How Far I've Come (Keith x Reader)

⊛ Aftermath » Chapter Three ⊛

{2nd Person Point of View}

"...So.." Keith muttered, rubbing the nape of his neck. You had just stepped fresh out of the simulator, with a good score and a heart pounding against your ribcage. Your friend gave you a nervous smile and handed your journal to you, the book he promised to hold and keep safe while you were in.

"So." You replied, walking out of the simulation room with him, and down the brightly-lit hallway. Dusty pink had found its way to both of your cheeks and nose tips, as well as unstoppable half-smiles that couldn't be taken away, thanks to the reoccurring memories of your previous embrace.

'It's just a hug.' You reminded yourself, wanting to slap yourself for blushing as hard as you were. 'You hugged. It's not considered all that intimate, stop being weird.'

"Are you ready for the party?" He asked, trying to shake the excitement that had built up when he hugged you. Ah, darn it. You can't even listen to yourself think.

You thought about it, fiddling with the ribbon bookmark sticking out of your book. You were completely aware that he had read it; he is the one who returned it to you and complimented how you write. There are things he knows about you, but there's no way to tell what he knows unless you ask, and the odds of that happening are low. Plus, that would rise the question; "Why wouldn't I want him to know things about me?"

In a way, you really do want him to. But everyone has their secrets, and yours are hidden in that book. There are... weird pages, pages that talk about your life and how it turned for the worst. But, if he can't get past a topic that should be sort-of relatable for him, (as much as you hate to say that), then he probably isn't going to be a good friend in the long tun.

"Almost. Well, not yet. I think it depends on whether we should wear our Garrison uniforms to it or change into something casual, or nice, or whatever Lance thinks is appropriate." You thought out loud as you tucked your journal into your pocket, and he seemed to take your thought and think on it as well.

"Somehow I doubt he wants anyone wearing something you would consider 'appropriate'." Keith replies.

"Ha ha ha." You say sarcastically. "I think we should ask Lance. He's the only one with the right answer." After you say this, Keith looks at you with a lot of 'are you serious?' and a bit of 'why would you say that?'.

"Have you seen how he talks to me? I'm sure he hates my guts."

"What makes you say that?"

"He started being mean to me after the name thing, just keeps saying that I'm constantly trying to one-up him." Keith complains, folding his arms as if to close himself off from the suggestion you brought up.

"What do you mean by 'the name thing'?" You ask. "You used to call him 'The Tailor' when literally no one else would, he seemed to appreciate it too. Is it because you stopped?" You tried to learn on the issue, but only ended up finding out it was worse than you thought:

"That's because I used to think his name was Taylor! I got so much crap for that! I still do!" He shouts,

"Oh. That's bad. Forget what I said, then..." You mutter, your mind flooding with possible images of the scene where he realized Lance's actual name. Half were enough to make you laugh out loud, the others would give you a second-hand dose of anxiety and make you lock yourself in your room.

"I can ask him and you can go start getting ready. He's having it on the roof, right? It's in two hours, so he should be setting up if he's not already done." You noted, turning yourself around in the direction of the stairwell. Out of instinct Keith turned and snatched your forearm after you, making you spin back to him, shock and confusion blending into the purest of expressions on your face.