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the balcony is a concrete slab suspended four floors above a trash-strewn alleyway, but somehow the landlord had the audacity to divide it with a flimsy, rusted iron trellis that does absolutely nothing to stop keith’s cigarette smoke from drifting directly into lance’s open bedroom window.
they’ve been neighbors for six months. six months of lance blasting late-night pop music just to spite keith, six months of keith dumping lukewarm coffee over the railing onto lance’s drying laundry, and six months of the two of them standing on opposite sides of that stupid iron fence, trading insults with the kind of practiced efficiency reserved for soulmates or blood enemies.
tonight, though, lance isn't playing music.
it’s 1:42 a.m., the air is sharp and bitter with late autumn frost, and keith steps out onto the concrete wrapped in an oversized jacket, flicking a lighter to life. the flame catches, illuminating the hollows of his cheeks, before he pauses.
lance is sitting on his side of the railing, knees pulled tight against his chest, staring blankly out at the city skyline.
he’s wearing a t-shirt so worn it’s nearly see-through, shivering violently, but he hasn't moved to go inside. his face is pale, his eyes rimmed red and swollen, and his hands are tucked deep into his armpits to stop the shaking.
keith exhales a plume of smoke, leaning his shoulder against the iron divider.
"you’re gonna freeze to death, mcclain. and then i’ll have to deal with the smell of your decaying corpse ruining my morning coffee."
lance doesn't flinch. he doesn't throw a snarky insult back. he just draws his breath in, a ragged, shuddering sound that catches sharply in his throat.
"go away, keith."
it’s the tone that does it. not loud, not theatrical, not the petty drama lance usually throws around like confetti. it’s thin. broken. like glass crushed under a heavy boot.
keith stares at him through the iron bars. he takes one slow drag of his cigarette, drops it onto the concrete, and crushes it out under his boot. then, without saying a word, he swings his leg over the waist-high iron divider, stepping cleanly onto lance’s side of the balcony.
"hey, what are you doing?" lance rasps, flinching back as keith crouches down right in front of him. "get off my side, you jerk, you're trespassing—"
"shut up," keith says softly. he unwraps his heavy, flannel-lined jacket and throws it over lance’s shoulders. it’s heavy and warm and smells intensely of rain, leather, and clove cigarettes.
lance instantly buries his face in the oversized collar, his shoulders collapsing. a single, violent sob wracks his entire body, and then the floodgates break.
keith doesn't ask what happened. he doesn't tell him it’s going to be fine. he just sits down on the freezing concrete right beside him, his side pressed flush against lance’s, and lets the silence hold them.
"my sister," lance chokes out after ten minutes, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of keith's jacket. "she... she called. my ex, allura... she’s showing up to my brother’s engagement party next week. with her new fiancé. and my mom... my mom asked if i was bringing anyone, and i just... i couldn't let them look at me like i was the leftover piece of a broken plate, keith. i couldn't."
lance wipes his wet nose on the jacket sleeve, letting out a wet, pathetic laugh.
"so i told her i was dating someone. someone amazing. someone who actually wants me. and now i have to go back home to a small town in three days completely alone and prove i'm not a pathetic, unlovable loser."
keith looks out over the dark city, his jaw setting hard.
"you're not pathetic," keith says, his voice rough.
"i kind of am," lance whispers, pulling his knees tighter. "i spend every night arguing with a guy through a fence because it's the only time anyone actually looks at me like i exist."
the silence that follows is heavy enough to crush a lung. keith turns his head, watching the way the amber streetlight hits the wet tracks on lance’s cheeks.
"i'll go with you," keith says.
lance snorts, shaking his head. "yeah, right. you hate me. you threw my wet socks off the balcony last tuesday."
"they were dripping on my bike," keith mutters, then leans in closer, his shoulder pressing firm against lance's. "i'm serious, mcclain. i'll go. we pretend we've been sleeping together for three months. i'll wear a nice shirt. i'll hold your stupid hand."
lance blinks, his blue eyes wide and glossy in the dark. "why would you do that for me?"
keith tilts his chin up, his expression fiercely stubborn, guarding something deep and agonizingly raw behind his eyes.
"because hating you is the only thing that keeps me awake in this damn apartment," keith says softly, each word landing like a bruised confession. "and if you let someone else make you feel small, i won't have anyone left worth fighting with."
lance stares at him, his breath catching in his throat. the world feels terrifyingly thin between them, stripped of all the noise and petty spite.
"we're going to ruin each other," lance breathes, a tiny, fragile smile finally tugging at the corner of his lips.
"probably," keith agrees, reaching out to gently tug the hood of his jacket up over lance's messy hair. "let's go to yours. you're freezing, and you owe me a coffee."
lance’s apartment is predictably messy—piles of laundry on the couch, stray blue string lights taped to the wall, and the faint smell of coconut lotion hanging in the air.
keith sits on the edge of the kitchen counter, wrapping his hands around a chipped mug of cheap instant coffee while lance paces back and forth across the linoleum, gesturing frantically with his hands.
"okay, ground rules," lance says, pointing a finger at him. "we met eight months ago. at a coffee shop."
"boring," keith mutters, taking a sip and wincing at the bitter taste. "make it something real. if your mom asks how we met, we tell her we were both fighting over the last tub of butter at the grocery store at 2 a.m."
lance stops, blinking. "okay... absurdly specific, but surprisingly believable. fine. eight months ago, grocery store aisle four. next: we've been official for six."
"got it."
"you're madly in love with me, obviously. you think i'm funny, charming, and the best thing that’s ever happened to you."
keith deadpans over the rim of his mug. "let's not push our luck with fantasy, mcclain. I'm acting, not performing miracles."
"shut up," lance rolls his eyes, though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrays him. he sighs, leaning back against the sink and running a hand through his messy hair. the joke fades, replaced by that heavy, fragile look from the balcony.
"look... the main thing you need to know is allura."
keith tilts his head, listening. "your ex."
"yeah. we were together for two years. she was... perfect. sophisticated, smart, completely out of my league," lance says, staring down at his socks. "when she broke up with me, she said i took nothing seriously. that i was too much work. and then, six months later, she met this new guy. and now they’re engaged."
"who is he?" keith asks softly.
"no idea," lance shrugs, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. "i avoided asking. my mom said he's some super accomplished, ex-military corporate guy, and everyone in my family acts like he walks on water. I haven't even seen a picture of him. I just know he's the upgrade."
keith’s grip tightens slightly on his mug. "he's not an upgrade, lance. he's just a guy."
"easy for you to say," lance whispers, looking up, his blue eyes searching keith’s face. "you don't have to face your perfect ex and her perfect fiancé."
keith holds his gaze for a long moment, the silence stretching warm and heavy in the small kitchen. he sets his mug down on the counter with a quiet clink and looks lance dead in the eye.
"you're showing up with me," keith says, his voice low, steady, and dangerously sincere. "i don't care who this guy is. he’s not gonna outshine us. we’re gonna make them look like a miserable mistake."
lance stares at him, his chest doing a weird, frantic flutter that has absolutely nothing to do with allura.
"...okay," lance breathes out. "okay. pass me the coffee, mullet. we have a script to memorize."
.
.
.
the drive to lance’s hometown takes four hours, and for three of them, keith stays quiet, his hands gripping the steering wheel while lance flips through radio stations and nervously chews his thumbnail down to the quick.
they’ve rehearsed their story. three months of "dating." met at a quiet coffee shop, not through a rusted metal balcony divide. keith is supposed to be the mysterious, quiet artist type who somehow fell head-first for lance’s loud, chaotic light.
