Chapter Text
“And her croquetas, holy shit. I don’t know how my Abuelita does it, but her croquetas are a gift from God. I’m pretty sure she adds a pinch of crack, because it’s literally impossible to not eat like, fifty of them in one go—”
“Lance,” Pidge interrupts, “I know you’re excited to get some home cooking, but you’ve been talking about your grandmother’s food for like, 20 minutes now.”
Lance shrugs, smirk entirely unapologetic as he takes a swig from his peppermint mocha latte—the one that he had Keith put three extra pumps of mocha in, the heathen. “Pidge, if you ever tried my Abuelita’s homemade rum cake, you wouldn’t blame me.”
Keith rolls his eyes from behind the counter, bending back over to continue his task of cleaning the espresso machine; a time-consuming task that usually leaves Keith’s hands feeling cramped and reeking of coffee grounds. But the repetitive motions of rubbing down each part of the machine is soothing in a way, so he falls into a steady rhythm as he listens to his friends chat at the table nearby. A soft, jazzy rendition of “Silent Night” flows quietly through the store’s sound system. The shop closes in about fifteen minutes, so the place is deserted save for them, and Keith cherishes the small bubble of warmth the atmosphere creates.
“Speaking of twenty minutes,” Matt pipes up from his seat beside his sister, “We should’ve left like an hour ago. We’ve got a seven hour drive ahead of us.”
“Why don’t you guys leave tomorrow? It’s almost eleven.” Shiro asks as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“Matt doesn’t wanna get caught in that storm that’s supposed to hit tomorrow,” Pidge responds around the rim of her drink, the coffee mug almost comically large in her small hands. She’s almost nineteen, but between the oversized cups of the coffee house, the large glasses perched on her thin nose, and the giant green knit sweater that pools over her hands, she looks like a toddler. “It’s already on a collision course with the majority of the east coast, so our parents are worried we’ll get caught driving through it if we wait too long.”
Lance takes a sip of his sugary insult to actual coffee, tapping his long fingers against the tabletop in beat to the music. “Dude, that storm’s not supposed to hit until tomorrow night.”
Matt shrugs. “You never know with storms like these. I’ve heard four or five different times about when it’s supposed to get here, and I’d rather not chance it.”
“That’s fair.” Shiro agrees, stirring more cream into his cup of decaf. He turns to Allura, who’s pressed against his side, hands wrapped around her mug of chai tea as she scrolls through her phone.
"My weather app says that there’s about a forty percent chance of snow by 2 am tonight. They’re predicting over two feet by Monday.”
“Yikes, have fun with that.” Lance laughs. “While all of you guys get to freeze up here, I’ll be chilling on the beach working on my tan.” Lance says, leaning back in his seat.
“I like the snow,” Pidge pipes up. “It’s kind of nice, especially around the holidays.”
“Yeah, but driving in it isn’t.” Matt says. “Speaking of, we really gotta get going. Mom’s going to have a conniption if we don’t let her know we’ve left soon.”
The two stand to leave, making their rounds around the table with hugs and well wishes for the break. Keith watches fondly while he puts the rest of the store’s cups away on the shelves. He flips the counter’s top up when it’s his turn for a hug, apologizing for how nasty he must be right now. He’s been on since four, and hopes he doesn’t smell as gross as he feels.
“Oh shut up, you nerd. You smell like coffee grinds. That’s like, the smell of angels.” Pidge says, squeezing him tight around his middle. He laughs and returns the hug, patting her head affectionately. She glances up at him through her large lenses, brows furrowing. “You sure you don’t want to come with us? Our parents said you’re more than welcome. You can help me kick Matt’s ass at cribbage when my great aunt comes over.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Keith smiles. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
“I feel bad.”
“Don’t, seriously. Besides, I have to work, anyway.” He assures her.
He doesn’t mention that the thought of going home with Pidge and Matt for the holidays makes him terribly anxious, or that the thought of having to give the inevitable explanation to a bunch of strangers about why he’s with them instead of his own family makes him feel like he’s about to break out in hives. The pitying glances of pretty much everybody who asks him about his Christmas plans (none) is enough. He’d rather not have to explain over and over again that he doesn’t have plans because he doesn’t have a family to make them with.
Besides, now he can finally catch up on that reboot of X Files. Silver linings.
Pidge squints up at him, frowning. “If you spend your entire break in your apartment watching Netflix, I’m going to personally shave your head.”
