A/N: I'm sorry for the pain of the last chapter.

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Keith convinced himself he was right.

He did not deserve to be played: to be a passing fad to someone else, a plaything only meant to entertain before he was discarded.

Keith convinced himself he was righteous.

If Lance had a family out there he lost in a storm, he had no business staying here and fooling around with Keith while they were worrying about him. It was not right.

The dawn came earlier than expected, and Keith watched from his bedroom floor as the sky became all soft pinks and reds and purples. He blinked softly, his eyes sore from lethargy, but his body so stiff and mind so numb he could not go through with the process of lying down to sleep. He waited there as the light grew and the objects in his home miraged from the shadows. The first slice of the sun poked over the water. Keith knew he had to move sometime.

Like Shiro told him once, the morning comes whether you set an alarm or not, and one of those mornings is going to be the worst of your life.

This morning was the worst of his life.

It was worse than the morning after his mother died, because that time there was nothing he could do. It was not his fault.

This time was his fault.

Keith felt his guilt so deeply it was like his bones were poisoned. His head hurt—not simply from lack of sleep, he knew that for sure—and he felt his heartbeat in his throat, and he could not swallow the knot that had built up there. He sat wrapped up in only his pajamas, the floor cold and the bedroom still dark around him.

But, nevertheless, Keith knew he could not stay there forever. What had happened had happened, and the rest of the night had past, and the morning had come.

Keith unfurled, and he stood so slowly he felt every creak of his joints and movements of his muscles. He put a hand on the bedframe and looked out over the shadowy room, blinking against the light of the new sun shining through his window. His eyes turned to the base of the bed, and he saw the mussed pile of sheets left there. He stared at the sheets for a long while, his heart quieted enough that he could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking away the seconds. Then, he scowled.

No: fuck this. Fuck Lance. Keith was not going to be some mopey bitch just because Lance was a dumb motherfucker and finally got what he deserved.

Keith snatched the sheets from the floor, and his walk was practically a warpath as he made his way from the bedroom to the washer and drier in the kitchen. He threw open the door and shoved the sheets in the washer before marching towards the hamper in the bathroom. He pulled out the extra blanket stained with oil he had been reluctant to clean.

If Lance was gone, he wanted him gone.

He first tried to remove the oil with dish soap like he had done with Lance's pelt, then tossed the blanket in the washer with the sheets. He was too angry to care that the excess oil might run off and stain the sheets too, and he punched in the cycle and sent the washer spinning. He pulled the load from the night before from the drier and busied himself with putting his clothes away, and he even changed the sheets and pillow cases on his bed and made it up. The sun had now fully breached over the horizon, and Keith switched his attention to the living room.

He took out the vacuum and swept the floors and couch. Afterwards, he made quick work wiping down all the tables and counters, and he tossed out the fruit Lance had left to brown in the fridge, and he had time to mop the kitchen before his alarm for work chimed from the bedroom. Keith put away all the cleaning stuff and went to turn it off, taking it as his cue to get dressed. He also packed up his bag to leave early.

Keith really did not want to make breakfast. The thought of him making a meal and sitting there at the table all alone was enough to make him want to puke, and he scowled at himself for that. He knew if he timed it just right he could get to the deli at the grocery store as it opened, and he could also get replacement dish soap and shampoo while he was there. It would be the final act to erase any evidence that Lance had ever been there, and the though gave him an odd sadness instead of a sick satisfaction.

Keith scowled at himself again. He was not going to let himself get hung up on Lance. He marched for the door with his keys in his hand and his bag on his shoulder, so engrossed in his own anger he startled when he saw dark shapes on his doormat.

Discovering they were Keith's discarded shirt and sweatpants only made things worse.

They sat there in a haphazard pile, two little tokens of parting Lance had stripped from his body and thrown on the doormat. They rested beside a scuffled of sand, where half a footprint led down the ramp to the beach. Keith looked from the clothes to the water, where he could see the pale pink-purple beach in the light of the dawn. And if he looked hard enough, he could swear he saw a line of footprints transform to a wide line in the sand that lend to the water's edge.

The terrible sadness returned, and with that, Keith's anger. He bared his teeth and picked up the clothes, tossing them behind him into the house in a fit of fury.

