Archive of Our Own ^beta

By some miracle, Lance gets out of bed first that morning.

He doesn't think much of it at the time.

Keith's face is buried in the pillow next to him, his arms folded around it, bare shoulders exposed by the blanket that has slipped down during their sleep, and Lance props up on his elbow to enjoy this rare opportunity to admire Keith while he's asleep. He kind of wishes that there was pale morning sunlight coming in through an open window instead of the dim blue accent lights in the corners of their room. That Keith is still in bed at all is enough of a treat, though, that Lance can easily brush aside his wistful longing for Earth. 

Lance combs Keith's unruly bedhead aside and spends a few minutes pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck, across his shoulders. The attention isn't enough to wake Keith up. He hums softly in his sleep, still breathing deeply. Lance lays across his back with his face pressed into Keith's warm skin, breathing it in, before he feels ready to start the day and pushes himself up.

He goes about his morning routine, humming to himself while he washes his face, brushes his teeth, combs his hair; picks his clothes out in the semi-dark and gets dressed in the bathroom so he doesn't disturb Keith with the overhead lights. He leans over Keith one last time before he leaves the room, kissing his temple without waking him.

They're in the middle of some down time, so there's no reason he shouldn't be able to sleep for as long as he wants.

The others are already gathered around the dining table when Lance walks in, Hunk spooning out a variety of breakfast things onto plates while Pidge yawns and rubs their eyes, looking like a true sleep-deprived gremlin while they attempt conversation with Allura, who is just as prim and pretty as ever despite having been up for several vargas. Coran looks up as Lance pulls out his regular seat. He's also chipper, despite the wealth of lines around his eyes when he smiles. Lance hopes he's got half the pep Coran does when he's that age, because honestly? Mid twenties? He already aches.

(In his defense, he's lost the same leg twice at this point, so he has fair cause to ache occasionally.)

"Morning, Lance!" Coran slides him a plate that Hunk previously handed him. "Space toast?"

It's french toast, or as close to french toast as Hunk can make without half the proper ingredients. Lance is a wise enough man now to know better than to question what type of eggs Hunk has gotten ahold of to experiment with, or where the wheat supplement came from. He takes the stack of toast eagerly, "Thanks, Coran."

The royal advisor is helping himself to what might be a bowl of cereal. It's hard to tell because whatever is swimming in the milk is moving autonomously, even when Coran's spoon is in his mouth and the bowl is resting solidly on the table.

Allura smiles at Lance from across the table.

"You didn't retrieve Keith from the training deck this morning?" she asks.

Lance recognizes the gorteggle on her plate and tries not to make contact with any of the eyes when he lifts an eyebrow at her, reaching into the middle to look at the syrup flavors they have. Most of the flavors are unpronounceable, but Hunk has put a small colored sticker on all of them so the Earthlings know what they're putting in their mouths. Each color represents an Earth-specific flavor, and they're all familiar enough with the system now to recognize them at a glance. Lance picks the syrup with the dark purple sticker because it tastes similar to actual maple syrup, but also slightly like blueberries.

"No?" Lance says, drizzling syrup over his toast, "He's still in bed."

"Isn't he usually up at like the space equivalent of six am?" Pidge asks, like they're not running on about four hours of sleep at any given time (with notably less grace than their alien friends, driven largely by a caffeine-based diet). They've got a tablet in front of them, fingers tapping, and a plate of bushie rolls on the side that they don't seem to have touched.

The question does give Lance reason to pause, though, because Pidge is right. He can probably count on his hands the number of times Keith has slept in at least until Lance has gotten up, and those few times have usually been discussed or mentioned beforehand. It's not like Keith to diverge from his schedule. He's the kind of guy who needs one, needs the sense of stability and peace of mind in knowing what's coming next, and feels out of whack if he doesn't stick to it even if it's just getting out of bed or eating at the same time every day.

"Perhaps he's finally taking everyone's advice to heart and not working himself quite so hard," Coran says, fishing out more 'cereal' and eyeing it dubiously before he puts it in his mouth. 

"That would be a real treat," Allura says, unable to hide a teasing smile.

"Yeah," Hunk says, sharing Allura's grin and looking pointedly at Lance, "But expecting Keith to give up his morning combat is like expecting Lance to give up his skin care routine."

Lance huffs, gesturing toward the loaded table.

"And which of us wakes up every single morning to make like a hundred breakfasts, Hunk? You're calling the kettle black here."

Hunk concedes the point with a shrug.

"I mean," Pidge says, lifting a hand, "Aren't these all things that the team mutually benefits from?" It sounds at first like they're going in a nice direction with, "We all get a healthy breakfast," but then they prop their chin in their hand with that conspiratorial smirk and add, "And we don't have to listen to our co-leaders bicker because they're in a bad mood all morning."

Lance's mouth is too full of space toast to refute this, but he settles for an indignant glare, even if it is tempered by Allura and Hunk's laughter. It's breakfast as usual.

The door across the room slides open after a while, and no one is surprised when Keith shuffles in.

It's the fact that he shuffles. That he manages to somehow look disheveled in only his pajama pants and bare skin and wild, clinging black hair, as if he climbed out of the bed and came straight to the dining hall, that sets the Paladins and Coran all on edge. Keith goes to Lance on unsteady legs and sits in the empty seat beside him - Lance, who is instantly frowning at Keith's uncharacteristic state of undress, pushing away his half-finished plate. He reaches up to steady Keith when he wobbles. Keith's grey-violet eyes are still partially closed and he keeps rubbing them like he's trying to get awake, but can't.

"You got up," he mumbles to Lance.

"Yeah, babe, it's breakfast time," Lance says softly, pulling Keith's hand down and replacing it with his own, brushing Keith's hair out of his eyes, cupping his face. Keith hums and closes his eyes. He's drooped across the space between their seats, spine bending. "You feeling okay? What's the matter?"

Keith hums again. It sounds like I don't know to Lance, but then Keith turns his head, pressing his face into Lance's hands.

"Hands feel good," he mumbles.

Keith always seems to run a little warmer than average. He's always sweating, always kicking off the covers at night, always stripping off extra layers, always comfortable even though the Castle is so drafty. Probably due to his alien genetics, he has acclimated to cold space a lot better than Lance certainly has. Lance has gotten used to (and taken advantage of) this on more than one occasion. He considers it a perk that his boyfriend is essentially a space heater and he is not above crowding in close to Keith whenever he's cold, in public or private. He's used to the heat of Keith's palms whenever he lays them on Lance's skin or even holds his hand.

So that Keith's face feels a little warm to him is not something Lance would normally find concerning, especially since he just woke up. Lance moves one hand from Keith's cheek, feeling his forehead with the back of his fingers.

He's…. Maybe he's too warm. Had he felt warm earlier?

It's hard to tell.

Lance combs his hair back again, holding Keith's face tenderly between his hands and shifting to the edge of his seat so they're closer together.

"Keith," Lance says again, more firmly, "Do you feel alright?"

"Hm?" Keith opens his eyes and looks at Lance. And right there. Something is definitely wrong. His eyes are unfocused and too dark, tinged with yellow, and Keith blinks slowly before answering. "'M okay."

Lance scoffs, "Okay."

"Is he ill?" Allura asks.

She's already come around the table, and Lance sits back, letting go of Keith so Allura can feel his forehead next. Maybe she's a better judge of temperature. They don't find out. At the loss of Lance's hands, Keith lets out a low, desperate whine that makes Lance feel so guilty he immediately reaches for him again - at the same time that Allura rests her hand on Keith's forehead. Keith flinches away from her touch, his hand snapping up to bat hers away.

Startled, Allura steps back as Keith sinks down into Lance's lap. He holds Lance's hands against his face and moans softly until Lance moves them into his hair, confused, but cradling Keith's head against his lap. Keith groans, "Sorry, 'llura…" and "Don't…" against Lance's legs, holding the back of his knees.

Having Keith drapped half-naked across his lap is usually something Lance has zero complaints about. But this? He's not usually like this, even when he wants to get frisky, even when his cycle hits that low point where he wants to snuggle almost 24/7. Lance runs his fingers through Keith's hair, trying to soothe him, while he looks at the others in alarm.

Keith being sick is not something he's had to deal with before. Only him and Pidge (and occasionally Hunk) have really caught anything like a cold since they've been in space. Lance is also berating himself a little bit. He should have realized sooner that something was wrong, because this is not 'don't really feel good' sick, this is 'should have been in bed with medicine days ago but have been silently muscling through it' sick, and Lance feels a sense of unease creeping into his gut.

He had noticed Keith was quieter than usual. That he was sluggish, and eating less, and seeming tired throughout the day even though Keith is usually in bed first every night, anyway. Lance is the night owl, Keith is the morning person. He's wanted to cuddle more than they normally do, and they cuddle a lot.

Lance had just been enjoying the attention. Keith had said that he was fine when Lance asked about the slightly-off feeling he was getting through their bond. And now Keith is like this; slumped weakly against his legs at the breakfast table, body too-warm with potential fever. His breathing sounds fine, at least - he isn't wheezing or chugged up or anything - but he seems so fatigued that Lance wonders if he'll even be able to stand.

"Okay," Lance says, putting his hand under Keith's arm to urge him up, "C'mon, Keith, let's get you back to bed."

"'M not sick," Keith mumbles, holding onto Lance's legs.

He doesn't want to let go, and Lance looks helplessly at Allura. She shakes her head, brow creased. Keith specifically asked her not to touch him, and she's not going to upset him further. Lance doesn't really want her to. He's just sort of lost on what to do here. He tries again to coax Keith into standing, to get him to go to bed. Lance can't get up with Keith holding onto him like this. Just when Lance decides he's going to have to try, and also going to have to carry him, Keith finally lets Lance pull him upright.

He sways on his feet at first, but he holds his own weight after holding onto Lance's arm for support. He slides his grip down to Lance's hand, using the other to rub his eyes again.

Lance pulls his hand down, frowning.

"Keith. Do your eyes hurt?"

"No…"

Lance changes his tone because he doesn't believe him, "Are you lying?"

A hum this time, still negative.

"'M not sick," Keith says again, knees bending as he tries to drop his head on Lance's shoulder, "'M just tired…"

Lance dodges him, and feels bad for doing it. Keith's head nods and then jerks back up, hand tightening in confusion around Lance's fingers. Lance stoops a bit to get a better look at Keith's face through his dark hair. Maybe his eyes are just red because he keeps rubbing them - they aren't gummy or watery. He isn't sneezing or coughing. It couldn't possibly be allergies.

