"M'ijo!" Lance's mother called from downstairs. "Dinner!"
Lance tapped Keith's arm, "Hey, you wanna help me out of here?"
Keith looked up from his chest and whined, "Why? It's comfy here."
"Is it?" Lance raised a teasing eyebrow and brought his hands up to tickle Keith's sides. "Is it still comfy?!"
Keith flinched in laughter, smacking his hands away. "Okay! Okay! I'll get up!"
Lance's dining room was painted a warm yellow. They displayed an array of family pictures ranging from school photos to old Polaroids. Keith took special interest in an older photo of Lance. He stood above a younger girl who sat at the table. A cake with flashy candles and the number eight was set in front of her. Behind the chair, a group of family members squeezed themselves into the shot.
A small, simple chandelier hung over a large table fit for eight people. Keith could see scuff marks on the backs of the seats and puppy bites on the table legs. Several platters of varying designs and an array of foods Keith had never seen were littered across the oak. Mismatched plates were placed in front of each chair with scratched silverware to accompany them.
Lance's mother held a dish high to avoid dropping it on Pablo, bringing it to the table. She shouted at various people in Spanish while continuing to set the table. Lance's father ran over and lifted Mia up playfully, sitting her down in a chair. Pablo jumped into the chair beside her. Lance discreetly took Keith's hand and brought him to the opposite side and found their places-Lance in the middle and Keith on the side. His mother adjusted various things as everyone reached for the plates of foreign food.
Keith clutched his small pink and grey bag in his lap and leaned toward Lance to whisper in his ear. "Can I have some water? I need to take my meds."
Lance dropped what he had picked from the platter onto his plate and stood up. He quickly kissed his hair out of habit, "Of course." When he realized what he did, his face reddened a little and he just pretended it didn't happen. He exited the dining room into the kitchen.
Keith stared at his bag to keep his face calm, but mostly to keep himself ignorant of anyone that saw. Lance returned shortly and set a glass of water in front of his empty plate. Keith smiled up at him, "Thank you."
Lance averted his gaze and stammered out, "Yeah, no problem." He sat down and kept his hands off the table.
Keith had noticed the little action the first time he did it. Lance refused to start eating before Keith did. He found it cute and considerate. The pill bottles rattled as he went through his list of meds. Mia was too young to know it was rude to stare, but everyone else just took sneaky glances as he did it.
Lance turned to him, "Is there anything you can't eat?"
Keith zipped up his bag and set it down by his chair leg. Lance quickly picked it up and set it in his lap, "Ah, someone might step on it down there."
"Uh," Keith's hand resisted the urge to grab it, "I don't want to be difficult."
Lance shook his head, "I'll hold it. It's not a bother at all." He smiled, "So food?"
Keith eyed all the plates. None of it made any sense to him. His meals were all planned ahead and pretty uniform every week. Everything on that table was alien to him. He lowered his eyes and tugged his sleeves over his hands, "I don't know what any of this is."
Lance rubbed Keith's thigh in reassurance, "That's alright. What can you not eat?"
"Um," Keith pulled on his sleeves more, curling his shoulders up, "I can't have really greasy food. It's best if it doesn't have a lot of sugar or salt-ah, but that's not a big deal. Um, I don't eat spicy food either. Uh, hmm."
"Keith," Lance raised an eyebrow at him, "you're not going to offend anyone. Don't force yourself to eat stuff you can't. Just tell me."
Keith nodded and kept his head down, "Okay. Um, It needs to be healthy food. Like a lot of fruits and vegetables. It's best if they aren't covered in salt and butter. Uh, no spicy or heavily seasoned food-bland is better. And I need protein, but I don't really like beef. Yogurt is really good, too."
Lance smiled at him and scanned the plates, "Okay." He clicked his teeth in thought and picked little bits of a few piles and set it on Keith's plate. "Um," he turned to him, "Do you like watermelon and almonds?"
Keith nodded with a worried expression. He hated being difficult. It was embarrassing and isolating when his meals had to be made separately.
"Alright." Lance jumped up and walked into the kitchen.
While he was gone, a thin girl with dark skin and curly black hair walked in on her phone. She was dressed in yellow high-waisted shorts and a baby blue tank top. Keith watched her with curious eyes. She took a quick glance up at him, then did a double-take with scrunched eyebrows. Their eyes were locked for what seemed like minutes before Lance returned with a small Tupperware of watermelon and a yogurt with almonds and cinnamon sprinkled on top. He set them on Keith's plate with satisfaction and sat down in his chair.
The girl from before plopped into the chair across from him with her phone still held up-eyes locked on Keith. She tore them away to look at Lance. "Oi hermano," she tilted her phone screen toward Keith, "who's this you got here?"
Lance finally noticed their silent standoff. His smile screamed fuck. "Uh," he picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of meat, "This is my friend from Texas." He lowered his voice and brought the fork to his mouth, "His name is Keith."
She tilted her head as her face filled with disbelief, dropping the phone to her thighs. Her eyes switched between Keith and Lance in questioning realization.
Lance turned to Keith and pointed to her with his fork, "This is my older sister, Anabelle." He glared at her, "Our little surprise guest."
Keith's face immediately puffed up in a wild blush. He clamped his mouth shut and lowered his head. Oh shit. Oh fuck.
Anabelle squinted at Lance and mouthed: What the fuck?!
Lance forced a smile and mouthed back: Keep your mouth shut!
Keith kept his head down and picked up his spoon to nibble at the yogurt, "Thank you for the food. Sorry for the trouble."
Lance took another bite and shook his head, "Keith, it's really not a big deal."
"It is to me!"
"So Keith," Lance's mother engaged their side of the table. Her long black hair was tied up in a messy bun. A motherly smile painted her face. "You're still in high school, correct?"
Keith's voice was timid and low. "Yes, ma'am."
"What grade?" His father chimed in to the conversation.
"Uh," Keith tugged on his sleeves, "I'm a junior."
"Oh?" Lance's mother tilted her head. "How old are you? You look much too young!"
"I'm almost eighteen, ma'am."
Lance set a hand on Keith's thigh under the cover of the table, "He's super smart, too! He got a thirty-two on the ACT!"
Lance's father flashed a teasing smile and pointed his fork at Lance, "You should be getting those scores, m'ijo."
Lance rolled his eyes and chuckled, "Yes, Papi."
After dinner, Keith helped Lance back to his room. When he sat down on the bed, he wrapped his arms around Keith's shoulders and pulled him back onto the stripes. They laughed about it and fought with teased pushing. When they calmed down, they lied facing each other on either pillow.
Keith scrunched up his nose, "Your sister is freaked out."
"Nah," Lance dramatically shook his head, "She's cool."
Keith tugged the pillow out from under him and slapped Lance with it, "You're delusional!"