"Fuck you," he spat the words at the shirt and sweatpants.

He slammed the door behind him.

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Keith's friends knew the difference between when he did not want to be spoken to, and when he did not want to be spoken to.

After he clocked in, Hunk offered him only the tiniest of waves, and then bustled back to the room where they kept the surfing equipment for classes: partway to hide, and partway to organize for the morning classes. He must have told Shiro something about it, or Shiro must have seen something in Hunk's face, because he came to the front and went straight for Keith. Keith made a point by ignoring him while he prepared the register and Shiro just stood there, but that was not to last. Shiro's frowned and folded his hands atop the counter.

"What's the matter?"

Still, Keith did not reply. He bowed under the counter and froze when Shiro spoke again.

"Keith."

He used his Big Brother Voice, the kind that still made Keith's heart stop for a second like he had been caught doing something wrong. Keith sighed and leaned up.

"Nothing," he answered for the sake of making Shiro go away, exasperated. "I'm fine."

Shiro gave Keith one of his disappointed looks that honestly just made Keith want to scream. Shiro was not his dad. Fuck off.

"Where's Lance?"

"Not here, obviously," Keith used the sarcastic and standoffish tone Shiro hated on purpose. However, Shiro kept himself under control.

"Keith… Did he leave?"

Keith said nothing: he felt nothing. He fed the roll of quarters to the register, and Shiro pressed again.

"Keith."

And suddenly the anger was back. Keith slammed the drawer back into the register and gave Shiro a glare to rival all glares.

"Yeah, he did, alright? What does it matter?"

Keith was a hair's breadth from outright exploding. Shiro saw it in his eyes, and he remained calm even as Keith quaked with rage. He took a step back to give Keith his space and smoothed his features.

"Okay…" his voice was softer now. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever," Keith huffed and ducked back under the counter. "I don't care."

Shiro heard the quiet pain behind his words. He moved to speak again, but stopped and shook his head, instead telling Keith farewell and returning to the back room. Keith made sure he was gone before he stood back up.

Keith's poor attitude did not abate throughout the day. He had absolutely no interest in being kind to customers, and he only did so because he did not want Coran or Allura on his tail too, and because Hunk and Shiro were busy for most of the day with surfing classes. Keith spent part of the morning reorganizing the kites hanging up on the back wall, and he noticed the surfboard with the blue waves he had hung up the other day was gone. He wondered for a moment who had bought it, then cursed at himself for caring. What did it matter what happened to some tacky surfboard?

Keith took his lunch early, so Shiro would not have free time to hound him again, and he returned to find Pidge clocked in for her shift after her summer classes at the community center. She also noticed his mood, and she offered him a small assuring smile, and he had to bite back the urge to scoff and turn away. He simply nodded to her and went to check the t-shirt piles. Pidge had done nothing to deserve his spite.

Everyone respected Keith's desire not to talk as the workday drew to a close, and as Keith packed up to leave, he found he was reluctant to go—to return alone to nothing but an empty house, with the memory of what had transpired there. Keith was so bitter with the feeling that he forced it away, and he swung his bag on his shoulder with such violence it ripped two of the band-aids off his arm. Keith swore at himself aloud.

He figured he might as well finish the process, and walked to the nearest trashcan to tear off the rest. What had been cuts were now long, nail-shaped scabs, and Keith regretted taking off the band-aids as soon as he got a good look at them. The sight reminded him of the night but two days ago, of the dark and sound and finding Lance so helpless near the dock. It reminded him of the morning after, when he awoke with Lance staring at him and how he thought he had never seen such beautiful blue eyes.

Keith wanted the scabs to heal so he could finally forget.

Or, that is what he convinced himself he wanted. Keith peered into the trashcan after the band-aids, a forlorn look on his face.

"Keith."

Keith jolted. He spun around to see who had caught him, but then his face set into a frown.

"Shiro."

Shiro stood a little ways in front of the doorway, the keyring with the keys to the store in one hand. He glanced briefly between Keith and the trashcan, and settled his eyes on Keith's face, despite his nasty look. Shiro crossed his arms, letting the keys hang out of one elbow. They jingled against the burn wounds long waxed over with scars.