The Galra yellow seems to have faded, so Keith is at least less agitated than he was when he came in.

Lance works his worry into a steady voice.

"I know, babe, c'mon," Lance says, guiding Keith around their chairs and toward the door, "Let's get some rest. I'll lay down with you for a while."

He glances over his shoulder at Coran, who is on his feet, as well, before Lance can even ask.

"I'll go and put together a medicinal cocktail, see if that helps perk him up a bit," he says, hurrying off.

Pidge is making that not-to-be-hateful face, shirking along the far side of the room with their tablet and their plate of rolls, as if distance might stave off any germs Keith is carrying. They bolt out the door after Coran, "I can't get sick again. No offense, Keith."

"Lance, I'll save your breakfast for you," Hunk says, "And I'll make some soup for Keith. I'll bring it to you guys later, alright?"

"Sure. Thanks, bud," Lance says over his shoulder.

Allura falls into step behind them incase Lance needs help getting Keith to their room. He looks like he's on the verge of collapse, walking like he's half asleep and dragging his feet, and Allura feels a bit guilty, "I'm sorry if I upset you earlier, Keith."

"S'okay, 'llura," Keith says, head nodding, "Sorry for…"

He makes a noise and moves his hand, the one not wrapped around Lance's fingers, in a half-hearted attempt at a batting gesture.

Allura gives him a reassuring smile.

"It's alright. I understand."

She leaves them at the end of their communal hallway, saying she's going to make certain their schedule for the next few days is cleared - except for emergencies, of course - so Keith will have plenty of time to recover. Keith doesn't need any persuading at all to lay back down once he's certain that Lance is going to stay with him. He crawls into bed on top of the covers and curls back up around his pillow while Lance kicks off his shoes and strips out of most of his clothes again. He goes into the bathroom to fill a glass with water and brings it to Keith, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He puts his hand on Keith's back.

"Hey," he says, "drink something for me."

Keith is warm. Or getting warmer? Lance rubs his hand across the smooth planes of his back, interrupted by the occasional scar, and he can feel the unnatural heat under his palm. It's not good that Keith is this warm and he's not sweating. Right? That's a thing, isn't it?

"Don't want to," Keith mumbles. He reaches back with one hand, lands on Lance's prosthetic knee and tugs at the end of his boxer shorts. "Lance… 're you gonna lay down with me…?"

"I'll lay down as soon as you drink this," Lance says, turning Keith's hand and pushing the glass into it, curling his fingers around it, "Please? C'mon, Keith."

Keith lifts his head and frowns at Lance over his shoulder. Lance can't help grinning, glad to see that cranky and difficult Keith is in there under the clingy, disoriented Keith that has temporarily taken his place. It takes some effort for Keith to sit up again while holding onto the glass. Lance feels his forehead again, pushes a hand through his worryingly dry hair while he drinks. Keith hands the glass back to him empty, and Lance sets it on the bedside table beside a vase of fresh flowers and both their tokens.

Instead of turning back into the pillows, Keith settles across Lance's lap again, one arm crooked around his waist, face pressed against his hip and stomach. Lance laughs softly, resting one hand in Keith's hair and the other on his arm.

"Okay," Lance says, still trying to look at Keith's face around all his hair, "Guess I'm sitting here, then."

Keith is rubbing his eyes again with the hand of the arm that's caught underneath him, his elbow bumping into Lance's thigh. Lance wonders if his hair is part of the problem, itching his hot face, and scans the cluttered bedside table for a hair tie. He has to squash Keith between his legs and stomach in order to reach one - earns a disgruntled moan and a squeeze around his waist from Keith at the action. Lance murmurs apologies and diligently combs Keith's hair out of his face to make up for it, tying it up loosely at the nape of his neck.

Now that Keith is properly soothed and hydrated, Lance tries again to get him to talk, "You wanna tell me what's wrong?" Keith hums softly, boneless in Lance's lap. Lance stops petting him long enough to gain his attention. It doesn't do him much good. "Keith. What hurts? Does anything hurt? It's okay that you're sick, just tell me so I can make you feel better."

"Don't… feel sick," Keith says after a moment.

"Well, what does it feel like?" Lance asks, frowning. He's obviously not well.

"Tired," Keith says, "Told you 'm jus' tired, Lance… promise…."

Lance doesn't quite manage to bite back the frustrated sound he makes, but he keeps rubbing Keith's head, and arms, and back, and any part of him he can reach, until Coran knocks before entering with a hasty, "Didn't think you'd be preoccupied." He enunciates this with a wink that would be embarrassing if Lance wasn't convinced Keith is possibly dying right now. He's not nauseated, or hurting, or even sick he's just…. Hot . He's burning up and he's exhausted, and he's more than a little out of it now that he's in Lance's lap, like a cat that's wallowed in an entire field of catnip for hours on end.

Lance is curled over him, holding Keith's face between his hands and staring into his eyes, half-lidded and dark. He isn't even sure if Keith is staring back because aside from the occasional, languid blink, Keith doesn't move or say anything.

"You don't think he could have like a brain bacteria or something, do you, Coran?"

"It's a possibility!" Coran says this more cheerfully than the situation warrants as he sets his burdens on the bedside table, "Let's give him a quick scan, shall we?"

Lance looks up in dismay, only to realize that Coran has not only brought a couple of beakers of medicine, but also one of the hand-held scanners from the ward. He feels a wash of gratitude, sitting up out of the way and holding Keith still (as if he has the energy to struggle) so Coran can get a clean scan the first time. Coran sits beside Lance on the bed after the scan is finished so they can look over the results together.

"Temperature and blood pressure appears a bit high," Coran says, swiping the vitals aside, "But that's to be expected if he's ill. Everything else seems okay, though. Brain activity is normal, so there's no sign of bacteria growing in there! Heart, lungs, stomach - " Coran swipes each new detailed organ aside as he confirms, "All fine."

Lance thought this would make him feel better.

"So what's wrong with him?" he asks, snatching the tablet out of Coran's hands and glaring at it.

"Generally, your Earth colds don't turn up in the scan," Coran reminds him.

"A cold doesn't explain why his only symptom is to be tired. And an oven," Lance adds, frustrated as he thumbs through the readouts again, looking for anything out of the ordinary, "It says his temperature is 109! Coran, that's impossible, that's way too high! He's not even sweating! He can't be dehydrated, he's been in a climate-controlled room sleeping for like…. Seven vargas."

Coran puts a grounding hand on Lance's arm, and Lance lets Coran take the tablet back, distracts himself with looking at Keith and making sure he's breathing. He is, nice and even just like he does when he's sleeping, thich eyelashes dusting his perfect cheekbones. Lance would never know he was sick if Keith wasn't acting so weird, and if he couldn't feel the heat radiating over his legs and stomach. Touching Keith right now is like walking into a furnace.

Coran sets the tablet aside and stands, picking up one of the narrow beakers from where he set them on the table.

"Have him drink this one first."

Lance recognizes the blue liquid as one he and the others have had to take for fevers before, and relaxes again. He doesn't know why he didn't think Coran would come in here prepared. He shakes Keith gently and gets a soft groan in response, Keith's arm tightening around his waist, face turning into his leg. Lance shakes him more insistently.

"Keith. I need you to sit up and drink this."

Keith turns his head, blinks at him a couple of times, and then eases himself up so he's sitting beside Lance, who feels bad about the instant relief that comes with the touch of cool air on his front. It's a test of his self control to not fan the front of his t-shirt. 

He hands Keith the beaker.

"All of it, alright?"

Keith is surprisingly complacent after being in Lance's lap. He drinks the medicine slowly, but all at once, only making a face at the taste that lingers in his mouth afterward.

"One more," Lance says encouragingly.

The second beaker that Coran hands him is lime green.

"This should clear his head a bit," Coran says, making a circular gesture near his own face as Lance plays middle-man and passes Keith the new beaker, taking back the old one, "Get rid of whatever is going on in here."

"I'm still worried that his fever is so high…"

"Well, I'm no medical expert," Coran says, brushing the curl of his mustache down with one finger while they both watch Keith drink the medicine that Coran prepared for him with no medical expertise to speak of. Lance suddenly really hopes Pidge was in on this cocktail making. "But so long as he's lucid, he should be fine. His temperature is typically a few degrees higher than what you consider normal, anyway, if you remember your Galra biology. We'll worry about it if you can't wake him up in an hour or so, or if he turns green and starts sprouting hair out of his - "

"Okay, Coran," Lance says quickly, not wanting the mental image, whatever it is, "I get it. I'm a worrier and Keith is gonna be just fine. Right, Keith?"

"Yeah," Keith says, surprising Lance so much with his promptness that Lance actually starts. He's staring down into the empty beaker in his hand, resting in his lap. There's a bit of liquid pooling in the bottom of it, trailing slowly down the insides. Keith swirls it in a small circle then looks up at Lance. "I'm not sick, Lance." This sentence is clearer than any of the others have been, and Lance's heart leaps at the slight confusion in Keith's voice, the crease of his eyebrows that makes it plain on his face as he looks up, "Why are you giving me all this medicine?"

"Ah, there he is," Coran says brightly, swinging his arm.

"Man, that magic Altean medicine stuff works fast!" Lance throws his arms around Keith's shoulders and pulls him into a tight hug. Keith grunts at being jostled, lifts his empty hand to touch Lance's arm. Lance sits back after a few seconds, keeps his hands on Keith's shoulders and looks into Keith's eyes. "Seriously, Keith. How are you feeling? Are you okay? You really scared me, man…"

"Sorry," Keith says. He still looks confused, wilted like a flower under the midday sun, with too much color dusting his cheeks, but it's nothing like the dazed lethargy he just broke out of. "I woke up and you weren't here… I missed you."

Lance feels his own cheeks warm, this dumb happy smile growing on his face at such an honest statement. He doesn't let that get them off subject.

"Do you remember coming to get me then? In the dining hall? You were really out of it…"

Keith blinks at him, trying to think.

"Allura was there?" Lance nods, and Keith frowns, drops his head into his hand. "I thought I was dreaming. I don't…. know. I don't feel right. Not like sick or anything, I'm just…"

"Does it feel like your mating cycle?" Lance asks, "It's like, three months off, but…"

"No…." Keith is shaking his head, rubbing his face. "It's not that, Lance. I don't know. My whole body aches. My head aches…."

