Chapter Text
11 Months Post-War
Keith hopes to come back to Lance sooner, he does. But then Kolivan is asking more of him, sending him further out, giving him less time off, and it’s been two months since he’s touched down on Earth. He has plans to go back soon, in the next few weeks, but he’s not rushing it, because work is a delicate balance, and dealing with Lance requires even more finesse.
Things have been…weird. There’s no other way to explain it. Lance has been dipping in and out of communication with Keith and with the rest of the team, if Keith’s phone calls with Pidge and Hunk are anything to go by. And when Lance is talking to Keith, there’s always a feeling that they’re skirting a line. If he texts anything a little too friendly, he gets left on delivered for hours. He notices that Lance is getting less and less willing to do video calls, which Keith takes as a sign that Lance simply doesn’t want to see his face. That hurts, but he takes it in stride. There’s too much to worry about, and he can’t include his own wounded pride on that list. Any bit of Lance he can get is enough, and so he allows Lance to set his own unspoken boundaries and respects them with reverence.
Keith is so caught up in all of this - this worrying, and not worrying, and pretending he’s not worrying, and protecting the galaxy, and waiting on Lance, and realizing that Kolivan still expects him to step up into a higher position, and every other little thing in his life, that two weeks go by without a single call from Lance, and he doesn’t notice until he feels it’s too late to bring it up. They have been texting, and so he tries not to let it concern him.
He’s sitting on his bunk in a Blade ship, staring at Lance’s contact and wondering how he should start the next conversation where he’ll only get one-word answers when he gets a call from an unknown number. He hesitates, but presses accept call anyway.
“Hello?” He says into the speaker.
“Keith,” He recognizes the voice immediately. “It’s Rachel. Lance’s sister. Where are you?”
“Uh, I’m off-planet near Quwavai. Why?”
“Okay,” There’s shuffling in the background, the small voices of Nadia and Silvio carrying over distantly. Her voice is audibly tense. “We have kind of an emergency. Do you know if any of the other paladins are closer?”
“Wait, wait, what’s the emergency? Is everyone okay?”
“It’s Lance, he-” She pauses.
“Rachel? What’s wrong with Lance?” Keith is getting up, not even thinking, while he moves to dress.
“He hadn’t come over in a while, and you know, the anniversary is coming up-”
He stills, his belt and knife in hand. “Anniversary?”
“Of Allura. Anyway, I went to his house and he- He won’t let me in. Mama tried too, and he just won't open the door. It’s all locked and we know he’s alive, we can see him through the window, but we just-” Her words are coming out in a rush now, none of the hesitance from earlier present. He’s fully dressed now, leaving his room to walk quickly down the hall. “We’re getting really worried. If you know if any of the others are closer, can you try to send them, or can you reach out to him or-”
“Rachel,” He interrupts. “I’m coming, okay? I’ve got him.”
She sighs. “I hoped you would say that. Please get here soon.”
“I will.” He hangs up, and slips into the command room. He shoves his device in his pocket and turns to the nearest officer available. “I need a flight pod, now.”
He faces little resistance after he mentions that the safety of a paladin of Voltron depends on him. He’s unsure if this is a white lie or the truth, but he tries not to think about it as he takes off.
The hours alone in his flight pod are excruciating. There’s nothing he can do but fly and tap his feet anxiously against the floor and try not to think. He tries to call Shiro, but he doesn’t pick up. He doesn’t even know what he would say anyway. Shiro has continued to talk with Keith about the realities of grief and treating Lance with care, but he has no context for the night of Lance’s birthday, meaning his advice isn’t completely useful. Plus, Keith doesn’t even really know what he’s walking into here. He tries not to let Rachel's words affect him while he flies, but there’s not much he can do, except blame himself.
He can’t believe that he let the time slip away from him, that he’s gone more than two months without seeing Lance after what Mrs. McClain had told him. Worse, it hadn’t even been a thought in his mind that the anniversary of Allura’s death could be a trigger for Lance’s grief.
Soon enough, he’s in orbit and then touching down in his usual spot. He can’t shove the door open fast enough, and his feet are pounding on the ground within seconds, propelling him towards Lance.
He comes to a stop at the porch, breathing heavily. It’s been seven months since he last stood here unannounced. So much has changed. He knows so much more now. He knows so much less.
Taking a deep breath, Keith steps up to the door and tries the knob. It’s locked, like Rachel said. He knocks.
“Lance?” He shouts. “It’s me. Let me in.”
