Bodysnatchers

3

It's Saturday night and Keith is taking one last short glance at himself in the mirror. This is probably one of his worse ideas. Pidge barely took him seriously when he'd sent the hasty text saying he was going, and Matt was just concerned for his general well-being.

Keith's not 100% sure what's making him go but, well, he is.

The boy staring back at him through the mirror doesn't look particularly bad, or even on a par with Lance and his friends. A head of dark hair, very white skin, dark eyes; his skinny jeans hang off of him and his t-shirt is a little baggy. But Keith is naturally skinny- no matter how much he tends to over exercise and, well, most things are a little baggy on him in some places, other than his red leather jacket, which he throws on over top since it's the middle of April during the night and he's a wimp when it comes to the cold..

He's never even drank alcohol outside of a familial setting before, excluding that one Christmas at Shiro's ex girlfriend's house two years back, and, oh God, Keith had gotten drunk along with the rest of their friends, and spent the early hours of the morning violently throwing up his guts into the toilet. But that was some sort of a family christmas tradition apparently; getting shit faced with friends all christmas eve long then suffering the next morning together. Shiro and Keith's parents always had friends and their kids come over christmas eve ever since he was old enough to understand a tradition. They would let the kids fuck around in the basement on the gamecube while they got drunk. This is probably why the christmas tree was always upstairs, so the adults could put the santa gifts out before getting drunk and the kids couldn't see it, you know, when Keith's parents were still around.

His stomach turns a little at the thought, and it doesn't take much longer than a few seconds for him to decide that- for the most part- he'll be steering clear of alcohol tonight. He checks his phone, and it's drawing closer to the time he told Lance he'd be arriving. He also has a text from Pidge.

pls dont get McFuvkcign stabbed tonight.

Keith rolls his eyes. It's good to see how much faith his friends have in his social abilities.

———

When he arrives on Aldershot Drive, it doesn't take the genius in him to figure out which house is Lance's.

There is music playing inside, a little too loudly for a suburb, so that the bass and the general sound carries out through the thin rock covered walls, and out into the damp streets. There's an abundance of cars scattered up the street, too. The little path leading up to his blue front door is littered with cigarette butts and other miscellaneous garbage.

Keith grimaces a little. He's never really been to this kind of party, but if it's anything like the ones he used to watch on CW shows, then it already isn't his thing. But, you know what? Fuck it, he thinks, hesitantly knocking his fist against the door.

It's swung open a few moments later by Lance himself.

He's grinning at Keith, and as he grabs him by the wrist, pulling him inside Keith can't help but allow the thought of 'fuck, you're hot' to slip through his mind.

"Hey," Lance says. "Glad you could make it."

His eyes are a little glazed over, and he smells strongly of smoke. He's got a bottle in his hand that's some type of vodka, and the music is up louder than he initially thought it was. The smaller house is filled with people who Lance knows and people who know Lance; nobody knows Keith, and Keith doesn't know them, and he has never felt more out of place in his life. All he has is his jacket to sink into and his hair to hide behind, which is just a little more than terrifying to him.

Fucking hell, this was a mistake. Keith offers a smile, albeit forcefully, but closing the door behind him nevertheless. He swallows back his desire to run, and instead he inwardly reminds himself that this is acting. This isn't Keith Kogane who hangs out in libraries, has two friends to this date, and is best friends with his Brother- this can be Keith. Keith, who takes pride in getting a bruise or two, and finds the humour in getting on the wrong side of the wrong people.