Sunday morning comes in a flash, one that Keith has very little memory of.  He wakes up on his couch, daylight illuminating his monochromatic living room.  He rubs his eyes sleepily, wondering what happened as one usually does after waking up somewhere weird.  His phone buzzes beneath him, causing Keith to jump.  He fishes it out from the crevice of the couch, muttering a long string of curses as he sees the long list of calls and texts from his parents.  Swallowing all reluctance, he immediately calls his mom back. 
     The phone barely even has time to ring.  "Hey!  Sweetie!  I've been so worried about you!" Keith's mom says quickly with a hint of her old Korean accent.
     Keith flinches at the sudden volume.  "Uh, yeah.  Hi, Mom.  I've just been...busy with work."
     She sounds like she's trying to choke out a laugh.  "Keith, yesterday was Saturday!  Don't try to tell me you were at work.  What"-she breaks out into a harsh fit of coughing-"What have you been up to?"
     "Um, just errands," Keith replies, fidgeting terribly.  "It's no big deal, Mom.  Really."
     She sighs audibly.  "Okay, dear.  I wish you'd just talk to me.  Oh, did you want to talk to your father?  Let me pass the phone over."
     Keith barely forces out an uncertain "sure" before his father starts speaking.  "Son," he begins, disapproval already evident in his voice.  "You really need to be better about answering your mother's calls."
     "I know, I know-"
     "No, you obviously don't.  Your mom already has enough to stress about; you don't need to give her another reason."
     As the call comes to an end, Keith hurriedly hangs up and sighs in agitation.  That went awfully.  Calling his parents is so awkward.  That's why he never does it.  Though, it honestly didn't go as bad as it could have.  It's almost a little weird.
The rest of Keith's Sunday isn't at all interesting. All he can do is sit around and think about Lance, not that he'd like to admit it. But honestly, it's only fair that Lance is on his mind, seeing as this mysterious man has kind of turned his life upside down. Hopefully, though, Keith will never have to see him again. Or maybe that isn't what he's hoping. Keith rubs his face angrily. This is all so confusing and messed up.
     Keith hits the sack early, though sleep doesn't find him until much, much later.
The next day, Keith manages to make it through his classes without getting caught asleep. He thanks whatever god is up there for his classmates Hunk and Pidge, who had to jab him a few times to keep Keith from napping during the lectures.
Eventually, Keith makes it over to work, albeit sleep walking most of the way. It's nothing short of a miracle that he doesn't fall over or get run over. When he arrives with his apron and name tag, Lex seems especially giddy. "Hey, Keith! You know that Spanish guy who came in here the other day? Did you watch the news on Saturday?"
"Yeah, uh..." Keith tries to force a smile. "You were on the news, huh?"
Lex then finally gets a good look at him. "Shoot, dude. You look like you forgot how to sleep." A sudden grin spreads across his face. "Did you finally get yourself a girlfriend to keep you up all night?"
     Keith's face contorts with absolute disgust.  "What?  No!  It's just...It's been a busy weekend."  He considers telling Lex about his deal with Lance, but it really doesn't matter.  And if he does, Lex might even call the police.  Again.  For some reason, Keith feels the need to prevent that from happening.
"Mhm," Lex nods with that same assuming smirk still on his face. Keith clenches his fists in order to not blow up at him. "Well, I'm gonna head out, so I'll see you later, Keith."
Keith mutters angrily under his breath as he takes over the cash register. Not long after Lex leaves, thunder rattles the earth and sends Keith jumping with a start. He worries for a second whether Lex had enough sense to bring an umbrella. He can worry about his idiotic coworker.  Lightning tears across the sky, sounding like fireworks gone wrong. The shelves of the store seem to rattle. Keith isn't usually one to be scared of a storm, but this doesn't seem fun at all.  On the good side, though, all possible customers seem to agree.  No one dares to come in during the weather's fit.  Keith wastes the couple of hours away tapping his finger on the counter, trying with all he has to not think of Lance.  Don't think of Lance.  Don't think of Lance.  Shoot.  Lance.
     Not even bothering to check the time, Keith grabs his bag and umbrella, shuts the store down for the evening, and dashes out in the rain.  He startles himself a few times as he nearly skids over on the slippery sidewalk, all glazed over with a good centimeter of rainwater.  He runs more cautiously through the dark streets in long strides, off-gold lamps lighting his way. He slides to a halt in front of the alleyway he found Lance in just the other day. It's dark and empty, and all Keith can see is the slight reflection of inches of water collecting in it. He looks around in panic, just in time to see Lance skidding to a halt beside him.
"Keith!" pants out the familiar Latino boy, shoulders bobbing up and down as his chest heaves for air. It seems almost unreal to see him here, standing still before Keith. Lance's dry lips are agape, and blood watered down by the rain dribbles from it and down his chin and throat. Keith near sneers. How does he let this situation keep happening over and over? "Keith, please, you gotta listen to me," Lance sobs. Sirens wail in the near distance. "Mierda! M-My parents called the police on me. I need to get out of here."
     Keith sees red and blue lights shining in the sky nearby.  And from the direction of his apartment.  He gulps.  His brain in a complete scramble, Keith does what he'd usually expect to be his absolute last resort: he yanks Lance's hand harshly, dragging him into the forest as he tries to get home without crossing paths with the police.  They stumble past snaking bramble and hanging tree branches and moss, shoes sliding on the muddy earth. 
     "Woah, woah, woah, wait!" Lance yelps in a struggle to keep his footing.
     "Shut up!" Keith snaps, panting as he continues to run with Lance's hand in his.  "Did you want to get caught? Because I'd be happy to leave you here if that's the case."  Keith loses his balance and falls into the mud, landing hard on his bum and causing an ache in his legs.  He curses angrily under his breath. 
     This time, Lance grabs Keith's hand and helps him up.  "You're right; we need to keep going."  Keith scowls, masking his surprise at someone acknowledging him being correct.  He struggles to get up, wobbling slightly, but pushes on.  No way is he getting caught with this...this felon.  Keith tugs Lance along yet again, disregarding his lack of breath.  They ignore the harsh prickling shrubs that slash at their legs in favor of escaping the grasp of the men in blue.
     They don't stop jogging even after entering the apartment lobby, tracking mud and little puddles of rain water on the white tile.  They dash up the stairs with loud clunks echoing after each step.  Keith drags Lance to the door of his living quarters, then releasing Lance's hand to unlock the door and trying not to mind the empty feeling that replaces it.  He shoves the door open with unnecessary force.  Both boys stare into it, chests heaving as they finally stop all their moving.  "So..." Lance breathes out, trying to smile.  "This is your crib, huh?"
     Keith clenches his teeth and clicks his tongue.  He pushes Lance into his living room.  "Just get inside."  Keith shuts the door behind them.  He watches as Lance unties his shoes, looking up at him with an awkward, lopsided smile.
     "Um, can I maybe shower?"

