Chapter Text
this christmas, be my home
It’s not that Keith Kogane hates Christmas, exactly. It’s more so that he hates almost everything that comes with the Christmas season. Or, at the very least, has a very strong distaste.
As a kid, he remembers being bunched up around the TV with his foster siblings, with a burning stream of jealousy rippling at the base of his gut as he watched families wrapped around perfectly tinselled trees taking turns opening thoughtfully picked gifts. Gifts that didn’t come from Angel Tree donations, nor were offered out of pity, using government funding. He wanted to wear matching pajamas with family members, listen to obnoxious music with corny lyrics while eating pancakes the size of his face, and then take terrible pictures in ugly sweaters. He wanted to participate in snowball fights and have a fireplace to wait for Santa. He wanted the full Christmas experience, and for the majority of his life, he never had it. Not even when his dad was around, and most certainly not after he passed away.
Now, as an adult with a little more perspective, he wouldn’t say he has as much disdain for the holiday as he did when he was younger. He doesn’t exactly have the Hallmark-style type of family to make Christmas cards with, or any extended family to show up on his door right for a giant meal around a mahogany dining table. But he has his friends to make the otherwise lonely time of year more bearable, which is at least more than he could say as a child.
Even still, one too many things about the time of year grates on Keith’s nerves, to the point that by the time Christmas finally rolls around, he really does start to feel a bit Grinchy.
Unfortunately, this year is no different. In fact, he’d like to think that this year might actually be worse for a number of reasons. Reasons that, as he rolls out of bed a week before Christmas, he decides he isn’t going to think about for as long as physically possible. So while getting ready for work, he refuses to look out the window at the fresh powder snow dawning the new day in a blanket of white. He shuts off his usual radio station that plays from his car speakers when carols start to seep through, and he cranks his heat onto high to fight back the winter chill.
By the time he’s made it halfway to work, ten minutes behind schedule from having to scrape ice off his windshield, he’s somehow already over a day that’s barely started. Morning traffic is bumper to bumper as people act like they’ve never driven in the snow before, and his prehistoric car huffs and squeaks as it struggles to provide him even a minuscule amount of heat. When he finally makes it to his favorite local coffee shop for a pick-me-up before work, he feels like he’s been slapped in the face upon seeing the sign on the entrance doors:
Gone for the holidays! Will return December 26th! :)
Keith stands for a full five seconds just staring at the small message posted on the glass doors, the little smiley face taunting him as snow sticks to his scarf and the tips of his hair. As if staring long enough will magically manifest his favorite java blend in his hand. Unfortunately for him, the Christmas magic isn’t that strong. Either that, or Keith just doesn’t believe enough. Either way, he walks away colder than before and caffeine-less.
By the time he pulls up to the Starbucks closest to his job five minutes later, his knuckles are white from tightly gripping his steering wheel, and his jaw is at risk of locking from grinding his teeth. He’s not quite mad yet, though he can guess he probably will be by the end of the day, considering how the past few weeks have been faring.
Pulling into the Starbucks parking lot, he sees a line of cars flowing out of the lot from the drive-thru, and several people tugging their coats tightly as they huddle around the door. The store’s always busy whenever Keith drives past in the morning, but even then, this seems like a lot.
“Do you know what’s up with the line?” he asks the person at the end of the line, watching them rub mitten-adorned hands together.
“It’s red cup day!” they answer cheerily. Way too cheery for someone standing in sub-zero weather, never mind the early hour.
“Red what?” Keith inquires, eyes squinting as snow sticks to his lashes.
“Red cup day!” they repeat, as if this is supposed to mean something. “They’re giving out their festive cups for free with a purchase.”
Keith just stares, confounded, glancing at the line one last time before shaking his head and trudging back to his car. At this point, Keith changes his mind about it taking a full day for his irritation to come to a head. It’d be a miracle at this rate if he didn’t snap by the time he gets to his desk.
Finally pulling up to his job, he sighs, grateful to have made it to the stocky gray building in one piece after struggling in traffic on the slick roads. Only to find that his employee parking space has been taken up by a giant, inflatable snowman.
“What is this?” Keith snaps while sticking his head out of his car window, watching as a group of maintenance workers appears to set up even more characters around the building.
“Christmas decorations?” one of them answers, as if that much isn’t already obvious.
“I meant, why is it in my parking space?” Keith huffs, his car huffing with him.
“We’re setting up for the Christmas party,” one of the other workers explains, a garland in his hands. “There should be plenty of room in the parking garage if you can’t find a space.”
Keith blinks slowly, too tired and too caffeine-deprived to explain that he doesn’t have a parking permit for the garage. Because he already has a designated spot at work. Obviously. Which means he’ll have to pay for a parking ticket. Which makes no sense because he already has a parking space at work. Obviously.
“Right,” he says instead, voice devoid of emotion as he backs up and circles the lot and confirms there are in fact no spaces left. Because he’s fifteen minutes late and half of the front spaces are taken up by giant inflatables and a balloon arch. Awesome.
By the time he manages to find a space in the crowded parking garage, he’s completely devoid of all resolve and is already ready for the day to end. Dreading what’s to come as he clocks in, thinking of the meetings he has to attend and his annoying coworkers, Keith wonders if maybe he should just try to fake being sick. He has the sick time…
But he’s already here, and the last thing he wants to do is sit in his freezing car that’s already on its last leg for another twenty minutes to drive home.
So he decides to grin and bear it, keeping his head down as he treads to his desk, doing his best to make sure none of his coworkers even think to talk to him. He thinks he’s in the clear as he signs in to his computer, all his usual programs booting up as he shrugs off his coat, sighing deeply as he thanks his past self for choosing the most isolated desk in the office during his onboarding. He’s leaning his head back against his desk chair when his moment of reprieve is quickly interrupted.
“You’re late,” he hears, startling him enough to flinch in his seat as he looks up to locate the source of the accusation.
Swiveling around in his chair, he finds his coworker, Allura, perched against the end of his L-shaped desk, snowy blond hair cascading over her shoulder in a curly heap as she squints at him quizzically.
“Yeah, I am,” he answers dryly, holding in a deep sigh. “Why, thinking of telling Coran and getting me fired?”
“No, ‘cause I’d be the one doing half the paperwork,” she responds with a slight smirk, crossing her legs at the ankles. “But you’re usually here before I am. Should I be worried?”
Keith considers admitting that he is, in fact, having one of those ‘two minutes from hurting somebody’ kind of moments. But considering she’s their office’s HR representative, if anyone would take that statement seriously, it’d probably be her.
“I’m fine. Just a lot of traffic this morning,” he says in lieu of what he’s actually thinking.
Allura squints, clearly wanting to press for further answers, but knows better than to ask.
“Right, well, if anything was going on, you know I’d be the person to tell,” she says, taking a swig from the coffee cup clutched in between her slender fingers, and Keith threads his eyebrows into a furrow as he realizes that she’s drinking from a bright red Starbucks cup.
“Did you seriously stand in line for one of those cups?” he asks before he can think better of it, the company’s mermaid logo smiling menacingly at him as he’s painfully reminded that he’ll have to spend the rest of the day without his usual daily dose of espresso.
“What?” his coworker expresses before following his line of sight to her cup. “Oh, no, Romelle got one for me. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Keith answers with a sigh.
“You sure? Do you want me to get the intern to go on a coffee run?”
“No, I’m fine,” Keith assures, turning to focus on his computer screen in favor of her fretting gaze. She’s too kind to say anything directly, but the implication of her thinking he needs coffee rather than wants it is written all over her face. “Anyway, as much as I love our little chats, I’m kind of busy so… Did you come over here for something other than my coffee order?”
“Someone’s grouchy this morning,” Allura comments with an arched eyebrow. “But I do need to talk to you.”
“Now?” he questions, turning to her while holding in yet another sigh. It’s not that Keith doesn’t like talking to Allura. Out of all his coworkers, she’s honestly the most tolerable. But considering he’d quite literally rolled out of bed this morning, hadn’t had any coffee, and his usual daily programs hadn’t even fully loaded, he doesn’t think he can handle an impromptu one-on-one.