"Why did Lance leave?"

Of course Shiro would wait for everyone to leave so he could come in here and ask that. Keith huffed and turned his face away, having the motivation to leave now, but Shiro blocked his exit. He crossed his arms also: a childish, pitiful standoff against the older brother.

"He wanted to."

"No," Shiro's voice held an edge. "Details. What happened between you two?"

Keith's throat contracted, but he did his best to make sure it did not show outwardly. Keith shifted his weight and kept his eyes on the opposite wall.

Keith muttered under his breath, "It's really none of your fucking business."

"Keith," Shiro's voice was even firmer now. "It's my 'fucking business' if you continue to act this way."

Keith had to keep his face from contorting in pain. He loved Shiro, and respected him a lot, and he really, really hated when they got into fights like this. He wanted Shiro to mind his own damn business. He was an adult now, not some child who only had his big brother around to scold him like when they were kids. He did not need Shiro to confront him about problems he knew nothing of, and he did not need to be preached to by a leader with no one to lead but him.

Even if Keith knew deep down it was for the best, he hated when Shiro made him face his problems.

Keith dug his fingers into his arm. If only to get Shiro to move aside, he said:

"… We had a fight, and he left."

Shiro's shoulders relaxed slightly. They were getting somewhere.

"About?"

Keith dug in his fingers harder. He wanted to bite his lip, but refrained.

"I told him to leave. I told him I wasn't something to toy with."

Shiro's brow quirked. "Something to toy with?"

"That playing with my heart wasn't some fucking game."

"Ah…" Shiro relaxed more. Then: "You liked him."

"What does it matter?" Keith outright scowled now. "It's not like he liked me back. He flirted with two other girls while he was here, so I told him if he doesn't understand why he shouldn't toy with people, then he should just leave."

"Keith…" Shiro sighed; he knew Keith too well. "Did you try to talk it out? See what he had to say?"

Keith smacked a piece of his hair out of his eyes. "I don't care what he had to say."

Shiro pinched between his eyes. "Did you just blow up on him, then? Without letting him get a word in edgewise?"

"Like I said: I don't care what he had to say."

Shiro sighed with his whole body this time. "You're too impulsive—you can't just blow up on people like that. Did you ever consider that maybe he didn't see it your way: that maybe he had an explanation for his actions? You're not exactly an open person, so maybe he didn't know your feelings on the matter."

"He still shouldn't have flirted with me, and then turned his attention to two other people, no matter what my feelings are. It isn't right."

"Keith, he stayed with you."

Keith turned away from the wall, just enough to eye Shiro sideways. Shiro shook his head.

"You never take a moment to clear your head and think. Lance chose to stay with you. Lance liked you—to what degree, I don't know him enough to say. But, remember that Lance could have chosen to leave at any time, and yet he enjoyed your company enough to stay with you for two days. He even hid behind you when I visited and missed you enough yesterday to come pick you up and stayed here although you were mad at him. He gave you a lot he didn't have to give, Keith."

Keith felt the tears: felt them, and blinked them away. He forced his eyes away again, and he stared at the place on the wall until the feeling passed and his throat unknotted. He coughed, and then fixed his bag on his shoulder, whirling to Shiro with such sudden violence that Shiro blinked. The emotion in his eyes was too shadowy to read, but the message in his voice came out clear.

"Whatever," he said hoarsely. "He's gone now, so it doesn't matter."

Keith shoved his way past Shiro. He left through the front door, and Shiro heard the bell and the slam along the way. He hesitated a moment before sighing again, uncrossing his arms and shaking his head.

Too impulsive by far.

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Keith knew he had messed up.

He sat curled up on his couch, the TV on for only the noise, and his forehead rested against his knees. He had a lot he did not want to think over again, and he did not need something on the TV to remind him.

He had done the very thing he did not want to. Keith had made Lance leave because he though Keith hated him.

Lance had stayed with him; Lance had trusted him. Lance had chosen to eat breakfast with him, to go to the beach with him, to snuggle on the couch with him. Lance had taken all the pillows and made a nest on his bed because he was there, because Lance wanted to be close to him.

