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Locked. More running. Duck, straighten, run. It's become habitual now, no longer necessary to think about it. Probably a good thing, after all, his thinking dragged him into this mess. He trips. Not the time to be thinking of other things. A shot glances his side, and he sucks in, pushing a little harder. He doesn't have much energy left, and they're closing in.
A couple turns later, he's heaving. Lost some of the group, but at the cost of some of his speed. He's taken more hits, to the shoulder, the leg, and one he swore took some hair with it. He can't help but chuckle to himself as he turns another corner, at least he's going down in an actio-
SLAM
Dark room, hand over his mouth. By instinct he grabs the wrist, when the stranger pushes closer, hissing,
"Quiet! It's me, calm down."
At the familiar voice, the tension drains from his body, and he slumps against the wall. Keith seems to note of this and relaxes his hold, about to take a step back when a group of footsteps begin to echo. Nerves on haywire, Lance is the one to pull Keith back in close, looking over his head, taunt and ready to fight again.
Eventually the noise dies down, enough for them both to relax. As Lance looks down, he realizes two things. One, his arm was wrapped around Keith's waist, holding them close together in a compromising position. Two, he liked it. A lot.
In the minute or so that they calm down from the adrenaline, Keith is still pulled in close, but Lance doesn't do anything to push him away. He simply looks down at him quietly, noting the way the soft hair tickled against his chin. A sigh escapes from Keith right into Lance's neck, and then he freezes, pushing back and turning away.
"We need to get back. Follow me."
If Lance hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that the shorter man had been blushing.