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Sometimes battles don’t go as smoothly as they wish it would.
Keith’s watches Lance remove the bandage from his shoulder, revealing a freshly cut wound, not too deep to be severe, but deep enough to scar his skin. It’s a faint shade of pink, but the surface of it whole and bloodless.
He thinks this is what people mean by feeling someone else’s pain because his heart aches and shrinks with so much hurt, it is almost unbearable. Like his heart is the one having to carry the wound on Lance’s shoulder.
Keith thinks that wouldn’t be far from the truth.
Lance’s shoulders drop as he sighs. He diligently eyes his skin in the mirror, face carefully morphed into a neutral expression. Keith sees through it, though, sees the slightest twitch of his brow and scrunch of his nose in a way that shows nothing else but disgust, and he wishes he could magically make that look fly away from Lance’s face, replace it with a permanent smile and laughter. Paint away the glum color from his eyes and change it into the baby blue that lightens up each time Lance smiles, shiny and summery and happy.
“I look badass,” Lance says with a playful voice that would fool everyone else into believing he’s not falling apart.
“You look beautiful,” Keith says.
Lance scoffs and glances at him in the mirror with a dubious look. He must’ve realized, after taking in Keith’s expression, that his façade is useless. So, his face falls, lips tugging down and brows furrowing, creating a sad line between them; Keith has a burning urge to run his thumb over it and make it disappear, make it go away and never reappear again.
He steps closer, but keeps his distance far enough for Lance not to jerk away.
“I don’t see this as beautiful,” Lance whispers, eyeing himself once again. He’s standing shirtless in front of their big bedroom mirror, and this time he doesn’t try to hide the utter revulsion on his face. It makes Keith’s heart ache even more, makes him feel like his chest has been stabbed by a hundred blades.
He’s not sure what kind of words will make Lance see just how—how wonderful he is, how beautiful and breathtaking, how his skin and freckles can easily replace the starry sky. How those scars are nothing more than proof that he’s alive, that he’s strong and is breathing .
Keith has these words ready on the tip of his tongue, his mouth slightly agape and—
And decides that some things must be fixed on their own. That sometimes words are an extra, worthless weight.
Instead, he steps closer, tentatively sliding his hand on Lance’s unharmed shoulder and leans down. He sticks his lips on the knob of his neck, lingering. Lance sighs again, his head dropping in such a broken way Keith feels the knot in his stomach tightening with pain, the blades digging deeper and deeper into his flesh, his fingers twitch with the need to wrap around Lance and protect him, keep him safe and happy and smiling.
“Wanna take a bath?” he asks with a quiet voice, tilting his head to the side and looking at Lance in the reflection.
“Yeah,” he breathes out. Then attempts a smile. “Only if it’ll be extra bubbly.”
“Is there any other way?” Keith smiles back. He kisses Lance on the cheek, causing a pleased hum to escape from him, then leaves another one on his shoulder and walks away.
Keith pours extra product in the water; it releases a strong scent of coconuts immediately. He sits on the toilet lid, waiting for the bath to fill and become as bubbly as possible.
He knows, from both experience and basic knowledge, that he can’t always make things right, can’t always be the one who helps Lance overcome his fears and insecurities and tiny demons inside his head. He knows this, but that doesn’t mean his entire body is not throbbing with the need and unbearable urge to erase all of Lance’s troubles away.
He clenches his fists, if only to somehow release the buzzing energy inside of him and not straight out bolt into the next room and shout on top of his lungs how amazing, unbelievably incredible Lance is, how perfect he is. How he should only smile and laugh and crack his goofy jokes that always manage to make Keith laugh despite them being dumb and meaningless.
Lance totters into the bathroom and Keith turns off the water, the bath perfectly foamy and the entire place smelling of coconuts—it is easily becoming Keith’s favorite flavor, always reminding him of Lance and summer and love.
“You really went strong with the bubbles, huh?” says Lance, managing a weak smirk.
“Of course,” says Keith with his best customer service voice. “We only serve the best here, sir.”
Lance snorts, taking his clothes off, and slowly sinks into the warm water, huffing a pleased sound as he’s swallowed by the white fluff.
Keith watches him, takes in how beautiful the smooth, tan skin is in contrast with white. Lance has his eyes closed and his features relax only a little bit; Keith still counts that as success. He undresses and slides behind Lance, settling the other comfortably between his legs and slowly curls his arms around his middle; he feels the tensions still lingering on Lance’s skin.
Lance sighs and leans back into him, his back flushed against Keith’s chest. He rests his head on Keith’s shoulder, his hair tickling the underside of Keith’s jaw.
“Mom called a few days ago,” Lance begins after a while, breaking the silence with a whisper. “Told me to…” a sigh. “To visit her… because the beach season is basically here and she’s planning a family picnic.”
Keith waits for him to continue, but when Lance says nothing more, he strokes some circles on his skin and asks, gently:
“You don’t want to go?”
A beat of silence.
“I—I’m not sure. I miss them but… I’m not sure how comfortable I will be in, y’know… in a swimsuit.”
Keith’s heart sinks. He hates seeing Lance like this, unsure and almost broken. He fears for a second that he’ll cry, Lance saying no to the one thing he loves the most makes Keith’s eyes sting and throat tight. He keeps tracing soothing shapes on the other’s skin, tilting his head closer to brush his lips in a thin line on the base of Lance’s shoulder.
