Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"And starting today we will be spending the rest of the semester on a partner project. It is a research project on redox reactions and will be roughly thirty percent of your final grade," announced Mr. Mirunai. 

Immediately, the class began to protest. Keith just rolled his eyes. Of course there was another project. They'd only had five so far. This quarter.

"Thirty percent?!"

"Oh no! I hate redox."

"Does this mean I have to make a works cited page?"

"Do we at least get to pick our partners?"

Mr. Mirunai waited for the chatter to dwindle before answering the relevant questions. 

"First of all, you will absolutely not be allowed to choose your own partners, we all know how well that went last time." He shot a few pointed looks at some kids in the front row.

The whole class groaned.

"Secondly," he continued, "you will have to make an eight minute presentation, a works cited page and a four-page research paper. This should be in standard MLA format. Thirdly, this is thirty percent of your grade, which I know is a lot, but eight of you are failing right now and I would like to provide an opportunity to you to avoid getting kicked out of the Garrison for something as minuscule as academics."

Keith rolled his eyes and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. A partner project? Was he serious? And for what? All for the sake of a few students who couldn't pull their heads out of their ass for long enough to pay attention in class? Worse, he'd probably be expected to do all the work so some stupid schmuck could cling on to their spot at the school for another year. Didn't these people know how lucky they were? Why weren't they just trying harder?

At least the partners were assigned; Keith was glad he wouldn't have to deal with the embarrassment of no one wanting to partner with him. 

Suddenly, the lights flicked off, tearing Keith out of his thoughts. The projector whirred to life, displaying a desktop picture of the teacher and his family. Keith found the photo a bit weird, mostly because the teacher was wearing a three piece suit. At the beach. And no one else in the photo was remotely dressed up. Teachers were so weird sometimes. 

"Alright, now where did I write down your partner assignments…" 

The class watched with increasing anticipation while he searched his computer for the document. Several minutes later, Mr. Mirunai announced that he couldn't find the correct document. Instead, they would be assigned partners randomly via a spin the wheel website. Hooray. 

Keith knew it wouldn't matter. Whoever ended up with him as a partner would rope him into doing the whole thing solo and never speak to him again after they turned it in. He sighed, apparently too loudly for James Griffin, the guy sitting next to him, who let out an exaggerated, mocking huff.

"Ugh, dude, I get that you're emo, but seriously, please keep that melodramatic moody shit to yourself; it's distracting," James muttered just loud enough for Keith to hear. 

"Oh, my apologies, Griffin, I'll try not to breathe around you anymore, I didn't realize your feeble concentration could be broken so easily," Keith responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Griffin just rolled his eyes.

Keith turned his attention back to the teacher, who had (finally!) typed all of their names into the website. Mr. Mirunai spun the wheel; the class quieted down.

The wheel ticked quietly over the speakers, eventually landing on James. The rest of the class watched with bated breath to see who would end up with the grade's resident popular kid. The wheel was spun once again, and of course it landed on Jordan Pierce, Griffin's best friend. Keith scoffed. The J's were inseparable even by fate, apparently. 

The next pair revealed was Hunk Garret and Pidge Gunderson. The two exchanged smiles and high fived. A formidable force of brain power, Keith expected this project would be a breeze for them. The mutters around him seemed to agree. 

Several more pairs were called before the wheel finally got to Keith. His classmates turned to look at him. He caught a few whispers, most along the lines of "who's going to get stuck with that prick."

Keith bit his tongue, not wanting to further alienate his future partner with a scathing remark. He held his breath as the wheel of fate turned once more, this time deciding his destiny. After what seemed like forever, it landed on a name.

Lance McClain. 

Huh.

Wait, who was that?

Keith glanced around the room. Towards the front he spotted a boy staring him down. The boy had messy, medium brown hair and a sharp jawline similar to Keith's own. Keith offered a smile and made eye contact. The boy had eyes like an ocean trench, a deep startling blue. They were captivating. Drawing his attention like a bug to a streetlight. Keith figured this guy must be Lance. 

Now that he thought about it, he thought he could recall overhearing people talk about someone called "Loverboy Lance" in the hallway once or twice. Thinking about those captivating eyes, Keith supposed it was probably an accurate title.

Lance turned his attention to the kid next to him, who seemed to be apologizing for something. Keith tried to listen to what he was saying, but in the midst of the chattery classroom, he was only able to discern a couple of words.

"… Stuck… Kogane… you wanted… Daisy, sorry." 

He didn't need to hear any more to figure out what that meant. Clearly "Loverboy Lance" over here was more concerned with getting a girlfriend than a competent partner. No hate to Daisy or anything, but everyone knew she had an awful record with group projects and a reputation as the prettiest girl in the class. 

Eventually, the last of the students were put into pairs and Mr. Mirunai gave everyone the last fifteen minutes of class to meet with their partners and talk things over.

He scanned the room for Lance and once again found himself lost in those gorgeous eyes. He shook himself and after a bit of gesturing incoherently at random desks, they eventually found themselves at a desk in the middle of the classroom. It was roughly the halfway point between their desks, so Keith supposed it worked well. 