"you okay?" keith asks softly as the small-town highway transforms into tree-lined residential streets.
"fine," lance lies, staring out the passenger window. "just... allura is gonna be there. my ex. we broke up a year ago, but it was ugly. she was always so... perfect. refined. I always felt like I was trying to fit into a suit that didn't belong to me. and now she’s coming with her new boyfriend, who is apparently 'the love of her life,' according to my mom."
keith reaches across the center console, his knuckles brushing against lance’s hand until lance lets their fingers intertwine. it’s not for show—they’re still in the car, miles away from the venue—but the heat of keith's palm grounds him instantly.
"she was an idiot then," keith says, staring straight ahead at the road. "and whoever she’s with now is just a temporary placeholder."
lance looks at keith's sharp profile, the way his dark hair falls into his eyes, and feels a knot in his chest pull impossibly tight. "you're too good at this fake boyfriend thing, mulleted man."
"it's not hard," keith mutters, pulling the car into the gravel driveway of the lake house. "just act like I can't keep my eyes off you. which isn't really acting."
lance’s heart does a terrifying, erratic flip, but before he can decode that sentence, the front door of the lake house bursts open.
the next twenty minutes are a blur of hugs, lance’s mom screaming in spanish, cousins pulling keith into tight suffocating embraces, and keith looking utterly overwhelmed but desperately trying to play the part.
he keeps his hand firmly planted on the small of lance’s back the entire time, an anchor in the middle of a storm.
and then the front gate clicks open.
"lance! darling!"
lance freezes. keith feels the tension snap into lance’s posture, stiffening completely.
allura walks up the porch steps looking effortless, draped in a soft cream-colored dress, smiling warmly. but keith isn't looking at allura.
he's looking at the man walking right behind her. broad shoulders, white-tufted hair, a quiet, familiar posture that keith would recognize anywhere in the dark.
keith's hand drops from lance's back like he's been burned. "shiro?"
shiro stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in complete, jaw-dropping shock as he looks from keith to lance, and then back to keith.
"keith? what are you... what are you doing here?"
"what am i doing here?" keith's voice suddenly drops into a dangerous, icy register. the soft, gentle guy who was just holding lance's hand vanishes in a second, replaced by someone bristling with sharp edges. "i am here with my boyfriend. what are you doing here with lance's ex-girlfriend?"
allura blinks, looking between them, her perfect composure wavering. "wait... shiro, you know him?"
"he's my brother," shiro says, rubbing the back of his neck, looking deeply uncomfortable under the heavy weight of the entire family staring at them.
lance looks like he's been hit by a freight train.
"your brother? keith, you didn't tell me your brother was dating allura!"
"I didn't know!" keith snaps, turning his glare onto shiro. "because my brother apparently forgot to mention he was sleeping with my boyfriend's ex!"
"okay, back up," shiro says, his tone hardening as he steps onto the porch, taking keith by the arm. "line up, keith. hallway. now."
"don't touch me," keith growls, but he follows him anyway, pushing past the crowd into the quiet back hallway of the house. lance steps up to follow, but keith throws a quick hand back. "stay there, lance. give me two minutes."
the hallway door shuts, cutting off the noise of the party.
"are you out of your mind?" keith spits, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide the furious tremor in his fingers. "allura? seriously, shiro? you've been seeing her for six months and you didn't think to drop a text? you knew she dated lance!"
"how would I know that, keith?!" shiro shoots back, his voice rising in rare frustration. "how on earth would I know who allura dated a year ago when my own brother won't even pick up the phone?!"
keith flinches, the blow landing hard right in his chest.
"I called you three weeks ago, keith," shiro continues, his tone softening into something far worse than anger—disappointment. "I called you on your birthday. I called you when I moved into the new place. you let it go to voicemail every single time. you ghosted the family, you went completely off the grid, and now you show up at a stranger's house acting like I'm keeping secrets from you?"
"you're impossible," keith whispers, stepping back until his spine hits the hallway wall. "you have this perfect life, shiro. you have the job, you have the girl, you have everyone loving you. I didn't call because every time I talk to you, I feel like a broken project you're trying to fix."
"I don't want to fix you, keith," shiro says softly, taking a step forward, his eyes full of a painful, quiet warmth. "I just want my brother back."
the silence in the hallway is agonizing. keith stares at the floorboards, swallowing down a throat full of broken glass.
the door at the end of the hall creaks open softly. lance stands in the doorway, ignoring keith's previous warning. he walks straight past shiro, stepping right into keith's personal space, completely unbothered by the sharp, defensive glare keith tries to throw up.
lance doesn't say anything to shiro. he just reaches out, takes keith's cold hand, and laces their fingers together, tight and unyielding.
"he's not a broken project," lance says quietly, his voice steady as he looks shiro dead in the eye. "and he's not alone anymore."
keith breathes in, sharp and shuddering, his grip on lance's hand tightening until it hurts.
"we're going outside," lance tells shiro softly, pulling keith toward the back door. "give us a minute."
outside, the cold air hits them like a slap, the stars sprawling across the sky over the quiet lake. they walk all the way to the end of the wooden dock, away from the music, away from the family, away from the disaster waiting inside.
keith sits down at the edge, letting his boots dangle over the dark water. lance sits right beside him, his shoulder pressed against keith's, heavy and warm.
"you okay?" lance asks quietly.
"i'm fine," keith lies again, but his voice cracks on the second word.
lance doesn't call him out on it. he just unwraps his own scarf and wraps it around keith's neck, tucking the ends in carefully.
"for the record," lance says, looking out at the water, "your brother might have the perfect life, but he has terrible taste in women. allura hated video games, she thought my jokes were childish, and she never once let me eat pizza in bed."
keith lets out a tiny, breathless laugh, burying his nose in lance's scarf. "you shouldn't eat pizza in bed, mcclain. it leaves crumbs."
"i'll eat pizza wherever I want, boyfriend," lance says, nudging his shoulder against keith's. "and if you play your cards right, I'll let you have a slice."
keith turns his head, looking at lance in the soft moonlight—at the tiny freckles across his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the fierce, unwavering loyalty in his eyes that keith never knew he was allowed to keep.
"lance?"
"yeah?"
"thank you," keith breathes, the words small and terrifyingly real. "for being loud enough to drown out everything else."
lance smiles, soft and genuine, pulling keith's head down until it rests against his shoulder.
they stay on the wooden dock until the chill starts seeping straight through their jeans. when they finally walk back toward the lake house, the party inside has shifted into that late-night, low-lit phase where half the relatives are asleep and the rest are sitting around the living room with wine glasses.
lance hesitates at the screen door, his hand hovering over the handle.
the second they step inside, the living room goes dead quiet.
allura is sitting on the vintage armchair, holding a glass of white wine, looking like an ethereal statue. shiro is standing by the fireplace, leaning his elbow against the mantle, looking tense and hollowed out. when he sees keith, his jaw tightens, but he doesn't say a word.
"lance!" lance’s mom pops up from the couch, her eyes flitting nervously between all four of them. "sweetheart... we were just... talking."
