Comfort Fics
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Sometimes, late at night, Keith wets his hands with sink water in the bathroom and touches his own face because it feels like another person.
And sometimes, early in the morning, Lance stands at the floor to ceiling window near the observation deck and closes his eyes to cry.
They miss touch.
Series
- Part 1 of Comfort Fics
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“I like it,” Keith blurts, practically signing off the measurements of his coffin with how straightforward that feedback is.
Lance’s head swiftly tips downward to finally look at Keith. His face is the shell of a reaction, toeing between something wild and something passive. A few locks of hair swing down and hang loose along the edge of his forehead, kind of like Allura’s doll-like ringlets that dance around with every expressive motion she makes. The overhead light is barely obscured from Keith’s view by his friend’s towering figure, and it’s almost like Lance is simultaneously both something nostalgic and completely foreign.
“You do?” Lance asks with a genuine curious lilt. His knuckles shift anxiously against the seams of the shorts’ pockets.
“Yeah.”
Keith can’t take his eyes off Lance.
Or: 3 times Keith was struck dumb by Lance’s beauty and 1 time he didn’t just stare.
Series
- Part 2 of Comfort Fics
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But he’s tired now. Though he can’t place what he's tired of, because the night sky and mellow waves still churn up thoughts— and yet, they’re not giddy anymore. He feels like he’s moved on for the most part, and any look into the beyond sparks the question “What happened?” rather than “What’s going to happen?”. It’s the kind of contrast between a flickering flame from a once blazing fire.
He wishes at least something would happen to subside his dwindling motivation. Hell, he’d even go for another food truck incident if it meant his wits could somehow get knocked back into him. Like those movies where—
AURF!”Kosmo NO!”
Series
- Part 3 of Comfort Fics
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“Wanna stay here forever,” Lance had murmured with his lips tickling the shell of Keith’s ear, who lays between his legs where they’re both sprawled out on an endless coast of sand. Atlantic waters curl into mellow waves before sweeping onto the land’s edge and collapsing in a foamy froth. They’re distant, yet loud enough to rival the sound of Lance’s hands brushing along the fabric of Keith’s shirt and doing all he can not to cling there before August can arrive. It was July 27th, one day until his birthday, eighteen days until Keith leaves for California, and the latter is something far more apprehensive.
Series
- Part 4 of Comfort Fics
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lt starts with making a friend.
The raw excitement is a burst comparable to a sun’s flare, with a scorching and brazen air of unadulterated enthusiasm for what’s to come, and what can be left behind. It’s new, he feels his past misfortune can crumble after each step like a slowly collapsing stone bridge. His optimism paints a garden of potential on the other side, where he can catch the mistakes he made from his last fallouts to avoid tripping over rock and collapsing into the gnarled, unforgiving limbs of a rose bush.
Life is good. He won’t mess up.
Or: Lance tries maintaining his friendships, but can’t seem to quit being a bother.
Series
- Part 5 of Comfort Fics
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“Shiro said you were having a hard time,” Lance says as they rock from side to side and another quiet gush of Keith’s tears slides over his skin. He doesn’t seem to care for any discomfort, and his tame voice rumbles on. “Figured I’d come over and bully you myself.” They both laugh, but it sounds more like a couple chokes, and Keith doesn’t question the wet prickle against his own ear now. “I broke quarantine cause I missed my grump, also I’ve only been out out once a week, I think the Starbucks lady is getting sick of me— Anaya, but she doesn’t know my name though it’s just “you again?””
Or: Keith struggles with depression and quarantine adds to the already unbearable weight. Though Lance can’t fix it, he can remind Keith he’s still loved.
Series
- Part 6 of Comfort Fics
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Lance used to overthink a lot of things once they started dating about a year ago. The face he saw cradled in his hands at 7am on a Saturday looked out of reach or unsure, he even thought he was losing Keith at one point.
“That’s not true at all,” Hunk had told him. “I don’t really think you can notice it yourself, but sometimes it looks like you’re the only thing holding him together.”
Series
- Part 7 of Comfort Fics
- Part 2 of Adore You: The Series
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Lance pulls all the stops for a kiss, like when he hisses at a burn from the oven and insists Keith kisses him better— of course never specifying where so oftentimes his lips meet the curl of Lance’s smile instead of tender knuckles or fingertips at the last second.
His favorite excuse this time around seems to be mistletoe, regardless of how outrageous the setting and utter bullshit Keith’s well aware of him spewing.
“There’s no mistletoe above the shower, Lance.”
Series
- Part 8 of Comfort Fics
- Part 7 of Arcade’s Instagram Fics
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And actually, yes, he has, in fact, gone out of his way to make this as blatantly open as possible— from admitting things like “You look good today” (yeah like every fucking day, who is he kidding) to just flat out staring, like that could somehow explain the way his heart is nothing but of bowl of warm and content soup over Lance’s raging fire. Nothing but a cupid resting on the other’s cloud, nothing but seriously exasperated because—
Have you ever met a boy so oblivious, you just get angry?
Or: Keith’s crush on Lance becomes too much to bear when his friend just can’t seem to take a hint.
[Complete fic here, not a preview]
Series
- Part 4 of Arcade’s Instagram Fics
- Part 9 of Comfort Fics
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Summary
But Keith understands now, how just a simple dance casts a rose colored tint on the world and makes the rough edges of words melt into smoothed out butter. How he’ll keep being an idiot if it means this embrace lasts a little longer, and Lance can cradle them like a rocking boat among quiet currents. How the thumping of heavy speakers, or a clear tune from a phone, or humble scratches from a radio can be so quick to make an unlikely pair, well, likely, if it means “May I have this dance?” soon follows— or anything of the sort.
Or: The one where Keith lives in domestic bliss with his fiancé, thanks to his curious effort at understanding Lance’s love language: dance.
[Complete fic here, not a preview]
Series
- Part 2 of Arcade’s Instagram Fics
- Part 10 of Comfort Fics
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Summary
Lots of memories. Some of which leave him beet red in the face. Imagine cuddling Keith now during a nap. They don’t have drool on their thumbs or squishy baby cheeks anymore— sadly, because all these old photos from the garage prove they’re worth missing on such a cute little kid like Keith.
Forget puddles of shallow flashbacks that splash only vague images of a life unknown. They had a whole damn lake as a history, and remembering Keith now makes him wonder how he could ever forget.
[Complete fic here, not a preview]
Series
- Part 5 of Arcade’s Instagram Fics
- Part 11 of Comfort Fics