"First impressions matter," Shiro had said that to him during his first week at the Garrison, but he didn't know why that advice was coming back to him now.

Regardless, Keith plastered a smile on his face and stuck his hand out for a handshake.

"Hi, I'm Keith, I don't think we've met before."

"No we haven't. I'm Lance." Instead of shaking his hand Lance gave him a high five. 

"So… The project?" 

"Right, yeah. How do you want to split this up?"

Split this up? He didn't want Keith to do all the work?? This should have been a welcome change, but after the conversation about Daisy he'd overheard, he wasn't sure that Lance was very dedicated to good grades and teamwork. But, Keith didn't want his assumptions to jeopardize their project, so he pushed his concerns aside.

"I mean, I don't really care how we split it up as long as we both do work. Do you have any, um, preferences?"

 Keith held back a grimace from his awkward wording. Why couldn't he string together a sentence? Thankfully, Lance's response wasn't very eloquent either. 

"I'm kind of more of a collaborationist than anything else to be honest. Is that a word? 'Collaborationist'? Whatever, what I mean is, I'd rather work side by side on the whole thing than, like, split it up into individual assignments for us to do. Does that make sense?" 

"Um, yeah, I guess that works for me. We should probably meet up after class to work on it sometimes."

"Yep, probably. Library work for you?"

"Library's great. What's your number? Just so we can keep in touch and all that. I'm not a stalker or anything." 

Sweet fuck, why had he said that ?

Lance understandably shot him an odd look and the two exchanged numbers. 

"So," Lance began, "How's it feel to be the school hotshot?"

"What?"

"Well, people say you're like, the prodigy of the decade or something. I saw a news article proclaiming you a better pilot cadet than Shirogane . Takashi fucking Shirogane."

Keith smirked, "They're idiots, I'll never be better than Shiro."

"But the rest?"

"What, are you jealous?"

"Absolutely not! You think I believe the rumors? I've seen you fly in person, unlike those idiot reporters. They're just going off of stats." 

"Sure, you've seen me fly in person, which is why you know I'm the best damned pilot you've ever had the pleasure of meeting." 

Keith leaned forward wearing a wide, teasing grin. Lance took a step closer, clearly not one to back down easily.

"I'll have you know I've met a better one. I've known him my entire life, actually." 

Keith scoffed, "Oh yeah, who?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lance was in his face now, they were almost nose to nose. "It's me." 

"Oh, wow, you're so funny ."

"Trust me, you'll grow to love it."

"Sure I will."

Lance just grinned back at him.

"It is a word," Keith blurted out.

"What?"

"Collaborationist. It's a word."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, thanks!"

Then, the bell was ringing and the crowd whisked them into the bustling hallways.

Chapter Text

Keith slid his headphones into his ears and hit play. The sounds of a crackling speaker filled his head, along with familiar and steady guitar chords. Just as he exited the last security door of the Garrison, Gerard Way's voice came crashing through the speakers. 

Mama, we all go to Hell

The desert air engulfed him instantly. Although he'd lived there his entire life, Keith didn't think he'd ever get used to the oven-like feeling. It was inescapable, and it made him sweat, which was gross. He hated feeling like he'd bathed in glue, or, on the worst days, like he'd taken a swim in oil.

No, the heat made Keith feel unclean. He much preferred the dry, sterile texture of Arizona winters. 

It's really quite pleasant

Except for the smell

Mama, we all go to Hell

All things considered, he supposed "Hell" wasn't a horrible description for the state. He certainly used to think so. Back when all the place was to him was the death of his father and being bounced from home to home, none of them his. Yes, past Keith would have certainly agreed; Arizona is Hell, with its fiery deaths and loneliness.

Present Keith, though? Well, things had changed a lot since his foster days. He'd gotten into the Galaxy Garrison and was on track to become a pilot. And, more than that, he had family. Four years ago, Shiro had grabbed him on the shoulder and hadn't let go since.

Shiro was the best. He was simultaneously the brother he never had and the father he should have gotten. There were probably all sorts of psychological implications of his father figure and older brother figure being the same guy, but Keith had neither the care nor the expertise to dissect that.

Shiro had been there for him, always. He'd been there through all of the big things, of course. He was there for Keith getting arrested for car theft (he would never tell Shiro this, but stealing his car had been so ridiculously fun. His teacher's face? Priceless!). He was by his side through every Garrison test. Submitting appeals when they refused to let him in based on "familial trauma" (stupid psychiatrists thought he couldn't pilot because his Dad died?? Fuck that).

Not only that, though, Shiro had been there for the tender moments. The ones that required gentleness and understanding. He'd held him when he missed his father. He'd helped him regain his strength after he'd shattered the bones in his arm. He'd made Keith feel safe enough to discover his sexuality and been the sweetest person in the world when he came out (that was partly because Shiro was gay himself, but Keith was forever grateful regardless).

Most recently, he'd saved Keith from the embarrassment of eating alone in the cafeteria every day. When Shiro had found out that he was eating alone he'd immediately had, like, ten solutions for him. First, he'd suggested several methods for befriending his classmates. 