"Okay. We can fix that," Lance says, relieved, looking around.

Coran hands him the last beaker from the bedside table.

"One more down the hatch," the advisor says jubilantly. Keith makes a face at the dark pink, syrupy liquid, but drains it without complaints. "Now, you should be able to have another dose of each in about five vargas, if you need it. In the meantime, adequate rest!"

"Thanks, Coran," Keith says, handing back the empty beaker, "Sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble at all, my lad." Coran waves his apology away, stowing the scanner tablet under his arm and collecting the empty beakers. "We want to see you in tip-top shape as soon as possible. So don't hesitate to call me if you need anything else!"

"We will," Lance assures him, "Thanks, Coran."

Coran waves away his thanks, as well, as leaves them alone. Keith is already trying to get under the covers ( why when he must be roasting alive) when Lance comes back from refilling the glass of water. Lance sets the glass aside within easy reach and crawls across the bed, to help Keith pull up and straighten out the blankets so they can both slide under them. Keith immediately crowds into Lance's space. He buries his face against that place in the crook of Lance's neck, arms around his middle, and sighs contentedly against the mark there.

"Better," he murmurs.

Despite saying it has nothing to do with his cycle, he's exhibiting a lot of the usual symptoms. Hopefully the medicine will at least bring down his fever... Lance turns slightly into his back, folding his arms around Keith's shoulders and hugging him close.

He smiles against the top of Keith's head.

"Y'know if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes. I would have cradled you in my arms, Keith." Lance's chuckle turns into a yelp when Keith savagely pinches his side, but he only hugs Keith tighter. "I'm joking! Jeez, cariño, lighten up!"

They're quiet for a few minutes, breaths falling in sync. Lance is staring over the top of Keith's head, trying hard not to overthink this. He feels kind of heavy inside, feeling out the bond they share and that weird sensation that he can't place. That's pathetic, isn't it? Keith is the one who's isn't feeling well, and Lance suddenly wants to be reassured. He can tell by Keith's slow breathing that he's still awake, but doesn't really want to bother him with this...

He still says, "Keith," his voice soft, "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good?" 

Keith tightens his arms slightly, turns his face into Lance's collar.

"Sorry."

"Dude, don't. I'm the one who should apologize, I didn't even notice. I mean, I noticed, but I didn't…. I didn't think anything of it."

Lance plays with the ponytail at the nape of Keith's neck, twirling the soft, thick strands between his fingers. It distracts him and comforts Keith, so it's a win-win gesture of affection. Lance is feeling pretty selfish right now…. Keith has an almost sixth sense for when Lance isn't feeling well - knows when his leg is hurting and the pain is getting to him even though he's trying not to show it by the nuances in his mood.

When Lance is sick he's… alright, he's whiney. He was always coddled at home. He's used to being held and talked to and indulged, so he can be kind of demanding and snappy when he doesn't feel good or when he's hurting. Keith does all that stuff for him, anyway. He puts up with the constant weepy complaints and requests and he gets a little snappy back sometimes, but he's mostly radiating that calm, understanding energy that helps them both pull through it.

Lance feels like he dropped the ball on this one. He tries to justify it,

"You've just never been sick before…"

And that backfires.

"Couple a times."

Keith mumbles this, his voice drowsy-sounding and far away again, and Lance pulls away, tipping Keith's head back into the crook of his elbow so he can see his face. Keith's eyes are closed again, his grip around Lance loose and heavy. The pain medicine must be kicking in. It makes Lance giddy and stupid for about five minutes and then always knocks him straight out - it's why he hates taking it for his leg, Altean medicine is just Like That when interacting with human biology - but Keith has always had a slightly higher tolerance to the stuff.

Lance gives him a small shake.

"Run that by me again?  ….Keith."

"Hm?"

"You've been sick before? While we've been in space?"

"Mhm."

"Are you serious? Keith, why didn't you say anything when you were sick? I had no idea. Here I was thinking you've got some super immune system... Why're you like this, mullet?"

"'M used to taking care of myself," Keith mumbles, "'S easier."

"Easier on who?" Lance half-laughs this, incredulous. He can't find it in his heart to be angry. It's partly his own fault for being so oblivious. He's definitely going to be on high-alert now. "Keith, you're burning up right now. We could have fixed this days ago if you had just told one of us you needed something. You listen to me whine and complain all the time, the least I can do is get you some Spacequil," he says, smiling full on when Keith kind of drunk giggles and buries a smile of his own against Lance's arm. The medicine has definitely kicked in. "What's something that'll make you feel better, huh? … Are you still awake? Keith?"

Keith hums quietly like he's giving it some serious thought, but he's pretty far gone. Lance sighs, tempering his disappointment. A deep surge of affection floods his chest at the sight of Keith sleeping in his arms like this, anyway. Keith trusts him completely, in a way that he has trusted only two other people in his entire life, and it really shines through in moments like this.

Lance is glad that Keith feels safe, that he's a comforting presence.

Keith stirs.

"Dad used to sing t'me," he says.

The words are out of his mouth like it costs him nothing to say them, and Lance is holding his breath. It's rare that Keith talks about his dad. He does when Lance asks, or when something suddenly comes to mind, but he has never volunteered anything so effortlessly. Lance usually has to poke and prod him a bit. He doesn't really like to talk about it.

Keith obviously thinks something is funny, though. He mumbles with a sleepy laugh, "But I don't wanna hear you sing it."

Lance covers up his surprise and his heart ache with a small laugh, "Sing what?"

"That song."

"What song, cariño?"

"It goes… goes like…"

Keith hums a few bars, slow and stilted, slurred together on each exhale. Lance doesn't recognize it, though he isn't sure if it's because the tune itself is unfamiliar or because Keith can't replicate it in his current state. Lance still imitates the rhythm, dissolving into stifled laughter when Keith brings a clumsy hand up to cover his face, his mouth.

"Wow, rude," Lance murmurs, dragging Keith's heavy hand down, "You don't want me to serenade you, babe?"

"No."

"You gonna get mad if I do it anyway?"

"No," Keith laughs.

"You want me to just hum something?" Lance asks, pulling Keith up into a tight hug that pushes another breathy laugh out of him. He presses his lips against Keith's forehead, yanks his face back at the dampness he meets there. "Oh okay, now you're gonna sweat, huh? That's cool." He lifts a hand to feel Keith's forehead, and hopes he isn't tricking himself into thinking he feels a little cooler. "Keith?"

Keith hums at him. It's got a different pitch than the others, an impulse response to hearing his name. He's not awake.

----

"Aw man, he mentioned his dad?" Hunk drops a card onto the precarious stack resting between himself and Lance, picks up two more. "He must be feeling bad."

"Right? I can never get him to talk about that stuff and then he gets all doped up on medicine and just - " Lance makes a gesture with his free hand, frowning at the set of cards he has in the other. "Woosh , out of nowhere he tells me his dad used to sing to him. I dunno if he meant all the time, or just when he was sick, or bedtime, or what. I'm burning with questions now, Hunk. I mean. Keith knows every single detail about my parents - even stuff I don't wanna know, y'know? - and I can't even remember his dad's name because I've only heard it about three times."

"Seriously, Lance? His dad's name is - "

"I know what it is, Hunk! I'm just being dramatic!"

"You could always ask him about it later," Hunk points out.

"He doesn't like talking about it."

"Okay, not talking about something and not liking to talk about something are not synonymous with one another, especially with Keith. Don't be dumb, you should know that by now."

"Maybe it's something he wants to keep private," Lance mumbles, shuffling his cards around. He is, of course, objectively aware that he has blabbed this private thing to Hunk, who will inevitably tell Pidge and Coran. Allura somehow seems to be aware of every small thread of gossip in the Castle, so there's really no hope of keeping it from her. Lance goes on nonetheless, "And that's totally fine, y'know? I just. I want him to want to talk to me about that stuff. About anything. I feel like I over-share sometimes and he doesn't really share at all. I get that it's probably painful for him. But still."

"Tell him that," Hunk says, like he's said it a million times.

To be fair, he has.

Lance gives him a weak glare before he glances at Keith, who's still sprawled, sleeping, under the sheets on the other side of the bed. He seems to have sweat his fever out, and his hair has suffered the consequences. It's the most impressive bedhead Lance has seen to date - that hair tie never stood a chance. Keith is apparently a restless sleeper when he's sick. He's moved around a lot. He rolled away from Lance a short while after passing out (put a solid elbow in Lance's chin in the process) and Lance had unrepentantly rolled out of bed and changed his clothes because they were damp and sticking to him and they reeked.

He normally doesn't mind smelling like Keith - he's so comfortable with it he hardly even notices Keith's scent anymore - but not his fever sweat.

He had snuck out to get food and ran into Hunk, who was on his way to visit them with breakfast, a self-warming thermos of soup, and a deck of cards in tow like the true champion that he is. Keith has slept the entire time they've been sitting here talking in low voices, which Lance knows is a good thing even though he can't help marking how unnatural it is. Keith hasn't even woken up to eat or drink anything. Lance keeps leaning over him to make sure he's breathing, or touching him, or fussing with his hair or the blanket.

Keith gets more restless when he does, and Hunk has scolded him for it about a dozen times.

"Dude," he says warningly when Lance's hand moves on its own to brush Keith's hair out of his face, "Let him rest."

"I know." Lance is not pouting.

"Stop pouting."

Lance sighs and rolls his eyes, tossing the cards down.

"I can't just sit here like this! It's killing me, Hunk."

Hunk scoops together all of the cards fanned out across the rumpled sheets and starts giving them a good shuffle.

"If you're getting cabin fever, just go take a walk or something, man. I know you've got stuff to do. Also," Hunk gives him a pointed look, "Lance. I love you, bud. But you gotta stop thinking you gotta be with him every second when he's not in great shape."

Lance's eyebrows climb in surprise.

"What?"

"You get like - " Hunk pauses to think. He drops the cards, holds his hands up on either side of his face with his fingers curled in like a cat. "Y'know those like super old Garfield suction cups people used to put on their car windows when we were little?"

"Yeah?"

"That's you every time Keith's in a healing pod."

"It is not!"

"I mean, Keith is the exact same way when it's you in a pod."

"We don't do that!"