     ...

     Keith tosses a towel in Lance's direction and shoves him into his only bathroom.  He closes the door as he leaves, yelling behind him, "The water dial isn't labeled correctly, so just put it on cold if you want hot water."  With a deep sigh, Keith goes to sit on his couch, crouched over with his hands running through his mess of black hair.  He doesn't stay there long, though.  Keith pushes himself up and begins pacing around his small living room, rapid thoughts drowning out the sound of running water.  He yanks on his hair in frustration.  There's a freaking criminal in his shower.  What is wrong with Keith?!  He could just call the police.  Yeah.  They could come take Lance away, and with him, all of his problems.  A scene flashes in Keith's mind of Lance behind bars with the face of a kicked puppy, whining, "Keith, my buddy, why would you do this to me?"  Keith growls.  God,why is he so dumb?  His pacing grows in speed, as if he could just speed walk in place away from his issues.
     Before he knows it, the water has stopped, and Lance is standing behind him in his living room.  In only his boxers.  Supposedly the only thing that hadn't gotten rain soaked.  "Keith...?"
     Keith turns around, and turns back just as fast with a grimace on his face.  "Hell!  Put some clothes on."
     "All of my clothes are soaked through," Lance laughs uneasily.
     Keith hisses, walking past Lance with his eyes on the ground and not on the half naked Latino. He grabs one of his many black shirts from his dresser, and throws it to Lance. It should fit him. After all, Lance seems a tad skinnier than Keith. "There," he grunts. "That should help."
"Thanks, my man," Lance says joyously, happy to have some dry (and not to mention clean) clothing. Tugging it on over his head, he asks, "But what's wrong? You seems kinda...antsy."
"What's wrong?" Keith repeats in a hiss. "What's wrong?! A criminal is in my house! A thief! A murderer!"
"Woah, woah, woah there. I never killed anybody!"
"How can I trust you? But whatever, that's really not the point. I could get arrested for this. Why did I even do this? Why are you here? I don't even know you!"
"My name's Lance," he intercepts.
Keith rolls his eyes. "Well, I know that much."
"Oh, do you?" Lance confirms curiously.
"I heard it from the news," Keith huffs.
"Oh, wonderful."
     "Whatever.  I'm just...stressed.  I don't know why I got myself involved in this mess with you.  I should sleep.  You can...stay on the couch, I guess."  Keith rubs his tired eyes.
     Lance brushes off the sting of Keith's spite towards him.  He has plenty of reason for it.  Lance wonders how Keith even managed to be so unnecessarily considerate to him this far, despite Keith's stone cold outer shell.  "Thank you," Lance says sincerely. 
     Both boys eventually drift off to sleep, Keith clutching tightly to his comforter and Lance holding his vulnerable self under the wrath of the air conditioning.  Sweet dreams are not something they can even dream of.

A/N:  Ah, here's a bit of an early update.  I'm updating quite a bit more than I thought I would.  I sure hope the story doesn't feel rushed.  I'm just really excited to get into the good stuff.  ( ' ▽ ' ) Anyway, single translation for the chapter:

Mierda! = Shit!

Y'all are going to have that word memorized by the end of this, I swear. Hope you've enjoyed! I'd appreciate any sort of helpful critique if there's something wrong, too. See ya next chapter! I hope you're ready to cry a little. I hope I can make you cry. Anyway.