Leave the math to Pidge.

[ooc update]

I’m super, super sorry for excessively late replies.

The thing is, I’m under lots of pressure to study for a final this month, and a Language Certificate exam in November (German), and another one in December(Japanese). it’s comical, I know. :D brings me to a mixture of laughter and tears. I’m going through this to apply for uni abroad. If any of you are studying/planning to study abroad, come chat with me!! also, if you study/speak german/japanese come chat with me!! I’d love that! :^)

As for my activity here, it’ll be on and off (like it has been). I love to write and I love all the talented people I’ve come to meet here, so I’ll linger and be a neighborhood ghost. :^)

Some musings: recently, I’ve been studying about 10+ hours a day, just languages, and I’m sitting here wondering if this is a waste of my so very *precious* young years. :D although I like to think that I will really live once I go abroad, and I’ll be happy I put in the effort. The alternative is staying in a city where I’ve lived all my life, so I find there’s much to fight for. 

Steps. Someone walked into the room.

The sound froze the blood in Keith’s veins.

He could theoretically just have waited until he got to his room - however, the hindsight was most likely thanks to adrenaline sharpening his mind, because the embark had just moments ago seemed justifiable. It wasn’t, it really wasn’t, and he cursed his temperance. His chest heaved, and his hand was still there.

With frantic haste, he re-tied the towel around his waist. He must’ve looked suspicious, and the thought of it made his face turn a shade of blue.

With final effort, he reassembled himself into his best impression of a natural stance. There were only so many people that could’ve entered, and they hadn’t said anything yet, which Keith found too alarming to be relieving. Also, his towel was falling. Swiftly, he snapped hold of it, and held it against his abdomen, inwardly apologizing for whatever sins he was being punished for. He tried not to think of the previous reason his hand had been in said proximity.

Silence in the room stretched; it was clear that there wasn’t going to be conversation, so Keith dared to peek over his shoulder. Shiro. Immediately, his heart jumped back-flips, and his body ached with the longing which never really left him. The situation was awful, but the lingering friskiness in him insisted it was a turn for the better.

The sight of Shiro had a general ability to turn his thoughts into mush, but it was in new heights now. Keith didn’t know how long he’d been distracted, when his eyes met the platinum of the other’s.  

“Yeah,” Keith agreed with a nod, and flashed a timid smile. “Me too.”

He walked over to his modest kitchen, sizeable enough for for two people to be cooking (which as of yet had been never the case.) Beside the kitchen corner laid the dining table, although most often utilized as a study desk, proof of which were the stacks of books and papers, shoved onto the side to make room for two. He gestured an arm at its proximity, with a bit of a shrug. “Sit here, or wherever you like.”

He busied himself by filling and switching on the boiler, and snatched two mugs from the cabinet. He owned no matching ones, and only three in total, but it was good enough hospitality for the moment. He dumped two spoonfuls of ground coffee into each of the pair.

Waiting for the boiler to go off, he turned to lean against the counter, and his hand rose to absently play with the hair at his nape. His gaze was soon drawn to the other man, to his tall and slim figure. In daylight he was almost like a different person, but not quite; his look and demeanor were more boyish, but his warm complexion and broad shoulders undeniable. Keith swiftly averted his eyes, feeling a clench underneath his chest.

The quietly rattling boiler let out a click of announcement, and Keith spun over to pour the hot water into the mugs. He placed them on the dining table, along with milk, sugar, and pretzels, all of them in their original packaging - a very humble presentation. He seated himself and reached for the spoon sticking out of the sugar bag, generously shoveling the stuff into his plain drink.

The light in the room dimmed, cue of more snow coming, possibly a flurry. Keith, coffee in hand, leaned back in his chair. “Wow,” he huffed. He turned to Lance, with a bit of concern. “Man, I’m really sorry about your car,” he regretted. “If I’d known-” His shoulders hunched over a little, gaze lowering to his lap. “I feel super guilty, but, I guess,” he shrugged, “not entirely.” He raised the coffee to his lips, to hide the face which felt rather warm. “Don’t have a car myself, so I don’t know. Ill luck all around, huh?”

Keith stared at the man in front of his door, until he nodded at him, a little too slow. Holding eye contact felt suffocating, so he kept his head lowered as he made way for the other to re-enter. From that perspective, he watched as snow-dusted shoes and wet jean hems stepped into his hallway, and the sight solidified the situation for him. It really was that bad.

Like a ghost from yesterday, Keith found himself standing chest to chest with the man, in the hallway too narrow for two athletic grown-ups. Only this time the nervous energy he felt was different, heavier with the dissolved, anonymous guard of the one-night-stand. The encounter was an anomaly on all measures.

“Uh, sucks to hear about your car,” Keith said, testing the waters. To himself, he sounded whiny, confidence just as undressed as his pants. “You um, help yourself. I’m gonna-” he nodded towards the bedroom, hoping Lance would understand. Face burning, he excused himself and wadded away.

A few moments later, he resurfaced from his room with a basket of most presumably dirty laundry in embrace. He wore black sweat pants and a white T, both of which complimented his figure; he couldn’t help but be a little petty around the man.

“Hey uh, I think we’re better off hanging out in the kitchen, for a start,” he offered, referring to the ongoing clean-up in his room, and to the fact that returning there together would be the pinnacle of awkward. He placed the basket in front of the bathroom door a few paces away, and turned to the other. Sheepishly, he scratched behind his neck. “Um. Coffee? Tea?”