No sound comes from the house. He bangs his hand on the door again, harsher. “Lance.”
Again, nothing. He sighs and removes his luxite blade from its sheath, using it to cut the lock from the door frame. He’ll buy Lance a new one later. He shoves the door open and steps inside.
All of the lights are off. Dust is collecting on the photos on the wall. The house is eerily quiet and muggy from the heat outside. Keith can feel panic setting in, so he keeps moving, walking quickly down the hall and to Lance’s room. The door is cracked, and he pushes it open.
Inside, Lance is curled up on the floor, unmoving but for the soft rising and falling of his chest. In sweatpants and a t-shirt, it’s clear that he’s lost weight. The muscle that Keith felt under him in July is gone, and Lance is thin. His skin is lighter than it should be, and his hair is messy.
Keith takes all of this in within a span of a second, and then he’s rushing towards Lance, falling to his knees next to him, putting his hand on his shoulder, and shaking him slightly.
“Lance,” He breathes. Lance opens his eyes, but they slide away from Keith to stare at the floor.
“Why are you here?” His voice is flat. “It’s not October yet.”
“Your family is worried about you.”
Lance’s shoulder tenses under Keith’s hand, and he releases it, sitting back on his feet.
“Oh.”
Keith stares at Lance, waiting for some kind of explanation. None comes.
“Are you okay, Lance?”
Lance’s eyes find him then. “Yeah, I’ve been lying on the floor all week because I’m fine and dandy.”
Keith doesn’t know what to say to that. He wishes he were someone else right now, someone who would have the slightest idea what to do. He wishes he were Hunk or Shiro. But he’s not.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Lance turns his face into the floor like an upset child. “You can leave.” He says into the ground.
Keith shakes his head. “I’m not going to. I don’t want to.”
Lance doesn’t respond, but his body slackens. Keith stares at him, the length and height of him compacted into a ball, arms around his knees. He’s so thin.
“When's the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know.”
Keith nods twice, trying to keep his feelings from spilling out of him like they so desperately want to. He’s confused and angry, and looking at Lance makes his chest feel tight and heavy.
“Okay,” He rocks back onto his feet. “I’ll make us something to eat.”
He goes to the kitchen. Everything in the fridge is bad by a week or more, and so is the bread and produce. In the freezer is a dish covered in foil with a note on it that says “450 for 30, love, Mama”, so he takes it out and starts up the oven. He sends Rachel a text, telling her that he’s with Lance and everything is fine. As fine as it can be.
When the preheating is done, he puts the pan inside and turns to the rest of the kitchen. He collects all the gone-off food into a bag and takes it outside. He wipes all the counters and sweeps the floor. He finds a room spray and spritzes it in every room. He scrubs the dishes in the sink and sets them to dry. These are things he hasn’t had to do for himself in years, but he remembers the motions like the back of his hand from his years alone as a child and later his year in the desert. He doesn’t enjoy it, but it distracts him from his thoughts, and he knows Lance will appreciate the cleanliness when whatever this is is over.
When the timer for the food is over, he plates it up and grabs a glass of water and a napkin. He brings everything back to Lance’s room and sets it on the floor next to Lance, seating himself a safe distance away. They’re side by side, with Keith close enough to reach for, but too far to brush against.
Lance turns his head away from the carpet and eyes the food in front of him.
“It’s from your freezer. Something your mom made.”
“Yeah,” Lance’s voice cracks. “It smells good.”
He sits up and brings the plate to his lap, hands shaking. He takes a bite and sags. Keith tries not to seem too intent as he watches the curve of Lance’s lip, the pinch of his brows.
“Did you talk to her?”
Keith looks at Lance’s eyes, which are locked on his face. “What?”
“You said my family is worried about me. Who did you talk to?”
“Rachel. She, uh. She called me.”
“Weren’t you off Quwavai?”
Keith glances away. “Yeah, I was.”
Lance nods. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“You came all this way just for me to be,” He waves his hand in the air, eyes downcast. His voice is quiet. “I don’t know. I mean, I-” He groans. “I don’t know.”
Keith nods, trying to act like that makes any sense to him. “You don’t have to apologize. I wish I could’ve come sooner. I didn’t realize-” He cuts himself off. “I should’ve come back sooner.”
Lance takes another bite. “I’ve told you it’s fine. You can’t be here all the time. I can’t expect you to.”
“Yeah,” Says Keith. He can’t disagree with any of that, but it doesn’t make anything better. He wants to keep Lance talking. “Will you tell me what's going on?”