"it's fine, ma," lance says smoothly, slipping his hand into keith's back pocket—a quick, habit-like gesture they rehearsed, but the way keith’s back hitches before settling into the touch feels dangerously real. "keith and I just needed some air. it's been a long drive."
allura sets her glass down with a delicate clink. her eyes trail over lance’s oversized scarf, currently wrapped snuggly around keith’s neck, and then down to their close proximity.
"i must admit," allura begins, her voice smooth and polished, though there's a razor-sharp edge beneath it, "i was quite surprised, lance. when your mother said you were seeing someone, i didn't picture... someone so intense. or someone related to shiro."
lance feels the familiar, old sting of her judgment—that subtle way she used to make him feel like his taste was loud, chaotic, and unrefined.
before lance can even open his mouth to laugh it off, keith steps forward half a pace, cutting off allura’s sightline to lance.
"he likes intense," keith says, his voice drop-dead dry, staring allura right in the face. "and I like someone who doesn't treat a relationship like a performance review."
allura’s lips part in sharp, offended shock. shiro lets out a low groan, rubbing his temples. "keith, please—"
"no, shiro," keith says, turning his head slowly to look at his brother. the anger from the hallway is gone, replaced by a quiet, heavy disappointment that cuts way deeper. "you got the life you wanted. you got the perfect fiancé, the perfect reputation. but don't act like i'm the one who broke things between us just because I couldn't stand being your charity case."
"i never thought of you as a charity case!" shiro steps toward him, his voice cracking, all his composure completely cracking open. "keith, you're my brother. I called you because I missed you! I didn't tell you about allura because every time I bring up my life, you shut down and act like I'm flexing on you!"
the whole living room holds its breath. lance’s mom looks like she wants to melt into the floorboards.
keith flinches, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. he looks like he's about to turn and bolt back out into the cold dark—the classic keith move, running before anyone can hit him where it hurts.
lance doesn't let him.
lance reaches out, grabbing keith by the wrist, his thumb pressing firm against keith's racing pulse point.
"you two are both idiots," lance says loudly, breaking the unbearable tension like a bowling ball through glass.
shiro blinks. "what?"
"you're both stubborn, emotional idiots who would rather scream across a room than just admit you miss each other," lance says, looking between the two brothers. he looks at shiro first. "shiro, he didn't call you because he thinks you're out of his league and he feels like a fuck-up around you."
keith’s head snaps toward lance, cheeks burning.
"lance—"
"shut up, babe, i'm talking," lance snaps affectionately, then turns his glare on keith. "and you didn't call him because you're terrified that if he actually sees how struggling you are, he won't love you anymore. which is stupid, because he's your brother and he clearly cares, even if he has terrible timing and is engaged to my ex-girlfriend."
allura looks utterly scandalized. shiro looks like he just took a physical punch to the chest.
keith stares at lance, his mouth slightly open, completely defenseless.
"now," lance continues, taking keith’s hand and lacing their fingers together tightly, "we're going to the guest room. keith is going to eat a hot meal, and tomorrow morning, you two are going to sit on the porch like civilized adults and work through your childhood trauma. goodnight, everyone."
without waiting for a reply, lance drags a completely stunned keith down the hallway and into the guest bedroom, snapping the door shut behind them.
inside, the bedroom is small, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. a single double bed sits in the corner.
keith stands near the foot of the bed, staring at lance like he's never seen him before.
"you... you just chewed out my brother," keith whispers. "in front of your entire family. and your ex."
"he deserved it," lance mutters, kicking off his shoes and dropping onto the mattress with a exhausted sigh. "and so did you. you guys are exhausting."
keith doesn't move. he just stands there in the dark, the leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his throat working as he tries to process the chaos of the last hour.
"lance?"
"yeah?"
"i wasn't acting," keith says softly.
lance stills, looking up from where he was unbuttoning his shirt. "what?"
keith takes two slow steps toward the bed, dropping his jacket onto a nearby chair. he looks down at lance, his violet-grey eyes wide and dangerously bare.
"when I told her you like intense. when I told you on the balcony that hating you was the only thing keeping me awake," keith rasps, his chest heaving slightly. "none of it was for the script. i don't care about making allura jealous. i don't care about proving anything to shiro. i just... i couldn't stand the thought of you looking at yourself the way she made you feel."
lance’s heart does a terrifying, violent thud against his ribs. the room feels suddenly devoid of oxygen.
"keith..."
"i know we're neighbors who yell at each other through a fence," keith stammers, suddenly looking wildly nervous, picking at the fringe of lance’s scarf still around his neck. "and i know i'm a disaster who doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, but... i don't want to fake this anymore, lance. i haven't wanted to fake it since you brought me that stupid iced coffee."
lance sits up slowly. the distance between them feels agonizingly small.
"you are a disaster," lance whispers, a soft, trembling smile breaking across his face. "you're loud at 2 a.m., your smoke ruins my laundry, and you're emotionally stunted."
keith winces, looking down. "yeah. i know."
lance reaches out, grabbing the ends of his own scarf, and gently hauls keith down until they're sitting chest-to-chest on the edge of the bed.
"but," lance whispers, leaning in until his breath brushes keith’s lips, "you're also the only person who actually looks at me when I'm not making a joke."
keith’s breath hitches. he doesn't wait.
he closes the remaining inch between them, pressing his lips to lance’s. it's not neat, and it's not rehearsed—it’s desperate, warm, and tasting faintly of bitter coffee and cold night air. keith’s hands tangle into lance’s messy brown hair, holding him close like he's the only anchor in a storm, and lance lets out a soft, shuddering sigh, pulling keith flush against his body.
when they finally pull apart, resting their foreheads together in the quiet room, keith lets out a shaky laugh.
and then, just as quickly as the oxygen came rushing back into lance’s lungs, the full weight of the last twelve hours crashes down on both of them.
keith’s hand slowly slips out of lance’s hair. his fingers linger against lance’s neck for a second, catching the wild, irregular thrum of his pulse, before he draws his hand back entirely.
lance blinks through the dark, his lips still burning from the pressure, feeling the sudden physical space between them like a draft coming through an open window.
"we're... high on adrenaline," keith whispers, his voice dropping low, gravelly and uncertain. he sits up straight, breaking their forehead-to-forehead contact, and rubs a hand hard over his face. "and alcohol. and sheer spite for your ex."
lance lets out a breathy, half-disbelieving laugh, his hands dropping off the ends of his scarf. "right. yeah. total spite."
"i meant what i said," keith adds quickly, his dark eyes snapping up to catch lance’s gaze before he can spiral. "about... all of it. i wasn't lying, lance. but you're exhausted, your family is in the next room, and my estranged brother is probably drinking himself to sleep on the couch because of me."
lance leans back on his elbows, watching the way keith’s posture immediately rebuilds its familiar, defensive walls—not to push lance away this time, but because keith is terrified of moving too fast and breaking whatever fragile, terrifyingly soft thing just opened up between them.
"so... we're not..." lance starts, tilting his head.
"we're two idiots who live on a balcony," keith says softly, the shadow of a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "we haven't even had a real, normal conversation without screaming or lying to a crowd. I'm not going to rush this just because we survived a night in your hometown."
lance stares at him for a long, quiet moment. the knot in his chest doesn't disappear, but it loosens—settling into something steady, warm, and real.
"okay," lance breathes out, pulling his knees up to his chest. "no script. no rushing."
