Nobody Said It'd Be Simple
Nobody said it'd be simple
And I'm a whole lot of work
Warning: Panic Attack
Sundays were bookstore-and-coffee days in the Shirogane household. Keith had learned this on his third day with the family when he'd been woken up at seven-thirty in the morning (to early in his opinion, but who was he to argue). Shiro waited patiently for everyone to get ready, nudging Corey along at times when she got distracted.
Keith, used to getting ready quickly to escape scolding or punishment, was the first one completely ready to go. Not long after, the four climbed into Adam's car and drove to a small coffee shop.
The place wasn't big by any standards, but it was the warmest place Keith had ever been in. The yellows and oranges that graced the walls were just muted enough not to be overpowering, yet still bright enough to warm up someone's day even if the weather was chilly. A wooden sign on the wall proclaimed the shop as Garrett Coffee and Books, and the smell of pastries and fresh bread filled the entire area.
The boy at the counter seemed friendly enough. He was heavyset, wearing earthy tones and a wide orange ribbon across his forehead to keep back his hair. Shiro, Adam, and Corey seemed to know him, judging by the way they struck up conversation immediately. Keith remained silent.
Noticing his discomfort, the boy at the counter gave him the warmest, friendliest smile Keith had ever seen.
"Hey, you must be Keith," he greeted, coming around the counter to greet him. "I'm Hunk." He then offered a hand. Keith shook it mutely, his own hand practically being swallowed by the other boy's.
"You can go look at the books if you'd like," Hunk offered. "We don't have anything against people just coming in to read." Keith glanced at Shiro and Adam, unsure if they would allow him. Didn't they want him in his sight? Surely they'd seen his history of trouble.
"You can go," Shiro said. "We usually spend a while in here anyway." Keith, though surprised, immediately slipped away, quickly losing himself in the maze of shelves.
Once hidden in the books, time quickly lost meaning. No one ever expected the moody, troublemaking kid to be a reader, but here Keith was, completely enthralled in the huge selection of books. Once caught his eye, the simple colours of the cover drawing him in.
The Mysterious Benedict Society, read the title. Keith gave the slightest smile. He'd read the book in middle school, loved it, and even stolen a copy from the school's library. He glanced at the book beside it. The Prisoners' Dilemma and The Perilous Journey stood beside it, continuations of the book he'd loved years ago.
He sat on the floor, back against the shelf, and flipped open The Prisoners' Dilemma to its first page, dark eyes darting across the lines underneath his bangs.
He'd made it to the second chapter when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. Keith startled, tensing and drawing his knees in, eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, blue-grey met brown and the tension left, seemingly no match for Hunk's sunshine-y persona.
"Oh, man, did I scare you?" Hunk asked, slight worry slipping into his tone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to." Keith shook his head.
"You're fine," he muttered. "Something you need?" Hunk seemed to spring back into action, face lighting up once more.
"Oh, yeah!" he recalled, grinning. "We're trying out a new pastry. Do you like cherry stuff?" Keith's gaze shifted to the small cake in Hunk's hand.
"Yeah," giving an offhand shrug. Hunk held the pastry out to him.
"Tell me what you think," he grinned.
Cautiously, Keith took the sweet, taking a tentative bite, and good lord that was heavenly.
It was easily the best thing Keith had ever tasted, taken out of the oven at just the right moment when the outside was crisp and flaky and the inside was still perfectly soft. Tart cherries on top combatted the sweetness within and it was just so good.
Hunk shuffled nervously in front of him, watching his face for any change of emotion. Keith glanced up, eyes ever-so-slightly wider than before.
"You made this?" Keith asked. Hunk nodded.
"It's amazing," Keith said, mouth twitching into the tiniest smile. Hunk grinned once more. (God, how did this kid's face not hurt?)
"Really? Ah, thanks so much, man! It's just, I've been working on this recipe for so long and–"
"It's good," Keith cut him off. "Really good. I promise."