“No, not now,” she elaborates, sharp blue eyes flicking around the office before settling back on him with her eyebrows drawn tight and her voice even tighter. “What’re your lunch plans?”
“Why?” Keith responds, feeling slightly nervous from the sudden shift in her tone.
“Just tell me, Kogane. I’m not going to sell your schedule to the CIA.”
“I’m spending my lunch the way I do every shift: at my desk,” he answers while eyeing her warily, trying to parse the unmistakable gravity in her tone that wasn’t there before.
“Right. I always forget how obsessed you are with your cubicle,” she responds, hopping off his desk and sticking a manicured hand in one of her slacks’ pockets. “Well, I’ll pick out somewhere nice for us to eat.”
“I’m not obsessed,” he argues, wrinkling his nose. “It’s just that everyone in this office is overly social. And what is this all about anyway?”
“Don’t worry about that for now, just focus on the December outline for now,” she instructs, glancing at the large stack of proposals on his desk that he needs to organize before their monthly meeting to present to his management team. “There’s nothing you can do if I tell you about it right now anyway…”
“What?” Keith asks, unsettled by the vagueness of his colleague’s words, but she’s already walking away by the time the ominous language starts to really sink in.
Realizing he won’t be getting any clarity anytime soon, Keith turns back to his computer, running a stressed pair of hands over his face.
At least it’s Friday, he tells himself, clicking through a series of programs as he prepares for a productive day. Not much can ruin Fridays.
Well, not much, except…
“Good morniiing,” Keith hears a familiar voice sing from his left, the sudden noise loud enough to startle him so bad he bites his tongue. “Good morning Baltimoooreee, everyday’s like- ah! God, what happened to you? You look like hell.”
“Lance,” Keith grits, unable to manage much more. Every morning, Keith manages to slip into the office, praying that he’ll get at least five minutes of peace before someone tries to ruin the equilibrium of the biome that is his cubicle. And every morning, he is proven that with coworkers like Lance Fuentes, it’s physically impossible.
“Are you okay? You’re kinda looking like the grandma that got run over by a reindeer right now,” Lance states, as if interrupting Keith’s morning isn’t already bad enough. Apparently, he has to insult him to his face, too.
“It’s been a long morning,” Keith answers instead of the onslaught of obscenities he’d like to say, because, unlike some people, he actually has an idea of professionalism.
“Is that why you were late?” Lance prods, and Keith looks to the ceiling, counting down from ten to keep himself from cursing.
“I didn’t realize you kept track of my every move,” Keith answers eventually, and Lance actually has the nerve to tinge pink at this. Who gets embarrassed about being called out, but doesn’t have enough shame to refrain from singing in an open space first thing in the morning?
“I don’t,” Lance answers sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head while averting his eyes. “I just had something I wanted to give you.”
“What?” Keith asks dryly, eyes critical as he gives his coworker the up-down, just then realizing he has one of his hands behind his back. If it’s another proposal to turn into a mock-up, Keith swears he’s going to punt this man across the floor.
“I got you a coffee,” his coworker explains, placing a large coffee cup on the edge of his desk, the tips of his ears as red as the bright red stripes on his candy-cane themed tie.
Keith blinks at the offering accusingly, momentarily stunned and apprehensive, before his wariness wins over his confusion. “What is this?”
“Um, a coffee? I just said that?” Lance answers with a light chuckle, and Keith’s frown deepens.
“No, I meant, why are you giving this to me?” he clarifies. Lance has been waiting for the moment when he would arrive at work just for this? Why?
“I didn’t put anything in it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he assures, though his words do everything but reassure him. “Well, other than a little sugar and some Christmas spirit.”
“So you just spent money on me for no reason,” Keith clarifies, unable to accept that Lance would just do this specifically for him out of simple goodwill. It isn’t that Lance isn’t a particularly giving person; he is. Sometimes he’s a little too generous, usually with the unwanted details of his personal life. But his gregariousness usually comes in droves, by way of him imparting gifts and favors to multiple people at a time. This week alone, he’s passed out Christmas cookies from his best friend’s family’s bakery and handed out handmade, knitted Christmas stockings to the entire marketing team. Keith currently still has a giant red sock with his name on it sitting in his desk drawer at that very moment. But Lance going out of his way to do something for one very specific person? And that person being Keith, no less? Weird. Very weird.
“Is it so weird to do something nice for a friend?” Lance asks with a shrug, embarrassment still evident in his features as he avoids Keith’s eyes, with only adds to Keith’s uneasiness.
“Coworker,” Keith corrects. “And yes, it is weird.”
“Well, I wanted to try the new seasonal drink at my favorite coffee shop, but I also got my usual just in case. I ended up liking the new drink, so I’m giving my usual to you. Is that enough of an explanation for you, Mr. Kogane?”
Keith squints, annoyed at his sarcasm, but even more off-put by the obvious lie. Keith knows for a fact that the steaming black coffee sitting on his desk is the exact opposite of the syrupy, whipped, empty-calorie drinks that Lance usually rolls into work with. A large black coffee with two sugars is Keith’s usual, however…
“Sure, Lance,” Keith relents, too tired to further dissect his colleague’s confusing behavior. “Thanks for the drink.”
“No problemo,” Lance answers with a shrug, drumming his fingers against the desk’s thick wood.
Keith waits, admittedly impatiently, for his space to finally be alleviated of the human embodiment of ‘distracting’. But even as they lapse into silence, the taller man makes no moves to leave.
“Was there something else?” Keith asks against his better judgment, at which point Lance offers him a smile that’s way too big for anyone to be flashing so early in the morning.
“Did you get my memo on Teams?”
Keith sighs, resigned, as he clicks around on his computer to locate the ‘memo’ the younger man speaks of. When he finally locates the message, all he can do is sigh for the millionth time that morning to keep himself calm.
“Good morning,” he reads aloud, voice devoid of emotion. “I have something for you when you get to the office. Let me know when you get here. Blah blah blah, season of giving. Gift emoji, Christmas tree emoji. Also, are you going to the Christmas party tonight?”
“Why did you read the emojis out loud?” Lance questions between a chuckle, before startling as Keith reacts to the message with a ‘thumbs down’ emoji. “Wait, did you just dislike my message?”
“Yes,” Keith answers honestly.
“You’re so rude sometimes. You could’ve at least waited until I got back to my desk,” Lance bristles before grabbing a swivel chair from the empty desk next to Keith’s and settling far too comfortably into Keith’s space. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Keith asks, turning to his computer to look through his daily avalanche of emails.
“Well, are you going?”
“To the Christmas party? No, I’m not.”
“Why not?” Lance presses, twiddling his thumbs as he faces his chair towards Keith, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see his coworker’s tightly-knit eyebrows and childish pout.
“Are you going?”
“Of course I am,” Lance responds, like that much is obvious. Which, honestly, it probably should have been.
“Well, then there’s one reason I’m not going,” Keith says with a huff.
“Do you hate Christmas? Is that what it is?”
“I don’t hate Christmas.”
“I saw you give my Christmas cookies to the IT guy, Keith,” Lance accuses, in a tone that makes it seem like he witnessed a murder.
“I don’t like gingerbread,” he explains away with a shrug, causing Lance to lean in a little too close, eyes squinted and fingers drawn together.
“You know who else doesn’t like gingerbread cookies? People who hate Christmas. And joy and whimsy and everything fun,” Lance explains, and if Keith were in a better mood, he’d probably laugh at Lance’s ridiculousness. But right then, all he can offer is a tired stare and a sorry excuse.
“I have plans,” Keith lies. Although, technically, depending on how you look at it, it’s not a complete lie. Keith does have plans–rolling up in his heated blanket on the couch with a good book, with old BuzzFeed Unsolved episodes playing on the TV in the background.