"no rushing," keith agrees. he kicks off his boots, leaving them by the nightstand, and pulls the extra blanket off the back of the chair. he tosses it onto the floor beside the bed and drops down onto it, wrapping himself up like a sullen caterpillar.
lance hangs his head over the edge of the mattress, looking down at him in the moonlight. "you know there's room on the bed, right? we literally just kissed, mullet."
"i'm staying right here, mcclain," keith’s voice comes muffled from beneath the blanket. "if i stay up there, I'm gonna do or say something stupid, and you're gonna make fun of me for the rest of my life."
lance chuckles, the sound soft and light in the quiet room, and lets his hand hang off the edge of the bed until his knuckles brush against the fabric of keith's blanket.
"goodnight, keith."
there’s a beat of silence, and then keith’s hand sneaks out from under the heavy cover, his fingers lightly curling around lance’s knuckles, holding tight.
"goodnight, lance."
the next morning hits the lake house like a low, dull thud.
the sun is barely over the horizon, casting pale blue light through the guest room window, when lance wakes up. he’s still half-wrapped in his blanket, looking down over the side of the bed.
keith is still there on the floor, asleep, his knuckles still curled loosely around lance’s hand like he refused to let go even in his sleep.
lance shifts gently, slipping his hand free. keith stirs, his dark lashes fluttering open, looking up at lance with a sleepy, unshielded haze that makes lance’s breath catch in his throat.
"morning, mullet," lance whispers softly.
"shut up," keith rasps, his voice deep with sleep, though he doesn't pull away when lance reaches down to tug the blanket higher over keith’s shoulders. "you look like shit."
"compliments already? i'm flattered."
by 8:00 a.m., the smell of stale coffee and fried plantains fills the kitchen. the tension from the night before hasn't vanished, but the tequila has burnt out, leaving everyone raw, tired, and quiet.
keith walks out onto the back porch holding two mugs. shiro is already standing there, leaning against the wooden railing, staring out over the misty lake with a dark coat pulled over his shoulders.
keith hesitates at the screen door, his thumb tracing the rim of his mug, before stepping out into the crisp morning air. he doesn't say anything—just walks up and sets the second mug on the railing next to shiro.
shiro looks at the coffee, then at keith. the dark circles under shiro's eyes match keith's almost perfectly.
"i'm sorry," shiro says quietly, before keith can even open his mouth. "for everything—"
keith stares down at his own boots, the wind tugging at his messy hair. he wraps both hands around his mug, feeling the steam rise against his face.
"i was scared," keith admits, the confession scraping out of his throat, smaller than the cold lake air around them. "you were always doing so well, shiro. every time I looked at you, I just saw everything I wasn't. it was easier to ignore your calls than to admit I felt like I was failing at everything."
shiro lets out a heavy, shuddering breath and turns, leaning his hip against the railing to look at his younger brother.
"you're not failing, keith. you never were," shiro says softly, his voice thick. "and for the record... I don't care if you're running a multimillion-dollar company or living in a tiny apartment arguing with your neighbor over a balcony fence. I just want my brother in my life."
keith’s throat tightens painfully. he swallows hard, nodding once, unable to look up yet. "yeah. okay. me too."
shiro reaches out, his big hand landing heavy and warm on keith’s shoulder, giving it a firm, steady squeeze. "and... lance? he really said all that to me last night?"
keith lets out a tiny, dry chuckle, finally looking up. "yeah. he’s... loud."
"he cares about you," shiro says, a soft, rare smile breaking across his tired face. "he stood up to me like he was ready to fight a bear for you. don't lose that one, keith."
inside, lance is sitting on the bottom step of the porch stairs, staring out at the grass, when a shadow falls over him.
allura stands there, holding a cardigan tight around her shoulders. she looks remarkably put-together for someone who watched a domestic explosion twelve hours ago, though her eyes are soft, devoid of her usual sharp, protective polish.
"mind if I sit?" she asks quietly.
lance shifts over, patting the cold wooden step. "it's a free porch."
she sits down, pulling her knees together. for a long moment, they just listen to the wind in the trees and the quiet murmur of keith and shiro's voices around the corner.
"i'm sorry, lance," allura says softly, breaking the silence. "about... how things ended between us. and how I made you feel last night."
lance blinks, turning his head in surprise. "allura—"
"no, let me finish," she interrupts gently, looking out at the lake. "when we were together, I was so focused on trying to make everything neat. structured. I thought if things weren't perfect, they were falling apart. and I treated you like something that needed to be managed, instead of just... loved for who you were."
lance swallows, the old, bitter knot in his stomach finally starting to uncoil, leaving behind a strange, quiet peace.
"i wasn't easy to date either," lance admits, scratching the back of his neck with a small, wry smile. "i was insecure. I tried too hard to make everything a bit because I was terrified you'd realize I wasn't sophisticated enough for you."
allura turns to him, a genuine, fond smile warming her face. "you were always enough, lance. I was just looking for something different. and... so were you."
she tilts her head toward the corner of the house, where keith's dark head is visible over the railing.
"he looks at you like you hung the stars," allura says softly. "even when he was furious last night, he never took his eyes off you."
lance’s cheeks burn, a real, bright blush spreading across his face. he looks down at his lap, his fingers lightly tracing the scarf still wrapped around his neck.
"he's... a lot," lance whispers, but the smile on his face is completely impossible to hide.
"good," allura says, standing up and smoothing down her dress. "you deserve someone who matches your volume, lance."
by noon, the house undergoes a massive transformation. the living room fills with the chaos of suits being ironed, loud spanish music blasting from the kitchen, and lance’s cousins running through the hallway with flower arrangements.
the actual event—lance’s brother’s wedding—is set for late afternoon on the lawn overlooking the lake.
lance stands in front of the mirror in the guest room, trying and failing to tie his dark navy tie with hands that won't stop trembling slightly.
a shadow steps into the doorway. keith stands there, wearing a crisp, fitted black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his dark hair pulled back into a small, messy knot.
lance stops in the mirror, his breath hitching.
"you... uh. you clean up surprisingly well, mullet."
keith doesn't reply. he just walks across the room, stepping right up into lance’s personal space. without asking, keith reaches out, taking the ends of lance’s tie from his clumsy fingers, and begins folding it into a neat, perfect knot.
lance stares down at him—at the close, sharp line of keith’s jaw, the slight scent of cedar and rain clinging to him, the absolute focus in his dark eyes.
"you know how to tie a tie?" lance whispers.
"shiro made me learn," keith mutters softly, his knuckles lightly brushing against the base of lance’s throat as he tightens the knot, smoothing down the collar of lance’s suit jacket.
keith’s hands linger on lance’s chest for a second too long. his eyes rise, meeting lance’s in the quiet, bustling room.
"we're not fake dating anymore," lance says softly, the words floating between them, light and fragile.
"no," keith agrees, his voice low, steady, and grounding. "no more script. at least not between us."
"so... what are we doing out there?"
keith adjusts the lapel of lance’s jacket, his thumbs brushing lightly over the fabric, a small, fierce smile touching his lips.
"we're going to eat your family's food, dodge your crazy cousins, and stand next to each other," keith says softly. "and maybe, if you're good, I'll let you ask me on a real first date when we get home."
lance’s heart does that familiar, terrifying flip—not like falling off a cliff, but like landing safely on the other side.
"deal," lance grins, reaching down to gently squeeze keith's hand.
.
.