Lance kissed him.

Keith bit down on his lip, shaking the thoughts from his mind once again. They only served to remind him that he could not do anything about it now—that Lance had gone, forever—and that hurt worse than anything.

Keith knew he had really, really messed up.

He needed a distraction—yes! A distraction! Something to take his mind away from his feelings until they sorted themselves out. Something to show himself he could get over his mistakes, and that life would go on.

He needed to pretend that he would get over it.

Keith lifted his head from his knees. He scanned his eyes across the living room, until they fell on his surfboard leaning by the door.

Perfect.

He could always trust surfing to take his mind off his troubles: on the water, he could almost imagine the shore behind him did not exist. No one would bother him out there. It was like he chose to be alone.

Keith switched off the TV and hurried to change, replacing his awful thoughts with the motions of getting his bag and making sure the lights were off and the door was locked shut behind him. The sun was already going down, the bottom curve nearly joint with the ocean, but he was too determined to let the coming night stop him. He reached his surfing spot and put his bag on the sand, taking just enough time to tether his surfboard to his wrist before turning to the water. In the fading light, the ocean looked afire, with red waves breaching the surface like flames and the warmth as he entered the water like blood. Every trace of blue had been lost to the setting sun, and Keith sat up on his surfboard to view the terrible violence around him. It was almost like the very ocean was dying with the sun, and an odd, mourning grief came to Keith's heart.

No, he was alright. He was alright because he was going to surf, and surfing always made everything okay.

Keith stood on his surfboard, riding the next flaming wave to the shore, and riding the movement of the surf out again. He repeated the motions as the ocean devoured the sun, as the light in the water turned to veins of purple that ran deep under the darkening water. The moon came out from the shroud and Keith did not notice, not until the water had killed the sun and he was left with nothing but the memory of the red sunlight, and the purple it had become.

Keith saw the image of the full moon on the water, and he realized he had stayed out too long.

He sat on his surfboard, no longer able to see clearly how far he was paddling out towards the horizon. A breeze brushed his back and he shivered, the air and the water growing cool around him. He rubbed his arms and looked back, towards the distant beach, knowing he should turn back and go home, where it was warm and he was safe. He knew trusting the temper of the ocean at night was not wise, and he felt the presence of the moon like some godly eye judging him from the sky.

The fantasy was done. He had stayed too long.

Keith turned back towards the horizon slowly, a hollow and sad and awful feeling in his chest. He kept his eyes on the dark shape of the board below him, the lap of the water around him no longer a comfort, and his breathing so low for a moment he thought he would faint.

He said but one word.

"Fuck."

Then, he wept, in absolute bitter sorrow, all alone in the expanse of the ocean and under the light of the moon. He bowed over himself, his tears flowing from his eyes no matter how hard he tried to make them stop, and whatever sound he made lost to the depths of the water. He covered his face with his hands to no avail, the tears slipping through his fingers and splashing with utter indifference into the water. They dripped down his mouth and chin, and wiping them away with his wet arm did nothing to help. He pressed his forehead to the surfboard.

"Oh, god—I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He did not know who he said it to: to Lance, to himself, to the moon looking down at him. The words echoed oddly off the surface of the surfboard, and hearing them in such a weak voice only made Keith squeeze his hands against his face harder.

He had no desire to know what he sounded like so upset. His heart would not be able to take it.

Keith burrowed closer to the surfboard. He was so wrapped up that he almost did not notice the noise, far out in the water.

A chirp.

Keith shot up on the surfboard, his nerves in a sudden fray and his hands rived from his face. He looked out across the water, his vison blurred and doubt in his mind, but his heart too hopeful to care. He wiped at his eyes to get a better look. He could not see much in the dark, but if he squinted hard enough, maybe he could just make out something: a wave that did not move, a place where the moonlight did not shift with the water.

A shape with bright twinkles like eyes.

"… Lance?"

Keith's voice was no more than a whisper. He reached out his arm, and the shape did not move.

"Lance?"

His voice was more forceful now. He reached further.

"Lan-?"