Lance probably feels so offended by the comparison because there is maybe one iota of truth to it. They're…. overprotective. Hunk picks up his comm from where it's resting on his knee, taps one of the quick-select contacts on the front screen, and says, "Hey, Pidgeon?"

"What is it, Hunk?" Pidge answers right away.

"What's Team Laith like whenever one of them is in a healing pod?"

"Like one of those suction cup guys on the back of my grandparents' car."

"Thank you," Hunk says far too smugly.

Lance scowls.

Pidge asks, "How's he doing, by the way? Any better?"

"Nah. I mean, it's kinda hard to tell. He's still sleeping."

Hunk and Lance both glance over. Keith has been miraculously still the past several minutes. Lance picks up his own comm from the bedside table to check the time. It's been a little over four vargas, and he wonders if Keith is hurting again, if he should try waking him up to eat and take some more medicine or just leave him be. Lance is aware of Hunk watching him now while he talks to Pidge. Wanting to go stretch his legs - and maybe his muscles on the training deck - just to be petty and prove he's not an alleged "smotherer" is instantly at war with Lance's desire to stay with Keith.

Hunk is right, though. (Hunk is always right.)

Lance hates feeling useless, and he isn't going to make Keith better by hovering and constantly bothering him. He needs to rest. And even with the lights dimmed like they are, he usually prefers sleeping in the near-dark. Lance tosses his comm down, gets to his feet and makes a show out of stretching his arms overhead, popping the kinks out of his shoulders and back. He's been sitting too long, and the one leg he has left that actually feels anything is cramped from being folded under him. Some exercise will be good, even if it's just getting out of the room for a few minutes and distracting himself.

"Want me to hang out here?" Hunk asks.

He winces in surprise and mutes the comm he's still holding when Pidge immediately starts to riot - "Hunk, stop enabling them -"

Lance hesitates. "Yeah?"

And Hunk shrugs. "Yeah, man, I'll keep an eye on him for you."

Lance relaxes, smiling.

"Thanks, Hunk. Sorry. I know there's nothing to worry about. I just...." Lance raises his hands in a half-thought-out gesture and then drops them. He sighs. "I dunno."

He catches Hunk giving him an appraising look.

"Lance, you feeling alright?"

It shouldn't, but the question catches Lance off guard. He takes a moment to assess. He's been trying to ignore it, but now that he's paying attention to it…. he does sort of feel not-right somehow. It's hard to describe. A sort of numbness, pins and needles, prickling his lungs. It feels like the cold swoop down his spine right before a panic attack hits him out of the blue, except this time it's been sitting there at the back of his skull, tripping over his skin in small increments.

Lance takes a deep breath and hopes it's subtle.

"I feel okay."

"Not like you're maybe coming down with whatever Keith's got?"

"Alright, I'm not feeling my best," he admits, "But I'm confident it's just self-induced stress."

Lance smiles, hoping the action and the talking is enough to derail this. He rubs his chest, wanting a different feeling than the one bubbling up beneath the cage of his ribs. This is stupid and he knows it. He is not about to have a sudden breakdown because Keith is sick. He is not about to go to pieces over something so stupid. He's not -

"Keith's gonna be fine, Lance," Hunk tells him. There's that little crease between his brows and that pout to his lips that lets Lance know his face has done something that isn't sitting well with Hunk, who knows him too well for Lance to be trying to sneak anything past him. "You sure you're okay?"

He still gives it a shot.

He's got this.

He's fine.

"Just restless. I just need to move around a little, get my mind off of this. I'll be on the training deck."

"Alright. Hey, wait a sec," Hunk consults his comm as Lance pulls on a pair of joggers from the open dresser and moves toward the door. "Pidge says they'll meet you there."

That distraction definitely helps.

"Hunk! Have you had them on mute this whole time?"

"Maybe?"

"Wow, how mad are they at you?"

"Scale of one to ten?" Hunk reads the latest of Pidge's texts, blinking to life across the semi transparent screen.  He laughs, "Over 9,000."

----

Well, Pidge is in an irritable mood from being ignored, but that's sort of a good thing.

They talk when they're mad - an uninterrupted rambling that Lance only has to lend half an ear to while he runs through a mid-level training exercise. It's challenging enough that he has to work for his score, but easy enough that he can interject the proper response to something whenever Pidge takes a breath. Mostly, it's complaints about Hunk, which Lance gets. He remains a steadfast neutral party, both because he understands the need to vent and because there's a small part of him that wonders, absently, if this is anything like what everyone else in the Castle went through when Lance was in denial about his feelings and constantly bitching about Keith every time he even breathed.

Because that's what it feels like, and Lance can't help smiling at the irony as he drops his last target and the field resets. It shows his final count and run time on the holographic screen over head. Pidge's voice reaches him over the loudspeaker, since Lance didn't bother putting on his armour or helmet. He doesn't need the protection when it's target practice, focusing on his speed and agility, the fluidity of switching between bayards, rather than locking with an opponent.

Pidge is on about some math thing now, which baffles and amuses Lance in equal turns. He doesn't know how you can math wrong, but evidently - in Pidge's very highly regarded opinion - Hunk does.

"He uses the Tarbeler method to redact quantum leaps!! Can you even believe that? And then he looks right at me and he says- "

Lance activates another round from the screen, says, "Wow, seriously?" when he hears Pidge pause. They go, "I know!!!" and they're off about whatever the "proper" method is.

Lance drops his first few targets in rapid succession, spins after the others as the small spheres start fleeing at random, flitting in between one another to try and confuse him. It's an easy rhythm to fall into. He is still aware of that stickiness in the back of his ribs that makes him feel like a loud noise at any moment might shatter his composure, but he's pushing it back, giving it less and less attention.

Lance's takes a deep breath, turns and fires.

He tunes out Pidge's voice, focused solely on finding his next target. Movement on his right. Lance pivots, swings his gun up. Ice burns through his veins when he realizes it's Keith he sees through the scope. It's Keith, stumbling into the arena, three feet in front of him. A strangled noise catches in Lance's throat as he jerks back, bayard disintegrating in his hands. His heart punches hard into his throat and his open, empty hands are shaking.

He almost shot -

"Keith."

Lance only gets a glimpse of Keith's face - twisted up, flushed red and streaked with tears, eyes dilated and full-blown yellow - before Keith is collapsing into his arms. He makes no effort to hold himself up outside of weakly gripping Lance's shirt, fingers pinching into his skin. His breath explodes across the collar of Lance's shirt in a half sob.

It's up to Lance to support his weight, and his own legs are weak.

"Oh my god," Lance breathes. Keith's weight pulls him down and Lance sinks to his knees, hugging Keith against his body, "Oh my god. Keith. What're you doing….?"

If he wasn't just barely staving off a panic attack before, he is trembling on the precipice now. Lance scans the training deck. The sequence deactivated the moment the door opened, in the heartbeat in between Lance taking his final shot and turning at the hint of movement. All the orbs are gone, the holographic screen lighting up in bold red letters.

"Sequence parameters breached. Unauthorized combatant. Continue?"  

It takes Lance longer than it should for him to realize he's staring at Hunk over Keith's bare shoulder, that Hunk is saying something as he jogs up to them, breathless, "Lance, I am so sorry, man, he started getting restless and woke himself up and when he asked me where you were I told him, but he didn't believe me and he seemed really upset and when I got up to call Coran and get him something to drink because he's burning up again and I was worried, I was only gone for like two minutes and when I came back he was gone and - "

The door to the observation deck slides open and Pidge rushes out. Catching germs seems to be the furthest thing from their mind now. They run right up to their teammates, mirroring the concern that's palpable in every one of Hunk's movements, in every line of his face.

"Lance, you almost shot him in the head!"

"What?!" Hunk yelps.

"Stop!!"

Hunk and Pidge snap their mouths closed. Lance's chest is vibrating from the force of his breath, from pushing the word out. He squeezes his eyes closed, makes himself take a deep breath. His voice cracks, "Just… Stop. Everybody calm down."

Lance relaxes his hold on Keith, and does not miss the way his palms stick to Keith's overly warm skin. It reminds Lance more of a sunburn than a fever. Keith has his face tucked in against Lance's shoulder, against his mark, his arms locked weakly around Lance and pinning his arms to his sides, body curling into Lance's lap. His breathing is harsh and short in Lance's ear. He's trembling, a tiny sound escaping past his lips with every exhale that's muffled in Lance's shirt.

"Keith," Lance says, surprisingly steady. He moves a hand up into Keith's hair, alarmed by how damp it is, cupping the back of his head. "Hey, I got you, buddy. Sorry. You okay? What hurts, Keith?"

Lance knows something hurts.

Keith wouldn't be crying - wouldn't be shaking like this, his body tense and trembling, muscles weak with it - if he wasn't hurting, bad. The guy has a disconcertingly high tolerance for pain. For it to reduce him to this it must be agonizing. Lance pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. He slides his other hand across Keith's back, and a noise catches in Keith's throat as he tenses.

"Every…. everything," the word is rushed and mumbled, pinned beneath a groan. Keith's hands twist in Lance's shirt, then loosen. He just doesn't have the strength. His body convulses again, breath heavy and noisy, "Everything hurts, Lance…. Why'd you… why'd you leave me…?"

Keith sucks in a shuddering breath, can't even finish what he's saying, and Lance's heart completely breaks. He wants to pull away so he can hold Keith's face in his hands, wants to kiss him and tell him that he'd never, ever leave him, not for anything in the universe - but Lance pulls him closer instead, sitting back so Keith has more room in his lap, so his leg doesn't go numb under their weight.

"Hey," he says softly, his hand moving through Keith's hair, "No no no, Keith, I'm right here. I'm so sorry, I'm not going anywhere. It's gonna be okay."

"I'll go get Coran," Hunk says in a hushed voice, running for the door, "I dunno if this is a Galra thing or what, but something's not right."

Pidge hesitates, stepping closer. They crouch down near Lance's side, examining Keith with a critical eye.

Lance keeps his attention focused on Keith.

"Just take a deep breath," he says, "Keith. Can you breathe with me?"

Keith chokes on a sound, a short jerk going into his lungs, wracking his body. He nods after a few seconds, and Lance pulls in a slow breath, counts to five, and lets it out. Keith tries to do the same - chest expanding against Lance's, exhale loud against his ear. Lance has never seen him like this and has to swallow down his own rising panic. His heart is thundering in protest as he keeps breathing, slow and even. They do this for a few minutes until Keith finally gets a full breath inside of him, then another, and another - until he starts to calm somewhat.