.
the wedding reception on the lawn is a complete, beautiful disaster.
string lights hang between the pine trees, a heavy wooden dance floor is laid over the grass, and lance’s family has supplied enough rum and tequila to sink a small battleship.
by 9:30 p.m., the formal dinner is long over. lance’s uncles are doing chaotic salsa routines in the corner, shiro and allura are actually laughing together at a table with lance’s mom, and lance and keith are three drinks deep, sitting on a low velvet couch set up near the edge of the lawn.
lance has completely ditched his suit jacket. his sleeves are rolled up, his tie is undone, and he’s slouched so low into the cushions that his hip is pressed firmly against keith’s.
keith isn't doing much better. his hair is falling out of its messy knot, the top three buttons of his black shirt are undone, and he’s holding a glass of spiced rum with a stupid, sleepy grin that lance has literally never seen on his face before.
"you know," lance slurs softly, leaning his head back against the couch frame and looking at keith sideways through heavy eyelashes. "you look ridiculous."
keith turns his head slowly, his dark eyes glassy, a bit hazy, but locked onto lance like a laser. "i look fantastic. your mom literally told me i look handsome."
"she was being polite, mullet," lance giggles—an actual, unfiltered, slightly tipsy giggle that makes keith’s chest do a weird, heavy thud. "she tells everyone they're handsome. she told the mailman he was handsome once."
keith tilts his head, leaning in just a fraction closer. the smell of sweet rum, cedar, and warm skin radiates off him.
"did she tell the mailman he has nice eyes?" keith rasps, his voice dropping into that quiet, gravelly register that makes lance’s stomach turn to liquid.
lance blinks, his throat suddenly dry despite the three gin and tonics. "uh. no. don't think so."
"good," keith mutters, taking a small sip from his glass, his eyes tracking down to lance’s mouth before sliding back up to his eyes. "because my eyes are better. you said so."
lance lets out a breathless laugh, slumping even closer until his head is practically resting on keith’s shoulder. "i never said that! when did i say that?!"
"on the balcony," keith says softly, turning his body on the couch so he’s facing lance. his knee hooks over lance’s leg, broad and heavy and warm. "you told me my eyes were freaky. but then you stared at them for like... ten minutes in the kitchen earlier."
"i was looking at a smudge on your cheek!"
"there was no smudge, mcclain," keith whispers, a crooked, cocky little smirk pulling at his lips—the kind of confident, flirty energy keith only gets when he’s had just enough alcohol to stop overthinking everything. "you were just checking me out. it's fine. you're allowed."
lance’s cheeks burn hot, bright red, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the gin.
"you are so full of yourself when you drink," lance mutters, but he doesn't move away. in fact, he reaches out, his fingers lightly tangling into the soft fabric of keith’s unbuttoned shirt collar, resting his hand right over the hot skin of keith’s collarbone. "what happened to the brooding guy who wouldn't speak to me?"
keith looks down at lance’s hand on his chest. his breath hitches, the lazy smirk fading into something softer, heavier, and dangerously raw.
he slowly reaches up, wrapping his fingers around lance’s wrist. he doesn't pull lance's hand away—he just holds it there, his thumb gently tracing the smooth skin of lance’s inner pulse point.
"he realized he liked listening to you talk," keith rasps softly, staring dead into lance’s eyes.
lance stops breathing. the noise of the wedding—the Latin pop music, the clinking glasses, his cousins screaming—completely fades into background white noise.
"keith..." lance breathes out, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs.
keith leans in, close enough that lance can feel the heat of his breath against his cheek, his lips brushing the shell of lance’s ear.
"ask me out, mcclain," keith murmurs softly, his grip on lance’s wrist tightening just enough to anchor him. "we said no rushing. we said no script. so ask me out. properly. for when we get back home."
lance swallows hard, his brain completely short-circuiting under the sheer, deliberate weight of keith flirty, slow-burn focus.
"i..." lance stammers, a small, helpless smile breaking across his face. "okay. tuesday night. dinner at my place. i'll cook actual food, not instant noodles."
keith pulls back just enough to look lance in the eye, a genuine, warm, half-drunk smile lighting up his whole face.
"i'll bring the wine," keith whispers.
he doesn't kiss him. even drunk, even with his heart practically beating out of his chest, keith sticks to the rules. instead, he just leans his forehead against lance’s shoulder with a long, contented sigh, his hand remaining securely wrapped around lance’s wrist.
lance rests his chin on top of keith’s dark, messy hair, closing his eyes, feeling the steady beat of the music through the ground and the warm weight of the guy beside him.
"you're still a terrible fake boyfriend, mullet," lance mutters softly into keith's hair.
"good thing i'm not faking anymore," keith murmurs back.
by 11:30 p.m., the alcohol’s warm, hazy magic wears off, leaving behind cold sweat, exhaustion, and a sudden, sharp reality check.
lance is sitting at the kitchen island inside the main house, nursing a glass of ice water and trying to get his brain to stop spinning. the house is mostly quiet now, save for the muffled sound of the lawn cleanup outside.
that's when allura walks into the kitchen, holding two empty wine glasses.
"hey," lance says, offering a soft, tired smile. "good party."
"it was," allura says quietly. she sets the glasses in the sink, then turns around, leaning her back against the counter. she looks at lance for a long, heavy moment. "lance... I need to ask you something. and I need you to be completely honest with me."
lance’s smile falters. "okay?"
"did keith know shiro was going to be here?"
lance frowns, setting his water glass down.
"what? no. I told you, we had no idea—"
"lance," allura cuts in, her voice unnervingly calm, but her eyes filled with a grim, heavy pity that makes lance’s stomach instantly turn to ice.
"shiro and keith haven't spoken in eight months. do you know why?"
"because... because keith isolated himself," lance stammers, feeling a strange, cold dread start to creep up his spine. "because he felt like a project—"
"no," allura says softly, shaking her head. "shiro called keith eight months ago to tell him he was moving back to the city. keith found out shiro was taking a executive position at the firm keith had applied to—and gotten rejected from—two weeks prior. keith blocked his number that exact night."
lance sits frozen. "what?"
"keith knew shiro was dating someone serious in your hometown, lance," allura continues, her voice dropping. "shiro talked about it on social media. shiro's posts aren't private. keith follows his main account. when you asked keith to fake date you to come to this exact lake house, in this exact town... do you really think it was a total coincidence?"
the air leaves lance’s lungs in one violent snap.
"no," lance whispers, his voice trembling. "no, he... he wouldn't..."
"i'm not saying he doesn't care about you," allura says gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "i'm saying keith was hurt, furious, and looking for a way to confront his brother without looking like the one who reached out first. using your fake relationship was the perfect cover."
the kitchen door swings open.
keith steps in, holding a fresh bottle of water, his dark hair messy, his shirt still unbuttoned at the collar. his eyes instantly go to allura's hand on lance's arm, then to lance's face—which is dead white.
"what's going on?" keith asks, his eyebrows drawing together, his voice dropping into that guarded, defensive register.
lance slowly stands up from the barstool. his hands are shaking so badly he has to shove them into his pockets.
"is it true?" lance asks. his voice isn't loud. it's hollow.
keith blinks, looking between allura and lance. "is what true?"
"did you know shiro was gonna be here?" lance asks, staring straight into keith's eyes, searching for a lie, desperate for keith to laugh and call him an idiot. "did you know he was dating someone here? did you use me to get to your brother?"
keith freezes.
the silence in the kitchen is deafening. it stretches for one second. two seconds. three seconds.
keith doesn't immediately say no.
and that single pause breaks lance into a thousand jagged pieces.