“She hasn’t seen any of—them. I don’t want her to see them,” Lance continues, deflating under Keith’s touch. “I’m not sure if I can ever… let her see.”
“They’re not something to be ashamed of, you know that, right?”
“They’re nothing to be proud of, either.”
You’re wrong , Keith thinks.
And opens his mouth, the words of course they are and it means you survived and it means you live ready to spill again. And he thinks better of it, again.
“So, should I be ashamed of mine, too?” he says instead.
Lance starts at that, pulling away from him and turning to face him so fast Keith wonders how there’s still water in the tub.
“Of course not!” he frowns at him.
“Why not?”
“Wha—because they—” Keith sees the exact moment Lance realizes what he’s trying to accomplish. He stares at him, mouth pressed together in a straight line. Something flicks in his eyes then, something like gratitude and love. “They mean you’re still here. With me.”
Keith hums, sliding a hand up on Lance’s arm, spreading some bubbles there. He slowly moves his fingers to his back, gently outlining the burnt scar there, the one he got on Arus.
“And do you think they make me ugly?” Keith asks, eyes tracing the lighter skin under his fingertips—he touches it carefully, brushes his thumb over it with care and fondle.
“No,” Lance says surely, shaking his head. “I think they make you perfect.”
“So why should you be any different?”
Lance says nothing, and when Keith looks up at him, he finds Lance staring down on the water, playing with the white fluff with his fingers. If Lance was a color, right now he’d be the saddest shade of blue, the one that rips Keith’s heart into pieces.
“Hey,” he coos, cupping the side of Lance’s face, tilting it up so their gaze meets. “It will take time for you to accept them. Just… promise me you’ll always come and talk to me when you feel this way, okay?” He caresses the freckles under his thumb. “You don’t have to do this alone, we can… we can deal with it together, yeah?”
Lance’s eyes become glossy, Keith slides his thumb just underneath his eyelid, already ready to catch the tears.
“Yeah,” he nods, sniffling. “I promise.”
Lance works his jaw for a moment, biting on his bottom lip thoughtfully.
“I just—it sucks that even after everything is finally over, I’ll have these—these scars to remind me of it. And remind everyone about what I’ve been through,” he says quietly, Keith can almost see his metaphorical ears dropping. “I just think that once I’m ready to forget the war, I won’t be able to do it. Because I’ll see all of those battles on my skin every day and—and I really wish I didn’t.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Keith says, trying his hardest for his voice not to break; it comes out strained despite his efforts. He brushes the brown strands on Lance’s temple, his fingers as tender as possible.
“And I’m so different now. My skin is just—just so different from what it was before. And it sucks that there’s no way it can ever be the same again.” Lance finds Keith’s other hand underwater, gripping it like a lifeline, like a grounding source for his comfort. “I know you see them differently, see them the same way I see yours... but for me they’re… just ugly.”
Keith squeezes Lance’s hand, and starts rubbing the back of it in what he wishes is a calming way. He remembers how different he thought the scar on his face made him look, how heavy the one on his shoulder felt, almost like a burden. He remembers thinking of them as a curse, a permanent, dreadful reminder of everything he’s lived through in space.
He remembers feeling horrible in his own skin.
And his chest hurts with a sharp ache at the thought of Lance feeling the same way.
He wishes he could find the right words, reassuring and plausible and calming.
Keith decides to show him instead; he’s always been better at communicating through his actions anyway. And Lance always gets his message, always catches the words hidden in his movement.
Keith pulls him closer, skimming his lips over the lighter skin on Lance’s back. He trails kisses over every cut on his skin, every sign of battle weaved into his flesh. With extra tenderness and care, he caresses the newest wound, feeling the way Lance shudders at his touch.
He hopes Lance will understand, hopes the traces Keith has left on his skin will deliver his feelings to him. Hopes Lance will know that Keith will hold his hand always and forever.
He wishes Lance could look through Keith’s eyes and see himself exactly how Keith sees him—perfect.
He tilts his head up and begins kissing each of the tiny stars dusted across his cheeks, across his nose. Kisses the space between his eyebrows, his brow bone, his temple. He lingers on his favorite mark at the corner of Lance’s eye, almost feeling it existing under the touch of his mouth; Lance is still clutching Keith’s hand tightly.
“You’re so beautiful, so wonderful, starlight,” he murmurs against the tiny star, his lips softly brushing the skin there and causing a faint shudder of the other’s breath. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”
Lance hugs him closer, leaning into his chest like Keith’s his home, like he’s a protective bubble that shields him from everything that keeps him up at night. Keith feels the way Lance relaxes a little bit more, senses the heaviness fading from his shoulders a little bit more. He thinks Lance breathes easier, even if it’s only marginally.
“I’m so lucky to have you, Akira,” Lance whispers, his breath fluttering against Keith’s wet chest. Keith tightens his hold around him, closing his eyes and feeling the other boy’s body against his, counting his every breath and each heartbeat.
You’re wrong , he thinks, again, his chest blooming with warmth and love.
Lance raises his head and kisses Keith on the mouth, long and lingering and chaste. With another peck of lips, Lance leans away, a small smile—sincere and true and breathtaking—ghosting on his face.
“Wanna wash my hair?” he asks, a telltale spark of mirth in his eyes.
Keith smiles back at him, nodding and stretching his hand to grab the bottle of shampoo.
“With shampoo this time, please, and not shower gel,” Lance adds and laughs when Keith flicks some water on his face.