But, it wasn't like Keith had had no friends. He'd had two, actually. But they weren't friends anymore, and Keith had no interest in repeating the whole "friendship" ordeal anytime soon. Well, he wasn't going to go out of his way, at the very least. 

After exhausting his friend making recommendations, Shiro had suggested that they eat lunch together. That's where Keith was headed now. Shiro typically brought the both of them sandwiches, although sometimes he got takeout. That was usually only for special occasions though. 

Finally having reached the correct parking lot, Keith looked up, squinting through the road shimmer. He started scanning the blinding crowd of vehicles for Shiro's Jeep. Eventually, he spotted it.

He'd always thought Shiro was a bit silly for owning a black car in a fucking desert, but apparently he thought it looked cool or something. Really, it's not like Keith had any room to judge him; he was no stranger to placing coolness over practicality. Keith's favorite jackets were cropped for fuck's sake. 

Keith winced when he grabbed the Jeep's door handle; the sky menace lovely sun was probably responsible for around seventy percent of the pain in his life. He climbed into the Jeep, and to his surprise, Shiro was holding two pizza boxes.

"What's up with those?" he asked, nodding to the pizza boxes.

Shiro feigned shock, "Do I need an excuse to treat my favorite little brother to pizza?"

"No," Keith took a slice of his pineapple pepperoni, "but you always seem to have one anyways."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Spill, what's up?"

"Ugh, you're so observant, I can't surprise you with anything."

"So… What happened?"

"Tell me about your day first, then I'll tell you."

"Oh, come on!"

"Look, if I go first, we're gonna end up talking about me the whole time. So just tell me about your day."

"Fine. Nothing happened in precalc. Flight simulator went great, as per usual. I still wish they'd let us try more advanced maneuvers but whatever, barrel rolls are fine, I guess. Um. Let's see, there was something else. Fuck, what was it?"

"Was it about chem class?"

"Yes, thank you! We have a partner project in chem and it actually might not be horrible."

"That's good, you like your partner, then?"

"Yeah," Keith smiled, "He's actually pretty cool, cooler than I thought he'd be at least. There is one thing I don't like about this project though."

Keith told Shiro about how ridiculous the assignment was, and how annoying it was that they had to do it. Shiro let him vent, probably sensing he didn't want advice.

Finally finishing his rant, he looked up at Shiro, grinning.

"So, what's your news? You have to spill now, it's only fair."

Shiro lit up, he'd clearly been anticipating this moment their entire lunch.

"Adam and I got engaged!!"

"What?! Holy shit! I'm so happy for you guys! When did this happen?" 

"Thank you, he proposed last night. It was lovely. He took me back to the restaurant where we had our first kiss."

Shiro must have seen through Keith's front, because then he said, "Wait a minute, did you know? How did you know? Did he tell you already?"

Keith chuckled. "Well, for starters, you have a suspiciously sparkly ring on your hand that I've never seen before. Also, he asked me permission to marry you a few weeks ago. Cheesiest thing ever by the way. You two are so in love it's ridiculous."

"He asked for your permission? Of course he did. That's such an Adam thing to do. I should have known."

"I think you were a bit distracted by the whole 'being engaged' thing."

"Yeah, probably," he admitted sheepishly. "Speaking of being distracted, it's already 12:40, you should probably start heading back. Keep me posted on the group project thing!"

"Yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow." He braced himself for the heat wave outside. Pushing the door open, he put in his headphones and began the trek back to campus. 

Chapter Text

When Keith returned to the campus parking lot, sirens blared, even through his headphones. He turned, looking for the source. Surprisingly, the wailing was not from any dumb academy drills. Instead, a swarm of fire trucks were barreling down the highway. 

Well, thought Keith, glad I'm not the sucker who needs five emergency vehicles.

When the fire trucks turned towards the school, though, he felt a shiver run down his spine. Someone at the Garrison could be in danger.

He could feel every crack in the pavement through his converse as he ran. The Garrison was the only place he'd ever belonged, even with its bullies. Here he was a pilot before anything else. The best pilot in years. Losing that? Well, Keith didn't want to think about it.

As he neared the area, the smell of burning assaulted his nostrils. He could see a giant plume of smoke rising a ways away but couldn't tell which building was on fire yet.

The emergency services were on the scene now, so he slipped down an alley to avoid resistance. The trail of gray hanging in the atmosphere led him to the library, which looked like it had all but exploded. The flames had seemingly engulfed all of the library's interior and were licking at the long dead flowers in the window sill.

Keith felt nauseous. There could be people in there. In fact, there almost certainly was, it was a twenty four hour library. He had to help them.

Approaching the building, Keith noticed that the main doors were melting into each other. Crazy fucking fire. Dropping his backpack onto the ground, he glanced around for another way in. 

One window was visibly doing better than the others, there were no flames immediately inside and even the curtains hadn't caught yet. Unfortunately, these windows only opened from the inside. Keith scanned the area for something heavy enough to break it. His eyes settled on a large, decorative rock. But it wasn't just any rock. He recognized it from his first day as a cadet. 

Shiro had been giving him a tour, pointing out his favorite spots on campus. He had pointed at the rock, saying,

"That one's from Mars, we brought it back on the Ares 8 mission. It also marks the exact location of where I met my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Keith hadn't known you could do that. 

