The semi-familiar scent of the ocean and the warmth radiating onto his back is what wakes Keith first, blurry-eyed and disoriented. Next it's the golden sun beams pouring into the room from in between the parted curtains, pooling onto the comforter as he shifts onto his elbows.
Lazily wiping the remnants of dream dust from his eyes, Keith lets a yawn stretch his lips, throwing his head back. He blinks, confusedly squinting at the stars plastered all over the ceiling, the clusters forming constellations.
He wipes at his eyes again, but the jumble of stars remain. Keith thinks he can spot Leo from where he's craning his neck upward.
"What the..." his voice drifts off softly into the quiet morning air. He tears away his gaze from the ceiling and lets it fall back down onto the bed—onto the blue sea of sheets.
The color is what fully pulls him out of his dazed, half-asleep state. It suddenly becomes clear to Keith that these were not his sheets, this was not his bed, and this was definitely not his dorm.
"What the hell?!" He belts out, only now noticing the body that had been resting beside him, their back rising and falling with each soft breath. They suddenly fall out of bed at the shout, sprawling out onto the floor, limbs tangled in between the mess of blue bedsheets, groaning.
Keith scrambles to his knees, digging them into the mattress as he frantically searches for his glasses. "What the hell, what the hell, what the hell," he mutters in mantra as he does so.
"What...?" A voice then asks groggily. Just as Keith finds his glasses hidden under the pillow, a blurry head of curly hair appears.
Shoving his glasses on, Keith stares them down with a frown, eyebrows furrowed. A pair of dark blue eyes peek over the edge of the bed, widening at the sight of Keith.
"What the fuck," Keith screeches in a mixture of shock and disgust. There, on the floor, lied Lance McClain, aka his best friend's boyfriend.
Lance furrows his eyebrows, blinking at Keith in surprise as he purses his lips. "Keith," he starts, slowly standing from the floor. He searches Keith's face before letting his eyes fall onto the bed. "...did we—"
"No," Keith immediately cuts him off, holding out his hands defensively. "No, there's no way we—" A bark of nervous laughter. "There is no way we," A quick hand gesture. "did anything. No way. No fricking way,"
Lance gives a curt nod. "Right. Of course not," he says unconvincingly. Keith's stomach swirls unpleasantly, he suddenly feels light-headed.
"This is all just a bad dream. Just a bad dream." He repeats as he carefully crawls out of bed, as if what he was saying would come true if he believed it hard enough. "There's no way I would do that Lura, there's no way you'd cheat on her, so this—this is just...a dream,"
"Um, I'm not so sure about that, buddy," Lance then says awkwardly, voice piercing through Keith's incoherent murmuring. Keith then turns away from where he had been looking for his pants—his pants for god sake, at least he was wearing a shirt—to look over at Lance, who was standing shirtless, his back to the full length mirror on the wall.
"What." Keith says coldly, eyebrows scrunched as he walks up to him. Lance shoots him a nervous glance before turning around wordlessly.
Keith's breath suddenly catches in his throat, his eyes blown wide as his cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment. Lance's tanned back was decorated in harsh, uneven lines, irritated and red. They ran along the edges of his spine, quick bursts not unlike those of spontaneous cat scratches.
"Oh my god," Keith moans, covering his face with both hands in shame. His stomach swirls again and he feels like he's going to throw up. "Fuck!" He curses.
Lance then turns around to face him, an apologetic smile playing his lips as he rubs the back of his neck. "You're quite the artist," he jokes softly, attempting to lighten the mood.
Keith freezes, staring at him in shock. "This isn't funny, Lance! This is less than funny! What the—what are we supposed to do?!" he blurts angrily, throwing his hands up in desperation.
Lance blinks and begins to sputter unintelligibly, leaving Keith to roll his eyes and stomp away to look for his pants. He finds them bunched up in the crevice between the bed and the wall, the material wrinkled to hell.
With a huff, he pulls them up his legs, lightly bouncing when they get caught onto the flesh of his thighs. "Jesus fricking Christ," he mutters as he fumbles with the small zipper.
"Wait, where are you going?" Lance asks, voice cracking as he steps forward.
Keith looks up from where he had been chucking on his shoes, laces dangerously untied, and throws him a hard glare. "Anywhere but here." He snaps before shoving past him.
"Keith," Lance calls after him, lips now housing a frown.
"Fuck off." Keith advises as he throws the dorm room door open, hurriedly rushing out into the hallway. Before Lance could say anything else, he slams the door shut, the loud boom ricocheting off the walls.
Keith trudges forward, the sickening sensation of guilt eating up his chest, hollowing him out. The heartbeat in his ears is quick and erratic, like the panicked knocking of a shaking fist against hard wood. His fist.
"Keith?" A voice yawns, tone tired and laced with confusion.
Keith blinks, only now realizing his fist was still in the air. He drops it to his side, ducking his head as he walks into his dorm room.
"Where were you last night?" Shiro, his roommate, asks with furrowed brows as he closes the door. Keith shakes head wordlessly, flailing his hand in a 'forget about it' gesture.
