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Summary
“Hey guys. How’s mullet doing?” Lance whispered, concerned eyes on his limp rival.
“Could be better.” Shiro answered honestly. He held the chair steady while Kolivan knelt in front of it.
The Galran leader crooned, gently uncurling Keith’s fingers from his fur, before settling him into the chair.
A nervous, upset silence fell over the group. Keith’s head was bowed, torso slumped into the cushioned seat.
“Keith?” Pidge called her voice for once, young and nervous.
“Yeah.” He managed, straightening somewhat, he looked at the hangar door, resigned but determined to do it as well as he could. “Let’s go.”