Keith shook himself from his thoughts, there were people in danger. Focus.

Somehow, he managed to lift the rock, which definitely should have been too heavy. Keith decided to chalk it up to adrenaline, afterwards. He hurled the massive projectile at the window. It shattered instantly, and the Mars rock sailed into the nearby flames.

Smoke began to billow out of the opening, so Keith shoved his face into his shirt sleeve. It wasn't a great air filter, but it was better than nothing. He climbed through the window.

Inside the library, it was worse than he had originally thought. His eyes burned and watered so much he could barely see. Not that it mattered; the smoke was nearly opaque. He held his breath, unsure what to do. 

Then, something odd happened. The tears in his eyes seemed to solidify into a glossy film. His eyes didn't burn anymore and he could see significantly better. The smoke was still a problem though. 

Pushing whatever the hell had just happened to the back of his mind, he concentrated on the task at hand.

Next to the window, three humanoid lumps laid unmoving. Just unconscious, Keith hoped. He could tell they were cadets from their uniforms, but between the smoke in the air and the soot coating them, he couldn't make out their faces. 

He grabbed the smallest of the three first, noticing they had a small device clutched in their hands that seemed to be emitting cold air. He grabbed the device and placed it on the floor. It might buy him time. He carefully hoisted the cadet over and out of the window, gently setting them on the ground outside. He did the same for the next one and then the third, who by all logic he should not have been able to lift at all, much less three feet in the air.

Adrenaline is fucking weird. Why can't I be hulk in gym class?

After the third person, his lungs had had enough and spots had begun invading the edges of his vision. Keith collapsed onto the pavement, which was still hot from the weather, but in comparison to the burning library, it was nothing. Coughing racked his body, but after a minute or so, he felt well enough to sit up. 

Out of the smoke, he was finally able to see the faces of the people he'd pulled out of the library.

Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were all lying unconscious in front of him. He crawled closer and gently tapped Pidge on the cheek. Pidge was the first one he'd rescued, so he figured he would be the first to wake. He was right.

Pidge sputtered to life, doing his best to eject his lungs onto the pavement. Keith helped him to sit up. He went over to the backpack he had ditched earlier and grabbed his water bottle. He offered it to Pidge, who took it gratefully.

While Pidge was gulping down water, Keith noticed that he'd been shaking. He took a painful breath, trying to calm himself down. It helped a bit, but it also brought to his attention that he was getting increasingly dizzy.

He heard someone groan to his left. Lance was waking up. He sat up, and stared at Keith quizzically. Keith could almost see him piecing the event together. 

"You're bleeding," Lance told him. 

So he was. Jagged cuts lined his palms and forearms. Some of them had shards of glass poking out of them. Keith mentally slapped himself for crawling through the broken window without protection. Even a jacket over the shattered panes would have been better than nothing. 

"You should get that checked–" Lance vomited onto the pavement next to him. 

At least the cuts explained the dizziness. However, it was definitely not a good sign. He was bleeding a lot. Once again, black spots were creeping into his vision, this time not from smoke.

In a panic, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. There were already paramedics nearby, so what was the point of calling 911? Instead he searched "sos signal sound" into YouTube and clicked the first video that came up. As he felt his consciousness slipping away, he held down the volume button. 

The last thing he heard before passing out was "At Olive Garden, the cheese keeps coming." 

Great, there's a fucking ad. 

Chapter Text

Blinding lights seared through Keith's eyelids as he regained consciousness. There was a soft, continuous beeping to his left. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. It was like he had inhaled salt; every part of his chest was suddenly on fire. Deciding he would stick to shallow breathing only (which still hurt, just not nearly as bad), he pried his eyes open. 

Intense white blanketed his view instantly. Keith blinked hard, trying to discern the blurry shapes around him. He was unsure of his surroundings, and it was making him sweat. Slowly, the objects around him came into focus. 

He was in a hospital bed. The beeping thing next to him was a heart monitor. The room was cold, and he wished he had his quilt. It was the only thing he had left from his childhood—everything else had been lost or broken during his time in the foster system. It felt silly to still be hanging onto it, especially as it was falling apart, but getting rid of it seemed like throwing away a piece of himself. So he'd kept it. 

But, alas, the quilt wasn’t here, and the room seemed to be at a temperature best suited for polar bears. Which meant that if Keith wanted to warm up, he’d have to call a nurse. He glanced around, trying to find the call button. 

That was when he noticed the bandages. His palms, his wrists, his forearms, parts of his legs, all covered in extensive gauze. Even a few of his fingers had bandaids on them. His arms didn’t hurt, though, and Keith suspected that they had put something for the pain into the IV that was taped to the crook of his elbow.

Eventually, he found the call button and summoned the nurse, who was there in seconds. He was young, maybe in his late twenties and, well, Keith couldn’t lie, the guy was hot. Between the guy's impeccable jawline and dazzling eyes, Keith had a hard time speaking clearly when he asked him what was wrong.

“Um, it’s cold, I want–Can you please—Can I—Could you…?” Keith sighed, giving up on his feeble attempt at politeness, “I want a blanket.”

