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4 am was an illegal time to be awake, in Lance’s professional opinion.
It was an even worse time to be driving your wasted-as-shit boyfriend home.
The night had gotten away from them. Keith hadn’t even wanted to go to the stupid party, but Lance had dragged him there, saying it’d be fun. And it was fun. Too much fun. It started harmless, with one innocent drink, then another, then another. It was supposed to end by 2 or 3 in the morning, but music kept playing, shots kept pouring, and nobody left. Not until Lance saw the time, freaked out, and had to physically drag Keith away from beer pong because his stupid boyfriend was too drunk even to stand.
Now, stopped at a red light, a headache already forming, and the blue lights on the dashboard 4:16 beginning to blur, Lance regretted being the designated driver. Not really. He’d never be able to live with himself if he got drunk too and couldn’t take care of Keith. But that didn’t mean his job was easy. The car smelled like alcohol and cologne. The windows were cracked just enough to let the cold air in, but not erase the stench of what had just happened an hour ago.
“Babe…” Lance rubbed his temples tiredly and gently shook Keith’s shoulder. “Sit up, amor. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
From the passenger seat came a thoughtful but delayed and entirely unhelpful response: “...Mmm.”
Which, Lance learned over months of experience, meant Keith was awake enough to merely exist; nothing more.
He turned his head tiredly. Keith was slouched against the window, chin to his chest, leaning forward enough for the seatbelt to strain. His hair was a mess, stuck out in every direction from Lance’s own hands when they had made out some ungodly amount of time ago. One of his shoes was untied. One of his shoes was missing its lace entirely. Lance vaguely remembered Keith laughing earlier, crouched near the bar, saying something about how they’d “find it later.”
Like hell they would.
“Do you remember…” Lance began as the light turned green, even though he knew the conversation would be the opposite of productive. “When we got there, and you said you weren’t going to drink?”
“Mm…” Keith tilted his head lazily in his direction. His eyes were open but distant, tired. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, baby, you did.”
“Not that much…”
“No. No, amor, you drank that much. You drank too much, that’s the problem.”
“Didn’t throw up…”
Lance couldn’t exactly argue with that. “Still.”
“I…” Keith’s volume suddenly increased two levels, like his brain finally decided to be awake. “I -- I like to drink responsi-liby.”
The word came out poorly, hastily assembled, like that was the best his brain could do.
“Mhm.”
“Unlike…you.”
Lance parked the car in Keith’s driveway. Closed his eyes. Counted to five. Took a couple of choice, deep breaths before finally opening his eyes and reaching across to unbuckle Keith’s seatbelt. He immediately regretted it as Keith slumped forward enough to nearly faceplant into the glove compartment if Lance hadn’t stopped him.
“Babe.”
Keith hummed happily, blissfully unconcerned.
Lance sighed. “We’re home, amor. I’m going to help you out of the car. You are going to walk up the stairs like a functional human being. You will not fall. You will not insult the stairs or the door or anything else.”
Keith cracked an eye open, offended. “I would never.”
“Yes, you would.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Last time, you tried to pick a fight with the mailbox.”
“It threatened me first!”
The car door opened with a long metallic creek, the cold air hitting Lance instantly. The world outside was quiet in a way that made Lance’s ears ring after hours of noise. He stretched his cramped legs before finally circling over to Keith’s side of the car. The sky was already turning slightly indigo, like sunrise was approaching.
An illegal time to be awake.
“C’mon, baby,” Lance murmured. His hands found Keith’s biceps, which he used to guide him out of the car.
Keith attempted to stand.
He achieved about half a stand before gravity kicked in.
Lance caught him immediately before he could eat shit. “No, no, okay -- fucking hell --”
Keith leaned into him fully, all warm weight and the terrible sharp scent of alcohol. The top of his head fit neatly under Lance’s chin, his arms weakly grasping Lance’s jacket. His breath was uneven and soft, like he was fighting in that weird space between being awake and deep asleep.
“Laaaaaance,” Keith mumbled into Lance’s shirt.
“Hi, baby.”
“I can walk.”
“No.” Lance shut the car door carefully, then dug in Keith’s jeans pockets to successfully retrieve the house key. “No, you cannot.”
“One foot in front of the other.”
“Mhm,” Lance answered absently. He leaned Keith back enough to slip an arm beneath his knees and, in one swift motion, picked him up bridal style.