Lance seems to read every inch of his face, looking for signs of deception, only to withdraw with a deep exhale, likely knowing that Keith has no plans of budging regardless of what’s said.
“Whatever. You'd better be free on Saturday, though,” Lance says while leaning back in his chair, at which point Keith’s interest piques ever so slightly.
“What’s happening Saturday?” Keith questions, taking Lance’s bait despite himself, causing the younger man to smile brightly.
“I’m glad you asked, my friend,” Lance says with an easy inflection, before digging into his suit’s jacket pocket and pulling out a card, dramatically slapping it on Keith’s desk. “Bam! Feast your eyes on the best invitation you’ve ever seen.”
Apprehensive, Keith gingerly picks up the card as though it might sting him, and is met with the brightest, sparkliest, multi-fonted eyesore he’s ever seen.
“What the hell is this?”
“Impressive, right?” Lance asks while leaning forward in his chair, the furniture groaning under the weight of his movement. “Can you tell I was paying attention during your graphic design seminar? I even did the little layering trick you showed.”
“I see…” Keith responds, flipping over the colorful cardstock to reveal even more glittery text. “And why are you showing me this?”
“That’s your invitation! I want you to come.” Lance explains. Keith squints at the words in front of him, lamenting Lance’s terrible taste in fonts, before realizing it’s a Christmas party invitation. “You’ll come, right?”
“This is gonna be at your house?” Keith verifies, staring at the little glittery snowflakes decorating the invite.
“Yeah. Well, my condo. I just moved in. It’s kinda like a housewarming, Christmas party, trial run for my New Year’s party type of shindig,” Lance explains, which doesn’t really explain much at all.
“And you’re inviting people from the office? Did you learn nothing from your ‘birthday bash’?” Keith questions, using quotation fingers around the last two words, given the way Lance insisted it was referred to as a bash and not a party, because the party was a separate event he planned. Regardless, both events went completely haywire when way too many people showed up. With the ‘bash’ being the most memorable due to the fire marshal showing up. Keith had only attended due to the restaurant Lance decided to host at having the best garlic knots in town. But instead of dinner and cake, he ended up with a to-go plate and a memory that makes him want to laugh every time he thinks about it.
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault. I told my mom to bring a plus one, and she brought, like, plus one hundred.” Lance rolls his eyes before offering another smile. “Besides, I’m not inviting the entire office. Just a few people I actually like.”
“But you like everyone,” Keith argues.
“You only think that because you don’t like anyone,” Lance contests back.
“And yet you keep trying to invite me to stuff.”
“I’m just inviting, like, ten people tops. You don’t have to stay the whole time, just come for an hour. I’ll make you one of my holiday margaritas.”
Keith purses his lips, eyes flipping from the invitation, getting glitter all over his desk, to Lance, whose toothy smile is so wide it shouldn’t even be anatomically possible.
“I’ll think about it,” he settles on, hoping that’ll be enough to get his coworker off his back.
“Cool, cool, cool,” Lance replies while standing, finally shuffling out of Keith’s space. “Um, what’re your lunch plans?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting with Allura,” Keith excuses, grateful to actually have an excuse.
“Right, right. Well, see you later then,” Lance says with a nod, tapping at his sides as he backs away. “Merry pre-Christmas.”
Keith rolls his eyes as Lance turns on his heels, scooting off to his corner of the office, greeting everyone he passes on his way to his desk.
As soon as Lance is out of sight, Keith takes one last look at the navy blue invite card still clipped between his fingers before dropping it in the recycling bin.
Keith swears he doesn’t hate the holidays. He doesn’t necessarily hate Lance, either. But spending an unascertained amount of time with his coworkers outside of working hours, right before the holidays? Definitely Keith’s idea of personal hell, and the last thing he wants to do with his time.
Keith stretches in his chair as he opens his most recent project in Adobe Photoshop, wishing he had his usual coffee blend to accompany what he knows will be a long day. Only for him to remember that Lance, for some strange reason, brought him a drink. After staring down the cup of caffeine at the edge of his desk for a few seconds, wondering if Lance possibly did something to it, Keith decides to take a sip to confirm his suspicions: it’s his usual order. Hot and black, with just a hint of sweetener. If Lance did slip something into it, it’s well-masked under the smooth brew.
Feeling a pinch of guilt, Keith picks up the invitation he just discarded and slips it into the front pocket of his satchel bag instead. Maybe he could make an appearance at Lance’s little shindig. Just to be polite. Besides, a free cranberry margarita never hurt anyone.
❆
When Keith predicted that he’d have a long day at work, he was mostly just being pessimistic due to his unsavory morning. But by the time ten o’clock rolls around, he’s only edited half of his monthly meeting’s slides, he feels an oncoming migraine, and he’s slightly starving from skipping breakfast.
“Did you see my email?” Keith suddenly hears from the entrance of his cubicle and turns in time to see the department manager, Coran, staring at him with a concerned look on his face. At least, on the half of his face that isn’t covered by his giant mustache.
“I don’t believe I did,” Keith answers quietly, folding his hands as he flicks his eyes back to his computer. He’d briefly clicked through a handful of emails while Lance chattered his ear off, and then spent the better half of the morning working on his latest project before remembering he needed to update the PowerPoint for the monthly outline he was expected to present that evening. “Which email?”
“Today’s monthly rundown got pushed up to eleven instead of two,” Coran informs him, and Keith feels the blood drain from his face.
Adjusting the slides and updating them with all the proposals that had been made recently would take an hour, never mind editing and proofing everything. He’d thought he’d have until two to get it all done, but there was no way he’d have something he’d feel comfortable presenting within an hour.
“Oh…really?” Keith croaks, unsure of how to get around the time crunch without revealing himself to be the procrastinator he is. It’s not that Keith has bad time management, exactly. In fact, it’s usually just the opposite. On most weeks, he has his slides done a day in advance, occasionally pulling all-nighters to make sure his work meets his personal standards. But the monthly meeting had already been up a week due to the holidays, putting everything on a stressful fast track. Plus, there was just something about this time of year that made it harder for Keith to stay productive… Not that it matters much at this point. He won’t have to worry about productivity if he loses his job over his sloppy work.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Leadership has an emergency meeting due to some budgeting issues the finance department just came across, so everything’s being moved around today. Not to worry, though. We’ll obviously be providing a complementary lunch. The intern is taking orders right now, so make sure you let him know your order ASAP so we can get that order in.” Coran claps him on the shoulder with a smile, before taking a peek at one of his computer monitors, ginger eyebrows rising upon seeing the PowerPoint slide reflected on the screen. “Is that the mock-up for the Signia ad?”
“Yes,” Keith responds, feeling himself flip into autopilot as the majority of his brain is used to try to crank out an idea to get this freaking presentation done.
“That looks amazing. You’ve gotten so far since last week. Can’t wait to see the rest of the presentation.”
Coran flashes him one of his usual smiles, and Keith does his best to force a smile back. If only he knew the very next slide is half empty.
“Thanks, Coran,” Keith answers, voice feeling dry.
“Of course, Number Four,” Coran insists. Keith isn’t really sure what Coran’s numerical nicknames mean; as far as he knows, everyone in the office has a random number that’s assigned, and the numbers only seem to change a few weeks after someone else is hired. Lance has a theory that it’s his ranking for personal favorites, which, considering how eccentric his manager can be at times, Keith doesn’t think is entirely impossible. He supposes he’ll find out once he presents the world’s sloppiest presentation, and inevitably disappoints his boss.
“I’ll be in conference room B, setting things up if you need me,” Coran says before sauntering off, and Keith nods with a wave.
His eyes follow his boss as he exits the office, sighing softly, before promptly slamming his head on his desk. Hard enough that, if he looked up to check, he’d probably have a few heads turned his way. Keith takes a few breaths in and out, counting down from ten the way he usually does whenever he feels himself getting worked up. But ultimately, he knows that his current predicament is entirely self-inflicted, and there’s little he can do about it now. Even if he were to start working overtime, fingers flying at a hundred words per minute with no breaks, there’s simply too much material and not enough time.