The nurse smiled at him, “Sure thing. My name is Daniel. Before I get you that blanket, I need to take your vitals, is that alright?”

Keith simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak again, he could feel that his face was beet red already. Hot strangers always had the most embarrassing effect on him, and everytime something like this happened he wished he could shove his face in ice water, preferably far away from all civilization. 

Daniel summoned a clipboard from thin air and jotted a few things down. Then, he opened one of the cupboards and pulled out what Keith recognized as being one of those blood pressure instruments. Keith held out his arm, and Daniel velcroed the heavy fabric strap so it rested snugly on his arm.

“I trust you’ve had your blood pressure taken before?” 

Keith nodded in response again, still trying to avoid talking, not just to avoid embarrassment, but also because it kind of hurt. His throat felt like sandpaper and swallowing was like drinking a glass smoothie.

“Okay, so this is going to be just like a normal BP test, except the machine will be on a timer, and about every three minutes it’s going to do another test.”

“Why?” Keith rasped.

“You were cut up pretty bad in the fire, and although we were confident the stitches would hold when you were passed out originally, you’ve woken up now. People are unpredictable when conscious, so if you accidentally rip your stitches and pass out, the alarm will sound because of your falling BP. It’s a much better system than waiting for a patient’s heart to stop, and for that alarm to sound, don’t you think?” He was grinning.

Was that supposed to be a joke? Keith let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, that would be dumb…” He agreed. He was starting to like this nurse less, hotness aside.

Nurse Daniel was halfway out the door when he seemed to remember something. “Oh by the way, there’s a man here named ‘Takashi Shirogane’ who wants to see you. Is that okay?”

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” Shiro shouted. “Running into a burning building? Crawling through broken glass ? Are you insane?”

“Do you really want me to answer that last one?”

“Keith! This is serious! You could have died.”

“I didn’t, though.”

“No thanks to your so-called ‘quick thinking’,” Shiro scoffed.

“Hey! I was being smart! And–Wait. Who said I was quick thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter. And you were definitely not being smart. You didn’t even try to cover the glass shards before you practically bathed in them.”

“Oh come on,” Keith folded his bandaged arms and tried not to grimace, “It wasn’t even that bad.”

“Two and a half pints. That’s how much blood you lost Keith. That’s over twenty percent of what you’re supposed to have in your entire body. Another minute or two and you would have been dead.”

Keith swallowed. (It burned. Ugh, he kept forgetting about that. The BP machine was getting annoying too, it made his arm sore every few minutes when the timer for it went off.) He knew it had been bad, but he hadn’t realized how close of a call it was. An uncomfortable chill washed over him, and it wasn’t from the freezing AC. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I was reckless,” he croaked. “And I’m sorry that I scared you.”

Shiro sighed, “But you’re not sorry you did it, are you?”

Keith shook his head. “I saved lives, I wouldn’t take that back for anything.”

Shiro seemed to ponder that for a while; he leaned back against the wall and eyed him carefully. Eventually, he moved over to sit at Keith’s bedside. He let out a deep sigh.

“Keith,” he started, “I’m proud of you for saving people, it was very brave. But at the same time, what you did was dangerous. Stupid dangerous. And if the paramedics hadn’t already been there then I- I don’t- You might not be here. I can’t lose you, Keith, it would be like losing a brother.”

Keith sniffed. (Which hurt. Ugh, smoke exposure was fucking awful.) He felt his eyes watering, so he forced his eyes to stay open to avoid the embarrassment of crying.

“Just, please,” Shiro continued, “I know I can’t stop you, so if you’re going to be a hero again, try to be safe about it. Just a little bit. I swear I might even make you take safety classes or some shit. Promise me you’ll prioritize your safety first, at least. You can’t save anyone if you're dead.”

“Fine. I promise. We good?”

Shiro nodded, “Yeah, we're good.”

“Oh, and by the way, the hospital said they’ll discharge you tomorrow. They’re keeping everyone from the library fire overnight because of chemicals they found in the smoke.”

“Great. Hospital food and the grand activity of laying in bed. Lovely.”

“Sucks, huh? When your actions have consequences?”

Keith shot him a look of unbound teenage disgust.

Shiro smirked. “You are so easy to annoy. If you want to get out of bed, we can go to the cafeteria.”

***

The hospital’s cafeteria food wasn’t actually that bad. Keith had gone through the buffet and was now thoroughly convinced that buffets were evil. Not because of gross food or anything, no. But holding an unbalanced plate and a scorching hot bowl of soup while trying to stack more food onto said plate felt like attempting a backflip on concrete. The stakes weren’t technically as high, but splattering a generous meal’s worth of food all over himself in public was only slightly lower on his nightmare list than paralysis . 

Feeling like a novice circus performer, Keith stumbled to an empty table, desperately trying to keep his tower from collapsing. Thankfully, he made it without incident. So here he was, about to eat dinner. Alone. Shiro had wanted to stay, but when Adam had called saying his car had broken down, Keith had insisted that he go help. It took a bit of convincing, but once it was made clear that Shiro couldn’t do much for Keith at the moment, he conceded.

