yep so that oneshot that i said i'd have done like four days ago...here it is...

Keith twirls his key on his finger, backpack hanging low on one shoulder. He glances at the room number again and counts each peeling yellow door that he walks past. 1, 2, 3, and there, 4.

The words drift over as Keith fits his key in the lock, jiggling it a little when it refuses to slide in smoothly. So he isn't really eavesdropping. He pretends that his lock is still being fussy, taking his time to open the door as he keeps one ear trained on the conversation.

"We're closed for tonight. Find somewhere else."

"Please? I just need a room for one night-"

"No, kid. Come back with your parents."

"I'm almost eighteen. I've got money."

The boy trails after the motel owner like a kicked dog. Keith sort of expects him to roll over for the man, who keeps waving off his attempts. Eventually the kid gives up with a cracking expression. He chews his lip under a washed-out streetlight. Keith finally pops open the door to his room, though he hesitates outside.

You help yourself, Keith, you don't help others. You have no idea who this kid is.

Except he does have a vague idea of who the boy might be: someone exactly like Keith. He imagines that life would have been easier if anyone had tossed him a bone back then.

"Hey, you need a place to stay?"

He mentally kicks himself as soon as the words are out, but he can't take them back now and figures he might as well roll with it. The boy's startled look quickly turns skeptical as he gives Keith a glance. He can't blame the kid. Keith doesn't exactly exude friendliness. It's more like 'shady hitchhiker who may or may not dump your body and steal your car if you catch him on the side of the road'.

"The rooms have two beds," Keith offers, as if that makes it sound more promising. "I won't kill you if you won't kill me?"

He leaves the door open as he goes to check out the room, tossing his bag of sparse belongings on the bed farthest from the exit. Keith pokes his head into the bathroom and then turns around to see the boy standing at the doorway awkwardly, shoulders tense and arms folded in a defensive manner. False confidence. Keith was the exact same when he left home for the first time.

"The name's Lance," the kid offers meekly, shifting positions to tuck his hands into his pockets.

Keith doesn't know how long he's going to be staying in this motel, but he starts to unpack his things and get comfortable for a least a few nights. Hanging his jacket over the desk chair, he asks, "how old are you?"

There is a quiet hmph from Lance. "Seventeen and a half. You?"

"I'll be twenty in a few months."

There isn't an answer from the younger of the two, as he instead moves to sit on the bed that Keith had left for him. He presses on the mattress with the tiniest of scowls. Keith knows that it probably feels like cardboard compared to whatever the boy is used to - but he's slept on worse.

"Are you hungry?"

"No," Lance says, although he makes short work of a squashed granola bar and a bottle of water.

Once he's satisfied that the place is in sufficient working order, Keith sits down on his own bed, crossing his legs. Both of them examine each other without speaking. Lance has a soft, childish face, though creased with apprehension as he regards Keith. His brown hair is fluffy and out of control, eyes round, blue like the ocean. He's still growing up.

"Where are you headed?" Keith presses, trying to make small talk in the only topic they can both relate to. The question is met with a shrug. "No plan?"

"I didn't have time for a plan. What's your name, anyways?"

"Keith."

"Well, Keith," he mutters, tucking his knees up to his chest, "you don't look any better off."

The jab is meant to sting, but it doesn't. Keith isn't stupid. He knows exactly how he looks. "I left home when I was fourteen. By now I've got some idea as to what I'm doing," the words roll easily from his tongue, and he can see Lance biting his lip curiously, though the boy refrains from any more questions. At least he has some self-control. "Got a toothbrush?"

"Of course Keith, I'm not a heathen," Lance smirks and reaches into one of the zippered pockets on his gym bag. He shuffles around, pausing slowly with a sheepish grin. "I, um, didn't bring toothpaste, though."

Keith tosses the tube at him, prompting a shrill of laughter from the kid as he scrambles to catch it. Both of them are smiling, though as Lance closes the bathroom door behind him, Keith's expression melts into one of concern. He shouldn't be making this into a game. There are countless nights when he's lonely and wondering what he's going to do, where breakfast will come from, whether or night he'll have a bed the next time he sleeps, even though he has years of experience. Lance seems like a bright kid. His life can easily be so much better than this.

An orphan. In and out of foster homes for fourteen years. Never staying in one place for more than six months before they got fed up with him. Keith was never meant to have a decent shot at life. If he had stayed, he would have been out of the system eventually, and lost on the streets just as he is now.

Lance comes out of the bathroom significantly quieter than when he had gone in. He folds his arms tight over his chest, and heads directly for his bed, climbing under the sheets with his back to Keith.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Lance responds dryly, "just tired. You aren't going to rob me in my sleep, are you?"