He lost his balance and went crashing into the ocean. The salt water burned his eyes, and he thrashed once before he collected his wits and let his body relax in the water. His heart thrummed in his ears, and he exhaled to calm it, the bubbles trailing upwards. He saw the surface outlined in the light of the moon, and the long shadow of his surfboard bobbing along in. Keith pinched his eyes shut, and he forced himself to blink them open again despite the pain.

Above him, he saw his surfboard and what was not his surfboard.

What was not his surfboard bowed, twirling and sinking lower, until it escaped the blindness of the light. It eased towards Keith, and Keith saw its face: a whiskered mouth and round nose and wrinkled brow and eyes shiny like coins.

A seal.

Lance.

Keith choked, and bubbles burst from his mouth and water shot up his nose. Lance looked panicked, even with his seal face, and he darted under Keith. Keith felt him knock against him with his long body, and soon he breached the surface beside his surfboard. He coughed, and took in a gulp of air, only to use it to hack again. He clutched to his surfboard, and the body under him lowered, and he felt the current under him as he moved to the other side of the board. When he came up, his form was now human, and the ruffle of his seal pelt rested on his shoulders.

Keith tried to speak through his coughing, "L-Lance."

Lance blinked in surprise at being addressed in such a way. He then frowned and got a determined look in his eyes, reaching across the surfboard to touch Keith's hand.

"Are you okay?"

His fingers were warm, and Keith felt the light caress of his fingernails as he rubbed over his knuckles. A deep peace settled within him at the touch. He nodded, and Lance sighed in relief. He did not move his hand.

"Thank god."

Keith's coughing subsided, and they just stared at each other for a while: Keith not knowing what to say, and Lance not knowing how he would respond. Keith was also transfixed with how beautiful he was, there in the white light of the moon and purple backdrop of the night.

Like how Lance sung, Keith spoke from his heart.

"Lance, I'm sorry."

Lance gaped. Briefly, he could only blink, and he leaned his head back and groaned. He snapped his head up and inched closer across the surfboard, close enough that Keith could see him pout.

"I wanted to say that first!" he whined. "It's always the rogue, handsome guy who says it in the movies! I had a whole speech planned out, too!"

Keith watched him throw out his free hand dramatically.

"I would say: 'Oh, Keith, please understand that I came back for you! Breaking your heart was never my intention, and I am deeply sorry for whatever pain I caused you. I did not know my feelings were reciprocated, and I only hope that you can forgive me!' Then we would kiss, and I'd sweep you up in my arms."

Lance froze like he was flushing, the last part probably not meant to come out. Keith sighed, and then chuckled softly, perhaps amused a little by Lance wanting them to reunite like some romantic drama. He snatched Lance's hand under his own and gave it a squeeze that made him chirp.

"… You're pathetic, you know that?"

Lance whined again, and he sunk down to hide the blush Keith could not see anyway. Keith squeezed his hand again. He made sure he looked into his eyes.

"But… Lance, I really am sorry." Keith's voice grew softer as he spoke, and Lance perked. "I shouldn't have exploded on you like that and told you to leave. I wasn't fair to you."

"Don't worry about it." Lance waved his other hand. "I mean: I understand it must have hurt seeing someone you like flirting with other people, and then think they turned their attention to you just because you were there. I wasn't very considerate of you, and that's my fault."

Now Keith flushed. He almost did not want to look Lance in the eye, but forced himself not to glance away.

"Is that why you came back?"

Lance looked like the sentiments were getting to him too. He rubbed the back of his head.

"That's part of the reason, yeah. I didn't want to leave without apologizing to you, and I thought you might be regretting what happened by now. You also asked me not to leave without saying goodbye, and I didn't want to break that promise."

Keith had completely forgotten about that. Lance averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his head again, viewing the line of moonlight on the water.

"You also, um, sort of called for me."

Keith's eyebrow rose. Lance dipped lower, their joint hands the only thing keeping him up.

"Um, with your tears."

The words took Keith a moment to process. Then, he jerked up so suddenly he almost fell back into the water.

"What?"

"I'm magic!" Lance reminded him, and looked a little hurt at the outburst. "I felt your tears in the water, and I figured I should come to you. I don't want you to be sad!"