Maybe Keith could just quit right now. Resign, right before the holidays. He could break his lease and move back in with Adam and Shiro. Become a full-time nanny for his niece. Or rejoin his old band from his uni days and go back to making shitty rock music in his college roommate’s garage. Or go backpacking through the Southern Hemisphere to avoid the current winter chill. Anything would be better than stressing out over a PowerPoint of all things.
“Is that the presentation for this afternoon?” Keith hears from his left, and pops his head up to see their office’s marketing consultant leaning into his space for the second time that day.
“What do you want, Fuentes?”
“Ooh, using last names; somebody’s in a bad mood,” Lance notes, leaning against Keith’s desk while folding his arms. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Keith lies.
“Is that why you’ve got your head on your desk?” Keith sits up in time to see Lance watching him carefully, eyes soft and warm as he seems to peel back Keith’s layers of caginess to potentially read his thoughts. Slightly uncomfortable, Keith shuffles in his seat. “Is it about the December presentation?”
“Why would it be about that?”
“So you admit you are upset,” Lance says with a cheeky smirk, before looking towards Keith’s computer. “And you spent most of this week with me, talking to the software consultants. So I know you obviously didn’t have much time to work on the presentation.”
Keith huffs, annoyed at Lance’s perceptiveness, but realizes being irritated won’t exactly help things.
“I just have a few more slides to edit... And now that the meeting is in less than an hour, I’m worried it won’t be cohesive,” Keith downplays, hoping that understating his worries will get Lance to leave him be. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
“I don’t understand why you have to make the presentations, anyway. I feel like they just make you do it because you’re the new hire,” Lance says with a sigh.
“I’ve been here almost two years.”
“Exactly what I mean. New hire,” Lance reiterates. “I’ll be right back.”
Keith rolls his eyes, deciding to go back to ignoring his surroundings and focus on the foreboding work in front of him. Maybe he has no chance of finishing anytime soon, but he could at least make an attempt. Maybe he’d just finish the conclusive slides and cut out everything in between that’s still unfinished?
Before he can make a decision, he hears a clattering next to him and the familiar squeak of their office’s shitty roller chairs as Lance wheels a chair into his space, simultaneously dropping his laptop on Keith’s desk.
“What’re you doing?”
“Send me the link to the presentation,” Lance instructs. “I’ll help you wrap things up.”
“You’re helping me?” Keith asks, stunned as he watches Lance sign into his mobile computer. “Why?”
“Do you want to psychoanalyze me, or do you want my help?” Lance questions with a flat look, and all Keith can really do in turn is focus back on his own screen and send the link. “That’s what I thought.”
A quick glance at the time informs Keith that he only has forty-five minutes before his meeting, and he quickly puts all thoughts of ‘whys’ when it comes to Lance out of mind. That’s a long list that Keith has zero time to go through. So he takes a long swig of the last of his coffee and gets to work, copying and pasting data and infographics into PowerPoint while Lance edits behind him.
By the time eleven rolls around, Keith feels as though he’s aged at least a dozen years, but quickly tapping through the slides they put together, he sighs in relief. It’s far from perfect, but it’s ten times better than anything he could’ve done himself. Thanks to Lance cutting out half of the unnecessary details, their presentation actually looks a lot more concise than what he usually puts together.
“Do you want me to present?” Lance questions as they walk into the conference room together, Keith’s laptop clutched tightly in his hands as he drags his loafers across the carpeted floor and plops into a seat. “I doubt it’d make a difference to Coran.”
“No, I’m fine,” Keith says with a shake of his head, only aggravating his pre-existing headache. “I’m just…hungry.”
In saying this, Keith’s shoulders drop, realizing he never gave the intern his fucking lunch order. Shit. And in his rush to get to work this morning, he didn’t exactly bring anything to eat, either. Shit, shit, shit. Keith’s already ravenous as is; there was no way he was going to make it through the meeting at this rate.
Keith’s wondering if maybe he should just make a quick stop at the office coffee shop for a pastry when he feels something nudge him in the arm, and turns to see Lance holding out a sandwich toward him. “Double turkey club, hold the onion–that’s what you usually get, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Keith answers, face warming as he stares at the sandwich in awe. He gets the thought that this isn’t his. But sure enough, the submarine’s wrapping paper has his name on it in thick black Sharpie. “You ordered for me?”
“Yeah. You never check your emails, so I figured I kinda had to,” Lance replies with a shrug like it’s no big deal, settling beside Keith with his own Caesar salad in his hands and an easy smile on his lips.
“Oh…wow. My knight in shining armor,” Keith remarks. He means for it to come off sarcastically, but really, Lance has been saving him all day. And it wasn’t even noon yet.
Lance’s chance to respond is interrupted by their branch’s creative director, asking everyone to quickly take a seat before the presentations begins.
Keith takes a giant bite out of his first meal of the day, grateful for the man next to him. He’s more than a little annoying at times, but it’s moments like this that remind Keith why Lance is so well-liked by everyone in the office.
Throughout the first half of their meeting, Keith actually manages to pay attention, taking notes in between bites of sandwich, feeling newly invigorated with the sustenance in his belly. However, by the time the meeting reaches its third presentation, with the finance department explaining the need for budget cuts in the New Year, Keith can feel his focus waning.
His written notes quickly turn into doodles of the people in the room. Coran, eagerly nodding along to everything being said while occasionally popping a handful of almonds in his mouth. Their branch’s lead software engineer, twiddling his thumbs while staring off into space every few seconds, seemingly just as bored as Keith–even when the meeting focuses on a product he designed. And their branch’s director, with a perpetual frown on his face, no matter what’s being discussed. Keith isn’t even sure if he’s actively frowning; he’s pretty sure he just looks like that. He’s outlining the fourth person on the page, detailing short brown hair that curls around the nape and almond eyes that often meet Keith’s with an unusual fondness when Keith feels an arm slither behind the back of his chair.
“You forgot my freckles,” he hears whispered in his ear, closely enough that he can feel the warmth of Lance’s breath against his cheeks, immediately lighting up his skin with warmth and a deep rosiness. He turns to meet his colleague’s eyes, only to find that Lance is leaning in a lot closer than he had anticipated. Close enough that Keith could easily count every freckle on his face, even the faint, lighter ones tucked between overactive smile lines.
Keith leans back slightly, glancing around the room in embarrassment, hoping no one just witnessed what just happened, before letting his eyes fall back to his paper.
“How do you even know it’s you?” Keith whispers back.
Instead of bothering to respond, Lance rolls his eyes and draws a tic-tac-toe board in the corner of the page with the blue pen in his left hand, starting the game with a small ‘O’ in the middle. After staring at him dubiously for a moment, earning him a few nudges from his coworker, Keith sighs before giving in. They had at least another fifteen minutes before it was their department’s turn to present, and things weren’t getting any more interesting.
They get through six rounds of tic-tac-toe (Keith-4, Lance-2) before the finance team wraps things up, and it’s finally their team’s turn to present. When Lance once again offers to present in Keith’s stead, Keith doesn’t argue. After quickly updating Coran and getting the go-ahead, Lance sets up his laptop and begins to update their department’s management team on all the projects they’ve been working on over the past month or so. Keith slumps in his seat ever so slightly when Lance begins to go into unnecessary detail about the ad Keith’s currently working on, earning a few oohs and ahs from their colleagues. Keith urges him with his eyes to move on, and the smile Lance offers in turn makes his stomach flip.
Lance is finally about to proceed, getting to the latter half of the presentation regarding their upcoming projects and proposals that still need to be approved, when their director suddenly interrupts.
“Could you skip to what we’re doing for the summer releases? We’ve all got a leadership meeting in ten minutes,” the supervisor requests, and the tight smile Lance offers in turn almost makes Keith laugh.