Keith chuckles. “I won’t, I promise.” Which isn’t technically a lie, since he plans to go to the gym. That counts as leaving his apartment.
Pidge seems appeased by this, letting him go so he can give Matt a quick hug as well. “Stay in touch, okay? Just because we’re not all going to be here doesn’t mean that you get to drop off the face of the Earth like some hermit.”
Keith rolls his eyes. “There is no pleasing you two, is there?”
“Nope,” Pidge grins, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as they make their way towards the door. “See you losers next year!”
The rest of them wave as the two depart with a chorus of ‘have fun’s and ‘be safe’s. Lance hollers at Pidge to refrain from drinking a carton of eggnog in one go this year, and she flips him off before the door swings shut and they disappear down the street.
Allura makes to stand next, Shiro following suit. “We should probably head off ourselves,” She says apologetically. “We have an early train to catch. Which reminds me, Keith, you’re still more than welcome to come with us.”
Keith sighs, ducking back behind the counter to finish wiping down the equipment. “Thanks Allura, but really, I’m fine.” He insists, grabbing a clean towel from over by the sink area. He takes his time soaking it beneath the faucet, not wanting to deal with the combined Concerned StareTM of the group parents. “I kind of like being on campus on break. The quiet is great, and Coran gives me time and a half at the shop.”
He can almost hear the two’s concerned frowns, but he hears Allura sigh in resignation. “If you’re sure,” She says, collecting her purse.
“Very.” He confirms, mustering up his most reassuring grin. He’s probably not as convincing as he hopes to be, but neither she nor Shiro push the topic any further. Instead, Allura leans over the counter to pull him into a hug, arms tight around his shoulders.
“You take care of yourself while we’re gone.” She says, tone motherly and warm. It makes Keith relax a little as he returns the embrace as best he can with a counter between them.
“I will,” He smiles.
Shiro actually ducks beneath the counter to come over and hug him, squeezing him tight. “I don’t know why you won’t just come with us,” He mutters, though not unkindly.
Keith would be lying if he said he isn’t tempted. It’s just going to be Shiro, Allura, her father, and Coran, so he doesn’t have the same overwhelming anxiety that he’d had when considering Pidge and Matt’s offer to come home with them. But at the same time he knows how close Allura is with her father and uncle, and the gathering feels much too intimate to intrude upon. He knows that nobody would question him, that everyone would do their very best to make him feel welcome and included, but Keith feels like the hospitality he’d be getting would just make him feel that much more out of place.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not spend the break watching you and Allura make kissy faces at each other in front of your future father-in-law.” He teases, grinning when Shiro’s cheeks pink. “Seriously, Shiro. I’m good. You and Allura have fun.”
Shiro’s still frowning, but he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he just gives him another hug and a solid pat on the shoulder, and a request to Skype them regularly. Keith happily agrees, waving them off with the promise that he’ll try to eat something other than Bagel Bites and Pop Tarts during the break.
The door’s bell jingles as it swings shut, leaving only Keith and Lance in the café. He leans an elbow on the counter, narrowing his eyes when he notices that his feet are propped up on the table. He’d just wiped them down, dammit.
“Shouldn’t you be leaving too?”
Lance leans farther back in his chair, slurping his latte as loudly as possible. “I’ve still got half a drink to finish here, my friend. And Lance McClain leaves no coffee un-drunk.”
“Well either hurry up and chug it or let me pour it in a to-go cup, because I want to leave.”
“Fine,” Lance says. He drapes himself over the counter, pillowing his head on his arms while Keith empties his mug into a paper cup. “Can you top it off? I’ve gotta leave for the airport in like two hours, and I think I’m gonna die.”
“Your fault for going out instead of going to bed early.” Keith says, popping a lid on. “Besides, I’ve already wiped down the machines and I’m sure as shit not doing it again. Hit up Starbucks when you get to the airport.”
Lance lets out a disappointed whine, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But they don’t put love in it like you do, Keithy baby.”
“If you call me that again I’m going to spit in this.”
Lance grins up at him, taking his cup. “See? How’s Starbucks supposed to compete with that?”
“Get out or I’m locking you in here.” Keith deadpans.
Lance cackles as he hops back down, blowing him a kiss. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.” He says.
“Don’t get second degree sunburn again.” Keith responds, leaning out the door.
“That was one time!”
“Goodbye, Lance.”