Lance's shirt is soaked, warm and clinging to him. Keith's fever has resurfaced and he feels like a furnace again, but he's still dressed only in his pajama pants, and Lance can't tell if the feeble trembling is from chills or the pain that he's feeling. Maybe it's both. He needs more medicine. He needs to be back in bed. How did it hit him so bad, so suddenly? Lance has a feeling that something more serious is wrong - this is not just a cold, he thinks, this can't be just an average cold - but he has to prioritize.

Keith is slack in Lance's arms. Lance is worried that he's passed out, asks softly, "Keith? You still with me, babe?" He moves his hand along Keith's shoulder blade.

Pidge latches onto his wrist, and Lance jerks in surprise.

He had forgotten they were even here, and cranes his neck to look at them over the top of Keith's matted hair. Pidge lifts his hand away, peels his arm up from where it's sweat-stuck to Keith's back; asks sharply, "Lance, is this a rash?"

"What?"

"These marks on his back - Oh."

"'Oh', what do.you mean 'oh', Pidge?!"

Lance shifts Keith's position in his arms so he can see for himself, and Keith's head rolls on his shoulder, his eyes closed and breathing shallow. He doesn't see anything unexpected - Keith's pale skin is flushed slightly with his elevated temperature. Lance watches as Pidge, frowning, swipes their hand across Keith's back. His own hand is resting on Keith's bare shoulder.

Pidge's eyes lift to it, and they grab his wrist again to move his hand.

"Oh," Lance's voice trembles out.

The place where his hand had been resting is covered in small circular marks, red and raw-looking with white spider webbing in between them. These marks pulsate slightly, grow and shrink and spread to cover more surface area along Keith's shoulder, and then fade away without a trace. It looks like a second degree burn, wet welts beneath the first and second layer of his skin. A burn like that doesn't just come and go as it pleases. Lance's heart is throbbing painfully, caught in his throat.

Pidge puts their own hand on Keith's shoulder, presses firmly, and lifts it again.

Nothing happens.

Lance tentatively puts his hand back down - and sees it when he's hovering a few inches above Keith's skin. The spots return, flashing into existence. Keith stirs and makes a noise of discomfort, a crease forming between his eyebrows. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline and down his chin. Lance jerks back from him, shoving Keith away from his front.

The red marks bloom hungrily under his grip on Keith's arms, eating up the skin-to-skin contact, and Keith's head lifts, eyes opening a fraction, sclera still a pale yellow, as he struggles to comprehend the sudden movement and steady himself without Lance to lean against. He clutches at Lance's shirt, disoriented. There are marks all down his front too, blistering the side of his face where it was pressed to Lance's shoulder. His skin is dark red and streaked with white, but the marks here aren't as prominent and bright as the ones directly under Lance's hands.

"Wha's wrong….?" Keith asks, the words heavy on his tongue.

He doesn't even notice when the door of the training deck slides open. Lance and Pidge both jump. Coran strides in with Hunk right behind him, an uncharacteristically grim expression on his face. This morphs into outright shock when he gets closer. He notices the pulsating marks right away.

Coran leaps forward, his hand outstretched

"Quiznak! Don't touch him!"

Lance is already touching him - Keith loses what meager strength he had and doubles over against him, draped across his lap, breathing hard and moaning in pain - and he isn't about to let go. He's kind of bordering on hysteria at the moment.

"What do you mean don't touch him, Coran, what is this!"

"Sorry! Don't panic! Just get your hands off him - "

Lance opens his mouth to protest.

Pidge cuts across him, grips Keith's elbow gently and slides an arm between him and Lance.

"I'll take him," they say, "It's fine."

Reluctant, Lance slowly pulls Keith's hands away and stands, letting Pidge ease into his place on the floor. The marks on Keith's body start blinking rapidly, flitting along his skin like deep sea fish in search of light before they fade away. They don't resurface when Pidge touches him, shifting Keith around so his head is resting in their lap - or when Coran kneels beside him and picks up his wrist, placing his palm around Keith's forearm and squeezing like he's feeling for something. Some of the tension seems to have gone out of Keith, because he sighs softly, his eyes closed again, and Lance feels something unpleasant lurch in his gut.

Lance stands over them, arms hugged tightly around his middle. He shaking like a leaf, his whole body tingling at the loss of Keith's heat.

Coran looks up.

"Hunk, I need you to carry him to the med bay."

"I can carry him," Lance says immediately.

"No," Coran's firm tone stops him in his tracks, "You can't touch him. I'll explain in a moment, let's get him to the med bay first, alright? He needs treatment."

"So it's - it's okay if I touch him?" Hunk's asks, wringing his hands.

He shoots a nervous look at Lance, who has no idea what his face is even doing right now, doesn't bother schooling it into something neutral when he feels all twisted up inside.

Coran beckons impatiently.

"Yes, everyone but Lance is probably fine. Come on, let's be quick!"

----

Allura joins them in the med bay only moments after they arrive, with the mice sitting on her shoulders and urgently tugging at her hair, squeaking up a storm in tandem. Allura's expression of mild concern amplifies when she sees Keith on the examination table and the others crowded around him.  Pidge is putting an IV into his arm while Coran holds him still. This is just a precaution; Keith isn't conscious, and his fingers barely twitch at the sharp stick of the needle.

"Chuchule said Keith collapsed on the training deck," Allura says, the pink mouse in question chirping and bouncing as if to say he did I saw it with my own two eyes. Allura lifts a hand absently to quiet her. "What was he doing there? I thought he was resting."

Hunk launches into an explanation, if only temporarily calmer than before. Pidge picks up where Hunk leaves off after he left to get Coran. Allura's brow knits together at the mention of the strange marks and she stares at Keith, obviously noticing nothing out of the ordinary other than the uncomfortable heat of his skin.

"What marks?" she asks.

Coran answers her without looking up, squeezing the bag of fluid that is now attached to the IV in order to get it flowing. The tube fills with blue liquid and makes a slow path to Keith's arm. Lance watches it disappear into the pale vein in the bend of Keith's elbow, his hand covering his mouth and his arms tightly crossed.

"Mindus marks," Coran says.

"Mindus marks?" Lance does not like the frightened lift in Allura's voice, or the way her eyes jump to him, then back to Coran, "Is it presumptuous to assume that Lance is the host body?"

"Unfortunately, that's how it appears. Can you get the spray for me, Princess? We'll test everyone just to be certain."

"Yes, of course."

Lance feels a wave of nausea roll through him. It starts at the soles of his feet and gets stuck, burning, at the base of his throat. He's afraid to even open his mouth. Pidge and Hunk both look at him anxiously as Allura quickly crosses the room, deposits the chattering mice on a nearby stool, and opens one of the sliding cabinets. The mice stream down and run to Keith, climbing the table to huddle together and chirp softly near his shoulder.

Pidge pokes one of them when they attempt to crawl into Keith's hair, nudging them back.

"Okay," Hunk says, visibly trying not to panic, his big hands out in front of him. Years in space doesn't exactly desensitize you to learning something new and crazy. "You guys got me, I'm beyond pretty freaked out right now. What's a mindus?"

"It's a reclusive bacteria," Coran says.  His eyes are still on the slow drip of the IV, the bright fluid within. He settles Keith's arm more comfortably on the bed beside him before he looks up at the others. "My apologies for not explaining properly before. If it's left untreated before it reaches the final stage, it can be fatal! We caught it just in time."

Lance has no idea whether to feel vindicated that his worrying was not for nothing or to collapse with grief. His nerves are angling for the second one. Even though Coran told them all to avoid touching him when they were rushing Keith in here, Hunk reaches out and catches Lance by the arm when he starts to sink unthinkingly to the floor.

Fatal. Lances head is spinning, but he hangs onto that word. It can be fatal?

He becomes aware of Hunk's hand on him, snapping into focus. Lance wrenches his arm away and stumbles back a couple of feet.

"Lance." He looks at Allura. She's closer than he expects and her fingers graze the sleeve of his shirt before Lance jerks away from her too. Allura curls her fingers into her palm, her voice soft, "It's alright. Let Coran explain. It isn't as bad as it sounds."

"Wait, so does Lance have it, too?" Pidge asks. They've settled into the seat beside Keith's bed, arms folded on the mattress. They periodically lift their hand from playing with the mice to smooth Keith's hair back from his forehead, but they're looking at Lance with that same critical, assessing gaze. "He seems fine - well. Healthy. Sorry."

"I am fine," Lance insists. Emotionally? No, he is definitely not fine. But he doesn't feel sick. He doesn't hurt. He isn't hot. He isn't lying on the table right now with some weird bacteria possibly killing him, so why are they all looking at him? "I'm fine. What's wrong with Keith?"

Coran picks up a tablet and swipes his finger across it, moving it to a screen that hangs overhead for all of them to see. Coran pulls up a textbook picture of the bacteria at a microscopic level, some other relevant specs and pictures, and Pidge finally turns around in their seat to get a better look at it, frowning in thought.

"As I said, it's a bacteria. Almost exclusive to the planet Kerloom, though similar bacteria have been catalogued on planets with the same type of ecosystems. Lance must have come into contact with it whenever we visited Kerloom several movements ago. It can lie dormant for an entire deca-phoeb before it germinates, and it's undetectable until it does. That's why it didn't show up on the scan earlier this morning."

"I remember that mission," Hunk's says, groaning and fanning his hands, "Ugh, the humidity in that place. It was like a sauna."

"The perfect breeding ground for some freaky bacteria," Pidge allows, "But why'd you say Lance? Keith is the one that's sick."

"The Mindus bacteria needs a host in order to properly thrive, one that is separate from the body it occupies and leaches nutrients from," Allura says, "The host remains healthy while the other parties, well." She gestures awkwardly to Keith. "If Keith is the one the bacteria is rooting in, Lance is obviously the carrier - the person who transferred the bacteria to him in the first place."

"And how did he do that?" Pidge asks, like this is biology class, like Lance isn't choking on the sudden knowledge that he did this. He did this to Keith. "Why is Keith the only one infected? We've all come into contact with Lance at some point since leaving Kerloom. I mean, we live together. We do almost everything together. Why aren't the rest of us sick? And the entire ship, for that matter."