So now, Keith could finally have some tranquility. No concerned adults looking over his shoulder. He loved Shiro, but sometimes he was more of an overbearing parent than a friend or a brother. If Keith had to hear “You okay?” one more time, he was going to explode. What he really needed was peace and quiet. He inhaled, which still hurt a bit, but was a vast improvement over when he’d first woken up. The burn was kind of nice in a way; it reminded him that he was still kicking. 

He grabbed a fork in preparation for demolishing his mac and cheese. Peace and quiet. Some good old alone ti–

Someone sat down at the table, lunch tray in hand.

Keith looked up from his meal to find himself locked in the gaze of two intensely blue eyes. Across the table sat Lance McClain, his partner from chem class. Well, so much for solitude. Keith raised his eyebrows in a silent question: ‘ Why are you here ?’

Lance smiled at him. “So, I want to thank you for saving my life. And my friends’ lives. That was really brave, and I’m alive because of it, so thank you. So much.”

Keith was about to respond, but Lance continued, “Although, now that I think about it, it was kind of a dumb thing to do. Running into a burning building? Do I need to worry about the project? At this rate you’ll be dead by the due date.”

“If it weren’t for me, you might already be dead. Then I’d have to do the project solo. Which is worse than running into a burning building. I weighed the options, obviously.”

“Yeah, right,” Lance retorted, biting into his–Was that mac and cheese? In a taco shell ??

Keith stared at him incredulously. “Dude, what the hell are you eating?”

“Oh, this?” Lance flashed another grin, “I call it the Mac N’ Taco.”

“I think you mean the insane and loco.”

“First of all, those mean the same thing. Second of all, I know it’s a crime against the universe, but it’s really good. Here, try it.”

“No thanks,” he pushed the offered plate away, “I don’t need to add to the list of reasons I’m going to hell.”

“Suit yourself,” Lance told him, munching down on his creation.

“Every single person who has ever eaten a taco is rolling over in their grave right now, you realize.”

“Even the living ones?"

Keith considered this for a moment. “Yes," he decided, " They've died from sheer horror and it’s all your fault.”

“Excellent. I guess I’m famous now, and it sounds like I have an impressive sphere of influence.”

“You’re an idiot, Lance McClain.” Keith was grinning now, too. Why was he grinning? He should be stone faced. This is an important debate, obviously.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Would an idiot survive a dangerous, brutal library fire?”

“Only if someone handsome, talented, and brave saved his ass.”

“Oh, you’re handsome now?”

“Your words, not mine,” Keith smirked.

“Well, I’m not going to deny it. You are attractive. Like, objectively.”

Keith felt his cheeks burn and decided it was time to change the subject. It felt like they were closing in on serious conversation. And Keith didn’t do those with hardly anyone. Not anymore. Not after last time.

“So,” he put in, “Where are we going to work on the chem project now? I doubt the library will be in usable shape at least until after winter break.”

“Excellent point. Does the student lounge work for you?”

***

After Lance finished his taco against humanity, he left to go back to his room, claiming he had a hot date with a nurse. Keith wasn’t sure what to think of the guy. He was kind and witty, but he also was kind of unhinged. Not in a bad way. But unhinged nonetheless.

He suspected that Lance’s most insane oddities were just a part of a bit. Lance seemed to play the part of an eccentric womanizer, without the usual misogyny. As much as Keith loved friendly banter, he often got people to ramble so he could sit back and observe. Lance McClain, he discovered, was very easy to get talking. Once he got going, he really did not stop. At all. 

So Keith had watched him. And, okay, maybe it was a little creepy, to just intently stare as Lance spoke, but this was how he figured people out. After his first month or so in the foster system, he’d learned that if you shut the hell up and were a good audience, most people would reveal their true nature in minutes. You’d have to know what to look for, but Keith had learned. Fast. And it had its advantages to this day.

He had watched Lance eat his taco with vigor, get cheese all over his face, ignore his napkin and wipe his face with the back of his hand. So he wasn’t filthy rich or in a family that pretended they were. Probably. 

Observing human behavior was always more of an art than a science. Some behaviors, Keith had learned, were much more easily interpreted. Lance had winked at about ten girls within the first fifteen minutes of his meal. He flirted with at least three other girls as they walked past their table. Every single one at least smiled back. Did he know them all? Or was he just that charismatic? Keith wasn’t sure, but Lance being a hit with the ladies wasn’t exactly new information considering that his nickname was Loverboy Lance.

Keith discovered a lot about Lance during that meal. For starters, he found out Lance was from Cuba, and that he was supposedly “safe from ancestor ghosts" angered by the "taco crimes” because tacos weren’t from Cuba. Keith wasn’t sure this mattered, because surely every ghost who did traditionally make tacos would be on his ass, relations aside. Regardless, ghosts weren’t real, so that wasn’t a genuine concern. 

He also found out that Lance had an older sister, Veronica, who was pretty much a certified genius. And, apparently, Lance had decided to classify dessert as an essential food group when he was five, and hadn’t changed his thoughts on the matter since. 