Lance gives him a fist bump, smiling. A strange something tugs in Keith’s chest, but he stomps it down just as quickly as the feeling comes. “Later, Keith.” He says, and with that he starts his trek home.
Keith flips the lock behind him and hits the main lights after watching Lance disappear down the sidewalk. He looks around the empty shop, the background noise of Christmas music now entirely too loud in the silence.
It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from the café, but by the time Keith gets back to his apartment, he’s freezing. His fingers are numb as they dig around in his jacket for his key ring. He bounces from one foot to the other to try and warm himself up as he unlocks his door.
The moment he manages to get his door open, Keith kicks off his shoes and beelines it to the radiator on the far side of his living room. He cranks the knob as far to the right as he can, sighing in satisfaction when the old radiator clangs to life. He doesn’t bother turning on any of his lights, maneuvering around his couch and coffee table in the dark to pad into the bathroom and start a shower.
Keith turns the hot water up as high as it’ll go, knowing full well how long it takes for the water to get to any remotely habitable temperature. He shucks off his clothes and brushes his teeth, taking his time until he sees steam begin to swirl around the tiny bathroom.
He wastes no time stepping beneath the spray. It’s nearly scalding, but it feels good on Keith’s icy skin so he sits and basks in it before reaching for the soap. This is one of his favorite parts of being one of the few people left on campus: most of the other tenants in the building have left for the break, so he can use as much of the hot water as he likes. He takes immense joy in simply soaking in the heat of the water, breathing in the steam before he starts to scrub away the day’s grime and the scent of coffee from his skin.
Keith scrubs at his hair with dollar store shampoo, staring at the slightly cracked tile in the wall across from him in the claw-foot tub. His building isn’t exactly the nicest on campus, but it’s the cheapest as far as dorm costs go and for the price difference Keith can overlook the less-than-stellar aesthetics. Considering he’s paying out-of-pocket for housing, he tries to pinch as many pennies as he can in any place he can spare it.
Once the chill from outside has thoroughly seeped from his limbs, Keith turns off the shower and pads his way into his bedroom. The building is blessedly quiet for a Friday night, most of the other students having left for break already, and for once he thinks he’ll actually be able to sleep. He pulls on a pair of clean boxers and a long-sleeved thermal, pulling his hair back in a ponytail and soft headband to keep his wet bangs out of his face. Keith climbs into bed, the only noise around him being the soft hum of his radiator in the other room and the occasional car passing by on the street. He thinks about his friends, all on their ways home, about the offers he got, about how he could’ve been with them. Tries not to let the small pang of regret linger in his stomach as he wraps his blankets tighter.
This isn’t so bad, he thinks, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t think of his friends or where he could be as he falls asleep to the silence.
The first thing Keith is aware of when he wakes up is that it’s fucking cold despite the fact that he’d turned on the heat when he’d gotten home from work. His nose is ice cold, and he quickly pulls in the foot that had managed to escape his comforter. He grumbles in irritation at the realization that his heater is probably on the fritz again, burrowing deeper into his covers to try and conserve body heat. He makes a mental note to call the RD in the morning about it.
The second thing he’s aware of is a vague, erratic tap-tap-tapping on his window. He’s a fairly light sleeper, so the sound is probably the reason why he’s awake at—he glances at his alarm clock and makes a face—three twenty-three in the morning. He turns over in a huff; irritated that he’d been awoken by something so miniscule when he’s finally managed to get some sleep. But Keith will be damned if he lets some stupid tapping noise keep him awake when his last decent night’s sleep was three days ago, so he buries his head beneath his pillow and sighs in relief when the noise is dulled to nearly nothing.
Until his phone begins ringing.
Keith doesn’t even look at the screen as he hits the ‘accept call’ button, eyes screwed shut in stubborn defiance of this turn of events as he growls, “What?”
“Oh, good, you’re up! Come to your window!”
“Lance?” Keith asks, mild annoyance now full-blown irritation. He sits up, glaring into the darkness of his bedroom. “What the actual hell?”
“Just come to your window! And for the love of all things holy and good, make it quick.” Lance says, and promptly hangs up.