"Well, usually the bacteria is spread between partners," Allura says, her cheeks darkening, "Though it's not uncommon for it to spread to others if - "

Before she can launch into an explanation, Lance finds his voice - and loses his mind.

"I gave Keith some weird space STI!?!"

"No," Hunk says immediately, trying to derail him.

"An esty-what?" Coran asks, brow furrowing.

"An S-T-I, Coran, a sexually transmitted infection!" Coran and Allura both balk, as if they've never heard of such a thing. Lance splays his hands against his chest, panicked. He can't help that he's shaking, can't help that he's shouting, "How would I have even possibly gotten something like that! I've never - I've never been with anyone else…!"

"They have those on Earth?" Coran asks, alarmed.

"Yeah, they do," Pidge says with a grimace, "Lance, that's not what this is, obviously."

"She just said it was spread between partners, Pidge, I know what that means!!"

"I meant your saliva," Allura clarifies, quietly horrified, "Lance, you could have passed it to any one of us simply by sharing a drink or an eating utensil. It's only more commonly spread to partners due to your closer level of intimacy."

"Dude," Hunk says, "You had no way of knowing you were carrying some freaky space bacteria, this is not your fault."

"I know that, Hunk!"

"I know you know it, but you need to hear it - "

"I do not need to hear it!"

"Lance, it's okay - "

"Nothing about this is okay!! Nothing about this is okay!! God, Allura, is that  - is that why he's been so clingy with me lately? Is that why he's been so exhausted?"

"Yes," Allura says tentatively, "The fatigue and discomfort usually start several days prior to the bacteria's actual manifestation. Naturally, it is drawn to the host, so it releases endorphins whenever the host is nearby and amplifies them during physical contact as a kind of incentive. It needs that contact and the chemicals the host body is producing in order to survive. It needs the body it's occupying to burn as little energy as possible so there is more for the bacteria to feed on so it can grow, so victims are often lethargic. Keith may have sought you out on his own because he wasn't feeling well and he felt better when you were near, but he couldn't have possibly known that he was inadvertently adding to the potency of the bacteria's effects."

"It's when it gets to this stage that it needs to be treated right away," Coran says, "The bacteria has rooted fully in the muscle tissue and it starts to expand from there, absorbing more nutrients and causing some rather intense pain."

"While simultaneously making him feel good whenever he's touching Lance," Pidge doesn't look as disturbed to conclude this as Lance thinks they should, finger pressed against their bottom lip, "That's why Keith seemed like he was in pain when Lance was touching him, but he didn't want to be separated from him. The bacteria was coming to the surface of his skin to absorb whatever chemicals Lance is releasing for it and sending Keith's brain mixed signals in the process."

"That's about the size of it," Coran says, "Very astute, Number Five."

Lance throws both hands in the air.

"Well, I'm glad it's not as bad as it sounds! Because it sounds awful!!"

"Easy, bud," Hunk says. He lifts a hand toward Lance, who sidesteps him, scowling and anxious. Hunk isn't hurt by this, and goes on steadily, "Obviously, there's a way to get rid of the bacteria. What's that IV doing, Coran? Is that the treatment?"

"This is just to keep him sedated," Coran says, gesturing at the IV, the blue liquid steadily dripping into Keith's veins, "We can't treat Keith until we treat Lance. Unless the host body is properly cleansed, the bacteria will just germinate again."

Pidge pops their fist into their palm. "Like getting rid of the queen in an insect hive!"

"Precisely!"

"Can we be less excited about how fascinating this gross, deadly bacteria is and more focused on getting me disinfected?" Lance says impatiently, his stomach swooping with guilt at the apologetic look on Pidge's face, "Come on, what do I need to do?"

"You can start by opening your mouth and only saying ah," Allura says tentatively playful, trying to get him to relax. She's holding up the small bottle of spray that Coran asked her to get. "We'll have to prepare a proper dose, and issue a Castle-wide quarantine, but for now this will at least confirm our suspicions about you being the carrier. Everyone gets a mist, now open up!"

Lance does as she asks, and Allura sprays the medicine directly into his mouth. Lance recoils with a grimace, shuddering at the acidic taste. His mouth waters reflexively and Lance forces himself to swallow a few times, even though it burns down his throat like bile. He almost gags.

"Allura," he chokes, "That's worse than the nunvill."

"Good," she says, smiling, "That means it's working! Hunk, you're next!"

----

Being quarantined sucks worse than Lance thought it might.

Two days of isolation in a sterile room with a big glass window on one side, and Lance is really starting to appreciate the kind of life the aquarium fish his brother Marco kept when they were little must have faced. He has his tablet and his communicator, so he has plenty of things to do. The others sit on the other side of the glass and talk with him most of the time, if they can bring whatever they're working on with them, and obviously he's allowed out if they need him for an emergency.

He's not going to infect anyone else as long as he keeps his mouth to himself, and with Keith still in the med bay - slipping in and out of consciousness, fever spiking and fading as the bacteria in his body is being slowly starved out - that's not going to be a problem. Lance feels guilty every second he's stuck in here (every second he's away from Keith), but at least he can get some form of work done while he waits for the medicine he has to inject every two vargas to burn the mother bacteria cells out of him. He answers messages from members of the Coalition, video chats with most of them about supply routes and the colonies, and who's money, time, and effort is going where.

He's not looking forward to three more days of this. He keeps reflecting on their distant trip to Kerloom, trying to think of where or when he could have possibly come into contact with this bacteria. He did take his helmet off at one point, and had fallen in one of the many (many, many) swamps decorating the planet...

He is definitely going to be more cautious in the future.

Lance is lying on the bed, taking some comfort in his connection to Red, who he hasn't seen in a few days, either. No more stagnant pools of murky water for me, he tells the Lion jokingly, Give me the push and pull of the ocean any day. A rumble of agreement bridges their link, even though Red doesn't have quite the same sentiment. The revelry in motion, in rarely staying still, is what they share, and this sense of contentment drags across Lance's consciousness until it eases away his lingering anxieties.

"I'm worried about Keith," he says outloud to the empty room.

The others have kept him updated on how Keith is doing, but it's not the same as being there with him. Red agrees with that, as well, part of him still burning with protectiveness over the Black Paladin even though Keith is bonded with another. A familiar sensation brushes the edge of Lance's attention then, his and Red's connection lighting up with an additional presence, this one hazy, small and weary, but unmistakably, brilliantly Keith.

Lance gasps, launching into a sitting position as he twists toward the window.

Keith is standing there with his hand lifted, poised to tap on the glass. He looks a little startled - Red pulled him into the bond without asking and surprised them both - but then he smiles at Lance and puts his palm flat against the glass between them.

"Hey," he says.

Lance runs to the window.

"Hey," he says, both hands pressed to the glass, one directly over Keith's,

"How are you feeling?"

"Are you okay?"

They ask over the top of one another. Lance laughs, exasperated, and Keith drops his gaze, mouth tugging up at the corners.

"Keith. You're the one who's sick."

"You're the one stuck in there," Keith says, "I know it's probably driving you nuts."

"I'm fine," Lance says emphatically, scanning Keith up and down. He looks so much better than he did the last time Lance saw him. He's showered, his hair shiny and damp from it. He still looks tired though, wilting against the glass the longer he stands there, dark circles underneath his violet-bruised eyes. Lance hates this stupid window for separating them, but at the same time - he pulls his hands back suddenly, steps away. "Should you be up? Should you be in here? I don't want to - "

"Coran and Pidge both said it was okay," Keith says quickly.

He clutches the blanket he has draped around his shoulders. Under the flutter of movement, Lance can see that he's changed into a clean pair of pajamas; recognizes, with a pleasant swoop in the pit of his stomach, that they look like his clothes, not Keith's. They don't quite fit him right, clinging in all the wrong places, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"I just woke up like an hour ago," Keith says, "but I didn't want to let somebody else tell you. The bacteria's started receding. I've got one more treatment to burn the roots out of my muscle tissue or something and then I should be all good."

"Sounds painful," Lance worries.

"Supposed to be."

"So are you.... You're feeling better?"

"Yeah. I'm starving though," Keith laughs softly. Lance opens his mouth, and Keith cuts him off, reassuring, "Hunk is bringing me something, so I'm going to eat in here with you. He said it was time to 'feed the Lance', anyway."

"Ha ha," Lance says dryly, but he's glad to see the small smirk that lifts the corner of Keith's mouth, "I feel like an iguana, being stuck in here."

"An iguana, specifically?"

"Yeah, y'know, everybody comes and just stares for hours on end expecting me to do something cool and all I ever do is this - " He makes an iguana face, blinks, does the weird iguana hands thing. The comedic effect is clearly lost on Keith, who only looks half amused at best, if the grimace on his face means anything. Lance bats a hand, shifts abruptly to earnestness, "Anyway, it's boring and I missed you. I'm so glad you're okay, Keith."

"I know." Keith's voice drops, soft and rough from days of disuse. Lance can barely even hear him. "I'm sorry I scared you, Lance. I should have said something when I first started not feeling well. I thought… it was just my Galra sensitivity acting up, at first. Only it felt like kind of the opposite…"

"That's what I thought," Lance admits, "Even though it was too early. I thought maybe something jumped your cycle. Either way." He shrugs, laughs softly, "You need to stop stressing me out like this - always getting hurt, or some weird alien thing."

"This time is wasn't my fault!"

"Yeah, it was kinda mine. Shouldn't have kissed you so much," Lance teases.

Keith still has his hand on the window. He lowers it, fingers dragging down the glass. Lance sees his face fall slightly, thoughts clearly turning inward, and he really does feel his heart trip inside his chest, squeezing painfully. He steps closer to the glass and puts his own hand back up, over Keith's, sorry that he pulled away in the first place.

"Hey," he says quietly, "Keith, you don't have to stay. I'm in here so I don't contaminate anyone else on accident, and Coran said it could be a couple more days. You should get some rest."

There's nothing Lance can do but watch as the heat rises around Keith's eyes and they glaze over, his mouth pulling down, pressing tight and quivering. He doesn't normally cry so easily. Keith blinks, and a single fat tear slips down his face.

"This sucks," he says, voice tight.

Lance gusts out a sad laugh, aching on the inside. "I know. I'm so sorry, Keith."