"lance—" keith starts, taking a step forward, his face instantly draining of color.
"you knew," lance breathes, a bitter, awful laugh escaping his throat as he takes a step backward, away from keith. "oh my god. you actually knew."
"i didn't know it was allura!" keith rasps out, his hands coming up, panic finally shattering his stoic expression.
"lance, swear to god, I didn't know it was her! I just knew shiro was gonna be at a lake house event in this town this weekend! I saw his story on a burner account three days ago!"
"so the balcony?" lance shouts, the tears burning his eyes so fast they blur his vision completely. "me crying on the balcony?! you agreeing to come with me?! it wasn't because you cared that I was hurting! it was because I gave you a free ride to crash your brother's life!"
"that's not why I stayed!" keith roars back, stepping right into lance's space, his own eyes wild, terrified, desperate. "i agreed at first because I was angry, okay?! I was bitter and I wanted to throw it in shiro's face! but then I got in the car with you! I spent forty-eight hours with you! everything on that dock—everything on that couch ten minutes ago—that was REAL!"
"how can I believe a single word out of your mouth?!" lance screams, his voice cracking so hard it echoes through the quiet house. "our whole foundation is a LIE, keith! we started on a lie, we played a lie for my family, and the whole time, you were using me as a weapon against your brother!"
"lance, please—"
"don't touch me," lance whispers, flinching away as keith reaches for his wrist.
keith’s hand stops mid-air, trembling violently. he looks at lance’s face—at the complete, shattered betrayal written across his features—and the sight seems to physically crush him. keith’s posture collapses. his hands drop to his sides.
"i'm going home," lance says, his voice flat, dead, and entirely devoid of the warmth keith had spent the last two days falling for. "i'm taking my mom's car. you can figure out your own ride back with your perfect brother."
lance turns and walks out the back door, slamming it so hard the glass rattles in the frame.
keith stands alone in the middle of the quiet kitchen, the cold night air rushing in through the cracks, holding nothing at all.
.
.
.
the four-hour drive back to the city is pure torture.
lance drives his mom’s beat-up sedan in complete silence, the headlights cutting through the pitch-black highway. there is no pop music blasting, no jokes, no iced coffees in the cup holders. just the dull hum of tires on asphalt and the heavy, burning lump lodged in lance’s throat.
across town, keith takes a greyhound bus at 3:00 a.m., sitting in the very back row with his forehead pressed against the freezing glass window. he still has lance’s scarf stuffed in the bottom of his duffel bag, but he can’t bring himself to touch it. it feels like acid.
by sunday afternoon, they are both back in their respective apartments. the flimsy iron divide on the balcony sits between them, silent and looming.
lance closes his bedroom curtains tight, blocking out the light, blocking out the sight of keith's side. but sound travels through thin apartment walls. lance can hear keith pacing back and forth on his hardwood floor at 2:00 a.m.
keith can hear lance tossing and turning, the faint sound of sad acoustic music leaking from his phone.
neither of them goes out onto the balcony.
.
.
.
it’s tuesday night. 8:00 p.m.
this was supposed to be their real first date. lance was supposed to cook. keith was supposed to bring the wine.
instead, lance is sitting on his kitchen counter, staring at a pot of water that refuses to boil, chewing his bottom lip until it bleeds. he picks up his phone for the hundredth time.
no texts from keith. zero.
lance scoffs, a bitter, pathetic sound, and tosses his phone onto the couch. of course not. keith doesn't chase. keith runs.
on the other side of the wall, keith is sitting on his bed in the pitch dark, holding his phone in his hands. his thumb hovers over lance’s contact. he’s typed out twenty different texts, deleted every single one.
i'm sorry. (too simple)
i didn't mean to hurt you. (he already did)
can we talk on the balcony? (lance would probably throw a shoe at him)
please hear me out (why would he?)
keith drops his head into his hands, letting out a jagged, ragged breath. he’s back to square one—isolated, suffocating, trapped inside his own head. but this time, it’s ten times worse, because now he knows what it feels like to have lance mcclain sitting right next to him, making the dark feel warm.
.
.
.
by friday night, a massive autumn storm hits the city. rain slaps violently against the glass, and thunder rattles the windowpanes.
lance is in his living room, trying to force himself to read a book, when he hears a sharp, metallic sound outside.
clank.
lance freezes.
clank. clank.
it’s coming from the balcony.
lance pushes himself off the couch, his heart instantly hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. he pulls back his bedroom curtains and looks out into the pouring rain.
keith is standing out there on his side of the concrete slab.
he isn't wearing a coat. he’s completely drenched, dark hair plastered to his face, his black t-shirt soaked through and clinging to his shoulders. he’s standing right up against the iron fence, his hands gripping the rusted bars so tight his knuckles are white, staring straight at lance’s window.
lance’s breath hitches. he slides his balcony door open, the freezing rain instantly whipping into his room.
"are you out of your mind?!" lance screams over the roar of the storm, stepping out onto the wet concrete. "it's pouring! get inside, keith!"
"no!" keith yells back, his voice raw, rough, breaking through the sound of the rain.
"you're gonna get sick, you idiot!"
"i don't care!" keith screams, leaning his forehead right against the cold iron bars dividing them. rain pours down his cheeks, mixing with the hot, angry tears he’s been holding back for six days.
"i'm not going back inside until you listen to me!"
lance stops a foot away from the iron divide, shivering violently in his t-shirt, his eyes wide and glossy in the dark. "i don't want to hear another lie, keith!"
"it wasn't a lie!" keith roars, his hands shaking as he grips the fence. "i swore to god i wouldn't ruin this, but i ruined it anyway because i'm broken, lance! i'm stupid and bitter and I hurt everyone who comes near me!"
lance’s chest heaves, his throat working as he swallows down a sob. "you used me—"
"i was GOING to use you!" keith interrupts, his voice cracking violently, dropping down into a desperate, agonizing plea. "when you texted me at 2 a.m. about that stupid therapy meme, i thought, fine. i'll go. i'll show up, I'll mess around, I'll crash shiro's life. that was the plan! that was my terrible, selfish plan!"
lance flinches like he's been slapped, taking a step back.
"but then you handed me that coffee!" keith continues, his dark eyes fixed on lance's, wild and utterly defenseless. "and by the time we were sitting on that couch, i forgot about shiro! i forgot about being bitter! i was just... i was just sitting next to a guy who looked at me like i wasn't a mistake!"
the wind howls between them, pulling at lance’s clothes, but lance can’t feel the cold anymore. he’s completely paralyzed.
"i'm sorry," keith rasps, his shoulders caving in, his forehead resting back against the cold iron. "i'm so sorry i brought my mess into your life, lance. you wanted someone to make you feel like you weren't leftover pieces. and all i did was prove your ex right."
keith slowly lets go of the iron bars, stepping backward into the dark, drenched on his side of the porch.
"i'll leave you alone now," keith whispers, his voice barely audible over the rain. "i just... i needed you to know that the way i look at you? that was never a bit."
keith turns to walk back to his sliding glass door.
lance stands there in the rain. one second. two seconds.