Then, he had started talking about the friends that he’d been with in the library when it caught fire. He told Keith stories about Hunk and Pidge like they were characters in a novel. Lance’s words added a layer of vibrancy to everything he spoke of. The way he described things gave his tales glamor, and if Keith didn’t know any better, he’d think that Hunk was a world renowned chef who had just accidentally stumbled upon an education at the Garrison, and that Pidge was a new Einstein who survived mostly off of monster energy and french fries (actually that one wasn’t too far from the truth).

Eventually, he had asked Keith where he sat in the cafeteria for lunch. Keith told him, and Lance stared at him, mortified. 

"Dude," he'd said, "you can't just eat lunch with your quasi father everyday. That's, like, missing the entire point of boarding school. Sit with me and my friends. We're  extraordinary amounts of fun, I promise."

Well, what the hell was Keith supposed to do with that? He was left with two options. One of which was to ignore Lance's offer and possibly offend the only classmate he'd had a genuine and friendly interaction with in ages. The other involved the mortifying experience of Making Friends.

"Sit with me and my friends."

Just one short sentence. Six little words. And on the end hung a promise. 

A meaningless promise, of course, uttered merely in passing. But Keith knew there were only two types of people who gave out promises for free:

Backstabbers. And family.

He hoped Lance wasn’t the former, but he didn’t have anything else interesting going on with his social life, so fuck it, right? Whether this was going to end well or not, at least he wouldn’t be lonely all year. And if he turned out to be the latter, well, Keith wouldn't mind more family. Maybe someday he’d have a family to keep.

Chapter Text

Keith spent the drive back from the hospital lost in thought. His various wounds were healing extremely well; according to the doctors, his short recovery time was nearly unheard of.

Whatever they said, though, didn't make up for the fact that Keith felt worse than roadkill. They'd taken him off of the prescription pain meds at the hospital, and now he felt every cut, bruise, scrape, and burn.

Worse than the pain, he couldn't do anything. He'd accidentally ripped his stitches out in his sleep the previous night trying to wrench himself away from that awful blood pressure machine, so now his arms were coated in bandages from the crook of his elbow all the way down to his fingertips. It was as if he was wearing the world's worst pair of oven mitts. 

He could vaguely hear Adam and Shiro discussing wedding colors in the front of the jeep, but his mind kept wandering back to the library fire. Keith found it very odd that the building had caught fire out of nowhere. He hadn’t been able to pry much information out of Adam, who had ties to people in Incidents & Security, but what he had found out was… strange, to say the least.

Apparently, the building had been perfectly normal one second, then completely engulfed in flame the next. Instantly. The official story, of course, was “freak accident”, but behind closed doors there was an investigation for arson and, possibly, attempted murder. Keith thought back to the melting metal exit doors he'd seen that day. The exit doors may or may not have been targeted specifically, but the fact that they were melting at all suggested something abnormal about the fire. Malicious even. 

If some arsonist was targeting the library of the most prestigious space program in the US, what was stopping them from burning the rest of the Garrison to a crisp? Keith could never let that happen. 

Who would want to mess with the Garrison anyway? Keith supposed it could be a foreign power, but the Garrison was shockingly unpolitical for a government program. Its main purpose wasn't even colonization, just research. So, the crime probably wasn't political.

He stared out the window, puzzled. They were hurtling down the freeway at eighty miles per hour, but Keith didn't mind the speeds. In fact, it reminded him of flying. 

Nothing in this world or the next could ever compare to the thrill of flying a plane. It was open in every direction. It was freedom. Flying was life without safeguards. In a plane, the only reason he had to follow the rules was trust. There was nothing really stopping him from picking a direction and just. Going. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't bother to check it; he couldn't respond to anyone anyways because of the excessive bandages on his arms. Well, he could technically use voice to text, but not in front of other people, how embarrassing, even if they were his family. 

Eventually, they made it to Shiro and Adam’s house. Keith had a room here, too, but he mostly lived in the school dorms. He was glad to return to a normal bed that was fully his after being wired to the wall in a hospital cot. He stretched out on his maroon sheets, staring at the whirling ceiling fan. 

Keith's body yearned for sleep, but his mind had other plans. He had the irresistible urge to do something before he could doze off, but wasn't sure what it was, and it was making him restless. The only problem was, he didn't have anything he had to do, much less could do with the bandages encasing his arms. Finally, he settled on checking that text from earlier. 

Texting was an unwarrantedly complex task to carry out when confined to oven mitts of gauze. First, he fished his phone out of his pocket with the dexterity of a seal. After several tries, it ended up flopping under the bed and Keith had to resist the urge to scream. He somehow kicked the phone out from under his bed. Holding the device precariously between his arms, he tried typing in the security passcode with his nose. He failed three times, but on the fourth try, he got it.

At last, he was able to see who’d texted him. It was Lance. This should not have come as a surprise to Keith, considering that he had no other friends and if Shiro or Adam needed to talk to him they could easily do it in person. He opened the messaging app to find a simple “when do you want to meet up?" in glowing white letters.

Deciding against typing with his nose, he tapped the speaker button.

“Anytime tomorrow works for me," said Keith, clicking send. To his horror, just as the message was sent, he realized that it read “Anytime tomorrow works baby."