Lance sets down his plate, less than half eaten, and takes a gulp of water. “I’ve been having a rough time lately.”
Keith nods. “I assumed.”
Lance smiles, small and wry, and shoves Keith’s shoulder. The first time he’s touched him since the night of his birthday. Keith doesn’t dwell on it.
“I’m just having trouble coping with everything. With Allura, with being home, with being…being someone different than who I used to be.”
“What do you mean, different than who you used to be?”
Lance sighs. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”
“I want to try.” Keith bumps his knee against Lance’s, and when he feels no tension, he keeps it there.
“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, putting his head in his hands. “Okay. I just feel like- like when she died, I lost a part of me. Like, you know, Voltron. We’re all parts that make up a whole. That’s what it feels like to be me. To lose her, if I were to lose any of you, it feels like my arm’s been ripped off, or something. And like-” He shakes his head, hunching his shoulders so he’s halfway bent over. Keith leans in, unsure how to comfort him. “Phantom pains. That’s what I feel every day. I feel what’s missing, even though I know it’s never coming back. She’s never coming back.”
He turns to look at Keith, eyes wet. “Man, I’m always fucking crying in front of you, huh?” He laughs. “Just- Keith, I have no idea what to do. I can’t keep doing this.”
He leans over then, pressing his side fully into Keith’s, burying his face in his shoulder. Keith’s arm comes up to hold Lance in, hold him together. Lance shakes against him.
“Sometimes I wish it were me. I wish there were a way I could switch our places.”
Keith nods, feeling his heart constrict in his chest. He can feel the tension in Lance’s body and knows that there’s more to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, because he doesn’t want it to be true.
“Not- Not just sometimes.” Lance sobs. “Not sometimes at all.”
He crumbles into Keith, curling his body inward so his face is on Keith’s chest, and Keith just holds him there, crushing him in tight. He runs his fingers through Lance’s hair, not caring that it’s greasy and unkept, not caring about anything but being here for his best friend. He feels completely out of his depth, lost in the current of Lance’s reality. Again, he wishes he were better with his words and knew what to say now. He doesn’t, he really doesn’t. But he feels he has to try.
“When I was little, my dad died,” Keith whispers. Lance stills. “It was different for me. I was young and alone. All I had was anger and fear. I even hated him for dying sometimes. I’ve talked to Shiro about it, and he says…he says those are protective emotions. I was shielding myself from the hurt.” Lance nods, and so Keith continues. “You don’t have a shield. I think I…I don’t know what that means. I don’t know why it’s different. But what I do know is that I, and all the people who love you, want to help you through this.”
Lance’s voice is small. “What if I can’t be helped?”
Keith hums, brushing the hair back from Lance’s forehead. “Then we’ll be here anyway.”
“Yeah,” Lance sniffs. The room goes quiet except for the sounds of breathing. Lance’s tears drip onto the padding of Keith’s blade suit. So much time passes that Keith thinks Lance has fallen asleep curled up against him, which he would be okay with, until Lance sighs and sits up. He stretches his arms above his head and pops his neck.
“Okay,” he sighs with a frown. “I’m gonna take a shower. Time to leave the hobbit hole.”
He gets up to leave, flicking on the light, then pauses, turning to Keith. “It’s going to take a while. Feel free to use the TV. The channels are mostly Spanish, but I’m sure you can find something.”
Keith nods up at him, noticing scratch lines around his Altean marks he hadn’t seen in the dark. Lance catches him looking and raises a hand to his cheek. He makes a face like he’s been caught, fear squeezing his eyebrows together.
“You don’t have to explain,” Says Keith softly. “Just go take your shower. You need it.”
Lance laughs, a forced little sound, and leaves for the bathroom.
Instead of going to the TV as suggested, Keith spends a long time sitting in the dim light. He stares at his hands in their gloves, turning them back to front and back again. He clenches and unclenches them, feels the tension in his body expand and dissipate. This is something he learned from a fellow Blade: confuse your body into thinking it’s exerting energy, and it will relax on its own. It’s the miniature version of when Shiro had him running laps back at the Garrison. It helps when he wants to hit something, which he desperately aches for right now. He feels it simmering under his skin, a hot pinch of needing to get out of his own body.
Yet again, he’s failed Lance. He feels sick, knowing that Lance has been here alone in his thoughts, alone in his grief. He can’t believe he let his confusion over their night together cloud what’s been right in front of him. He takes deep, deep breaths of the stale air in Lance’s room, and when he feels that’s not enough, he walks through the hallway and out the front door, and breathes there too.