Shiro wipes at his face. "Alright," he says before crawling back into his bed. "I'm going back to sleep. You have class in twenty minutes by the way. Some advice: don't go out Sundays."
Keith throws his head back, clenching his eyes shut as he mutters a splurge of curses under his breath. He sighs deeply, walking over to the basket near his bed and begins to pick out his clothing for the day. He grabs a clean pair of jeans and a black hoodie, setting them on the bed before stripping out of last night's clothing.
With his shirt off and his jeans pooling on the floor, Keith finally takes notice of the patch of plastic wrap on his left hip, edges secured with small strips of what appeared to be scotch tape. He frowns, picking at the plastic in confusion and slight curiosity.
"What the...?" He whispers. He then walks over to Shiro's side of the room, squinting at the full length mirror propped up on the wall.
He shifts his body to an angle, jutting out his hip before carefully peeling back the plastic.
Okay, he definitely must be dreaming.
Eyes wide and mouth agape, it takes him a second to comprehend what it is. When he does, he wants to scream.
He doesn't of course, not with Shiro sleeping soundly in their shared room. Instead he resorts to biting his knuckle and looking up pleadingly to the ceiling, angrily whispering "Are you fricking kidding me?"
He looks back at the mirror, throwing his reflection a glare. "What the hell happened last night?" He hisses bitterly. His reflection only glares back, not providing any type of answer.
Keith huffs, eyes drifting back down to the name inscribed on his hip.
LANCE it says, in the unmistakable handwriting of the idiot himself. Keith takes a deep breath, turning away from the mirror. He lets it go slowly as he starts to get dressed, mindful of the tattoo when he pulls up his jeans.
"Phone, phone, phone," he whispers to himself as he pats the pockets of last night's jeans in search of the device. He doesn't find anything but lint.
"Great," he huffs, rubbing his face. He pauses for a moment before shaking his head. There are more urgent matters at hand.
Grabbing his schoolbag, he leaves the dorm, making sure to close the door behind him. As he stomps down the hall almost ceremoniously, he digs his hand into his bag, fingers snatching the pack of cigarettes that lingered at the bottom. He pulls them out only to realize that, much like his phone, he didn't have his lighter on him in the first place.
For what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning, a string of curses falls from his lips, so harsh and rapid that they would make a conservative Christian mother go red in the face.
Rounding a corner, Keith stuffs his cigarettes back into his bag as he tries to fish around the depths of his mind for where his phone and lighter could possibly be.
When he finally reaches the very dorm he had stormed out of not ten minutes ago, he throws open the door with Lance's name on his tongue. But he stops abruptly, taking in the scene in front of him with an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.
Lance sat crosslegged on the corner of his bed sipping on an iced coffee while Allura sat in his desk chair, pulled up near him. "Keith," Lance gasps upon sight of him standing at the door like a madman. He scrambles out of bed, grabbing a denim jacket that was hanging on the frame before walking up to Keith.
He hands over the jacket, adding "You forgot this,"
Keith blinks, taking the dark wash jacket from his hands. He quickly digs into the pockets, retrieving his dead phone and his white lighter. He mutters a thanks before sparing a quick glance toward Allura.
"We need to talk. Alone," he tells him, giving him a hard stare.
Lance nods, looking behind his shoulder and saying "We're gonna step out for a sec,"
Allura looks back and forth between both of them suspiciously before nodding. "Alright," she drawls gently.
Avoiding Allura's gaze, Keith steps out, Lance following and closing the door. Just as he parts his lips, Keith cuts him off with a hiss.
"Okay, so first I find out that I somehow slept with my best friend's boyfriend and now this?!" Keith asks angrily, lifting up his hoodie to show his tattoo. "A fricking tramp stamp?! What the hell even happened last night?!"
Lance's eyes widen, raising his hands defensively. "I don't know! I drank as much as you did!" He says in a hushed voice before pausing. "But if it makes you feel any better—"
"What could possibly make me feel better?!" Keith retorts.
Lance then lifts up the hem of his own shirt, cocking out his right hip. "'Cuz we're both in the same boat!" He insists, revealing the plastic covering his tattoo that read KEITH.
Keith puts his head into his hands upon the sight of his handwriting permanently inked onto Lance's skin. "This is so goddamn—"
"You guys alright? I thought I heard yelling," Allura interrupts, peeking her head out of the door.
Keith freezes, ducking his head. "Um, yeah. I was just going, actually." He lies before looking up at Lance. "Courtyard, at the lion statue. One o'clock."
"Keith," Lance starts, sounding completely and utterly exasperated.
"I have to get to class. Bye." Keith says bluntly, turning on his heel and quickly walking off, ignoring Lance's calls.
He sighs, running a hand through his bedhead as he makes his way down the hall. He pushes open the double doors of the dorm complex, hand disappearing into his bag simultaneously. He pulls out a cigarette and presses it in between his lips as he grabs his lighter from his jacket pocket.
He manages to light the stick despite the small breeze, taking a long drag and blowing it out into the wind. He sighs in relief, finally relaxing.
Screw Lance, he'll deal with him later.