Chapter Text
Keith stretches before dropping his hands down with a huff. This project is absolutely impossible , and if he were Pidge he might storm up to the teacher and declare it so, but he’s not and so he doesn’t.
Besides, it isn’t all bad.
A warm body drapes itself on top of him, a steaming cup of coffee sliding onto the table besides stacked notebooks and loosely highlighted forms.
Keith tilts his head up and grins at the sight of his soul-mate nuzzling into his shoulder. He never knew someone could make him this happy, so full of warmth .
A muffled voice sounds, hard to understand but something Keith is used to by now.
“Hunk’s coming over with cookies later, we need to clean up.”
He relaxes into the warmth of his boyfriend, letting his gaze wander lazily over the apartment. It really is a mess, or at least to anyone else’s eyes. But to them it’s the culmination of a year of memories. In the corner is a tiny table with pictures of their friends, wood dinged with when Hunk accidentally knocked it over. The kitchen is also littered with little marks, from when Keith tried to cook and was told very sternly that if he could burn water and make potatoes explode he really should just stay out of the room. The couch was old and torn, but it was the set for many movie nights and soft whispers, gentle caresses and falling asleep curled next to each other. The door held a rack of shoes that Lance would announce his pride on every time he passed, the fact that he finally got Keith to stop wearing his shoes inside the house because ‘ that’s just not fucking comfortable, Keith ’. There’s the hall that leads to the bathroom, filled with Lance’s products and the bedroom they share, coated in clothes and tiny mementos of where they’ve been and empty spaces for the places they will go. The desk he’s at has two computers, each built by Pidge and the site of many video game battles and grueling all nighters where the only thing keeping them awake are shots of espresso and the warmth of each other. There’s the bookshelf with all sorts of pages, his historical fiction and Lance’s young adult novels (It’s in the love Keith, the love! ) and the shelf with both of their books on space and stars.
It’s not perfect, but it’s there’s. He can barely remember a time without Lance, a time where he was afraid of his mark and dreaded the coffee shops that were now his favorite place to be, curled up on a couch while Lance worked in the background until he got his degree and they could move on to the next time in their life. Together.
“Hunk won’t mind if it’s a little messy.”
“No, but Shiro’s coming and you know how he gets…”
“Ah.”
With a sigh he gets up, turning in Lance’s grip to press a soft kiss to his lips. Smiling softly, he tucks himself into those arms, relaxing.
It’s not always perfect. There’s dirty cups on the stove and a scarf on the floor, there’s textbooks strewn about and for some reason a dead flower pressed into the carpet. There’s the way the door won’t quite close because Keith slammed it too hard after a fight one time, and the mud stain they still can’t get out of the carpet no matter what they try.
But he wouldn’t have it any other way.