This whole time, he’s told himself he needs to get a hold on his feelings, but it’s more necessary now than ever. He needs to stop imagining the Lance that smiled under him and focus on the Lance that needs help in front of him. He gulps down the air until his breathing is back to normal, and then steps back into the house.
He busies himself as he did before, walking around opening blinds and windows, picking things off the floor, and wiping down surfaces. Back in Lance’s room, he makes the bed, quieting all thoughts about what happened there, and straightens everything up. When he’s done, he goes back to the kitchen and gets himself a glass of water, drinking it greedily. As he refills it for a third time, Lance steps out of the bathroom. His hair is wet, his face is shiny with serums, and he’s wearing fresh clothes.
“Hey,” He says, sounding almost bashful.
“Hey,” Keith replies.
Lance stares at him for a minute, as though he’s trying to make sense of him being in the kitchen. “You cleaned.”
Keith takes a sip of his water and shrugs. “It wasn’t hard.”
Lance raises an eyebrow with a small smile. “I’ve never seen you clean in your life.”
“You remember my shack, right? That was clean.”
“Huh,” Says Lance. “I never thought about that. Anyway, we’ve got shit to do.”
“We do?”
“Yes, sir. You want to help so bad, I’m putting you to work. You’ll be begging to go back to the blades when I’m done with you.”
Lance offers Keith a change of clothes, and he takes them without question. He was getting sweaty in his suit anyway, and now the two of them match, both in basketball shorts, t-shirts, and sneakers.
The hard work he’s promised ends up just being a bunch of errands. They go to the bank, they get groceries. They go back home, and Keith puts away the groceries while Lance cuts a mango and licks the juice off his fingers. He pops a slice into his mouth, and Keith watches him with a fondness he tries to crush within him. He takes the slice Lance offers him and turns away, focusing on the task in front of him, the frozen peas, the gallon of milk.
When everything is put in its right place, Lance takes him out to the fields, where they spend a few hours doing farmwork. Lance groans at the sight of his neglected crops. Keith pats his back and tells him it’ll be okay, then picks up a tool and gets to work. It’s hard, and he works up a sweat, but it’s manageable, and it’s easier with Lance by his side, both when he has quips to shoot out and when he’s calm and silent.
When the sun starts to set, Lance wipes his forehead and says it’s time to turn in. They wrap up and put the tools away, but when Keith starts to walk towards the porch, Lance pulls him back.
“C’mon,” He motions towards the car. “Just one more thing.”
Keith lets Lance drag him by his arm and then hops in the passenger seat. Lance starts up the car and rolls down the windows, and the drive in silence, Lance drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Keith trying not to watch Lance. The breeze whips both of their hair around, and the stars begin to show in the sky one by one.
When Lance finally pulls over, it’s in front of a small shop with turquoise walls and signage promoting a flavor of the month. The smell of waffle cones wafts through the windows.
Keith turns his head to Lance, who’s already smiling. “Ice cream?”
“Gotta pay you back for today, right?”
“With ice cream.”
Lance smiles bigger. “What’s better than that?”
Keith laughs and opens his door. Lance gets out with him, and they walk into the shop. The attendant waves at them, says something to Lance to Lance in Spanish, and Lance responds jovially, then turns to Keith.
“So…” Lance gestures to the display case. “Take your pick. I’m very pro-double-scoop, by the way.”
Keith hums. “I don’t know. It’s been a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“Um…” Keith tilts his head, eyes sliding over the variety of flavors. “I think since before Voltron.”
“Holy shit,” Gasps Lance. “Let’s make it a triple scoop.”
Keith laughs. “What’s good here?”
“Well, their mantecado is bomb, chocolate is solid, and their dulce de leche is stellar. If you’re more of a fruity guy, the papaya and guava are both really good too. Nadia always gets strawberry, but,” He lowers his voice conspiratorily. “I’ve had better.”
“What’s mantecado?” Asks Keith.
“Oh, it’s like, custard, vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg. It’s what I usually go for. Actually-” He turns to the worker and asks for a sample. “You should try for yourself.”
The attendant hands Keith a little wooden spoon with a dollop of the ice cream on it, which Keith puts in his mouth. Lance watches him eagerly as he removes the spoon and taps it to his lips. He almost laughs at Lance’s puppy-like expression.
“It’s great, right?”
