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The soft mechanical whirl of the doors opening is almost loud in the vacuum of Keith’s room. There stands Lance in only boxers and a t-shirt, eyes red and bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
“Nightmare?” Keith asks and Lance just nods. Keith pulls the covers back as Lance pads over to the bed and climbs in, slotting himself perfectly against Keith. His hair is sticking out in all directions, tickling Keith’s neck and chin – Lance is a restless sleeper – so he runs his fingers through it to smooth it back into place. Lance releases a shallow breath against his collar bone. “Wanna talk about it?”
Lance shakes his head but a beat later he says “Don’t go tomorrow” and that’s answer enough.
Keith sighs, stroking the short hairs at the base of Lance’s head. “You know I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” Lance argues but the words are weak, worn. “We’re already sharing intel with the Blade. Voltron needs you more than they do.”
“Shiro can pilot the black lion again. He’s a better leader than I am anyway.” Lance makes a noise of disagreement and Keith shushes him. “You’re right. The Blade doesn’t need me. I need them.” He swallows, letting the words sink into the mattress before continuing. “My mom left me that knife and I need to know what it means. I have to prove that I’m worthy of it.”
They lie in silence for a while, long enough that Keith thinks Lance has drifted to sleep, but then a hand comes up to play with the hem of his shirt, twisting and scrunching the fabric. The hand is coy as it wanders under his shirt, gentle, reverent fingertips brushing the skin of his hip. One of the fingers applies pressure to a bruise there, faded yellow, and Keith’s breath hitches.
“You were hurt so bad last time, and that wasn’t even a real mission.” Lance’s voice is thick, stuck at the back of his throat. “We already lost Shiro once. I can’t lose you as well.” He buries his face into Keith’s shirt and wetness seeps through to his skin.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Keith says, gently pulling Lance’s head back to swipe a thumb across his cheeks. “Lance, don’t cry. I’m coming back, okay?”
“You don’t know that.” Lance’s bottom lip wobbles as he talks and now that Keith can get a proper look at him, he’s shocked by the unadulterated fear in his eyes. “You think that you don’t fit in here, that we’ll be better off without you but that’s not true. We all want you to stay, not just me. We love you, and we’re stronger together.”
Keith doesn’t have an answer to that but Lance doesn’t expect one, never does. He rearranged them so that Keith is on lying on his back and Lance’s head is pillowed on his chest, an arm clinging tight to his waist. Keith presses a kiss to the crown of Lance’s head, lips lingering for a few seconds before he pulls back enough to whisper “I love you, too.”
Eventually Keith is lulled to sleep by Lance’s breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against Keith’s side. When he wakes a few hours later, the sheets next to him are cold and empty.