“Of course,” Lance answers, quickly skipping over twenty-five percent of their prepared slides to reach the proposals for next year, at which point Keith realizes that Lance is skipping over all the content he’s been leaving on Keith’s desk for the past several weeks so that it could be presented in this very meeting.
“Wait,” Keith says, turning to their director. “You don’t want to see our winter campaign? Or our pitches for the spring releases? Lance actually did a really nice-”
“We’ve already started the roll-out for the winter; anything released after this point is just subsidiary. Middle management can worry about the approvals. And our California branch is already leading the spring campaign, so I’m not worried about that.” Their director adjusts his tie before turning back to Lance and making a rolling motion with his index finger. “Now, can we wrap this up?”
Keith has to clasp his hands together to keep from launching across the table, wondering how many punches he could get in before somebody tried to hold him back. But before he can fully delve into a plan of vengeance, Lance is concluding the presentation, simultaneously concluding the meeting.
After a few weak claps, everyone begins to stretch out of their seats and gather their things. Everyone but Keith, that is, who is still tightly gripping his hands together to avoid using them for violence, simultaneously counting down from ten.
“Easy tiger,” Keith hears a familiar voice warn, a warm hand concurrently being placed on his left shoulder. “Calm down. It’s not worth it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters while standing, eyeing Lance warily in the process. How he still had his usual easy grin on his face, Keith had no idea. Upper management was the bane of Keith’s existence, and it was only serving to upset him more that Lance didn’t share the sentiment.
“So you aren’t contemplating murder right now?” Lance asks, gathering their trash and throwing it in the wastebasket behind them.
Before Keith can get the chance to deny this, Coran is coming up behind them, patting both of them on their shoulders while offering an exuberant smile. “Good work, lads,” he states, walking with them to the door. “Very impressed with what you presented today. You two always make such a good team.”
Keith flushes, eyeing Lance out of the corner of his eye to check for a reaction. Their manager is always insisting they work well together, which they can hardly argue with. All the projects they’ve worked on together happen to be the source of their branch’s biggest spikes in engagement across all of their marketing platforms since Coran started pairing them together. But even if it’s technically true that they work well with one another professionally, it’s still weird to hear.
Based on the way the taller man is flushing at the statement, it would appear that Lance agrees.
“Thanks, Coran,” Keith answers awkwardly, unsure of what else to say to this.
“Why don’t you two call it a day?” Coran suggests, immediately causing Lance to perk up.
“Really?”
“Sure, why not. It’s Christmas! Besides, you don’t have anything due this week. Just make sure the outline for all of those proposals is emailed to me and in the outsource folder before you clock out.”
“Wow, thanks, Coran,” Lance voices, his previously drained eyes suddenly looking alight with radiance. Nothing seems to make Lance light up like the suggestion of his going home early, no matter the reason. Keith can imagine that if Lance were ever let go from his position, he’d still have his usual goofy smile, happy to be able to go home early.
“Thanks, Coran,” Keith says with a small smile, and does his best to keep the forced grin on his face until his boss rounds the corner. As soon as he’s out of sight, Keith is turning toward Lance and squinting. “How are you not pissed right now?”
“Huh?” Lance questions, seemingly caught off guard as they hover in front of their office door. “About going home early?”
“No. I’m talking about Dr. Sendak interrupting your presentation and having you skip over all of your submissions for the spring campaign,” Keith explains. Their branch’s director, Dr. Sendak, allegedly had his doctorate in software engineering and business, but based on the way he constantly spearheaded the meetings he attended, it just seemed like he has a PhD in being a pain in the ass.
“Oh, no, I’m livid,” Lance clarifies, his words accompanied by a small chuckle that sounds almost maniacal. “But I’m about to go home, and he’s about to sit in another long ass meeting. So, small wins, right?”
Keith just stares at him, unsure of how he can manage to find a silver lining in everything.
“So, what’re you about to do now? Going home?”
Keith thinks about it. It was barely two, and he’s already had an uncomfortably long day. But as annoyed and tired as Keith is, the alternative to being at work is being at home. Alone, in his cold, small, empty apartment. He liked his alone time, but during this time of the year, his apartment had the tendency to feel even lonelier than usual…
“I still need to talk to Allura,” Keith excuses, grateful to have a reason to stay.
“Oh,” Lance says with a frown. “I was gonna ask if you want to catch a movie, but if you’re busy, never mind then.”
Keith blanches, gripping his laptop so tightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap. “A movie?”
“Yeah. They’re supposed to be playing Christmas specials this weekend at the theater downtown.”
“Oh…sounds fun,” Keith says with a frown, annoyed at himself. Why’d he have to say he’s staying at work? Not that he particularly wants to hang out with Lance or anything… But he does kind of owe him for saving him all day. Buying him a Coke and popcorn would be a nice way to pay him back for the coffee, at least. And Keith does like the cinema.
Whatever. Too late now.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll just go with my sister or something,” Lance thinks aloud, before leaning his head against the door frame. “Unless…?”
“Unless?” Keith asks, earning him an arched eyebrow from his coworker. A face he’s constantly sending in Keith’s direction, but Keith never knows what to do with. “What?”
“Never mind,” Lance responds with a sigh, entering their office and heading to his desk. “Have a good night, Mr. Kogane.”
Keith frowns, watching his associate stalk off to his own cubicle, wondering what the hell just happened.
❆
When Keith returns to his desk, he quickly decides to distract himself from his weird interactions with Lance throughout the day by throwing himself into his work. He makes a point of hunching over his keyboard, clicking away furiously as he hears Lance leave the office with several ‘farewells’ and ‘see you later’s’ to all of their coworkers. Everyone but Keith, who’s on his little island in the corner of the office, doing his best not to think about their office’s prince.
Keith groans, realizing he’s just been copy and pasting the same text over and over–way too many times than any ad would ever need–and comes to the conclusion that trying to distract himself isn’t going to work. He quickly locates his Microsoft Teams messenger, hoping to link up with Allura for a late lunch. He hadn’t clocked out for his break yet, and he clearly needed one. Only for him to see that she’s already sent him several messages over the span of the last hour.
Hey, did you take your lunch yet?
Never mind. Just stopped by the office, I’m guessing in you’re in the December meeting. Just message me when you get this.
There’s a disciplinary committee meeting that just showed up on the schedule that I have to attend. I don’t know when I’ll be done, so I’ll text you. Don’t forget to eat something.
Preferably not a tuna fish sandwich? Somebody literally tried to report you for eating one in the office the other day.
Merry Christmas :)
Keith exhales roughly, realizing he hadn’t had much of a reason to stay back after all. Oh well; there were a long list of designs in his project folder that weren’t going to make themselves. Who cares if Lance is being weird? Keith wasn’t going to let his coworker’s strange behavior get the best of him.
Keith digs into his work bag and digs out his over-worn pair of wireless headphones, slipping them over his ears and leaning forward over his keyboard, before opening a new layer in Photoshop. If he was going to be here for the next several hours, the least he could do is be productive.
❆
Whenever Keith sets his mind to focusing on his work, he seems to enter a separate dimension of his own making that no one else can enter. One minute Keith was sitting at his desk, overthinking the events of that morning, and the next, it was dark outside, and he was seemingly the only person in the office.
Keith removes the headphones covering his ears, looking around as he stands and stretches, before quickly concluding that the office really is empty save for him. There isn’t the usual click or clatter of keyboards, or the krchrkk of their wheezing printer. Most of the lights are dimmed, with the only source of light coming from the waxing moonlight pooling across the carpet, and the yellow hall lights slipping through the doorway, alongside the blue light of his computer screen. Keith slumps back into his seat, scratching at his head as he checks the time on his phone: 6:43 PM.
Huh. He’d wanted to be productive, but he hadn’t meant to stay this long. Not that it mattered. The project due next week was now ready for submission, and he had caught up on all the work that he’d been procrastinating for most of December. Now he could go home.
