#squelette replies

“Make a left at the library, and he’s in 233; It’s the room without a number on the door.”

Keith wasn’t exactly sure why they’d bother telling him the room number in that case, but it did little to ease his social anxiety--here he was, a full-ass adult, worried about the judgement of random teenagers finding him knocking on the door to a maintenance closet.

But he rounded the library without slowing his roll, adjusting the stack of tests against his chest for the umpteenth time for fear they’d spill out onto the floor (another nightmare scenario Keith thought he’d done away with when he switched to online classes in his own sophomore year.) He counted the class numbers as he led down to the stairway at the end of the hall: 229, 231... and at the end, another windowless door, this one with a white 8.5x11 sheet of paper duct taped to its front, “233″ scrawled across it in unmistakeably familiar handwriting.

Keith breathed a small sigh of relief, halting before the door. As corny as it might sound, it felt like Lance always looked out for him, even when he didn’t intend to. He shifted the stack of papers into one hand, then brought the other up to rap against the door.

It took less than three seconds for the door to swing open, the chatter of a bustling class hitting his ears full force. He had to look down a short ways to find the person on the other side, a young girl whose face went wide-eyed and slack-jawed in the span of a moment.

He tried a smile on. “Hi. Uh, is your teacher here?”

Her expression didn’t betray whether or not she’d heard him. Thankfully, a familiar voice sounded from behind her. “Keith,” Lance called, waving a hand to catch his eye as he deked between desks towards the door. Keith noticed then that the class had gone dead silent, and that every pair of eyes was now on him.

“Got the tests.” He extracted them from their precarious hold without incident, holding them out with both hands. It did little to temper Lance’s frown.

“Thanks, Jade.” He glanced to his student once he made it to her side, then jerked his head to the side, motioning her back to her seat as he reached for the stack of papers with both hands. “I thought I told you to come by at lunch,” he muttered, almost surreptitiously, through his teeth.

“Kosmo has a grooming appointment.”

“Why didn’t you just leave it at the office?”

From behind him, someone called a “Mr. McClain,” that he didn’t even seem to hear.

He shrugged. “They told me to go up myself.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Of course they did, pain in my--”

“Sir,” a more insistent voice interrupted, “is that Keith Kogane?!”

Lance clamped his jaw shut, took in a deep breath, and let it out as a groan. He whirled on his heel, facing his class. “Yeah, alright--guys, this is my boyfriend, Keith. Keith, welcome to grade ten Spanish.”

It wasn’t anger, Keith realised in that moment, it was unease. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe. “What, you never told your class about me?”

“I told them I have a boyfriend, and that his name is Keith. No one asked about your last name.”

“Seems like a pretty big detail to skip over.” From the class, there was an uneven chorus of agreements. Keith bit his lip to keep from laughing at Lance’s deepening pout.

Lance huffed, shooting him a flat look. “I’ve got a hard enough time keeping them on task as it is.”

“Can Keith stay for the rest of the class?” Someone asked.

“Nope!” He called over his shoulder. “He’s got to go get our dog’s butthole squeezed.” Lance flattened the stack of papers against Keith’s chest, nudging him back.

Keith braced himself with a foot behind him, staying put. “I think I can stick around for five minutes.”

“No you don’t,” Lance grumbled between them, pushing more insistently now.

Keith acquiesced, but only a step back. “So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Considering the countless times Lance has embarrassed him in front of his workmates, he’s shocked at how easy it was to get under his skin, now that he knew where to poke.

“I can take it,” Lance protested, “what I can’t take is you. Out.”

Keith cocked a challenging eyebrow. “What, I don’t even get a kiss goodbye?”

Lance laughed, though he tried to pass it off as a scoff. “You’re going to get a boot in your--backside,” he caught himself, “if you don’t scram.”

“Wow, love you too.”