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PART I of Finding Summer

Summer Breeze


Why had Keith agreed to this?

It's so damn awkward. He wished his heart wouldn't stop thumping like crazy, he wished he wasn't acting foolish. He wished he wasn't obvious, that he was about to burst in another moment, currently attempting to mend the nervousness that was consuming his very being.

For God's sake, it was just Lance.

Lance, that loud-mouthed, nosy and annoying Lance.

That stubborn, narcissist and foolish Cuban guy who always thought them as rivals — yet it was also the kind, caring (hot, maybe?) and selfless Lance.

Lance, his summer project partner.

And said person just came out to his balcony overviewing New York. The space was small, but fit for the two of them nicely. The taller man just had finished showering and he was wearing his V-neck shirt with shorts and joined Keith to watch over the city from thirty blocks above.

They didn't talk, not a single word, for a moment.

Keith was getting more nervous than he should. For a while, he had his face planted in between his knees but then as he peered over, he was glancing to a pair of dark blue eyes watching him intently.

"What?" Keith asked, voice almost too brash if not for the tinge of coarseness.

"Nothing," Lance grinned his usual shit-eating grin, but of course to Keith, he still looked good nonetheless (was he that smitten?). "The wind here really is comfortable!"

"Hn," was the only word the Korean was able to retort. After all, he was enjoying Lance's company more than he could bask himself within the wonders of the scenery played out right in front of his eyes.

Makes sense, though.

Lance was an addition to the apartment just since a couple of hours ago. But this scene, this very small and lonely apartment had been with him since he was taken into custody.

And of course, Keith just couldn't peel his eyes from the Cuban man.

Odd, though, as he was to see the man who had been continuously chattering without a single pause to idle and relax and savour the light breeze.

"Do you want a drink?"

Keith forgot he had been holding two cans of Coke for a while now. It had been from the refrigerator, no doubt his hands were numb from the cold.

"Sure!" They both shared another moment of silence from sipping the Coke and heard a slur of screaming from the block two levels below theirs. "Are you often home alone?"

The question came out of nowhere, so sudden and blunt. Keith wasn't sure if he was prepared to respond. But he did anyway. "Yeah."

Lance chuckled, "Heh, because judging from your tone, you sound pretty unsatisfied."

The Korean swallowed a lump, his chest hammering. ". . . No." He hugged his knees closer, and pouted.

Perhaps, it was on reflex. But Lance fought the urge to stroke the obsidian locks. He did anyway, giving in to his desires. The smaller man retaliated from sheer surprise but continued to scowl harder and pressed his face against the propped knees.

"Why?" Lance asked, once again, "Are you unhappy?"

Unhappy. . .?

Honestly, Keith wasn't so sure. With Lance here by his side, sipping on Coke (because they're underaged for beer, even though Lance might broke the rules sometimes) and relishing the great view — never in his life had he felt so complete.

But he wasn't ready to give out the expression that Lance might desire just yet.

"Don't pat my head," he snarled, although by secret, he was enjoying the slender fingers smoothing over each of his tresses. Again, reminding him not to be so insecure about them.

He felt. . . Loved.

Then again, he thought by snapping, Lance would have stopped the motion of doing so — but no, he patted Keith's head a little while longer.

And Keith get to listen to another set of laughter, "So stingy, you really are a brat sometimes."

Keith scoffed, "Whatever, you're worst."

But he gulped, and he dove his head again to mask the crimson growing on his cheeks. He muttered, almost inaudible but Lance was able to catch the words;

"Of course, I get lonely sometimes. . ."

The Cuban blinked, once, twice. Surprised by the confession that took a long time for Keith to admit.

Of course, he'd get lonely.

Lance was no fool. He knew who Keith Park was, he knew the rumours that fled around the mullet, and he wasn't one to ignore such matters. He was aware that Keith's lives revolved around foster families, that he lost his actual family back in Korea because of reasons the mullet wasn't prepared to reveal yet.

The dark-skinned man wrapped his hand around Keith's, a tad astonished to found Keith's colder than winter. His own dark blue eyes were met with a wavering blue-grey pair, and he resist the notion to blush.

"If that so. . ." Lance gulped, "The next time you'll feel lonely, just give me a call. . ."

The Cuban grinned, but it was sincere and Keith was taken aback from his genuine offer. Lance continued; "Then swoosh, Lance Sanchez will come flying for you!"

Keith swore to God, that he felt his eyes teary but he held on from crying. He turned to watch New York, dark but illuminating and still so much alive.

He took out his smallest finger, face continued to be buried on his knees (it was becoming a habit, he supposed) and he muttered, "Then, it's decided?"

Lance stared at the bonus offer, and smiled. "It's decided, but you're still a mullet."

"Whatever, dork."

Keith rolled his eyes, sardonically but he lifted his lips for the first throughout the whole night. Lance could feel his own heart skipped a beat to witness the smile beheld on Keith's face.

The two continued to watch in silence, but it was enough.

For now, they were alright.


Mozu : X for love, O for hate!