homework done so I can—"

"You need a break, Keith." She studied him for a moment, narrowing her eyes. He turned away from her scrutinizing gaze. He didn't like how she was looking at him. "How late do you stay up doing work?"

"I don't see what that has to do with—"

"How late?"

Shrugging, Keith crossed his arms and continued to look at the corner of the room. He didn't want to see her reaction, but he kept her in the corner of his gaze, just in case. "I dunno. Late. Midnight. Two."

"Keith."

"I have a lot to catch up on!"

"Not at the expense of your health!" she shouted right back. Keith flinched at the angry tone. Fuck. He fucked up. "I'm sorry for yelling, Keith. I'm not mad at you. Just... disappointed. I thought you knew you didn't have to push yourself so hard."

He brought his knees up to hug against his chest, wanting to be small, be safe. "I don't wanna disappoint you by not catching up, though."

The room was small enough that Rosalina could reach out and touch his wrist. He held back his gasp, desperately wanting the careful, gentle touch to continue. Maybe she would hug him, too? "I want you to be healthy, first and foremost. I don't care if it takes you three extra years to graduate. So I'm making a new rule, okay?" She waited for Keith to acknowledge her before continuing, "You will only work on schoolwork until dinner. And then after dinner you are to relax. You will bring me all your homework when it's time for dinner and it is going in my room until you leave for school in the morning."

"But—"

"This is non-negotiable."

Keith huffed, but a small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. She... cared enough to make a rule so he wouldn't overwork himself. "Fine."

With a quiet sigh, she stood and placed a hand on his head. He blinked up at her, confused. It was... nice. Kind of like when Shiro was proud of him. Could he ask her for a hug? He wanted one, so badly.

"I just want what's best for you, Keith."

He looked away, mumbling into his knees.

"What was that?"

"Does Lance hate me?" he asked louder, propping his chin on his knees instead of hiding behind them. He still couldn't meet her gaze, trying to dredge up the bravery to ask for a hug.

"Of course not. He just wants you to like him." She bopped his nose, smiling when he crossed his eyes to try to see her finger. What the fuck. "The easiest way to get him to like you is to pay attention to him."

"He's just so... much."

Rosalina laughed when he scrunched up his face. "I know."

He never dredged up the courage to ask, and she didn't offer.

As threatened, Rosalina took Keith's books away. He glared the entire time, staring at the hallway with crossed arms as they watched TV. But he didn't last long before exhaustion pulled him under.

The next night, Lance pushed Rosalina and Marcus into their room. "Me and Keith claim the living room!"

"Huh?" was Keith's eloquent reply, squeaking when Lance tugged him towards the living room.

They were creating a blanket fort. At least, that's what Lance claimed. There were sheets and chairs still being arranged as Lance jabbered on and on about Mario Kart and how he was going to kick Keith's butt. Keith rolled his eyes, but followed Lance's directions quietly, making small noises to urge Lance to continue talking. Keith couldn't help smiling at the boy's antics. It was kind of adorable. Like a puppy.

Eventually, their fort was complete and Lance dashed off to the kitchen for snacks. Keith stood just beside the fort, running his hand over one of the sheets with a smile on his face. There was an opening facing the TV, controllers for the old Nintendo 64 pulled out and ready for play. All the extra pillows and comforters had made their way inside the fort, making it look extra comfortable.

"Mom! Dad! I said go away!"

Keith startled, looking back to the hallway to see Rosalina and Marcus scurry away. Lance came stomping in and dumped the snacks at the entry before crawling into their fort.

"Come on, dude." Lance patted the space beside him. "Get in."

Keith gave him a tentative grin before crawling in as well. "I can't say I've ever been in a blanket fort before."

"Never?"

He shrugged, tugging at the sleeves of the cat hoodie. "No? It was just me and my dad, and I wasn't good at making friends. And then he died and I got bounced around to different foster homes. None of the kids really liked me that much, at least not enough to let me be included..." He hugged his knees to his chest, biting his lip. Had he said too much?

"Dude, that sucks," Lance said, pulling the snacks in. "At least you have me to show you how to properly do a pillow fort."

"Look, Lance," he started, pausing when Lance looked up at him. He didn't look... angry at him, which Keith didn't really understand. Why wasn't he mad? "I'm—I'm sorry."

"Okay?" Lance frowned back at him. "What for? Did you steal my toothbrush and scratch your butt with it or something?"

"What?!"

"It's a valid question!"

"No! I didn't!" Keith scowled at the snacks next to Lance. There was a bowl of popcorn and pretzels and at least four different bottles of soda and some M&Ms and—was all of that really necessary? "I—I'm sorry that I made you cry."

"Dude, everything makes me cry." Lance waved it away with a grin. "Mama says it's okay for boys to cry, too, and that bottling it up will only make you constipated."

Keith gave him a disbelieving look. "I don't think not crying will keep you from taking a shit."

"That's not what—" Lance groaned, tipping back and falling with a soft thump onto the pillows behind him. "Like, emotionally constipated. If you bottle it all up and don't have a healthy outlet for it, it just... stays there. And it's toxic for your body. All that stress and anger and sadness just fills and fills and fills you up until one day..." Lance mimed an explosion with a tiny sound effect, still watching the blankets above them. Keith stayed curled up by the entrance, watching him. "You explode and you can't find the pieces again."