Well shit. Autocorrect was an unconvincing excuse, so what should he say? Should he just wait for a response? Correct himself with no explanation? Keith didn't want Lance to get the wrong idea. Sure, Lance was gorgeous, but he didn't really know the guy. Also, it seemed like a stupid idea to date his partner. Not that he wanted to.

Apparently, Keith had spent too much time deliberating, because his phone buzzed with a brand new message from Lance: “See you at 4pm in the student lounge, sugarcakes."

Keith took a breath. Clearly Lance had just thought it was a joke, because no one in their right mind called anyone “sugarcakes.” To be fair though, Keith wasn't sure Lance had a right mind after the taco incident. Regardless, he'd successfully avoided a very embarrassing typo and planned for the project. Keith would call that a success, but after the library incident, his bar for success was perhaps a few degrees lower than it should have been. 

Finally having accomplished something, he felt the exhaustion of his injuries sinking into his bones. He flopped onto his bed, sluggishly removing his shoes before passing out.

***

It was 4:17 pm, Lance was nowhere in sight, and Keith's knee would not stop bouncing despite his best efforts. It was a habit he'd had as long as he could remember, and it was great to release some nervous energy. Unfortunately, it was a visible nervous habit, and Keith didn't like showing weakness. Showing weakness made him nervous. This left him in a frustrating loop of anxiety that he could only break out of if he addressed the original cause.

Today's cause of choice was sitting in the student lounge, clearly alone. Keith was an introvert, true, but he hated being perceived as a friendless freak. It wasn't as if he didn't want friends, it was just that his previous “friends" hadn't wanted him as a friend. Not the real him anyway. They'd been more concerned with superficial presentation than anything else.

Just then, James Griffin and Jordan Pierce strolled into the room. Speak of the devil. Keith watched them as they entered until he accidentally locked eyes with Jordan. Keith realized he must have been glaring daggers at them because the look Jordan shot back was one of the nastiest he'd ever seen. Now the pair of them were marching over. Great.

“What the hell are you looking at, Kogane?" Pierce said coarsely.

“Nothing worth looking at, apparently,” Keith sneered. 

“Oh, we're nothing?” Griffin elbowed Pierce, chuckling like it was funny. “Is that what you really think, Keith, or are you projecting?" 

"What the fuck, pray tell, are you on about?”

James Griffin cocked an eyebrow, eyeing Keith's bandaged forearms. "Aw, Keith, didn't your father ever tell you not to play with knives? Or did he kill himself in that fire before he had the chance? I guess the apple didn't fall far from the tree.” 

Keith had to take a second to process what James had said because surely he had heard him wrong, surely even the likes of James Griffin wouldn’t utter something so grotesque. But he had said it, and Keith didn't really know how to respond. Words couldn’t quantify the loathing he felt right now. James had crouched down a bit, like he was speaking with a toddler, so Keith spit in his face, which was decidedly too close. 

James jerked back, and Keith took the opportunity to knee him in the jaw. Keith got up from his chair just in time for Jordan Pierce to punch him in the gut, a wave of nausea slamming through him as a result. Blocking that out, he launched himself at Griffin, pinning him to the floor, only to immediately be pulled off him by Pierce.

Pierce started to wrap his arm around Keith's throat, but he didn't let him get that far. Keith threw himself back with all his weight, tipping Jordan off balance. Jordan must not be very experienced in fighting, Keith noticed. He came to this conclusion when he felt Jordan’s arm leave his neck. Keith almost felt bad for what he knew would happen next.

When they hit the floor, there was a spine chilling crunch as Jordan tried to catch himself on his hands. An ear splitting scream rang through the air. Keith extracted his own limbs from Jordan’s, who was incapacitated for the time being. Keith rose to his feet, taking a deep breath.

He was about to turn around when he felt someone behind him–probably Griffin–kicked his legs out from under. That nice, deep breath that he'd just taken violently shot out of him when his back hit the floor. As he gasped for air, Griffin’s face loomed over him, furious. Then, like a coward, he started kicking Keith while he was on the ground. Keith rolled away, still trying to get a decent gulp of air into his lungs. Griffin charged after him, but at the last second Keith somehow found the strength to pull himself to his feet using the back of one of the couches. Vaguely, Keith was aware of everyone’s eyes on them from every cranny in the room.

James Griffin, on the other hand, was either not aware or perhaps just a little bit nuts, because he didn't stop to punch Keith at the couch, but instead pushed Keith over the back of the couch and into the lap of the unlucky girl who'd chosen to sit there. But James apparently wasn't done yet, because he leapt over the couch and started to beat Keith with the first thing he could grab. Fortunately for Keith, the object was a pillow.

“What the fuck, dude?" Keith couldn't stop himself. What kind of moronic bully hits people with pillows??

Sick of the whole thing, Keith jammed his knee into Griffin’s crotch. Griffin slid off the couch, curled in pain. Carefully, and with exuberant apologies, Keith got up off of the girl they'd landed on.

Everyone was staring at him.

Shit. 

“Uhh, show’s over people, mind your business," announced a voice from the crowd.

Keith looked to see who it was and–of fucking course–it was Lance.