Pillow Talk (Klance Highschool AU)

French Toast And Stories

Keith's POV 

Keith woke up to a metallic taste in his mouth, his head throbbed with an unbearable pain. He was definitely hungover... 

I don't remember anything from last night, all I know is that I'm in a strange room... with My Hero Academia posters and Panic! At The Disco vinyls...? The sheets were white with a shark pattern, and there was a strange lump in the carpet.

"Lance...?"

I bolted up my and my eyes went wide. What happened to my shirt? And more importantly... what happened last night?!

I heard a hum come from the floor, Lance rolled over flicking his blue eyes open. "I'll explain later... first we make breakfast." He said through yawns. I should probably tell him I can't cook, but I didn't. He'll figure it out when I burn his fucking house down. 

As I followed him downstairs I decided to be an ass and bring up his posters, "I didn't know you were a weeb-" you didn't hear this from me but I thoroughly enjoy anime, I just like being an ass. Lance's eyes glittered, "Yup... I really like it, you could probably tell from my posters..." he blushed from embarrassment "but enough about that... what's on the menu for breakfast?" Lance was quick to change the subject.

"I- uh cereal?" I winced, "I mean- cereal is good and all... but I'm the best at making French toast!" He said with pride. "I've never had it." I said plainly, he just ignored that and asked for me to grab the bread while he got the eggs and milk.

 "Now, I'm going to help you... go to the stove... and don't get the wrong idea" He stammered, I did as he said and he came from behind holding my hands, and guiding me as I carefully flipped the bread. My cheeks were pink- mostly because I've never been in this kind of situation... not that I like that moron.

He had the radio playing on low, it was just playing some indie rock... you'd think I'd be surprised... but it's fucking Lance, okay? Isn't he technically a girl? Well he is in my book.

After we finished two slices he danced over to get the syrup, and when I say dance, I literally mean he was salsa-ing to the pantry.

My "family" was probably wondering where I was, but I was content... at least I wasn't alone... and I don't think I'm enjoying this... am I?

He plated the food and placed it on the dining room table, completely unphased. "S-so..." I stuttered, he pulled out my chair as if I were a super special guest. I'm guessing with Rosa McClain as a mother he was raised right, like a proper gentleman.

After he summed up last night, my jaw was unhinged... (he left out the part of dressing me, I kinda assumed he did because these definitely aren't my clothes.)

I really fucked up, like big time. I'm the idiot. Not him.

We hung around for the rest of the morning before I decided this was all too much for me... I've been counting down the days until I escape the Gray's... exactly one hundred and forty four more hours. Yeah. That's how much I despise that hell hole.

Great.

A/N

I'm low-key happy with this story... so I'll definitely continue writing it... if you want a timeskip to the last day of school comment down below...