One Last Dance

Keith's POV

The beat of the music is almost deafening, drowning out my thoughts as I stare at the bubbles rising to the surface of my drink. Anything to avoid thinking about my impending departure without even catching up with Shiro. Denial is supposed to be bliss, but it scratches at me with rusty little claws, each scrape spelling coward, coward across my heart.

I shake my head, observing the strobe lights reflecting off my glass before I bring it to my lips and down the entire thing. It hits the back of my throat, cool and sweet but without the bite of ethanol, a refreshing taste in the stifling room full of laughter and noise and gyrating bodies.

The party started off dignified, almost somber, but as the night progressed and alcohol disappeared from bottles into bloodstreams, things unraveled, growing wilder and louder. People are laughing, the sound a note too sharp to be genuine, almost as if they're afraid that if they stop, the silence will cloak them in sadness. No one wants to think today. Everyone's trying their hardest to enjoy themselves, to forget about those who can't be here with us, and they attempt to do so by burying their sorrow in booze, music, and each other.

Wow. Even celebrating the end of the war, I'm a grouch. No wonder I'm stuck in a corner, sipping freaking apple cider alone. It's time to leave, anyway. I have an early start tomorrow, and since we already said our goodbyes with the Paladins, nothing is keeping me here. No one will miss me, either. If I hit the bed now, I can snatch several hours of decent shut-eye, which should serve me better than sitting here and staring at everyone having fun from the sidelines. I set the glass aside and stretch, preparing to take off when someone plops their ass on the chair next to me.

"Whatcha brooding about?"

Lance. Who else would dare to interrupt my alone time? Instead of spending the evening with Allura, he chooses to annoy me.

"I don't brood."

"Please, Keith. Your photo is in every dictionary next to the entry 'broody'. Also, I think I saw it next to a 'hot-head.'"

"It's called people watching and quiet reflecting, emphasis on quiet. Something you're not familiar with," I say, ignoring the 'hot-head' remark. It used to be true, but not so much anymore.

"Ah, there's the grump we all know and love. So, who are you watching?"

"Not sure. Everyone. No one in particular."

As if on cue, my eyes fall on the towering figure of the Atlas admiral and my former best friend. A head taller than most people, he's easy to spot in the crowd, and not only because his white hair shines like a beacon, but also because of the gaggle of people around him, hanging on his every word. No surprise there. Everyone adores Takashi Shirogane, the admiral of the sentient Atlas, the hero of the war to end all wars. At least half of the Atlas crew has a crush on him, too.

I spot Curtis among the flock of admirers, staring at Shiro with cartoon hearts in his eyes. Figures. He could give me a run for my money at being desperately in love with Shiro, but I'd win by default based on the length of my obsession. Shame I'd only win a trophy for the biggest loser.

"Well?" Lance elbows me in the arm. "Gonna finally do something 'bout that?" His words are slurred, courtesy of one too many drinks.

There's no point in pretending I don't know what, or rather, who Lance's talking about, despite never discussing the state of my heart with him. We've been friends for too long, and he knows me too well. Not that I'd ever admit that to his smug face.

"What do you suggest? Going over there, falling to my knees, and confessing my undying love for him in front of everyone?"

"Sure, that'd do the trick. Please do that, I beg you. I want to see that. See that, make videos, and upload it on the stream for everyone to enjoy. Or you could, you know, ask him to dance. Bring him out on the roof to watch the stars. Definitely where I'm bringing Allura right after I finish talking to you."