"keith," lance calls out.
keith stops, his back to lance.
lance looks at the flimsy, rusted iron fence dividing their lives. six months of yelling across it. six months of petty insults.
without saying another word, lance steps forward, grabs the top rail of the waist-high divider, and swings his leg over—stepping cleanly onto keith’s side of the balcony.
keith freezes. he turns slowly, the rain dripping off the tip of his nose, staring at lance like he’s seeing a ghost.
lance is standing on keith’s side of the concrete. his clothes are soaked through, clinging to his skin, his hair plastered flat against his forehead. he looks miserable, freezing, and furious.
"you're an idiot," lance rasps, his voice trembling—partly from the icy rain, but mostly from the sheer, suffocating weight of everything crashing together. "you're a selfish, arrogant, liar of an idiot."
keith doesn't defend himself. he just stands there in the downpour, his hands hanging limply at his sides, taking every single word.
"i know."
"i was hurt, keith," lance says, taking one slow, deliberate step closer, pointing a shaking finger right at keith’s chest. "i sat in my car for four hours feeling like the biggest punchline on the planet. I thought, of course. of course the one guy who made me feel like I was enough was just using me to get back at his brother."
keith’s throat works hard as he swallows, his dark eyes glossy with raw, agonizing guilt. "lance, i swear to god—"
"let me finish!" lance snaps, his voice cutting sharp through the thunder.
keith snaps his mouth shut instantly.
"i'm not forgiving you right now," lance says, his breath coming in white, ragged plumes in the freezing air. "i'm not going to just pretend you didn't lie to me. i'm not going to throw myself into your arms and pretend everything is fine, because it's not fine. you broke my trust before we even had a chance to build it."
keith flinches, nodding slowly, looking down at the wet concrete. "i know. i don't expect you to."
"good," lance breathes out, stepping right into keith’s personal space. he reaches out and yanks keith’s wet collar, forcing keith to look him in the eye. "so here's what's gonna happen, mullet."
keith blinks, his breath hitching as he stares down into lance’s fierce, unwavering blue eyes.
"we're going inside your apartment," lance demands, his voice tight and unyielding. "we are going to dry off. and then you are going to sit on your couch, and you are going to tell me everything. no holding back, no hiding behind your stupid brooding walls, and no running away when it gets uncomfortable."
keith stares at him, completely stunned, a faint, fragile ember of hope flickering in his chest.
"and... after that?"
"after that," lance whispers, his grip on keith’s shirt tightening just a fraction before he lets go,
"we go back to being neighbors. real ones. who actually talk to each other without a script."
lance turns on his heel, pushes keith’s sliding glass door open, and walks straight into keith’s dark, quiet living room without waiting for an invitation.
keith stands out in the pouring rain for two more seconds, letting the cold air hit his face, before a tiny, breathless huff of air escapes his lips—the absolute closest thing to a smile he’s had in a week.
he steps inside and shuts the door against the storm, ready to earn every single inch of his way back.
inside, keith’s apartment is dimly lit, smelling faintly of old books and damp rain.
lance doesn't ask for a towel. he just grabs the grey fleece blanket sitting on the back of keith’s armchair, wraps it tightly around his shivering shoulders, and drops down onto the couch. his soaked hair is dripping onto the cushions, but he doesn't care, and keith clearly doesn't either.
keith stands near the small kitchen counter, tossing a dry dish towel over his own wet hair. he looks utterly exhausted, the sharp edges of his usual defensive posture completely ground down by the rain, the guilt, and the last six days of silence.
"coffee?" keith asks, his voice low and hoarse.
"no," lance says, his blue eyes sharp as ice through the dim light. "sit."
keith swallows hard, dropping the dish towel. he walks over and sits on the far opposite end of the couch—leaving a heavy, deliberate three feet of space between them.
lance watches the space keith leaves. he pulls the blanket tighter around his chin, his jaw clenching.
"you said you were gonna tell me everything," lance begins, his voice quiet, devoid of any of his usual theatrical flair. "so start."
keith stares down at his own trembling hands resting on his knees. "i saw shiro's post three days before you messaged me," he rasps, each word coming out like he’s pulling glass from his throat. "he posted a photo at your brother's lake house saying he was spending the weekend with his fiancé’s family. i knew he meant allura—or, well, i knew he was dating someone, i just... i swear on my life, lance, i didn't connect that she was your ex until we pulled up and i saw her face."
lance doesn't interrupt. he just keeps his eyes locked on keith, listening.
"i was angry," keith continues, his fingers digging into the denim of his jeans. "i've been angry for eight months. at shiro, at the firm, at myself. so when your message popped up about going to a lake house in the exact same town to play a fake boyfriend... it felt like a sick cosmic joke. i thought, fine. i'll go. i'll crash his weekend. i'll make him look at me."
keith pauses, his breath hitching, before looking up to meet lance’s gaze.
"and then i got in your car," keith whispers. "and you were rampling about playlists and iced coffee. and by the time we got to the gas station, i was already hating myself for why i agreed to come."
lance sits in silence for a long moment, the hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet room. he chews the inside of his cheek, processing every word, searching keith's face for any slip-up, any sign of a dodge.
"okay," lance says softly. "that explains shiro."
lance shifts on the cushion, drawing his knees up to his chest under the heavy fleece blanket. his expression hardens, a raw, vulnerable shadow crossing his eyes.
"what about what you said to me?" lance asks, his voice dropping an octave, dangerously quiet.
keith blinks, confused. "what?"
"on the porch. at my brother's lake house," lance says, his throat working as he swallows down a knot of pride. "when you screamed at me. when you said i act like a joke, and that i let everyone treat me like garbage because i think that's all i deserve."
keith flinches violently, like lance just physically struck him.
"was that a lie, keith?" lance’s voice cracks slightly, the anger slipping to reveal the terrifyingly fragile hurt underneath. "was that just you throwing low blows because you were drunk and angry? or was that... is that actually how you see me? just some pathetic guy who makes a fool of himself so people won't notice he's broken?"
"no," keith chokes out instantly, scrambling up from his end of the couch. he drops to his knees on the floor right in front of lance, not touching him, but getting close enough that lance can see the frantic, agonized panic in keith’s violet-grey eyes. "no, lance, jesus, no."
"then why did you say it?!" lance demands, tears welling up in his eyes, hot and angry against his cold skin.
"because i was furious at her!" keith rasps out, his chest heaving, his hands balling into fists on his own thighs to keep from reaching out to lance. "i was watching allura talk down to you! i was watching your family take your jokes for granted! and it made me lose my mind because you were sitting there letting them do it!"
lance freezes, his lips parting slightly.
"you are the loudest, brightest, most infuriatingly observant person i have ever met in my life," keith says, his voice cracking violently, tears finally spilling over his own dark lashes. "you aren't a fool, lance. you aren't a joke. you're... you're everything i wish i could be. you care about people so fiercely it terrifies me."
keith looks up, his gaze locked onto lance’s with absolute, soul-bare honesty.
"i didn't say those things because i thought you were pathetic," keith whispers, his voice breaking on every word. "i said them because it broke my heart to see you act like you were less than anyone in that room. especially when... when to me, you were the only person there who mattered."
the silence that follows is deafening. the rain outside slaps against the window, but inside the apartment, the air is thick, warm, and entirely stripped of defense.
lance stares at keith—at his knees on the floor, at his dark hair wet and messy, at the complete, unfiltered devastation on his face.
lance pulls his hands out from under the blanket. he doesn't throw his arms around him. he doesn't lean down to kiss him.
instead, lance reaches out and gently, deliberately, presses his thumb against keith’s cheekbone, wiping away a single stray tear.
keith’s breath hitches at the touch, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second, leaning into lance’s warm palm like a man dying of thirst.