Keith pressed his face on the surfboard and groaned. Not only had Lance heard him cry, but it summoned him to come comfort him.

"… Jesus."

"Yeah…" Lance muttered. "And let me tell you, it wasn't easy convincing my mom I should come back, especially since I just got back to her and everyone else. She gets uneasy when we're separated and not around the western part of Cuba, because she feels it's safest there."

"Wait—you swam here from Cuba that quickly?"

"I'm magic!" Lance repeated. "If I ask the ocean, it will take me where I want to go. That's how I found my family in the first place!"

"No," Keith deadpanned. "There's no fucking way."

"Keith!" Lance cried. "I literally just turned into a human in front of you, and that's the part you don't believe?"

Fair. Very fair. Lance sighed and shook his head, having to unlatch their hands so he could move to the front of the board.

"I think all that choking messed with your brain… We should get you back to shore."

Sure, says the selkie boy who just turned into a human after swimming across the Gulf of Mexico because he sensed his crush crying into the water. Lance pushed the board until Keith could touch the bottom, and Keith took over carrying his surfboard under his arm to the shore. He found the shape of his bag in the dark and perched his surfboard in the sand beside there, fishing out his towel and keys. Keith offered Lance the towel to wrap around his waist, and Keith held his pelt while he did, and gave it back after he was done. The trust Lance had for him not to keep his pelt reminded Keith of the morning after they met, and a warm affection flowered in his chest. Keith could just see Lance smile at him by the light of the moon, and he swore Lance quirked an eyebrow.

"So, I got that ride I wanted…" he said, and Keith groaned; the look had not been his imagination. "Am I going to get that kiss?"

He leaned forward, and Keith flushed so deeply he was glad Lance could not see. He sputtered, and Lance laughed, backing off as Keith lowered his eyes.

"It's alright, if you— "

Keith gripped his shoulders, and before Lance could even chirp, their mouths were together. Keith pressed in for a moment and pulled back, and he donned a smirk of his own as Lance stared with his mouth still open. Keith took his face in his hands and looked at him in more of his typical seriousness.

"There. Happy? Don't think you're going to get to sweep me in your arms though."

Lance blinked. Then, his brain returned to his body, and a chirp came from his throat. He took Keith's hands from his face and held them together in his own. He looked up, like he was mulling over something.

"… Okay," he considered. "But, I think if you won't let me carry you, then you own me another kiss."

Keith huffed. He pulled Lance in again, and he felt Lance hum in his throat when they kissed.

That time, he knew it was the beginning of a song. It was what Lance's heart felt like.

.

"Aw, you look just like her!"

Lance waved the picture before Keith: one of Keith and his mother and Shiro under a beach umbrella during a sunset barbeque that Shiro kept at his house. Keith huffed and turned away from the picture.

"No, I really don't."

"Yes, you do!" Lance insisted. "You have her eyes—they're, like, almost purple."

"Whatever."

Keith crossed his arms. Lance chirped and rubbed their cheeks together.

"Aw, c'mon, babe, you know I love you!"

Keith sighed at the childish smushing of cheeks. Then:

"And I love you."

.

Lance looked from Keith to the surfboard, his mouth opened wide. Keith shifted uncomfortably.

"Um… Surprise?"

He held out the surfboard with blue wave designs. Lance took it into his hands, his mouth still open and eyes wide.

"I thought the shop sold it a long time ago." Keith tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "But, Shiro just took it down to repair the fin. I didn't notice it before, but it has a blue lion like the red lion on mine, so I figured— "

"I love it!"

Keith jumped at Lance's loudness. Lance leaned around the board, sparkles in his eyes.

"You bought this for me? You're going to teach me how to surf?"

"Yeah." Keith offered a small smile. "I'm sure you'll learn in no time. It can be something we do together."

"Aw, you're so sweet," Lance cooed, and Keith did not know if he wanted to gag or blush. "You're the sweetest boyfriend ever."

Keith did the latter and flushed. He stared at his feet and the sand around them.

"… I try."

And that's all Lance could ever ask.

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A/N: You know that part of the selkie myth where fishermen's wives cry into the sea and get selkie bfs.

Keith gets a selkie bf.