The rest of the day went by rather quickly. After the left the Garretts' shop, they went back to the house, where Corey finished up homework and Keith got ready for the next day. He'd been informed that he should be ready by six thirty, so that Shiro, who happened to be a teacher at the local high school, could drive him.
So, just in case, Keith set his alarm for five-forty-five the next morning. Did he need nearly an hour to get ready? No, he didn't. But he'd learned over the years to be prepared for anything and to always, always have a backup plan.
When his phone played the tell-tale melody the next morning, he was surprised to see Corey already slipping out the door, hair in her usual braid and dark blue back slung over one shoulder.
Had he gotten the time wrong? Were they actually supposed to leave at six? Swearing under his breath, Keith clambered out of bed and rushed into the bathroom, immediately beginning to yank his brush through his hair. Shoving his toothbrush into his mouth, he managed to brush while tugging a red Panic! shirt and his usual black jeans on. In less than ten minutes, he was stumbling down the stairs.
"Sorry I held you guys up," Keith said, not quite meeting Shiro's gaze. The young man raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't hold anyone up," Shiro said, sipping cautiously at a steaming cup of coffee. "You're really early, actually. I wasn't planning to leave for another half hour." Keith was confused.
"But Corey—"
"She takes her longboard," Shiro smiled. "She leaves early so she can make it to hang out with friends. You're not late."
"Oh," Keith muttered. Shiro stepped into the kitchen, motioning for Keith to follow. Hesitantly, Keith set his bag by the door and did as told.
"What do you usually have for breakfast?" Shiro asked lightly, glancing through the cupboards. "We've got a couple types of cereal, or I can make toast or grilled cheese if you want."
"Um, just cereal is fine," Keith said, still shuffling awkwardly in the entranceway to the kitchen.
"You can sit at the table if you want," Shiro offered, noticing the boy's restlessness. Keith nodded and pulled a chair out, wincing when it squeaked against the floor. He sat tentatively, his leg bouncing once he did.
Shiro brought a box of cereal and a carton of milk to the table, getting two bowls and sitting down across from Keith. Amethyst eyes watched silently as Shiro slid the box over, and Keith shook a bit of the flaky food into his bowl.
Keith began eating the cereal dry, putting a few flakes at a time into his mouth. He was suddenly aware of Shiro's gaze on him and glanced up, violet meeting grey.
"You don't want to put milk in it?" Shiro asked. Keith shook his head. I'm lactose intolerant, he wanted to say, but he remained silent. Shiro didn't press the matter further, simply pouring milk and cereal into his own bowl and beginning to eat his own breakfast.
"Anything you want to know before you head to classes today?" Shiro offered, trying to spark a bit of conversation. Keith gave a wordless shrug. Shiro nodded.
"I think you'll like your teachers," he continued. Keith suppressed the urge to to roll his eyes. He heard that almost every time, and almost every time, the statement was disproved quickly.
"The pre-calc teacher is a good friend of mine, Professor Holt. You might meet his dau- er, his kid, Pidge." Keith was a bit confused by Shiro's not-so-subtle slip-up, but thought nothing of it. Shiro's tone became a bit more serious with his next words.
"Remember, if you ever need anything, you can come to my classroom, okay?" he said. "Even if you're just feeling a bit overwhelmed, you can come to my room. I'll write you a pass if you need one." Keith nodded robotically, not even the slightest intention of doing as told. He had his hoodie in his book bag; muffling panic attacks in the bathroom was easy.
Shiro glanced at his phone, noting the time.
"Ready to go?" Keith nodded.
Did he have a choice?
▂▃▅▇█▇▅▃▂
First period seemed calm so far. Then again, Keith was only about ten minutes in, so he wasn't exactly sure. He glanced at his schedule again.