Keith lifts a hand to scrub his eyes, brushes back his clean yet still unruly hair. That reminds Lance, and he lunges on the topic of distraction, "We need to cut your hair, by the way, I feel like I'm dating a super attractive Cousin It. I don't even remember what your face looks like!" Keith's laugh is more like a sob. He covers his face with his hand, shoulders curling in as he slumps forward. "C'mon, babe, at least sit down for a while. There's a couch right over there."

Lance points behind him once Keith lifts his head, indicating the sofa on the other side of the small viewing room. Keith seems to consider it, then turns back to Lance, frowning and still looking kind of sad, hugging the blanket around his shoulders and pulling it up to bury his nose in it.

"I don't wanna be that far away from you."

It's like two extra feet.

Lance feels something like fireworks bloom in his chest, spread to his face in a warm smile.

"Is that just the bacteria talking?"

"Obviously."

Keith's mouth quirks up at the corners again. He stays against the glass for a few minutes, his forehead pressed against it, before he turns away and shuffles over to the sofa, sinking down onto the plush cushions with a sigh. Keith draws his legs up onto the seat, cocooned in his blanket, and closes his eyes as he drops his head against the backrest.

"You sure you're okay?" Keith asks, raising his voice slightly.

Lance folds his arms on the lip of the window and leans against it, smiling.

"I'm fine, Keith," Lance says, "I'm gonna hug you so hard when I get outta here."

"That a promise?"

"Sure is."

A few minutes later, the door slides open, and Hunk comes in carrying a huge tray laden with food. Keith drops his feet to the floor in an attempt to sit up so he can eat, though now that he is slumped comfortably against the cushions he doesn't seem eager to leave them. Lance smiles at him, then turns to Hunk and leans against the glass.

"Perfect timing, hermano. What's on the menu tonight?"

"Well, since nobody's feeling great physically and emotionally, I figured comfort food. So!" He hefts the tray. "Grilled cheese and something that tastes almost like tomato soup."

"Nice," Keith says, unwinding his hands from the blanket in order to take the bowl and plate Hunk offers him. He keeps the bowl cradled between his knees, enjoying the warmth, and sets the plate with the perfectly cut triangles next to him on the couch. "Thanks, Hunk. It smells great."

"Just eat it slow, man," Hunk advises, "I know it's been like a couple of days since you actually had food, I don't want you to get sick or anything."

"If that's how I go then that's how I go," Keith jokes, giving the soup a cursory stir with his spoon.

"You show him yet?" Hunk asks, apropos of nothing. Keith shoots him a dirty, startled look, and Lance raises his eyebrows, watching through the glass. Hunk unrepentantly stares back, adds, "Dude, you said you were gonna, don't look at me like I'm the bad guy."

"Show me what?" Lance asks, wondering if he wants to know.

From the look on Keith's face, he's guessing no, and worry gnaws at his insides, chasing away his appetite even as he takes the tray of food that Hunk slides in through the little service door beside the window. Keith is staring into his own bowl, stirring it almost aggressively now.

"It's just some bruising," Keith says.

"Some bruising," Lance repeats.

"It's not a big deal."

"If it's not a big deal then let me see it."

"I didn't want to upset you."

"Well you're doing a bad job of not upsetting me, Keith."

Keith seems to realize this and stops talking, his jaw popping as he clenches it shut.

"Easy," Hunk says, disintegrating the tension with his grounding voice. He's relaxed, so Lance makes an effort to do the same, releasing the death grip he has on the tray. "Don't make this a fight, guys, c'mon. It's just some really bad bruising on his arms and back and stuff, and a lot of it's probably fading, anyway, now that he's got that medicine working through his system."

At the mention of the bruises fading, Keith gets a little hopeful. He lifts one hand from the bowl to push aside the blanket - which Lance suddenly suspects of having a different motive aside from keeping Keith warm and wrapped in a familiar scent. Keith plucks at the collar of his shirt so he can pull it back, staring in at his shoulder. Lance can't make anything out from this far away, and physically restrains himself from butting his whole face against the glass to get a better look.

Evidently, Keith doesn't like what he sees. He's still got a frown sharpening his features when he smooths his hand down over the fabric of the shirt. He looks exhausted, and Lance realizes this is one of those pick-your-battles moments.

"You don't - I don't have to see it," Lance says, struggling to keep his voice even, "It's fine, Keith, I'm sorry. Are you - it doesn't…. it doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No," Keith says softly. He fists his hand into the blanket, pulls it a little tighter over his chest, and keeps staring down into his bowl. "I'll - I'll show you later, Lance. It still looks pretty bad right now…"

"Okay…."

Lance looks helplessly at Hunk.

Hunk says a lot with a solemn head shake, a subtle motion of his hands. No chance of getting his best friend to hug Keith in his stead. And if Hunk is refusing to hug someone who really needs a hug right now, that means Keith's bruising and pain are more of an issue than either of them are letting on.

Lance can guess for himself why the bruising is happening in the first place. Coran gave him a rundown of the healing process for both of them after they got the treatment started and he had calmed down enough to start asking questions.

(Honestly, it took a while. Maybe he does get a little frantic when it comes to Keith's well-being and he needs to…. Stop doing that. Maybe tone it down a little. But can anyone blame him? Keith has the worst propensity in the universe for getting the raw deal out of any situation. Being emotionally invested in the guy that's most likely to get impaled during battle just because that's how his luck runs is the written definition of Stressful.)

If the bacteria in Keith's body is starving, it makes sense that it's going to crowd and cause blood to clot around the areas it last got a good meal - which means, in a roundabout way, that the bruises that are hurting Keith right now are ones that Lance left just by touching him.

Lance doesn't know how to feel about that.

He blurts out, "This is officially the worst thing that's ever happened to us."

He's only half-joking.

"Bet you'll feel better after you eat," Hunk says, sensing what he's trying to do. He claps his hands together encouragingly. "Seriously, c'mon, I wanna know what the Reviews are. This is my first time using tanian paste in a soup and I'm really hoping I was able to turn down the kick a little. It's pretty lively for a spice."

The Reviews are stellar.

Obviously.

Hunk may not know what he's cooking with half to time, or what all of the ingredients do under certain conditions, but he always makes it work. Lance drags his small table and chair up against the window while Hunk and Keith sit on the couch in the viewing room, so it feels a little more like they're all in the kitchen together and less like Lance is being isolated from the people he loves for unwittingly carrying around a deadly bacteria.

Keith falls asleep almost as soon as he sets his dishes aside, slumped sideways on the couch.

Lance taps the glass gently to get Hunk's attention; he's leaned forward with his hands braced against his knees, intently watching Keith like he's making sure Keith is still breathing face-down in the cushion like that, huddled into the blanket. Hunk looks up at the pecking noise, and knows what Lance is going to ask before the words are out of his mouth.

"They're shaped like hand prints. Like, pretty obviously hand prints, even though they're all like laid over each other," Hunk says, and makes a helpful (yet sickening) grabbing motion over his arms and torso. Lance groans and thumps his forehead against the glass, twice for good measure. "Dude, don't stress about it. I know this whole situation is pretty messed up, but Pidge is working with Coran to make sure we get vaccinated for stuff like this in the future. Never gonna happen again."

"I still feel sick about this, Hunk."

"I know, Lance. It's gonna be okay."

----

Pidge pricks the end of Lance's finger with their little bacteria reader thing, and he barely even flinches this time as the blood wells up. It's the fourth test he's gotten today, and treatment-wise he's progressed from shots every two vargas to medicine he only has to take twice a day, once when he wakes up and again before bed. It's strange getting poked and prodded and medicated when he doesn't feel like anything is wrong with him. Aside from a slight tingling sensation washing over his skin the first day he was separated from Keith and an acidic taste in his mouth that he couldn't get rid of no matter how many times he brushed, Lance has felt perfectly fine.

Lonely, bored, and lowkey stressed, but otherwise fine. He's been worrying this poor token to death, rubbing it between his hands.

Keith hasn't done anything the past week other than sleep and eat, trying to get his energy back up. He only got annoyed with this routine about two days ago, but the others still wouldn't let him hit the training deck, or do any of the chores or Coalition work. Keith couldn't come into contact with any of his or Lance's clothes or bed sheets until all of it had been thoroughly washed, so he wasn't even allowed to help with the piles of laundry - easily the least strenuous chore in the universe.

He couldn't help with disinfecting any areas that Lance had been in, either, including their bedroom, so he's been camped out on the couch in the viewing room outside Lance's containment unit. For someone who is very scent-oriented, it's been stressful, to say the least, and that stress has been unintentionally pouring over into the others.

Now, Keith is standing behind Pidge while Lance sits on said couch, impatiently watching the readout of the screen in Pidge's hand as the machine analyses Lance's blood to make sure he's not producing any chemicals that he shouldn't be. The screen flashes green after a few tics, shows a row of data, and Pidge's face lights up, "All clear! You can top pining, now, and hug your S.O."

Lance holds a disinfectant pad between his fingertips to stop the light bleeding and huffs a dignified please.

"We have some self control," he says, discarding the pad in the trash and examining his finger.

"Speak for yourself," Keith says, "I want to hug my boyfriend."

His whole body is tipped forward as if magnetized, but he holds himself back until Pidge has packed their stuff and gotten out of his way. It's more than enough time for Lance's stomach to start twisting up. He rubs his hands together nervously, leaning back into the couch. He glances aside, can't bring himself to look at Keith when he admits,

"Your… boyfriend doesn't know if he wants to hug right away…"

"Don't be like that," Pidge says before Keith can respond, "You've been out of quarantine since this morning, this was just a consistency test. And you're both on preventative medicine for the next movement to stop any resurgence of the bacteria. At most, I would avoid sucking face for a while. But Keith doesn't have anymore bacteria cells in his body and you're not producing any of the chemicals it needs to survive, so hugging is fine, Lance."

That doesn't do much to stamp down the sudden melancholy Lance feels that makes him want to withdraw, even though he's been craving this.

Keith's heavy voice does:

"Lance."

Keith stands in front of him and holds out his hands, palms up.

Lance hesitates, gaze moving between Keith's splayed hands, the callouses decorating the bend of his fingers, and his understanding eyes. Slowly, he reaches out and puts one of his hands over Keith's, hovering close enough that he can feel the warmth of Keith's fingers against the inside of his wrist. The marks don't appear, and Keith doesn't flinch away. Lance closes his hand around Keith's and tugs him a step closer so that Keith is standing between his spread knees; brings his other hand up to rub Keith's exposed forearm, up to his elbow then down again. His pale skin warms quickly under the attention, and Lance glances up at Keith's face.