"Like you have anything worth taking," he teases, earning a weak chuckle from the other bed. It unsettles him how fast the kid turned miserable. He has already promised himself not to ask... "Lance, why aren't you at home?"

The figure in the other bed freezes up, sheets going taunt as he curls his fingers in them. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay, but if you went back..." Keith tries to be careful. He knows that he's crossing into prohibited grounds. "Would they want you?" Did they kick you out, or did you kick yourself out?

Lance is quiet. The silence stretches for so long that he wonders if maybe the boy fell asleep - until he hears a soft voice coming from the sheets, muttering, "yes and no."

Keith leaves it at that.

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He rolls over in a dark room, disoriented as he tries to figure out why he's waking up while the clock reads 4:00. In the morning. Keith shouldn't be up for another two hours. With a groan, he props himself up his elbows and remembers that Lance is sleeping in the other bed.

Except, he's not. The boy is sitting up with the sheets tangled over his shoulders, a phone screen glowing in his lap and casting harsh shadows.

"What is it?"

The words seem to shake Lance out of whatever daze he's in. He jerks his head towards Keith and explains in a watery voice. "Uh, my mom. She keeps calling me."

"She wants you to come home," Keith guesses.

"S-sort of. Not me..." he trails off as the phone starts buzzing, a generic ringtone filling the quiet room. "I don't know what to do," Lance whines.

Keith crawls out of his bed, legs still unsteady with sleep, and reaches out to rest a hand on the boy's forearm. He tenses, but doesn't flinch away. Slowly Keith moves until he's sitting on the mattress beside Lance. The kid is furiously wiping his eyes.

He doesn't mean to invade Lance's privacy, it's just that Keith finds he can't look away from the phone once his gaze glances over it. There are a series of text messages, all from the same contact: Mama ❤

[03:56] please answer me

[03:56] Lea

[03:58] we love you Lea. come home please

"Lance?"

"Hmm," he acknowledges, lifting his eyes from the phone. Keith can pinpoint the instant that Lance realizes that he's seen the messages, face breaking ever so slightly.

"Who's Lea?"

His head droops in defeat, and Keith can feel his heart clench at the boy's wounded voice. "I haven't been entirely honest with you. Lea is m-my real name. I'm not - I'm not actually a boy."

It clicks.

"Yes, you are," Keith growls.

"Keith..."

"You want to be one, don't you?"

Lance licks his lips. "Y-yeah."

"That's it, then. I don't fucking care if you don't have the body for it or any of that bullshit," Keith takes a slow breath, realizing that he's grabbed the kid's shoulders and possibly rattled him too much. "Just...don't let them beat you. You're Lance. If it feels right, don't let them take it away. Okay?"

He nods, stunned. Keith goes to take his hands away only for Lance to grab them quickly. He gives them a squeeze, a silent thank you, before dropping them.

The sudden silence is interrupted by an aggressive trilling from the phone, which Keith has nearly forgotten about. They both look down. Lance gives a sigh as his mother's contact fills the screen. His fingers hover over the device, torn between his two options. Keith sets his jaw and gently pushes Lance's hands away.

"Let me answer it," he says. Their eyes meet and something like trust passes between them. Lance nods.

He watches nervously, lips red from biting, as Keith accepts the call. The sound that floods through the speaker is a warm voice, drowned in a clutter of background chatter. The woman weeps Lea over and over, and eventually the noise calms down, as Keith gets the feeling the boy's mother isn't the only one in the room. His entire family is waiting.

"Hello?" Keith tries softly. The woman shuts up quickly as an unfamiliar voice interrupts her crying. "My name is Keith. I'm a friend of Lance's. Just - just listen for a second, okay? You've got a great kid here. Anybody would be lucky to have Lance as their son."

His words are met by nothing. An aching emptiness compared to the initial buzz. Keith looks up, staring Lance directly in the eye.

"He deserves better, but you're all that he's got, so try to understand."

Startled to see Lance's ocean blue eyes filling with tears, he hangs up the phone and drops it on the bed just in time for the boy to throw his arms around Keith's neck, making no attempt to hide the sobs that shake his shoulders. Even Keith can feel his eyelashes getting heavy with unshed tears.

"Go home, Lance."

"What about you?" He murmurs, gripping the dark fabric of Keith's t-shirt. Lance leans back. His face is messy and damp from crying.

Keith gives an unconvincing shrug. "I don't belong anywhere. Life on the road is good for me. I'm happy like this, really."

The other boy doesn't seem to agree. He sniffles, rubbing his face with the back of his hand.

"I will be happy. And maybe in six months when you turn eighteen, I'll come and find you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."