Huh. Made sense, he supposed.

"Look. Point is," Keith said, looking away, "I'm sorry that I made you feel bad. I was just stressed because I have two years' worth of fuckin homework to get through before the end of May."

"It's okay," Lance replied, maybe a bit too happily. Keith had made him cry and made him feel bad. How was he just so... okay with it? "I forgive you."

"Just like that?" Keith asked, a little disbelieving.

"Mom says I'm too trusting," Lance said with a half-hearted shrug. "Too forgiving. She thinks it'll get me in trouble one day, but..." He smiled softly, just for Keith. "I'd rather be too loving than too hateful, yanno?"

Keith shrugged back. "I guess..."

Lance sat back up with a grin. "Let play some Mario Kart. And I'm gonna win."

Keith grinned back. "You wish."

After their Mario Kart tournament (in which Keith won at least twice even though it was his first time playing, thank you) they put up their snacks and brushed their teeth. Lance herded him back to the fort, claiming, "We spent too much time on this beauty. Mom's gonna make us clean it up tomorrow and trust me, there's something special about sleeping in a blanket fort."

Keith didn't see it, but whatever. He wanted to make it up to Lance for being so awful to him the past week.

They settled down, curled close but not quite touching. Keith wanted to ask if they could cuddle. He'd seen the three of them constantly touching each other with gentle, caring touches. Keith wanted to be part of it, too. He was so hungry for it, wanting someone to wrap their arms around him—

"Can I ask you a question?" Lance asked softly.

It was dark, so Keith couldn't see his expression. And Lance was... right, really. There was something—magical about being in the blanket fort, trying to sleep. Like they were caught between two worlds, or merging into a magical one. It made him feel soft, vulnerable, but safe, too.

"Yeah?" Keith replied, just as softly. He was afraid to break whatever was happening.

"You... You said—and I was just wondering, but," Lance stammered. A hand reached out and touched his, curled close to his chest. "Did anyone—You're so—" Lance huffed a laugh, but Keith had no idea what he was trying to say. "You seem like you haven't really gotten a lot of people who cared about you," he finally said. "Not since your dad, maybe? Like. When was the last time someone, like, cuddled you? Because I've seen how you watch us when we do."

Well, shit. Keith hadn't thought that he had made those expressions so loud. People always told him he always looked mad, no matter what he was actually feeling.

"There was one foster kid that—we cuddled, sometimes," Keith admitted. "And there's this guy—he was my mentor, sort of? We were in this Big Brother program, you know? And—he got paired with me and—but I haven't seen him in a long time. But... No one, really."

Lance was quiet for a long moment. Keith almost thought he had fallen asleep, but then Lance drew in a breath. "Do you want a hug?"

That something squeezed in his chest again and tears made his eyes hot. Lance was offering? After how awful Keith had treated him? Yes, yes, he did want a hug. He did want someone to hold him tight, never let him go.

"Yeah," he choked out. "I'd like that."

Lance surged forward and drew him in, clutching right back as Keith fisted the back of Lance's shirt. Fuck. Lance hugged him so tight that Keith could hardly breathe, that his ribs ached and creaked and groaned and rattled with every breath and sob as Keith cried into Lance's shirt. Lance was so warm. And it was stupid, that he was crying, but he just—he had to. His chest felt too tight, too heavy, and he wanted Lance to squeeze it all out of him.

Lance ended up rolling partially on top of him at some point, still holding him close after wrapping them in a tight roll—something Lance had called a "burrito" with a chuckle. "Sometimes," Lance said, after Keith had quieted down to just small sniffles, "when I'm really upset, my best friend—Hunk, you should meet him soon—will roll me up like this and call me a Lance Burrito. The pressure is kind of nice, right?"

Yeah, it really was. Even if he was starting to sweat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Keith asked into Lance's shirt.

"Shoot."

Keith was quiet, for a moment, then took a deep breath. "The desert... was sort of nice, you know? I didn't have to—see those families give each other affection that made me feel... empty. Hungry. For—for someone to touch me, too. And no one could hurt me, anymore." He took another deep breath. "I wanted to die, out there."

Lance's breath hitched and he pulled Keith impossibly closer.

"Do you still want to? Die?"

Keith didn't answer for a long moment. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes and squeezing Lance tighter. He didn't want to answer. "Sometimes."

Lance squeezed him so tight it was nearly painful. It hurt, but it was also comforting, like Lance was trying to merge them into one person through sheer will alone, or was trying to osmosis comfort to him by squeezing the life out of him. "Keith—"

"Don't tell Rosalina. Or Marcus. Or anyone. Please. I'm—" Keith drew in a stuttering breath. "I'm getting better. It hasn't even been two weeks but—You guys—You guys are the best foster family I've ever lived with. And I—And I want to try. I don't—want to die so much anymore. And I hate therapists, and drugs. They made me—they made me when I was little, after dad died, and I can't—I can't—"

Lance shushed into his hair as he started crying again. "Okay, hermanito. I won't. Just you and me. Just... please. Don't—Don't kill yourself, okay?"

"'Kay," he said, feeling small.

They fell asleep like that and woke up to tangled limbs and sweat and blankets twisted around them. And Lance laughed and raced him to the kitchen, like they'd never been strangers.