“It’s good, but not my thing.” He smiles as Lance groans dramatically. “I can see why you like it.” He eyes the case again, and finally he lands on something he wants. “I think I’ll get cookies and cream.”
Lance snorts. “Not what I expected, but whatever. Cone or cup?”
“Cup.”
“You just hate fun.”
Keith rolls his eyes as Lance turns to the worker again and orders for the two of them. She scoops up their orders and hands them to Keith while Lance pays.
Lance thanks her, and she smiles at the two of them as they walk out. There’s a bench right outside, and they sit, sides pressed closely together. Keith hands over Lance’s cone, which is already dripping. They eat and watch the last glimmers of light slip away on the horizon. The moon is full and bright above them.
“Thanks,” Says Lance. “For coming out here.”
Keith nods. “I’m glad I did.”
Lance hums. Quiet blankets them for a minute, until Lance speaks again. “I’m thinking about…um, you can’t laugh at me, okay?”
“Why would I?”
He sighs. “I’m thinking about moving back in with my mom, just for a little while. It’s not that far and- and maybe you were right when you said I need help from the people that love me.”
“That sounds smart,” Says Keith.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” He nudges Lance with an elbow. “If it makes you feel better, I hang out with my mom all the time.”
Lance laughs. “Thanks, man.” He leans against Keith a little more, their bare arms flush. “Can I tell you something crazy?”
Keith turns to look at him. “Yeah?”
“Me and Allura, we were not a good couple,” He laughs. “That’s one of the things I’m most fucked up about sometimes. That we wasted our last few months together trying to force something that wasn’t meant to be.” He shakes his head with a smile, looking down at his ice cream. There are no tears on his face, he’s breathing normally, and he looks completely fine. Keith tries to listen without worrying and keep his face completely neutral. “I miss her more as my friend than as my girlfriend.” He looks up at Keith. “Do you think that makes me like…a bad person?”
“What? No. Lance, that doesn’t-” Keith pauses, trying to collect his racing thoughts before they all burst out of him and make a mess of this. He thinks of Shiro, what he would do, his patience. He tries to channel that. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. I didn’t know you felt like that at all, but…it makes sense,” Lance’s eyes are locked on him. He feels like he’s making a lot of mistakes. “That doesn’t make it your fault. We were all just kids, and sometimes that means…” He’s losing steam here, scrambling.
“Dating a girl that never liked you?” Lance interrupts.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” He cuts in.
“Yeah,” Says Lance. “I know.” He sighs. “I do think it’s true, though.” He slumps back on the bench. “Which is fine. Just, like I said. Wasted time.”
Keith doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that Lance’s eyes are sliding over him while he says that. Keith doesn’t know what to do with the warmth in his palms or on his face. He just nods and goes back to shoveling ice cream into his mouth, purposely avoiding eye contact. Lance continues eating his cone, and by the time they’re both done, it’s fully dark.
Lance stands and stretches, motioning for Keith to follow. “Let’s go.”
Keith follows, throwing his cup into a trash can before getting in Lance’s car. He starts it up, and then they’re back on the road. Lance has one arm casually out the window, hand dancing in the wind. There’s no one else on the street but them, headlights bearing down the pavement. The radio has been switched on low, something upbeat that people would dance to.
“When did you learn to drive?” Keith asks, glancing at Lance.
“The summer before Voltron. The driving age is 18 here, and I was only 17, but when you’re the baby of the family, they let things slide. If you bribe them, at least.”
“What kind of bribe?”
“Marco always needed candy bars. Veronica needed a study buddy. Luis needed a babysitter. Rachel just wanted someone to talk to.”
“That’s sweet,” Hums Keith. “You should try talking to her again.”
Lance laughs. “Way to slide that in, Red. Super nonchalant.”
Keith groans and leans his head against the window. “It’s true.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ll talk to her,” Lance smiles, deftly switching the subject back to something lighter. “Do you know how to drive?”
“Nope. Not cars, at least.”
“Really? You flew a space lion without ever getting your license?”
Keith shrugs. “I was busy.”
“Being the worst delinquent at the Garrison?”
“Yeah, and piloting a hoverbike illegally.”
Lance glances over at Keith with mirth in his eyes. “You bad-ass kid.”
“That’s me.”
“Maybe I’ll teach you sometime.”
“To drive?”
“Nah, to play pickleball,” Lance flicks Keith on the arm. “Yes, to drive.”
“That’d be nice,” Replies Keith. “Maybe next time.”
Lance nods. “You still coming in a few weeks? Or is that shut down ‘cause of our awesome mental health day?”