Keith stares down at his phone in bewilderment before glancing at his window. Sighing heavily, he swings his legs over the side of his bed, mourning the loss of his blanket cocoon. He hisses when his bare feet connect with the cold wood of his floor. He trudges to the window, but he can barely see shit through the frost on the glass so he forces the old wooden frame up to lean his head out into the cold. All around him is snow falling in fat, fluffy chunks.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks! Arise, fair Mullet, and let me the fucketh up. ”
Keith rubs his eye with a freezing fist, glowering down at his unwelcomed guest. “Lance, what the hell? Do you even know what time it is? And aren’t you supposed to be in California?”
The taller boy is three stories below him, wrapped in a thick blue jacket and a striped scarf. He’s rubbing a glove-clad hand up an arm in a futile attempt to keep warm, the other clutching a handful of what look to be pebbles. “Well ‘Supposed to be’ is kind of the key phrase in that sentence. And yeah, I’m aware it’s ass-crack-o’clock, so why don’t you hook your boy up with a cappuccino? I’m dyin’ down here.”
Keith slams his window shut, glass rattling in the pane. He’ll give him a cappuccino, all right: right in his stupid face. He’ll even make sure it’s bubbling hot; just the way Lance likes it.
“KEITH, NO, WAIT—I WAS KIDDING. LEMME UP, IT’S FUCKING FREEZING OUT HERE—”
Keith scowls as Lance continues to holler up at him from the street. He has an apartment to go to that’s less than ten minutes away; he can go there if he’s so goddamn cold. He drops back into his bed with absolutely no grace, immediately wrapping himself back up with determination to go back to sleep if only just to spite the moron on his sidewalk. His phone vibrates with a text notification, and he wants to punch something as he swipes the screen to read it. To no surprise, it’s Lance, because of course it is.
u leave me no choice
Keith quirks an eyebrow, ready to roll back over and fall into the blissful nothingness of sleep when he hears it.
“I REALLY CAN’T STAAAAY—BUT BABY IT’S COLD OUTSIDE.”
He’s gonna kill him.
Lance sounds like a dying cat, howling the lyrics at the top of his lungs like the asshole he is. He’s trying to do the duet by himself, switching from a high-pitched squeak to a grumbling baritone as he flips between the different parts of the song. Keith really just wants to turn over and ignore him, but at this rate he’s going to wake up his remaining neighbors and he really, really doesn’t want to deal with that.
He throws off his blankets in a fit of rage, storming to his window and throwing it open as Lance croons, “I’LL TAKE YOUR HAAAT, YOUR HAIR LOOKS SWEEEELL—”
“Will you shut up?!” Keith whisper-shouts, cutting him off. “You’re going to wake up my entire building, you ass!”
“What,” Lance asks him, grin on his face and a flush on his cheeks. He’s bouncing from one foot to the other beside his suitcases, hands tucked in his pockets. “You can’t tell me you’re not a fan of serenades.”
“What I’m a fan of is sleeping,” Keith hisses. “Which you are apparently determined to ruin for me. Why don’t you go to your own place and bother your own neighbors?”
“Keith, buddy, pal, friend, amigo, my guy—”
“What?”
“You see, oh benevolent friend of mine, you A-plus guy, you, you rocker of shitty 80’s haircuts—”
“Lance—!”
“I’m kind of locked out.”
Keith stares at him incredulously. “You’re—Jesus, then call Hunk! Why is this my problem?”
“Hunk left like two days ago, remember? He’s not gonna be back in the state ‘til after New Years.” Lance’s pout is illuminated by the soft orange glow of the streetlight, and he’s kind of miffed at how well it defines the young man’s jawline. He pointedly glares a hole into his stupid beanie instead of making direct eye contact.
“What about Shiro?”
“He’s leaving with Allura for Boston in like, two hours.”
“Pidge?”
“She and Matt left last night. Seriously dude, you were there when we said goodbye to them. I think that headband of yours is cutting off blood flow to your brain.”
Keith shifts from foot to foot, shivering involuntarily as the wind kicks up and sweeps in through his window. It’s at the very most twenty degrees outside, and he’s growing more and more irate over the reminder that what little heat his bedroom has is very quickly seeping out into the evening air. Part of him wants to just shut the window and tell him to go to a diner and wait until the locksmith’s opens up, but despite his shitty grin, Keith can see his red nose and chattering teeth from three stories up and a small pang of sympathy stabs him in the gut.
