How Far I've Come (Keith x Reader)

∿ The Party » Chapter Four ∿

{2nd Person Point of View}

"Y/n, you almost ready?" Keith asks, knocking eagerly on your door. He is leaning back on his heels and chewing on his inner lip as he waits for you, yet hearing nothing in response to his semi-patient waiting. Sometimes one just can't help but grow tired of waiting, especially when one is waiting for one's date to a party.

"Oh, uh, I'll be out in one moment!" You yell, trying to decide between two pairs of worn tennis shoes. You weren't really a "give me a half hour to pick my shoes" kind of person, but this came down to a matter of trash and recycling. You didn't really need your dirty, old white sneakers, but your {favorite color} ones matched, and they're washable... screw it.

After you put on on your {favorite color} shoes, you stumbled on one foot over to the door as you slid your shoe onto the other. Letting the electronic doors slide open, your eyes fell onto Keith, who was almost literally falling for you.

"Sorry I took so long, we're going to be about ten minutes late if we walk a regular pace." You muttered guiltily, tying your shoelaces together as you apologized for the wait time. Keith brushes it off quickly, standing outside your door awkwardly, careful not to cross the threshold as you bend over to reach your shoes.

"Nono, it's fine. Don't worry about it." You fix your posture and thanked him for his forgiveness, not wanting to waste any time. The party started a little less than five minutes ago, so you are definitely going to be late, as you had apologized for.

After going to your dorm sofa to retrieve your journal, you walk back over to join Keith, where he finally gets a decent look at the outfit you put together;

A University hoodie, most likely passed down or pawn-bought, with worn denim jeans and the sneakers you had just put on. Your brushed {hair length} hair was down for the party, as opposed to your usual way of keeping it out of your face.

Anyone else would be distracted by how casual you looked, or say you let yourself go. But Keith?

Keith thinks that you look magnificent. You never dress in anything other than your baggy, fluorescent orange uniform, so he is drinking in every last drop of this rare night.

From your old faded hoodie that let your curves look more defined to you hair that fell in thin strands and draped like velvet curtains when you looked at your feet. {Hair color} curtains, actually, that he wants to push away with everything in him so he could look at your eyes instead. He used to be able to see your eyes any time he wanted. Now they have cover, a hiding place; and he isn't so sure about his opinion on that.

"You look neat." Keith mutters, rubbing his bare arm nervously with his opposite, calloused hand. He is wearing a plain dark-grey shirt and grey jeans, accessorized with a belt and red and white boots. To top it all off, he wore a red jacket with white cuffs and a yellow stripe going along the center, stylized like a thick equator.

And to go along with his dashing outfit, his internal cursing, caused by his foul choice of descriptive words; 'Neat?! When was the last time someone said "neat"-'

"You too." You reply, {eye color} eyes glancing up at his, your face flustered. He finds himself nearly breathless, lost in your gleaming orbs instead of just... acting normal. Though it is only a quick glance, he feels too lost and jerks his attention away instantly.

He feels evil, because despite how pretty you look, all he wants to do is watch you put your hair up again. He never wants to hide that beautiful sight of your {eye color} treasures away from his field of vision.

Being the observant man he is, Keith notices that your eyebrows are arched like they were neutral about the situation, but your eyes screamed "learn to like this, even if you hate it". He knows that you aren't going to be exactly excited about any party, and neither was he. You both generally disliked doing outward, social things you had never done before. And this is definitely a first for you to be nervous about.