Zero Period: N/A
First Period: 11th Grade Language Arts — Iverson — 2.054
Second Period: Free Period
Third Period: Precalculus — Holt —1.071
Fourth Period: Art — Diaz — 2.084
Lunch
Fifth Period: US History — Newman — 2.038
Sixth Period: Honors Physics — Shirogane — 1.092
Seventh Period: Music Production and Technology — Cameron — 3.063
Not too bad. The free period before math class meant that he would have time to do his homework then instead of the night before. He hoped that, as in his first period, no one would force him to introduce himself to the class. That was awkward, unnecessary, and usually guaranteed to bring a swell of laughter from the class.
Soon enough, the bell trilled and Keith shoved his belongings into his red bag, slinging it over his shoulder and slipping out of the door.
Unfortunately, Keith wasn't quite fast enough to escape the cascade of students pressing into the hallway. Someone knocked into him, forcing him against the wall, and all of the sudden, there were too many people around him, pressing against him, in his bubble.
Breathing was suddenly becoming hard and Keith had just enough mental capacity to think, Not the time! before his entire body was thrown into panic. Keith's hands went into his hair, pulling harshly at the black strands, jaw clenching.
He needed to calm down, He couldn't calm down, he just needed to slip into the bathroom, he didn't know where the bathroom was, he needed to stop shaking, oh, God, why couldn't he stop shaking?
Someone glanced at him oddly as he shoved past, one hand still in his messier-than-before hair while the other clutched at his jacket. He didn't care. He needed to get to the bathroom, get outside, get away before he drowned in the sea of people.
Finally, he found a door. He burst through it and finally, he could breathe. Air filtered into his lungs slowly, as if it didn't really want to come. It was warm, humid air, but it was better than inside.
The next period was spent on his phone in the schoolyard. Going outside may have been against the rules, but it just so happened that he didn't know the rules, and while that stood, he was going to squeeze every last bit out of it.
As he scrolled though some of his favourite accounts on various social medias, he watched any passers by over the top of his screen, eyes darting up every few seconds. It was a favourite hobby of his, as creepy as it seemed. It was interesting to see how much he could learn about a person by just watching them.
For example, he could tell that kid across the field was probably rich judging by his clothing choice, perhaps a bit condescending seeing as he smiled like royalty. Pure white hair hung slightly past his shoulders, clashing yet strangely working with his dark skin.
Keith glanced at his phone – the bell for the end of second period was about to ring. He decided to begin making his way back inside, picking his backpack off of the grass and heading towards the doors.
As soon as the bell rang, the hallways flooded with high schoolers, forcing Keith to press himself against the wall just not to get run over. Someone turned to get something he left, running right into Keith and knocking him backwards.
"Oh, God, I am so sorry!" the kid panicked, immediately grabbing Keith's shoulders to steady him. "Sorry, I just– my next class is across grounds and I forgot my last pen in second period and—"
"It's fine," Keith said, cutting him off. The kid nodded, his already-tousled hair ruffling even more.
"Yeah, of course. You sure? Like, you're not hurt?" Keith shook his head. The boy let out a relieved breath, then glanced at his watch and his panic started all over again. Muttering a frustrated, "Iverson's gonna kill me," he dashed off, green jacket flying behind him.
Well. That was certainly something.
Keith shook off the odd encounter, setting off to find his math classroom.
▂▃▅▇█▇▅▃▂
It was several minutes after the bell rang when Keith finally found the classroom labeled "Holt." He pushed the door open silently, hoping to avoid any awkward gazes from his new classmates. No such luck — the door squeaked, and all eyes were on him.
The teacher, an older man with white hair and glasses, turned from where he was writing an equation on the whiteboard, smiling when he saw the black-haired boy.
"Ah, you must be Keith. I was wondering if you planned on showing up." Keith didn't respond, opting instead to shut the door and slip into an empty desk. He slipped out his binder, placing it on the desktop. He saw Corey out of the corner of his eye, sitting at a desk with someone in green.