But…Keith doesn’t really want to go home. Not really. Hypothetically, he wants to go to sleep, tired from the long day. But the night is still young. There’s at least a good few hours before his circadian rhythm would actually kick in and let him fall asleep without a hefty dose of melatonin.
Keith’s thinking of possibly hitting up one of the local bars in the area for a few drinks when he hears a familiar vrbbt coming from his satchel bag, and digs to locate his phone before quickly answering, not even bothering to check the caller ID.
“Hello?” he questions, saving his project progress one last time before logging out of his computer.
“Did you get my messages?” Allura questions, and he straightens, suddenly remembering he was supposed to meet up with her at some point. So much for that.
Keith drops his phone from his ear to scroll through his texts, and locates the messages she’s presumably referring to, asking if he’s still at the office, sent a little over an hour ago.
“Uh, yeah,” he answers, sliding down slightly in his chair. “Sorry, I got kind of caught up working.”
“Figured as much. So–still at the office?”
“Yeah,” he replies, tapping on his desk. “Are you finally gonna tell me whatever it is you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes, actually. Come downstairs to the garden,” she instructs. “And bundle up. It’s cold out here.”
“Then why do you want to talk outside?” Keith questions, ever the cynic, drawing a deep sigh from his coworker.
“Because I don’t want anyone to overhear.”
“Is it that serious?” Keith worries, once again wondering what it is she could possibly have to say. Maybe the person who reported him for that tuna fish sandwich had actually gotten taken seriously. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody complained about him. Maybe his stinky lunch was just the final straw.
“The sooner you get here, the sooner I can tell you,” she responds, and before Keith gets a chance to reply, the call ends with a loud click.
Keith stares at his phone in slight disbelief for a second, stupefied that she’d hang up on him like that, before quickly gathering his things and heading downstairs, his scarf flapping behind him as he hustles down the stairs and into the building’s main lobby.
He’s about to take the shortcut from the building’s entrance to the garden–through the reception area, to the courtyard, and down the long winding path leading to the community garden behind their building–when he’s bombarded with the sultry voice of Michael Bublé singing Holly Jolly Christmas, alongside the loud chatter of a thick crowd. And it’s then, as he stands in the doorway of their building’s gathering hall, that he remembers the little Christmas party that’s supposed to be hosted tonight, seemingly in full swing. Characters he recognizes, and many he couldn’t name if his life depended on it, fill the space with drinks and ornate finger foods in hand, smiles a dozen on each face.
Keith sighs, diving headfirst into the crowd and making quick work of shooting to the back door leading to the courtyard. He speeds so quickly through the room he nearly breaks a sweat, worried someone might try to catch him in a net of small talk he can’t be bothered with. By the time he finds Allura sitting alone on a bench in the dark, her gloved fingers wrapped around a wine glass as she stares into it, seemingly deep in thought, Keith decides he’ll head home straight after talking with her. He isn’t sure if it’s the weird day or the overzealous Christmas music that’s drained him, but he really doesn’t have much vigor left in him.
“Hey,” Allura greets with a thinly glossed smile, her grin barely moving her face, let alone reaching her eyes. “Long day?”
“Don’t even get me started,” Keith answers, sitting beside her with a huff, stretching his legs out as he takes in their leafy surroundings in the dark.
“Yeah, same,” she says with a small nod, tapping on the side of her wine glass as she nods along with him.
“Well? What’s this all about?” Keith presses, not feeling up to the small talk. This seems to catch her off guard, because she seems to hesitate before regrouping her thoughts.
“Look, I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it. Just promise not to freak out.”
“What?” Keith questions, heart hammering in his chest as he runs through a mental list of things it could be. But he’s too tired and too cold to really come up with much of anything. Not anything that warrants this much gravity in her voice.
“Apparently, some people in your office are talking about putting a motion for a disciplinary committee against you,” she tells him, stunning Keith into momentary stillness as he reflects on her words. But as soon as it processes in his head, he damn near loses his shit.
“What?”
“I know, I know,” Allura says, nodding sagely. “Look, don’t freak out-”
“I am freaking out! I mean, a disciplinary committee? What does that even mean?”
“Apparently, there’s been talk about how you bring down the office morale and aren’t a team player. And possibly talks about bribery in the workplace? People are saying that you get an unfair amount of projects, and the promotion you got last year being foul play. Like you may have some dirt on the creative director, or you're misusing company funds, and have some sort of agreement with Coran or something.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Keith seethes, eyes squinted. “The only time I even get a company card is on work trips, and even then, there’s no way I could hide what I spend on there.”
“I know,” Allura agrees.
“Is that what that sudden meeting you had was about?” he worries. Keith had been thinking about quitting just this morning, but the thought of possibly being fired? That’s a whole different story.
“What? No, no. Apparently, somebody’s been misusing company funds. I think that whoever it is probably just wanted to make you the scapegoat, and it just spiraled out of control,” she explains with a wave of her hand, quickly leveling him with a measured look. “Listen, this is all just hearsay right now. Stuff I’ve heard around the office. You know I’d never let your name come up in a meeting without warning you. That’s why I’m telling you now, before it gets to that point.”
“You think that the motion is actually going to be passed?” Keith questions, watching as Allura seems to fill with concern as his worries seem to snowball.
A disciplinary meeting? Filed by his coworkers? It felt like high school all over again. All Keith ever does is mind his business, trying to avoid people as much as physically possible to keep himself from getting caught up in other people’s issues. And for some reason, it always seems to have the opposite effect.
“I doubt they’ll actually even have the balls to file anything, honestly. And even if it does come to that, there’s no real reason to order any corrective action against you,” she assures, patting him on the shoulder, her grip firm and tight on his peacoat.
“Then why are you telling me all of this?”
“I just don’t want you to be blind sided, given a worst-case scenario,” his colleague clarifies. “And…”
“And?”
“I’m not saying that any of this is your fault. It’s obvious people are just jealous of you,” she prefaces, pinning a curly tendril behind her ear. “But I don’t think it’d hurt to take this as a chance to get to know your coworkers. Maybe if they knew you a little better, they’d think twice before talking about you and throwing you under the bus.”
“You want me to suck up to the assholes talking shit about me behind my back?” Keith snaps, in slight disbelief.
“No. But it doesn’t hurt to have a few more people on your side,” Allura reasons, leaning slightly forward as she offers a reassuring smile. “I’m sure this will all blow over. But...I can’t help but worry about how you’ll fare here in the long run, if things like this are already happening.” The young woman sighs, rolling her eyes. “I honestly think I’d go crazy without you. You’re one of the only people I actually like around here.”
Keith releases a deep sigh, his hot breath mingling with the abrasive cold and creating small puffs as he contemplates his associate’s advice. Allura isn’t exactly wrong. Out of the twenty or so people in their office, Keith wouldn’t say he really gets along with many of them. He only speaks when spoken to, doesn’t attend work events unless specifically requested to, and he tends to steamroll group projects to get them done as quickly as possible, rather than collaborating on finer minute details like how his coworkers seem to prefer. Maybe his personality and habits aren’t conducive to the “workplace environment,” but as long as everyone’s getting paid and the work gets done, why does it matter?
“Do you know who’s been saying all this?” Keith questions. At this point, he realizes he has two options: lie low and make friends like Allura suggests, or handle business by nipping this shit in the bud.
“Just people around the office,” Allura says, squinting as if she can read Keith’s mind. “But that’s not the point, Keith. Don’t get any ideas.”
“People like who?” he continues, ignoring her advice. “People like…” Keith tries to think of someone in the office who’s actively in his business enough to start a rumor with him at the subject line. Someone with enough influence for people to blindly agree with something this ridiculous. Someone who could even come up with something this outlandish. And only one person really comes to mind. “Is it Lance?”
“What? No,” Allura answers, looking at him as though he’s officially lost it, but the wheels are already in motion.