“Yeah. The Blades might not like it, but they’ll survive without me.”
“That’s the spirit! I’m thinking of a beach day. How does that sound?” They’ve pulled up to Lance’s house, but he keeps the engine on, and neither makes a move to get out.
“I’m not a great swimmer.”
“Wow, and I thought you could do anything,” Lance smirks. “I’ll teach you that too.”
“So generous.”
“I know,” He drums his fingers on his lap, glancing from Keith to the house. “Are you staying the night?”
Keith glances out the window. It’s fully and completely dark, with the stars and moon being the only glimmer of light.
“I should get going, but,” He yawns. “I don’t think I’ve got enough sleep in me to fly back. I’ve been up for…” He calculates space time to Earth time. “22 hours?”
“Oh my god, yeah, come crash on my couch, dude.”
Lance turns off the car and jumps out, Keith following behind, all of a sudden feeling the long day bear down on him. All the stress and going place to place is seeping into him as a thick blanket of exhaustion he’s been holding himself back from for the past few hours. They walk up to the door, and Lance lets them in, eyeing the mess Keith made of his lock. Keith shrugs with an embarrassed smile, and they continue in.
“Do you need a change of clothes?” Asks Lance, glancing back at Keith. After the day he’s had working in the sun, he knows he needs them. He nods, and Lance waves him to his room.
He rummages around in his drawers, and Keith stares at the wall. The memories of what has happened in this room are pressing down on his tired mind. He sees Lance's smooth tan skin, hot to the touch. He sees Lance curled on the ground. He hears his moans, his sobs. It’s all mixing together and making him feel deranged.
Lance turns back to Keith, a new shirt and sweatpants in his hand. Keith takes them, and their hands brush, a second of contact that feels like a flame is igniting all of his nerve endings at once. He looks down at his hand, and up at Lance’s eyes, and he sees in Lance’s eyes that he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. Keith flushes, ashamed, and steps back.
Unexpectedly, Lance follows him, stepping forward. His hand reaches for Keith’s again, and he takes it. Keith lets him, mouth hanging open.
“You could…” Lance starts, trails off. He glances at the bed, back at Keith. “You could stay here. With me.”
“Lance, I…” Keith looks at that bed, where he spent a night pressed up against Lance in every way imaginable.
“It doesn’t have to- I’m not saying like that,” Lance’s grip on Keith tightens. “I’m just asking you to stay.”
His face is open, asking. His features aren’t clouded by lust or desire, but by affection and what might be loneliness. Keith can’t say no. He nods, brushing his thumb along the knuckles of Lance’s hand, a small intimacy only for them.
They both change, turning away from each other, and then Lance slides into bed, Keith following. He doesn’t know what to do, so he lies flat as a board, staring up at the ceiling, arm pressed against Lance’s back.
“Here,” Lance half turns to him, taking Keith’s arm and moving it to lay over his own waist. “Is this okay?”
Keith nods, because of course it’s okay. It’s so okay. He’s so okay. He feels hot all over, and not calm in the slightest, but it’s fine. Lance sighs in contentment, and Keith presses tighter against his back, his nose flush against Lance’s spine, trying to slow down his heart, which is hard when he’s breathing in the scent of Lance, his forehead against the bare skin of his upper back, their legs lightly tangled.
Soon, Lance’s breathing evens out, and just when Keith is sure he’s asleep, Lance mumbles a quiet, Thank you. That night, Keith doesn’t get nearly as much sleep as he needs, his hand held tightly between Lance’s own, pressed against Lance’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s a siren's call that keeps his eyes open for far too long.
When he leaves in the morning, disentangling himself from Lance’s hold, the boy turns to smile at him, something soft and fond and sleep-adled. He’s obviously still tired and will probably fall asleep again as soon as Keith walks out the door. But he looks up at Keith with those eyes, and clings to Keith’s hand as he gets out of bed and stands up.
“See you soon,” He says, and Keith can imagine himself leaning over and brushing the hair from his forehead, leaving a kiss there that will linger on his skin after he’s gone. But he can’t, so he just grips Lance’s hand tighter, repeats the words back to him, pulls the blankets back up over his torso, and lets his fingers brush against Lance’s chest as he pulls away.
He leaves quickly after that, grabbing his Blade suit on the way out. He walks away from Lance’s house flushed from head to toe and questioning what exactly he’s gotten himself into, knowing that every time he’s tried to pull away from how he’s feeling, Lance has only dragged him in deeper.