Keith made a small noise of protest that immediately dissolved into comfort the second he was lifted. He curled in closer, head tucking into Lance’s shoulder, his entire body dead weight in Lance’s arms in the way only trust made someone heavy. He smelled like alcohol and warmth and Lance’s cologne. His hair tickled Lance’s jaw when they shifted.
Lance sighed. He couldn’t deny, even like this, that Keith was adorable. “C’mon, baby, let’s get you inside.”
The walk was…tricky. He had to maneuver them carefully so Keith didn’t smack his ankles into concrete. Not that he would’ve felt it; Lance had seen Keith skin his elbow while drunk and only be fascinated by the blood like it was a new concept.
Once inside, Lance shut the door with his foot, not bothering to lock it, before finding Keith’s bedroom. He suddenly felt like he was stepping into unfamiliar territory. It’s not like he hadn’t been inside Keith’s townhouse or his bedroom -- they had. Many times. But never like this; never with Keith so drunk he was limp in Lance’s arms, completely trusting, completely vulnerable.
The hallway was dim, lit only by streetlights outside and the glow of appliances. Swallowing thickly, Lance carefully set Keith on the bed, cradling his head gently to set him slightly upright before tucking him in. “Okay…okay…”
The mattress dipped as Keith settled into it, dissolving into the warmth.
“Lance…”
“Hm…” Lance answered absently, fixing up the bed, drawing the shades, and taking off Keith’s shoes.
“I love you.”
The sentence fell into the air with no warning, no buildup. Just simple, quiet certainty, the same way you’d talk about the weather.
Lance froze, one of Keith’s socks in his hand. “...What?”
Keith looked mildly confused, both at himself and Lance’s reaction. “I love you.”
Lance’s throat went dry. They hadn’t said it yet. They’d been dating for 6 months, and neither of them had found the courage to say it. Lance felt it, of course, he did; he loved Keith with everything he had. He had always been too scared to say it and not hear Keith reciprocate it.
And now…
“You’re drunk, sweetheart.” Lance rubbed Keith’s ankle comfortingly. His mind couldn’t let him believe that this was genuine.
Keith tilted his head thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling. “Mhm.”
A second passed in silence.
“But I still love you.”
Lance’s ears burned, his breath leaving him. His chest hurt.
Keith continued to stare at the ceiling. “You’re…nice. And you…you come get me.”
It was true, it was all true. Lance couldn’t imagine a single scenario where Keith called for him, and he didn’t answer.
Throat and eyes burning, Lance whispered, “I love you too.”
Keith smiled then, small and sleepy, like a cat who found sunlight, and relaxed into the pillow. He reached one arm up, opening and closing his fist, as if reaching for Lance.
“Kiss me.”
It startled a laugh out of Lance, half relief and half panic. “No, baby.”
Keith frowned, like he didn’t understand the answer. “Yes, baby. Kiss me.”
“No, sweetheart.” A smile formed on Lance’s face before he could stop it. “Let’s go to sleep."
“No. Kiss. Me.”
Lance grinned fully now, leaning forward to brush the hair off of Keith’s forehead and press a soft kiss there. “There. Now bedtime.”
Keith grabbed Lance’s shirt, pulling insistently. “On the lips.”
“No, baby.”
He pouted, all big watery eyes and a stuck-out lip. “But why not?”
“Because…” Lance chose his words carefully, nose to nose with his boyfriend. “You are so very drunk, and I don’t know if you actually want me to kiss you.”
“I do!”
“Also…you are going to taste like seven different liquors, and I don’t exactly want to taste that.”
Keith let go finally, frowning and pouty. “I…I’ll brush my teeth.”
“In the morning, darling.” Lance carefully kicked off his shoes and lay down next to Keith on top of the covers. The mattress creaked under their combined weight. “Let’s go to bed now.”
Keith turned his head, breathing softly into Lance’s space. “...you’re not leaving?”
Lance hesitated. “Not yet, amor. Gotta make sure you don’t…you know. Die in your sleep.”
Keith hummed approvingly, patting Lance’s face with a warm yet clumsy heavy hand. “You’re really nice.”
“You’re really drunk.”
Keith didn’t argue. He just reached out clumsily, fingers catching on the fabric of Lance’s jacket sleeve instead of his actual hand, but he held on anyway. His eyelids drooped, breathing turning soft and slow.
Outside, the world shifted from dusk to dawn.
Inside, the two fell asleep. Keith’s hand never let go of Lance’s sleeve.