He grinds his teeth, glaring down at where Lance is standing, rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, knees bending in an occasional impatient bounce. He tucks his hands deeper into his pockets, burrowing his nose into his scarf. For a moment Lance looks almost ethereal in the lamplight, breath a puff of mist that seeps from his cold-pale lips. He glances up at Keith, ocean-blue eyes shimmering as the light bounces off the sharp cut of his jaw—but then he opens his mouth and ruins any illusion of attractiveness in Keith’s sleep-deprived brain.
A blessing, really.
“So are you gonna let me up or not?” He whines.
Keith sighs loudly through his nose and fights the urge to slam his window shut on his head. “Alright, alright. Lemme put on some pants first, you baby.”
“Fine, but hurry the fuck up or I’m reporting this as child abuse.”
Keith closes the window and stumbles around to find a pair of sweats in the darkness of his bedroom. He nearly falls over trying to pull them on before stumbling out of his room towards his front door. The apartment is dead silent and even colder than his bedroom, void of the steady hum of the radiator. Yeah, definitely have to call the RD about that. He slips on his coat and a pair of sneakers, double-checking that he has his keys before shutting the door.
“Took you long enough, Jesus.” Lance says, nearly barreling over Keith as he makes his way into the foyer. He looks even colder up close, tan skin unusually pale and nose flushed a cherry red. Keith can hear his teeth chattering from two feet away.
“You look cold.” Is all Keith says.
“Really?” Lance says through his shivers, tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a pretty balmy 17 degrees out there. I’m surprised I didn’t get a sunburn.”
“You can’t get a sunburn. It’s three in the morning.”
“Believe me, Keith, I am painfully aware of that. Now if you would be so kind as to show me to your nearest piece of squishy furniture, I’d like to sleep away this entire shitty evening.”
They trudge up the stairwell together in a tired, agitated shuffle. Lance bemoans the fact that Keith didn’t just let him go up the elevator the entire time, switching his giant duffle bag from shoulder to shoulder every couple flights. He waddles up the stairs like a pissed off penguin, off-balance between his bag, his guitar case, and the rolling suitcase he carries in his other hand.
“It’s your fault for packing so much stuff.”
“Not everyone can survive with one pair of jeans and three hoodies. Some of us have standards.”
“You know, it really wouldn’t be hard to push you down these stairs. With all your crap, you’d tip right over.”
“You’re a savage.”
“And you’re a moron. Hang on.” Keith says, fishing a hand in his sweatpants pocket for his keys. He unlocks the deadbolt and bumps the heavy door open with a hip. It squeaks slightly as it unsticks from the doorframe, swinging open into his tiny one-bedroom.
Lance nearly runs him over as he rushes in, almost knocking Keith over with his giant ass bag of he doesn’t even want to know what. He frowns as Lance drops his shit unceremoniously in the middle of his floor, stripping off his jacket, scarf, and hat before practically diving onto his couch.
“Sweet, sweet relief,” He moans into the cushion. “Just give me a pillow and a blanket and we’re golden.”
“Anything if it’ll shut you up and let me go back to sleep.” Keith sighs, flipping the lock to his door. He kicks off his shoes and shuffles past the couch to his bedroom to dig out a spare blanket from his closet. The only one he can find is an old, kind of worn comforter he’d stolen from Shiro a couple years ago that smells faintly musty, but it’ll have to do. Keith doesn’t have much as far as bedding that isn’t already in use on his own bed, so he grabs one of his two pillows and goes back to his living area.
“Here.” Keith says, dumping them over the back of the couch on top of Lance. “Bathroom is to the left of my door. Now don’t bother me again until the sun is up.”
“Can do. Thanks Keith,” Lance says brightly. He stands up to shuck off his jeans and sneakers before collapsing back onto the cushions, curling into a tight ball. He’s out cold before Keith can even turn off the light.
“No problem,” He responds quietly, flicking the overhead light off.
He heads back to his bed and lays down, slightly envious of Lance’s ability to just fall straight into unconsciousness. It’s such a Lance thing to do: no matter where he is or how uncomfortable the position, the idiot can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. This shouldn’t be endearing, but it kind of is, and Keith blames this horrific thought on the fact that he’s going on 2 hours of sleep in 36 hours. He rolls back into his bed and cocoons himself in his comforter, determined to push thoughts of the boy on his couch and his stupid ability to sleep with no problem out of his mind for the rest of the night.
“Keith."
Maybe if he pretends to still be sleeping, he’ll go away. Keith tries to keep his breath steady, praying for Lance’s short attention span to reign true once again. However, his luck is about as shitty as his heating, so he shouldn’t feel surprised when Lance whines,
“Keeeeeith.”