"Everyone," Professor Holt continued, "this is Keith. He's going to be with us for the rest of this year. Don't be too terrible to him," he finished, his tone joking towards the end. Slowly, people tore their gazes off of him, going back to their lesson. Keith took notes just like everyone else, doodling in the margins whenever the lecture got boring, which was quite often.
Keith felt something hit the back of his head.
He turned to see a kid holding back laughter, failing to look innocent as he stared intently at the board. Keith picked up the balled-up paper calmly and put it into his pocket.
Not even two minutes later, another paper hit him, this time in the back of the neck. He let out a measured breath, putting this one in his pocket as well. Muffled laughter sounded behind him, but he ignored it.
Keith began tearing his own papers, putting them in the front pocket of his bookbag after rolling them into little balls. He knew that his usual response of yelling and/or punching the kid into oblivion would only get him in trouble.
And so he kept tearing and rolling up pieces of paper.
His next period was art, which he was able to get to on time. Here, too, he was greeted with a familiar face. Hunk sat at the far left table, waving him over, a huge smile on his face. Keith, seeing as there were no other empty seats in the room, went over and sat down next to him, having to jump slightly to get up onto the tall chair.
A girl with a long, multicoloured ponytail and hoop earrings sat in front of him, pinks, oranges, and yellows floating around her every time she moved. And she moved a lot. Seriously, this girl could not sit still. She seemed to be good friends with the girl beside her, who pretty much looked like the epitome of a strong, independent black girl.
In short, they were polar opposites, yet managed to be friends.
Hunk introduced the two as Ezor and Zethrid, and the two gave an enthusiastic wave and a smirk respectively. Keith waved politely and immediately afterward leaned over his notebook, his bangs blocking his face from view and making for an excellent conversation stopper.
The teacher came around soon afterward to check on students' progress, having everyone flip open their sketch pads and show what they'd done since the previous checkup. When she came to the table Keith was at, the last stop on her route, she looked over him as if sizing him up.
"You're a marker person," she said finally. "Do you know how to use Copics?" Keith nodded silently. He not only knew, but he loved them. He'd saved three hundred dollars once just to get himself a pack. Unfortunately, the family he was staying with at the time– Keith stopped himself. He didn't want to think about that house at the moment.
A huge pack of markers and a spare sketchbook slammed down on the table in front of him, making Keith jump slightly. He glanced up at Mrs Diaz, who had what seemed like a proud smile on her face.
"Knock yourself out," she said. "My treat."
Keith watched, frozen, as she walked off, going to chat with her other students. He hadn't quite processed what was happening while it was taking place, but as soon as he opened the box's lid, he understood.
Now, logically Keith knew that schools had lots of money, though the students didn't always see it. After all, they could afford computers by the dozen and chemistry equipment for the entire tenth grade, but that was a complete set of Copic markers sitting in front of him. Over a thousand dollars worth of markers.
Wow.
Keith uncapped an orange marker reverently, as if it was made of glass. He flipped the drawing pad to its last page and touched the tip ever so slightly to the paper. He began testing the markers one by one, more interested in drawing simple lines down the side of his page than really creating something.
Soon, the back several pages were covered in exactly three hundred and fifty eight even lines and Keith was content, having made certain that every single colour in the box made its way onto his paper. Mrs Diaz smiled at him when she came around to check on their table.
"Do you like them?" she asked. Keith nodded.
"Thank you," he said, his voice rising above a whisper for the first time that day. The young woman shrugged.
"Anything for a student this eager," she grinned. "My doors are open all day, you know. And I'm usually here until four."
What was this? Keith's mind seemed to scream at him. Was a teacher actually taking a liking to him? Usually they only saw the fingerless gloves, the messy hair, the dark clothes. No one even bothered to consider that there could be a person, a kind, gentle, caring person underneath all of that.
Did he really dare to get his hopes up?
Was this time around really going to be... different?