A, You're Adorable (Klance) [DISCONTINUED]

Fifteen: O is for Only

Only you can make me feel so... annoyed.

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. "Bo... bonito."

"Tú hablas como una gringa," Lance chuckled. "It's pretty easy to say. What is it in Korean?"

"Yeppeun," Keith crossed his arms. "I'm in Chinese, Lance. Don't expect my accent to be perfect."

"You don't need an accent to be perfect," Lance cooed. "Yep..., ah, geez, that's pretty tough, too. Yeppeun."

Keith wondered if Lance's mother would mind that the weird icky-ish roof-tile-inhabiting green stuff was going to be rubbed all over the bottom side of her picnic blanket as they shifted. Regardless, he lifted himself up and down so he would move closer to Lance without folding the blanket. "Only you would say that."

Lance hugged him, angling him to look in the direction he was facing. "You got me. Look, the sun's finally going down."

Ever since he had been young enough to still have his mother chide at him not to stare at the sun, Keith had enjoyed watching the sunset. There was something more hopeful than sunrise about the descending glow and fading orange-to-purple-to-blue-black clouds. (Though, maybe he was just a night owl.)

He had always felt the low burning in his chest as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting flaming red over the sky. It wasn't such a low burn today, with Lance holding his hand and watching with him. Keith flushed pink like the clouds and let a giddy smile slip onto his face.

Lance's middle school soccer (fútbol, as his father insisted) coach had operated on the idea that they had had a good practice when all the players had pink or red cheeks. He had usually been the one given playful dirty looks because it would take him longer than everyone else to start turning red. If this had been the end of soccer practice, the coach would say that, yeah, the practice had been great. Maybe he even would have treated them to ice cream afterwards. Ice cream was good.

Keith thought to himself that thirteen-year-old Pidge would have given Matt's then-precious Snow Miku figurine to take a quality picture of their black-on-sunset... well, you know. It wasn't intense or anything (as Lance had so elegantly put it, it was "innocent, for now"), but living out his stupid preteen fantasies was unreal at the best and most obvious.

"Te-" Lance pouted when Keith put a finger on his lips. "What?"

"I know what you're going to say," the Korean lay down and searched for a pattern from his bedroom ceiling. "Don't say it yet. It's too early."

Lance chuckled as he settled down on his back. "Waiting for sometime that's more romantic?"

"You have permission to say that."

"Very funny.

"The stars at night," Lance breathed after a moment, "are big and bright..."

Keith let out a whine. "Don't be like this."

Then they were left to the rustle of the trees and distant rumble from the main road. The stars of Keith's childhood had faded further into the sky, partially masked by the light suburban pollution. He didn't mind it as much as he had upon his arrival in New Jersey. He could sneak glances of the familiar brightness against inky blue whenever Lance was distracted by the sky.

It was impossible for the tranquility to last. A murder of crows exploded off the neighboring roof, swamping the sky in dark feathers and squawks. Among the calls, Lance's responding sneeze echoed into the distance.

Oh, there was the edgy arm cross again. The Cuban sat up. "Sorry for ruining the mood, man, but we should go back down before someone gets suspicious."

"Fine, fine," Keith's head was drooping the instant he was off his back. "Dun' fall off the bed this time. Ain't funny when you take the blanket with you."

They folded the McClain family's blanket (read: Lance folded as Keith fussed over aligning the corners perfectly) and descended into Lance's room with minimal noise. The world faded to black the instant Keith's head hit his pillow. Lance almost had to wake him up so he would stop being such a space hog.

"¡Buenas días!" Maria squealed as she hurtled into the bed and knocked the wind out of Keith. "Wake up, wake up!"

"G'mornin'," he wheezed. When she had toppled off him, Keith kneed Lance's back. "How are you still asleep?"

"Getting the perfect amount of beauty sleep is an art, Keithy boy."

The real art was waiting for Lance to finish his morning routine before starting breakfast. He didn't lie about exfoliating. Maria made it all the way through "200 bottles of pop on the wall" before they could wage war over the warmest pancakes, and even then it was no contest. The priority fell to Keith, but he always took pity and shared with Maria. What a weakling.

Eventually, after the dishes had been done and Maria had been shuttled off to dance class, Sra. McClain tired of Keith's presence and sent him home. Lance had to spend time away from oranges, whatever that meant. Back to the books it was.

As Keith listlessly dragged his pencil through dozens of pointless review problems, he smiled to himself. Maybe getting a cat wasn't the only option. He could work with an action plan that went beyond launching himself into space. Something with a black-tie wedding and a joint mission, and maybe even a trip to Korea.

The limit as x approached zero from the left was six-six-six. Go figure. As it happened, Keith was reaching his limit of patience. His pencil went rolling into the open drawer.

"You'll find someone, I promise," Eomma had said thirteen years ago. "Someone who doesn't care how silly you think you are, because they think you're perfect."

"Will I really find him, Eomma?" Keith had just calmed down from crying, but he had continued sniffling.

"Of course. He's waiting somewhere for you. You'll find him, just like I found Appa."

"Okay. Pinky promise, Eomma."

Keith's mother continued to be a nonbeliever of superstitions and conspiracy theories, but she had held out her pinky for her son to cross.

And, now, here Lance was.