Maybe that’s why Lance has been all up in his business lately; to trap him in a false sense of security, when in reality he’s talking shit about him behind his back. It seemed like a bit of a stretch, knowing Lance to be the person who helped him with his presentation and knew his lunch and coffee order by heart. But somehow, Lance plotting against him and getting close to him just to spy on him seemed more logical than Lance doing it because…what? They’re friends?
“Keith,” Allura hisses, snapping him out of his reverie. “I’m serious. Don’t go there. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, so don’t do anything rash. If there’s anybody that is on your side other than me, it’s Lance.”
Keith’s eyes flicker toward hers at this, wondering what makes her so sure of this, but Allura quickly stands before he can get a word in, sipping the last of her wine and wrapping her coat tightly around her.
“Listen, don’t take what I said too hard, okay? I know you can overthink at times, but I’m really just looking out for you.”
“I know,” Keith comments, picking at his cuticles as his fingertips freeze over. “Thanks, Allura.”
“Of course,” she says, voice warm but tinged with hints of worry. “Merry Christmas, Keith.”
Keith can’t even bring himself to say merry Christmas back, instead doing his best to force a smile as she descends into the dark, leaving nothing but the click of her heels and unsettling news in her wake.
As soon as she’s around the corner and out of sight, Keith lets his face fall into his icy palms, frustrated as he runs through a series of possibilities regarding his career. Allura had said nothing would come of the distasteful discussions regarding his name, and realistically, he knows she’s right. But that does nothing for the web of insecurity and dejection threading in his gut, knowing that there are enough people in his office who apparently hate him to create an entire committee about it.
On one hand, Keith doesn’t care what other people think of him, not really. And as much as he wants to say something about it to whoever the hell started the rumors, he knows he won’t. Mostly because he knows a little office gossip doesn’t affect him getting his direct deposit every two weeks.
But something similar had happened at his last job, causing Keith to flee the association as soon as the opportunity arose. Foolishly, Keith had thought, during his first weeks at Voltech Industries, while still green to the scene, that things might be a little different. That he wouldn’t feel like the odd man out during every social setting, and wouldn’t spend almost every lunch hour alone. That he wouldn’t loathe conferences and collaborations, and that he’d find his place amongst the people he’s forced to work with. Only to quickly realize that, even at his best, he’s painfully antisocial and even more painfully awkward when he does try to socialize.
Keith digs into his coat pocket, looking for the resolution he’s been using as a crutch for the past few weeks to get through the uncomfortable season. It’s a bad habit he’d picked up in college, one he hasn’t had to resort to for a while now. But it’s always during this time of year that Keith finds himself outside in the cold, a cigarette clipped between fingers as he tries not to stew in the self-hatred that always rears its ugly head when he’s feeling pathetic and lonely. Whenever he remembers that he’s the source of his own misery.
Keith hangs his head back, counting stars and tracing constellations as his eyes water with the sting of cigarette smoke before deciding to do a little reflecting. He’d been almost in this exact spot around this time last year, feeling almost the exact way. Nothing had really changed since then, and that’s mostly because he hadn’t really done anything to make any changes. He’s lonely because he doesn’t talk to people. His house is empty because he doesn’t date. He’s still living in the same shitty apartment he was living in his senior year of uni, not because he can’t afford somewhere better, but because he keeps putting off going apartment hunting. But nothing will ever change unless he at least tries.
Keith drops his cigarette to the ground, snubbing it out with his boot before sucking in a deep breath and exhaling loudly, steadying himself as he mentally prepares himself for the worst decision he’s made all year: he’s going to make an appearance at their company’s stupid Christmas party hop.
He doesn’t want to–like, really, really doesn’t want to–but Allura is right. It wouldn’t kill him to congregate with his coworkers a little. And worst-case scenario, he’ll get a free drink or two before going home.
Keith’s assured while entering the room, the party is still in full swing as he shrugs off his coat and drops it in a chair in the corner of the room alongside his bag. But he quickly grows overwhelmed by the blasting music and the sheer number of people in the room. He begins to wander to the refreshments, deciding he’s going to need to at least be tipsy before he even attempts talking to anyone, only to find that the open bar is being guarded by the last person he wants to see right now.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Grinch himself,” Lance greets, an easy smile on his face. A smile that Keith doesn’t think he’ll ever get used. It pisses him off every time, while simultaneously doing weird things to his insides.
“I’m not in the mood, Lance,” Keith informs, grabbing a bottle of rum and pouring himself a cup of rum and Coke.
“You never are,” Lance answers with an easy shrug. “But if I remember correctly, a certain Mr. Scrooge said he hates Christmas and wouldn’t be caught dead at a work function. Let alone a Christmas party.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Keith scoffs, stating the obvious. “And am I not allowed to change my mind?”
“Of course you are. But considering how stubborn you are, I must say I’m a little surprised,” Lance responds, twirling his champagne glass ever so slightly. “What changed your mind?”
“Why? Gonna report it to your goons?” Keith snaps, only to falter. Oops. He isn’t supposed to say anything about what Allura told him.
Oh well. It’s Lance’s fault for always being up his ass. Why does he care so much about what Keith has going on?
“What? My goons?” Lance says between a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling as he shakes his head. “What’re you…talking…”
Thankfully, Lance seems to get distracted by something else before he can finish his thought and question Keith properly about the meaning behind his comment. Not so fortunately, it’s because Lance is delving into his business once again.
“Did you smoke?” Lance questions, eyes cutting into critical slits as he steps closer. “I thought you quit.”
“Do you not have any sense of boundaries?” Keith snaps, taking two steps backward for the step Lance took forward.
“You know, an easy way to get closer to someone is to overcome boundaries,” Lance spews with a goofy smile. Keith can’t tell whether he’s being serious, but it pisses him off all the same.
“That’s also an easy way to get slapped,” Keith fires back, beyond irritated, and startles when Lance bursts into laughter in response. Startled enough that it disrupts his steady flow of anger, and for a second, all he can focus on is the sparkle in Lance’s eyes as he’s alight with careless amusement.
“Never change, Mr. Kogane,” Lance requests, removing a stray piece of lint stuck to the shoulder of Keith’s sweater, causing Keith’s stomach to knot tightly at the thought of Lance touching him so casually. So thoughtlessly. Everything he does seems to be done in such a manner, and Keith can’t help but wonder when and how he came to be so comfortable with Keith when everyone else seems to keep their distance.
“Well, I can tell you’re irritated, so I’ll leave you be,” Lance continues, sticking a hand in his pocket as he offers Keith a sympathetic look. “But if you want to take your mind off whatever it is, you know where to find me.” Keith arches an eyebrow, and Lance shimmies his shoulders in turn, disturbing Keith deeply. “On the dance floor, putting everyone else to shame.”
With this, Lance flashes him one last grin before taking his leave, shimmying all the way to the center of the gathering hall. Keith draws his eyes away, rolling his eyes in the process as he adds more rum to his drink. And then a bit more for good measure. He doesn't want to remember that image come morning.
Keith’s downing his drink in fat gulps, savoring the tang as it slides down his throat, when a warm hand grapples his shoulder, startling him in the process.
“Keith!” A somewhat familiar face states with a polite smile, green eyes bright as they take him in. “I didn’t expect to see you here. You never show up to any of our functions.”
“Oh, um…” Keith stammers, feeling awkward as he forces a smile. The woman next to him definitely works in his office. In accounting maybe. And he’s at least sixty percent certain her name is Sharon, but it could just as easily be Cheryl. Or Kim? He knows there’s definitely a Kim with green eyes in one of the departments. “Yeah, I figured it was about time I made an appearance.”
“John!” Maybe-Cheryl calls, flagging down one of their coworkers, her dangly earrings flying this way and that. “Guess who decided to show up?”
“Who’s this?” John questions, bringing an entire entourage of smiley-faced half-strangers in tow.
“Um, I’m Keith,” Keith greets, wondering if it’d be weird for him to hold out his hand for a handshake. It’d definitely be weird, right?
“Oh, please, you know him! He works in our office!” Possibly-Kim states, bumping the guy in the shoulder.