He's smiling, grey-violet eyes bright and alert.

"See?" he says, "It's fine."

Lance lets out a small, shaky laugh, drops his gaze and squeezes Keith's hands.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I get it."

This has been upsetting for both of them.

Pidge ruins the mood by saying, "Just when I think you guys can't possibly get any gayer for one another, something happens to prove me wrong. I don't like being wrong, y'know."

"Well, I don't like not being able to hug my boyfriend for a whole week straight because my affection almost killed him," Lance snarks right back, suddenly latching onto Keith's waist with both arms, making Keith stumble against him and grab onto his shoulders for balance. He puts his whole face against Keith's stomach, squeezing him tight. "So deal with it, Pidgeon."

Keith laughs and cradles Lance's head in his arms. The vibration hums through Lance's entire body, and the relief the sound of Keith's laughter chases into his veins, delving deep into his heart, is almost overwhelming.

He hears Pidge say, "Gross," hears the affection in their tone, and then the door sliding open, "Come to the bridge whenever you're done snuggling or whatever. Hunk and Allura should be back from their mission soon and we'll need to debrief."

"We'll be there," Keith says.

Lance rubs his face against Keith's stomach, reveling in how comforting it is just to breathe him in again; that soap he likes that smells of pine smoke, and Keith's own heady scent underneath. A whole week without this - without any physical contact at all, when he's used to casual touches and nudges and hand holding and hugs and kissing and sleeping against someone all night. Keith was at least able to touch the others, even if it was just sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch or poking them with a finger.

Lance wants to drown in this.

Keith's knee pushes against Lance's hip, the hands in his hair coaxing his head back.

Keith sinks into his lap when Lance finally gives him room. Lance curls his arms around Keith's chest, hugging him closer so he can bury his face in Keith's neck. Keith tips Lance's head back again to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his eyes, and Lance hums under the attention, smiling wide. He rolls them both to the side, pinning Keith down against the couch and settling between his legs, their chests and stomachs flush together, shirts riding up.

Keith huffs out another throaty laugh that spills sparks all down Lance's insides. His thighs squeeze Lance's waist, arms circling his shoulders. Keith pulls him down and cranes forward to plant a single wet kiss against his mark on Lance's neck through the open collar of his shirt. He grazes it lightly with his teeth, doesn't even seem to think about it before he applies the smallest bit of pressure. That chases a thrill all the way up Lance's spine, spreading a flush over his face as he shudders and settles his weight more firmly over Keith.

They lay like that for a while, relaxed and tangled on the couch. 

Keith's hands sneak under Lance's shirt. He nuzzles Lance's neck, occasionally letting a pleased hum slip out.

Lance chuckles, shifting, "Are you trying to purr or something?"

There's a scoff against his neck. "No."

"Right. Because I'm never heard this super-happy-Keith sound before." He rubs his nose beneath Keith's ear, just to make him jump at the tickle. "Are you feeling okay?"

Keith thinks about it.

"Nothing smells right," he says, "I don't like it. I mean - I get why everything had to be cleaned… but it's…. A little stressful… I guess…."

"Do you want to go to our room for a while?" Lance asks, lifting his head.

"Later, yeah. I'm fine right here for now."

"You just don't want to get up."

"You got me."

The short laugh that rumbles out of Keith is still the best sound in the universe. Nothing will ever change Lance's mind. Keith moves his hand into Lance's hair, fingers trailing through it in absent strokes. Lance decides it's stupid to hesitate. He shifts so he can plant a firm kiss against Keith's mouth. He breaks it with a soft mwua , and is rewarded with another deep chuckle that flushes through his whole body, head to toe. Lance chuckles in answer.

"I love y -ou!"

Lance breaks off with a grunt of surprise when Keith tightens his arms and legs around him, crushing Lance against him. Lance doesn't fight him, laughing, kissing Keith's cheek and trying to snake his arms around him, too. It's impossible to hug him tighter, but that's all Lance wants right now. Keith rolls them to the side so Lance is pressed between his body and the back of the couch, their arms and legs tangled hopelessly together. That's better. Lance kisses his way across Keith's face, only stopping when Keith returns the favor, kissing the corner of his mouth, the bridge of his nose.

Lance drops his head against Keith's shoulder, exposing his neck, and Keith tugs the front of his shirt open further, kissing his mark and squeezing Lance tightly. Lance keeps his face buried in Keith's hair, hidden from sight.

It makes him a little braver.

"You mentioned... your dad before."

Keith pauses. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He used to sing to you?"

"Oh, yeah." Keith's voice is soft and deep with the memory of it, and Lance can't help smiling when he hears it, "Whenever I was sick, or had a nightmare or something. He'd sing this one song until I forgot about what was so scary, or why I didn't feel good. He'd do that until I fell asleep."

"What song?"

"I don't really remember. Some old country song."

"I'm shocked," Lance chuckles.

He shifts a little, and Keith eases back so they can look at each other, their noses touching.

"That's probably one of the only things I miss from Earth," Keith admits. 

"Don't say country music," Lance asks, practically begging, "I'll file for divorce."

"S' not funny," Keith says softly.

"Sorry," Lance says, his heart flipping anxiously. Tender subject. He knows that. He decides to change it anyway, since they're talking about things. "Whenever you don't tell me stuff," Lance says, "Personal stuff, or when something's wrong, Keith. I know it's not because you don't trust me. ….But that's what it feels like. You not telling me something because you don't want to upset me only upsets me more."

"I know," Keith's voice is still so quiet, like he's afraid to disturb the air, "I don't do that on purpose, Lance…. I trust you. You've always had my back, and respected my boundaries. ...You do that, too, y'know. Not tell me things, because you don't want to upset me."

Lance winces.  "I know. Is that how you feel…? Like I don't trust you?"

"I didn't really think about it like that," Keith admits with a tilt of his head, "It's… kind of different. I can tell when you're lying about your leg hurting, or when something is getting on your nerves. But I know you just don't like seeming weak in front of anyone. I know you trust me, Lance. I never, ever doubt that. I'll try harder to be more open about stuff. We're… we're supposed to take care of each other. And be there for eachother no matter what…."

Keith's heartbeat has kicked up. Lance can feel the hard pulse against his own body, that uncertainty through the bond they share as Keith glances away.

"We… we need different things. Sometimes." It's not the first time it's come up, and Keith says it too softly, voicing his fear even though he doesn't necessarily want to, "Is that bad?"

"No," Lance says it just as quietly, but his voice is firm, "We just need to get better at saying what the different things are before it becomes a mess. I don't want to fight about something when we can talk about it, instead, Keith. I'll - I'll try to be more honest, too. When I'm hurting. If your stubborn ass can ask for help, then I can," he adds with a laugh.

"Why are we still so bad at this?" Keith huffs playfully.

"Because we're idiots," Lance chuckles, pulling him down to kiss his cheek, "We're trying, right? That's gotta count for something."

"Right," Keith says.

His hands have gotten restless with rubbing Lance's hip and have snuck beneath his shirt again to the small of Lance's back and the curve of his ribs. Their clothes are all twisted up, anyway, but the embrace pushes their stomach and hips together in a warm press that Lance is suddenly paying very close attention to. It was subtle. Definitely on purpose.

"I'd feel a lot less anxious about this whole thing if we smelled more like each other," Keith admits, deliberate, but stilted with nerves.

His face heats up even as he says it.

"Nuzzling not enough for you?" Lance asks, grinning, "You wanna get me?"

"Yeah. If you - if you want."

"Okay. Do you want me to -?"

"N-no. Just you."

"Okay," Lance says. He thinks about it, though, and asks, "You think it'll be alright? I don't - I don't want to get you sick again. Or whatever."

"Pidge said to avoid sucking face," Keith says, surprisingly brazen, "Not sucking -"

"Okay!" Lance says loudly, laying a hand over Keith's face and covering his own eyes.

Keith pulls them away.

"And we're both on antibiotics."

"I heard that part."

"If you wanna wait, just to be safe, I understand. It's not a big deal, Lance."

"First of all, you almost never proposition me, even if this is more of a scent thing than a sexual thing, so it is a big deal. Second. ….No oral."

"...Okay, fine."

Lance is grinning again.

"You wanna chase me back to our room?"

Keith blinks at him, his brow creasing as he asks, slowly, "You want me to chase you?"

"Yeah. I've been cooped up in that tiny room for a week. I need some exercise. And my scent will be stronger after running," Lance explains, and Keith's eyebrows raise in realization. He tries not to focus too hard on Keith's hands, still resting firmly against his lower back, when the tips of his fingers press into his skin. He's blushing when he adds, "And…. knowing what you're gonna do to me when you catch me will definitely get me going."

Keith hums thoughtfully, considering it.

He's clearly confused about why Lance thinks it might be exciting to be chased, but he decides not to ask. He shrugs, smirking, "Sure."

"Yeah?" Oh Lance is definitely excited now.

"Yeah."

"Great! Gimme a head start."

"You're a faster running than I am."

"But you have more endurance. You'll catch me before we pass the kitchen. I need a head start."

"Okay. When do you want to -?"

"Go!"

Lance puts his hands on Keith's chest and shoves him. Not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to send him sliding backwards off the edge of the couch. Keith grunts as he hits the floor with a soft thump, his legs still up in the seat, clearly shocked that Lance would do such a thing, because he lays there, stunned, staring up at Lance with wide eyes as Lance laughs and climbs over him quickly and sprints for the door.

"I love you…!" Lance calls over his shoulder.

His heart is pounding, his cheeks flushed.

He hears Keith's feet pounding the floor behind him, Keith's laughter breaking out, chasing ahead of him. That alone threatens to trip him up. Lance wants to fall back and kiss him until they're both stupid with affection - but he's never been a quitter. He runs as fast as he can, flying down familiar halls, passing familiar curious faces, only caring about the beat of Keith's feet as he playfully keeps his distance, and the beat of Keith's heart, when they collide just inside the doorway of their room and Keith's chest pins against his back.

They topple across the foot of the bed, Lance shrieking, Keith laughing, and that is all Lance cares about.

He turns in Keith's arms, kisses his temple.

He wants to spend the rest of his life like this, with Keith smiling and breathless beside him.