"you're still on probation, mullet," lance whispers softly, though his voice is thick with emotion, a tiny, fragile trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
keith opens his eyes, letting out a trembling, watery huff of air. "i know."
"and you're buying me dinner on tuesday. real dinner. at a place with tablecloths."
"deal," keith rasps softly, resting his forehead lightly against the edge of the couch, right next to lance’s knee. "whatever you want, mcclain."
keith stays like that for a long second, his forehead heavy against the fabric of lance’s jeans, his breathing finally evening out into something steady.
lance doesn't pull away. his hand lingers in keith’s damp, messy hair, his fingers slowly tracing the shell of keith's ear, feeling the heat rising off his skin.
the rain is still hammering against the balcony glass outside, but the air inside the apartment has shifted entirely. the sharp, biting angst has bled out, leaving behind a thick, suffocating warmth that makes lance’s throat go instantly dry.
keith slowly tilts his head up.
he doesn't move off his knees. he just rests his chin against lance’s knee, looking straight up at him through dark, wet lashes. the top three buttons of his black shirt are still undone from the storm, exposing the pale skin of his collarbone, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths.
lance swallows hard, his eyes dropping—just for a fraction of a second—down to keith’s lips, which are parted, soft, and still slightly swollen.
"what?" keith rasps, his voice dangerously low, his dark eyes tracking the exact path lance’s gaze just took.
"nothing," lance lies smoothly, though his thumb twitches against keith's jawline. "you just look ridiculous on the floor."
"i'm on the floor because you told me to sit," keith mutters, a tiny, dark spark returning to his eyes. he shifts, his hands coming up to rest flat against lance’s thighs, his palms burning hot right through the denim. "you want me to get up?"
lance’s heart does a sudden, erratic slam against his ribs. keith isn't leaning back anymore. he’s leaning in, his hands gripping lance's legs, his chest inches from where lance is sitting wrapped in the fleece blanket.
"i didn't say that," lance whispers, his voice dropping an octave, losing every ounce of its teasing edge.
keith’s gaze darkens. he slowly slides his hands up lance’s thighs, dragging the heavy blanket up with them, until he’s pressing himself up off the floor, kneeling between lance’s spread knees on the couch.
the air vanishes from the room.
lance’s breath hitches sharply as keith’s heat completely surrounds him. keith reaches out, his fingers brushing over lance’s collarbone, gently pulling the edge of the blanket aside so he can see lance's neck—the rapid, frantic pulse hammering right under the skin.
"you said I was on probation," keith murmurs, his eyes locked onto lance’s mouth now, his breath warm and smelling faintly of rain and sweet cedar.
"you are," lance rasps, his hands coming up of their own accord to rest on keith’s broad shoulders, his fingers digging into the damp fabric of keith's shirt. "probation means strict rules, mullet. no funny business."
"yeah?" keith breathes, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of lance’s ear, making a shudder run straight down lance’s spine. "what's the punishment for breaking the rules?"
lance grips keith’s shoulders tighter, his head falling back against the couch cushions, letting out a ragged, trembling sigh as keith’s mouth drags slowly down the line of his jaw.
"keith..." lance warns softly, though he’s the one pulling keith closer by the collar.
"i'll buy you the tablecloth dinner," keith whispers against lance's skin, his hands sliding around lance's waist, pulling him flush against his chest until there isn't a single inch of cold air left between them. "i'll buy you the whole damn restaurant, mcclain. just tell me to stop."
lance looks down at him through heavy, dark blue eyes, his pulse racing, his lips parting.
"don't you dare stop," lance breathes.
the fabric of keith’s damp shirt yields under lance’s fingers, smooth and heavy, pulling keith down until the last fragile bit of distance between them completely dissolves.
keith’s mouth catches lance’s with a low, desperate sound—a rhythm that’s thick, deliberate, and entirely unhurried. it isn't like the quick, chaotic kiss in the bedroom at the lake house. this is slow-burning heat, deep and heavy, the kind that makes lance’s head roll back into the couch cushions while his hands move up keith’s chest, lacing tightly behind his neck.
"lance," keith murmurs against his lips, his voice gravelly, rough around the edges.
he shifts, settling his weight firmly between lance’s legs, his broad hands sliding under the edge of the fleece blanket. keith’s fingers are hot where they slide beneath the hem of lance’s shirt, dragging slow, burning trails up his ribs.
lance lets out a ragged, trembling sigh, arching up into the touch. "you're... ridiculously warm," he rasps out, his breath hitching as keith’s thumb traces the sensitive dip of his waist.
"you're freezing," keith whispers back, his lips trailing down from lance’s mouth, pressing heavy, lingering kisses over the line of his jaw, down the column of his throat, right over the spot where lance’s pulse is hammering like a wild thing.
lance’s hands tangle into the damp, dark hair at the nape of keith’s neck, pulling him closer, anchoring him. the rain outside is still pouring down, rattling the balcony glass, but inside, the room feels suffocatingly hot.
keith pushes himself up slightly, hovering right over lance, his dark eyes pitch-black in the dim light, looking down at lance with an intensity that makes lance’s stomach flip upside down. his breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling against lance’s, his hair falling forward to frame his face.
"still on probation?" keith breathes out, a faint, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his hands slide up to frame lance’s face, his thumbs gently brushing over lance’s warm, flushed cheekbones.
"you're failing miserably," lance whispers, though he’s smiling—a real, dizzy, breathless smile—as he reaches up, wrapping his arms around keith’s broad shoulders and pulling him back down into another slow, heavy kiss that steals every last drop of air from the room.
the storm outside eventually settles into a quiet, steady drizzle, but neither of them moves off the couch for a long time.
lance is lying back against the armrest, his chest rising and falling in slow, contented breaths. the fleece blanket is pulled up to his waist, and keith is heavy against his side, one arm wrapped firmly around lance’s middle, his face buried in the crook of lance’s neck.
lance’s hand is mindlessly tracing soft, lazy patterns over the bare skin of keith’s shoulder, his fingers feeling the steady warmth radiating off him.
"you know," lance whispers softly into the dark room, his voice raspy and thick with exhaustion, "i still have laundry drying on my side of the balcony."
keith lets out a low, muffled groan into lance’s collarbone, his arm tightening around lance’s waist just a fraction. "i'm not dumping coffee on it this time."
"you better not, mullet," lance chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest right where keith is resting. "i'll throw your boots off the four-floor ledge."
keith tilts his head up, resting his chin on lance’s chest, his dark eyes looking up through messy, unbrushed bangs. he looks relaxed—completely stripped of the sharp, defensive tension he’d been wearing like armor for eight months.
"tuesday," keith reminds him softly, his thumb gently rubbing against lance’s hip. "7:00 p.m. I'm picking you up at your door. no crossing the balcony fence."
lance grins, reaching down to lightly boop the tip of keith’s nose. "are you asking me on a real date, neighbor?"
"yeah," keith rasps, a genuine, quiet warmth lighting up his face. "i am. no scripts. no family drama. just us."
lance lets out a long, contented breath, closing his eyes as keith leans back up to press one last, soft, lingering kiss to the corner of lance’s mouth.
"i'll hold you to that, keith," lance murmurs, tangling his fingers into keith’s hair as they both finally drift off to sleep right there on the couch, the flimsy iron fence outside finally feeling like nothing at all.