“He sits in the back with the headphones? And glasses?” a member of John’s entourage reminds him.
“They’re blue light,” Keith mutters, lamenting the fact that this is the image his coworkers hold. Assuming they even bother to remember him at all.
“Ohhh, from marketing, right?” John says with a snap of his fingers, and Keith nods with a forced smile. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve seen you outside the office since the Cabo retreat. How’s it going, man?”
“It’s going…” Keith answers honestly, unsure of what else to offer a stranger. Apparently, this was just the right thing to get the guy going, because he’s suddenly being slapped on the back as the group delves into a group of chuckles.
“Ah, Keith, you’re too funny,” John says while dramatically wiping a nonexistent tear, making Keith wonder if the group was drunk, or if there was something in the office Expo markers they were all inhaling. Surely what he said couldn’t be that funny. “Kim, why didn’t you tell me this guy was such a jokester?”
“He’s been hiding from all of us,” Kim answers with a shrug, causing Keith to wish the floor would open up.
“That much is obvious,” a man to John’s right says, nothing about their face or voice even remotely ringing a bell. Not even one of those tiny bells on cat collars. “Where do you usually eat for lunch?”
“Um,” Keith starts, only to immediately be interrupted.
“Wait, do you smoke?” the nameless stranger asks, leaning into Keith’s space, the red wine in his hand sloshing about. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been looking for someone to go on smoke breaks with since Jared left.”
Probably because I don’t even know you? Keith thinks as Kim tsks.
“Fred, please. No one wants to spend their fifteen listening to you talk about office politics,” Kim says while shooing him out of Keith’s space, only to get way too close for comfort herself, turning to Keith with a drink freshly retrieved from the bar. “Keith, have you tried one of the espresso martinis?”
“Um, no,” Keith admits, holding up his glass of rum and coke. “Just this.”
“Oh, you gotta try one. There’s vanilla vodka and it’s so good. Oh, and there’s cherry whiskey sours if you want something fruity.”
“And Flora makes really good sunsets on the beach, if that’s more your speed,” Mr. No-Name adds.
“Sunsets on the beach?” Keith questions.
“That’s an HR-approved ‘sex on the beach,’” John explains with a chuckle, leading to a ripple of light laughter throughout the group that Keith feels inclined to participate in.
Socializing with his coworkers isn’t any less painful than he’d at least imagined. But, as he takes the last sip of his rum and Coke before accepting an espresso martini from Kim, he manages a half-genuine smile, grateful that he at least doesn’t have to grin and bear everything while sober.
❆
What happens after that is honestly a bit of a blur. And by a bit, Keith means that he couldn’t give any major details of the next hour and a half even if his life depended on it. All he knows is that after he’d down his martini, Kim kept passing him drinks. Some guy with the ugliest sweater Keith’s ever seen showed up behind the bar, and started making spiked hot chocolates, and they were good. Like, really good. Good enough to have three, and somewhere between all that Keith had a sip of spiked eggnog just to be festive. Because despite what Lance might say, he is not a Grinch. At some point a bunch of people started singing along to Jingle Bell rock, as apparently is tradition at the company Christmas parties, and Keith just kept sipping on bits of this and slurping on tastes of that to keep from being shoved toward the dance floor, expected to do some weird fox trot while singing along.
So when he finds himself slumped over a table toward the end of the gathering, with the crowd now thinned and the music slow, he has no recollection of the details of where his sweater and tie went, or where everyone went. He’s just so, so sleepy.
“Hey,” Keith hears, and slowly looks up in time to see a pair of warm eyes focused on him. “Hey, buddy, wake up.”
“Lance?” Keith questions, honestly not trusting his judgment as he stares at his coworker with bleary eyes.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Lance answers with a small smile, reaching a hand out in front of him. “C’mon, time to go. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“Home,” Keith repeats, tasting the word on his tongue like it’s the first he’s ever heard of it. What even is a home for someone like him? He knows what it means to people like Lance; people who have people who care about them, never leaving them to be lonely. He’s sure Lance probably has someone waiting at home for him, keeping his bed warm for him. Making his stupid little condo homey and lived-in. But Keith? Who knows if he’ll ever know what that’s really like.
“Yeah, home. Your house. Your bed. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Lance says while guiding Keith out of his seat, in a way that Keith would find patronizing if he wasn’t actually interested in passing out in his bed. “C’mon, easy does it.”
Keith doesn’t move much until Lance is physically pulling him up, struggling to remember that he actually has to move to get to bed. Being lifted out his seat, Keith crashes into Lance’s chest, taking in thick wafts of light cologne and aftershave mingling with mint and eggnog, and Keith sighs. Whoever it was keeping Lance’s side of the bed warm was lucky to be able to take in this scent whenever they wanted. To feel this warmth, and have the choice of never letting go.
“You okay?” Lance asks, holding Keith at arm’s length while struggling to balance their belongings on his shoulder, examining Keith’s face with roaming eyes.
“Mmmm,” Keith hums, thinking of the eggnog he tasted earlier, and leans his head forward just to catch a whiff of it on his breath. Lance smells so sweet and so warm he can almost still taste it.
“Alright, buddy,” Lance supplies with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s get you to the car.”
Keith huddles close as he hobbles to Lance’s sedan with a shiver creeping down his spine, doing his best to escape the cold by sticking as close as physically possible to the warm body keeping him upright.
“Watch your head,” Lance instructs while helping Keith slide into the passenger seat, quickly buckling him in as Keith lets his eyes close and his head loll against the back of the chair.
Lance is buckling him in when Keith catches another whiff of that sweet smell, and leans in closer, just to keep it close. To hang onto the dredges of it. Of Lance, and his affability that’s currently filling Keith’s senses.
Lance pushes him back against his seat, hands hot and face flushed before he rounds to the other side of the car, booting his vehicle up and blasting the heat. But even without the heat filtering in, Keith feels plenty warm. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this warm in his life.
“What’s your address?” Lance questions, and Keith turns to him with closed eyes, resigned and sleepy.
“Hm?” he manages, a true feat on his part.
“Where do you live? I can’t get you home without it,” Lance explains, and even with his eyes closed, Keith can sense the smile on his face through the patience and kindness in his voice. “Don’t you want to go home?”
Keith thinks about it. Really thinks about. It takes a minute, for him to even process what
Lance is saying, but once he does, he does consider it. And decides that no–he doesn’t want to go home. Not to his empty cold apartment, alone with no one who knows his coffee order, or his lunch preferences. No one who helps him when he’s stressed, or makes him laugh in spite of himself. No one who’s sweet and warm, in more ways than one.
“No,” he warbles, groaning at the thought of having to go home.
“No?”
“No,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Not home.”
“Then where do you wanna go?” Lance questions, and Keith finally meets his eyes to meet an unexpected softness. Flickers of warmth hot enough to melt candles, but subtle enough that he almost misses it in his inebriation. But it’s there, and it’s real, and it makes Keith want to lean into his space again. Want to dive into those pools of affection in his eyes, and live there for the rest of his life.
“With you,” Keith surmises, voice dry and head hurting as he closes his eyes once more, resting his head against the cool glass.
“Okay,” Lance responds, sounding breathless, before nodding sharply. “Okay, sure. Just take a nap, love. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
Keith is already halfway there, eyes slipping closed and mind foggy as he begins to lose consciousness, head lolling against the glass of his window as Lance backs out of his parking space.
And Keith imagines, thanks to the creativity and hopefulness his intoxication tends to bring, a life where he’s this satisfied with life all the time. A reality where Lance only ever looks at him with that soft look from earlier, and that cinnamon twang of eggnog clings to his nostrils every day as Lance envelops him between folds of warmth on the regular. A world where annoying coworkers are the last thing on his mind, because Lance calls him things like ‘love,’ and in a world like that, office drama is the most trivial thing in the world.
The last thing Keith thinks as he finds himself slipping under is that, despite his initial thoughts, Christmas parties really aren’t so bad. After all, they got him this far.