“I am sleeping. Fuck off.”
The blunt approach is usually the most effective when ignoring his lanky friend proves futile, but Lance just snorts at him.
“Wow, you’re even bitchy when you sleep. Impressive, Mullet.”
Keith rolls over beneath the blankets, cracking an eye open to glare at the shadowy mass of Lance’s figure standing at the other side of his bed. He’s wrapped in the ratty comforter that Keith gave him. He looks like a pissed off caterpillar, all hunched over and miserable; half of his hair is sticking up in an awkward cowlick, and Keith can make out the barest hint of his pouted lip in the dim light that floods in through his blinds.
“What do you want?”
“I’m cold.” He says, managing to sound like a whining toddler despite being old enough to drink. “Your apartment is like a friggin’ igloo, man. Don’t you have another blanket or something? Or a thermostat? Hell, I’d take a book of matches at this point.”
Keith cracks his other eye open, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Now that he’s waking up a bit he can feel how cold his nose is, and immediately tries to stifle the urge to burrow his face beneath the covers. He sighs.
“Sorry, the radiator is acting up again.”
“So you’re telling me, the dude that sat on your sidewalk in sub-zero temperatures for half an hour, that this place has no heat.”
“Yeah.” Keith says, sheepish. “Uh, sorry?”
“Dios. Move over.”
That wakes Keith right the hell up. “Excuse me?”
“I said move over.” Lance says, already climbing onto the bed with no shame or hesitation whatsoever. “It’s cold as balls on the couch so I’m crashing in here. Now give me some of those blankets.”
Keith scrambles as far away from Lance as possible, wrapping his comforter protectively around himself as Lance lunges for it. “No. Nuh-uh. No way. These are mine.”
Lance makes an outraged noise through his nose. “Excuse you, I am your guest! What happened to hospitality and ‘the guest is always right’ and all that crud?”
“Doesn’t include jerks who show up uninvited and wake their hosts up at fucking three in the morning because they’re too dumb to remember their keys.”
“Three-thirty! And rude.” Lance says. “Now gimme.”
“No!”
He feels the mattress dip with Lance’s weight. He tries to roll away but nearly falls of the other end of the bed when Lance’s fists tangle in his blanket, tugging him. His position of being burrito-wrapped proves to be both a blessing and a curse because while it prevents Lance from worming in beneath them, it also makes Keith helpless as he’s dragged back towards the middle of the bed. For a string bean, Lance is fairly strong and Keith kind of really hates it.
“Sharing is caring, Keefers, now let me under!” Lance says, tugging the edge of his comforter out from beneath him. He does some sort of alligator death roll, screeching his victory when he manages to unwrap Keith enough to get his body underneath it.
Keith kicks furiously at him and feels immense pleasure when it connects with Lance’s bony shin. He retaliates by pressing his bare feet against his calves, though, and Keith has to make a full-body retreat to the other side of the bed because Jesus fucking Christ, his feet are cold. Lance cackles victoriously when he almost falls off the other side of the bed in his haste, the mattress shaking slightly with his giggles.
Keith scowls as Lance wiggles around, settling down. He leans up and drapes the blanket Keith had given him earlier across the both of them, “because I actually know how to be a decent friggin’ person, you grumpy sack of walnuts.”
He turns over, white-knuckling the blankets. “Go to sleep,” He bites out, but gets no response. When he rolls back over, he sees Lance tucked neatly beneath the blankets beside him, out cold. He looks more peaceful than Keith ever remembers seeing him, face smoothed over and lips parted. The air between them is quiet enough that Keith can hear him snore quietly.
Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised: Lance is known for falling asleep in seconds. Keith rolls onto his back to watch the lights from passing cars filter through his blinds on the ceiling, trying to ignore how much warmer the bed already feels with Lance in it. He wants to stay annoyed for the sheer principle of it, but it’s comfortable and warm enough that he starts to drift off after a few minutes. In the hazy half-consciousness he finds himself in, Keith can admit that for how inconvenient this situation is, it actually feels kind of….nice.
Well, it does until Lance lets out a quaking snore that rattles the bed and startles him awake, at least.
“Idiot,” Keith mumbles scathingly, burying his head beneath his pillow to try and filter out the noise. He’s not sure if it’s directed at Lance or himself. He thinks he'll just settle for both.