*****

Flashback to 12ish AM

*****

"I still can't believe you're the one I got this single from," I shake my head. "I swear I woulda remembered something like that."

"I'm telling you," he laughs. "It was my room for a year."

"Well did anything that I need to know about happen in here? Did you ever have sex in here?" I ask stupidly.

Keith laughs and purses his lips, as if trying to remember all even remote instances of sexual intercourse. His gaze— a beautiful violet in the mood light— drifts upward to study the ceiling.

"Not yet," his voice is careful, embarrassed.

We've been sitting on my bed for almost an hour, the tension between us silent and thick. We've been eyeing each other's clothes, taking turns tentatively making eye contact, trying to ask each other in not so many words how this is going. I find it difficult to quit admiring Keith in the low light. I wonder if he struggles with the same distracted flittering of thoughts.

"Allura would murder you if you suddenly did now," I smirk, but without moving closer yet.

"Let her," he blushes, scooting to the edge of the bed and hopping off, only to remove his jacket.

I watch his shoulders shake free of the red garment. I didn't realize how vivid the color was until I'm suddenly left with a sexy silhouette in dark apparel. The harder I try not to blush, the hotter my face gets. I know my own skin has betrayed me by the time he turns around.

"What?" he chuckles. "Sorry," he gestures to the loss of his jacket, "I was getting hot."

He lifts his hand to push through his hair, allowing me to see he is still wearing black fingerless gloves. My mouth goes dry, subverting kinky thoughts. I try to have straight emotions like envy or platonic admiration, attempting to save myself a lifetime of embarrassment, but then I realize he's reorganizing his unkempt mullet into a little ponytail; I forget everything.

My stomach somersaults, watching him. I inexplicably want to touch his waist as his arms raise above it. We each are muscular, athletic, but he's not as lanky as I am. Keith has broad shoulders, a trim body, a nice ass— a confused look. Fuck, am I drooling? I wipe at my face, flopping into my bed and groaning into a pillow.

"You okay, Lance?" Keith asks as he approaches, amused.

"Nm-ergh," I grumble, sprawled face-down across the stilted bed.

I guess Keith is sexually frustrated, or something similar, too, because I'm suddenly being attacked with tickles around my waist. His fingers even slide up my shirt and brush against my skin. Immediately, I am up in arms— giggling and breathlessly demanding that he stop. But I didn't realize I was about to sit up and find myself in his arms, our faces only inches from one another.

The rest is history, as they say.

*****

Flash Forward to 4ish AM

*****

Keith falls asleep on my chest. It's perfectly comfortable, I think, but he wakes me up when he moves. I really just want to roll over and let him sleep on his own side of the bed, but he clings persistently to my chest. It's endearing and sweet, but also telling— something could be going on, underneath all that sexy confidence and those firm muscles. There's a sad little kid embedded in that bad-boy mind, I think.

I tiredly continue cuddling him. But my yawn, as I readjust, seems to wake him.

"Mm," he rubs his eyes, "Lance?" he mumbles.

"I'm awake," I yawn. "You okay, Keith?"

He rests his head on my chest and nods once, obviously tired. He draws a circle in my skin with his finger, apparently thinking. His breaths are still deep and even, as if his brain is still fast asleep. Keith looks as if he wants to say something, but feels as if he shouldn't.

"Bad dream?" I hold him closer.

He snuggles into my warmth and shrugs.

"Sorta, I guess."

"How's that?" I ask.

"They're kinda just memories, but distorted in some ways. I was dreaming about the day I went home with Shiro."

"Shiro?"

"Oh," he chuckles to himself. "You would know him as Coach S, huh?" Keith looks up for confirmation, to which I nod. "Shiro was my legal guardian for a while— and, admittedly, he's a big reason I'm attending this university."

I blink, not processing.

"He's not your father, though," I say, stupidly.

"Mhm," Keith affirms. "We aren't related. We were actually both in the Civil Air Patrol. He was a much older member and a much higher rank, but I looked up to him for it. He must have taken pity on me or something," Keith recalls with a faint smile, tired eyes blinking.

He looks as if he's remembering a fond memory, but his voice is sad.

"Why would he have taken pity on you?" I unwittingly clutch him tightly to my chest.

Keith curls against me, still remembering.

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

"My mom was an alien— the illegal immigrant kind— and my dad married her just to help her into legal citizenship, but their relationship didn't pan out," Keith recounts. "They were friends, but not much more. I came along because of a drunken, very badly misjudged accident," he sighs, a pining look of world-weariness in his eyes.

My heart pangs, urging my mouth to give voice to all the protests in my mind, but I don't interrupt.

"She left me with him, unwilling to raise me, I guess, or just inconvenienced by me since she wanted to join the military. My dad was probably depressed as fuck— didn't want much to do with me, maybe thinking the less he spoke to me or interacted with me the less likely he was to make another mistake... I never got close enough to really guess what he might have ever been thinking. It was when he killed himself that I stumbled into Shiro's care...

"I was in middle school at the time. I remember the day I skipped my dad's funeral. I walked, or really ambled around the city instead. I know where he's buried— my dad— but I've never once visited. I don't think my mom has, or will, either. She could be dead too, for all I know— or care."

I can think of nothing to say. I can't even begin to relate to a backstory like that. But God... that must have been so awful for him.

"Keith..." I pause at another momentary loss for words. "Keith, I don't know what to say.... I-I'm so sorry."

Keith rubs at his eyes and shakes his head.

"I'm fine."

I didn't ask if he was fine, so I know that he isn't. He only wants me to believe he is. I grapple with the thought of whether or not to press. His eyes are bleary, leaking ever so slightly. If I voice my suspicion, he'll probably burst. But if I let it go, he won't trust me to know how he's feeling.

⚠️ END TRIGGER ZONE ⚠️

"I don't know whether that's true or not... but I do know your ass is fine," I say, like an idiot.

"Oh my god," he laughs, a few tears escaping, but easily rubbed away by the slight of his hand.

I notice them, though, as I gaze downward at the beautiful and sad boy perched on my chest. I notice everything about him. And I wonder if I can't kiss the residual sadness amid his features into submission. Inexplicably, I find the courage to sing my thoughts to him.

The most recent song from our band practice comes to mind and I let it flow.

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you."

Keith jolts, looking at me and fighting down a fresh wave of tears as he hiccups, "Are you singing to me?"

"Sh. Follow the lyrics' instructions," I chastise him, pulling his body up toward my face so I can kiss all over.

He laughs, wiping away more tears. But it seems to be a green light to continue. I clear my throat before singing again, mumbling some words around his skin between playful kisses.

"Remember I'll always be true
And then while I'm away
I'll write home every day
And I'll send all my loving to you."

I figured it was a good song for a one night stand, off the top of my head. But I realize half-way through the verse that I'm making a much bigger promise to him than just one eventful night. The thought opens a window for hope, deep somewhere in my chest. Stupid hope, way too fast hope, but still hope.