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"Mom," Said Keith quietly. "Mom."

"Yes?" She hummed, still holding her son to her breast.

"What did you do?" Came Keith, still in shock at the fact that he could now, apparently, breathe underwater.

"I didn't do anything."


Keith sat up in bed that night, going over the events of the day in his mind with an apathetic lens.

It wasn't that he had no emotion regarding what had happened, but rather that there was such an excess that it caused him to be numb.

"What the fuck," Keith whispered for the umpteenth time that day, reaching his hand to his neck. "What the fuck."

And then there was Lance. That meddlesome, pandering son of a bitch. Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that he had met both him and his estranged mother in the same week?

I'll deal with it in the morning.

Keith was interrupted from his thoughts by the irregular pattern of pink, pink, pink against his windowsill, which faced the ocean directly. At first, he thought that it might be rain, but if it was it had to be a very small cloud- because it was concentrated solely on that one window. 

Keith let loose a string of curses as he walked to the sill. He knew who was there before he even glanced out the wind-weathered pane of glass. He opened it.

"Howdy stranger!" Lance called from the beach. "Wanna come for a swim?" 

(Keith rn)

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(Keith rn)

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