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The castle was unusually quiet. The mission had been grueling—another Galra faction trying to stir up trouble on a remote colony planet. The team had barely made it out in one piece. Keith, as usual, had taken the brunt of the danger, throwing himself headfirst into the fight.
The battle was over, but the aftermath lingered in the tense silence of the med bay, where Keith sat stiffly on the edge of the cot, shirt off, his ribs a mess of bruises. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the bright lights above only made the dark, angry marks on his skin stand out more.
Lance paced the room, digging through the med kit like it had personally offended him. His mouth moved nonstop, muttering about recklessness, about how Keith was going to get himself killed one day. It was the kind of rambling Keith was used to by now—half-scolding, half-worry, with just enough genuine care to keep it from being annoying.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he muttered, voice low but sharp as he rifled through the med kit.
Keith sat on the edge of one of the med bay cots, his discarded jacket and undershirt stained with smears of dirt and blood on the floor. He winced as he shifted, a sharp stab of pain lancing through his side. “It’s not that bad.”
Lance shot him a glare over his shoulder, his lips pursed in irritation. “Not that bad? You’ve got at least two—no, three broken ribs, Keith! And don’t even try to argue because I heard that sickening crunch when you got thrown into that wall.” He turned back with an ice pack and some bandages, muttering to himself. “Seriously, sometimes I think you have a death wish or something.”
He grew quiet again, mumbling under his breath in angry Spanish, sending death glares at the Black Paladin every now and again. It had only been a few weeks since Keith had rejoined the team after working with the Blades and he was just as reckless as ever. It was both reassuring to know he hadn't changed too much, and exasperating. Lance just got his friend back and it seemed Keith was determined to disappear again, this time for good.
"You’re an idiot," Lance finally said, louder this time as he turned to face Keith, a roll of bandages in hand. His brow was furrowed, his jaw tight, but his voice trembled just enough to betray the anxiety underneath. "You know that, right? What the hell were you thinking, Keith? Charging that Galra mech alone? It was four times your size, for crying out loud!"
Keith shrugged, the motion making him wince. "Someone had to take it out."
"Yeah, someone—not you! That thing nearly crushed you like a bug!" Lance stepped closer, his blue eyes blazing with something raw and unfiltered. "You’re the Black Paladin. You’re supposed to lead us, not—" He stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing, his voice softer now. "Not throw yourself into danger like you’ve got nothing to lose."
Keith looked away, unable to meet Lance’s gaze. He didn’t know how to explain it—not in a way Lance would understand. Leadership had always felt heavy on his shoulders, like something he had to earn every day. Protecting the team, taking the risks, making the hard calls—it was all part of the job. But hearing Lance say it like that, like he cared too much to bear the thought of something happening to him, made Keith’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with his broken ribs.
Lance sighed, the sharp edge in his voice softening further. "Look, just… sit still, okay? Let me fix you up."
Keith nodded silently, letting Lance close the distance between them. Lance knelt down in front of him, unspooling the bandages with deft hands, his movements surprisingly gentle. His brow was still furrowed, but his touch was careful, precise, as though he were afraid of causing Keith any more pain.
Lance continued grumbling in a softer tone as he worked, his voice a steady stream of half-scold, half-concern. “You’re the leader, Keith. You can’t just throw yourself into danger every time someone’s in trouble. What happens if you go down, huh? Who’s supposed to lead then? Me? I mean, yeah, I’d do a damn good job, but still—”
Keith’s lips twitched into a faint smile at that, despite the throbbing pain in his side. There was something oddly soothing about Lance’s rambling. He’d always been loud, brash, and a little over the top, but in moments like this, when his words were laced with genuine concern, Keith couldn’t help but feel… drawn to him.
For a while, the only sound was the soft rustle of the bandages and the faint hum of the castle’s systems. Keith watched Lance as he worked, his fingers brushing against Keith’s skin as he wrapped the bandages tightly around his ribs. There was a quiet intensity to Lance in moments like this—focused, unguarded. It was a side of him Keith didn’t get to see often, one that reminded him just how much more there was to Lance than the loud, flirty facade he liked to put on.
As Lance secured the bandages, he sighed and leaned back on his heels. “There. That should hold you together for now, but you’re not off the hook. No more heroics, got it?”
Keith tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes softening as he studied Lance’s face. There was a furrow in his brow, his lips still pressed into a line of worry. He wasn’t mad—not really. He was worried. And that realization settled in Keith’s chest, warm and steady, like the soft glow of embers after a battle.
"You know," Lance said after a moment, breaking the silence, "you really suck at taking care of yourself."
Keith huffed a quiet laugh, though it hurt to do so. "You don’t say."
"I mean it," Lance continued, his voice softer now, almost wistful. "You act like it’s your job to take on everything alone, like you’re the only one who can handle the tough stuff. But we’re a team, Keith. You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself."
Keith’s gaze flicked to Lance’s face, his expression unreadable. "I’m used to it."
"Well, maybe you shouldn’t be," Lance muttered, his hands stilling for a moment as he looked up at Keith. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, neither of them said anything. Lance’s hands were still resting lightly on Keith’s sides, his touch warm even through the bandages.
Keith felt something shift in the air between them—a quiet, fragile tension that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it, but it was the first time he let himself linger in it, let himself really look at Lance. The way his eyes softened when he wasn’t trying to put up a front. The way his lips quirked just slightly when he was concentrating. The way he was always there, even when Keith didn’t think he deserved it.
"You don’t have to do everything alone," Lance said again, his voice barely above a whisper now. "You’ve got us. You’ve got… me."
Keith’s breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way Lance was looking at him, like he wasn’t just worried about him as a teammate but as something… more. Maybe it was the way Lance’s hand lingered just a little too long as he smoothed the bandage into place. Or maybe it was just the weight of everything they’d been through—the battles, the arguments, the quiet moments in between—finally settling into place.
“Lance,” Keith said quietly, his voice breaking through the silence.
Lance looked up, his blue eyes meeting Keith’s. The sharpness in his expression softened as he took in the look on Keith’s face, something unspoken lingering in the air between them.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Keith didn’t think. He didn’t plan or hesitate. He just… leaned forward. Slowly, carefully, closing the space between them until his lips brushed against Lance’s in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and yet somehow completely certain.
Lance didn’t pull away.
In fact, he leaned into it, his hands instinctively finding their way to Keith’s shoulders as he kissed him back. There was no earth-shattering spark, no fireworks or grand epiphany. Just warmth. Familiar, grounding, and so deeply right that Keith wondered why it had taken them this long to get here. It wasn't butterflies and ground breaking change—it was quiet, warm, and deeply, undeniably them.
When they finally pulled apart, Lance stayed close, his forehead resting against Keith’s, his hands still gripping his shoulders like he was afraid to let go.
"Well," Lance said, his voice slightly breathless but tinged with a familiar teasing edge, "that took you long enough."
Keith chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Yeah. Guess it did. I'm a little slow sometimes"
Lance pulled back just enough to look at him, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. "I'm well aware. You know I’m never letting you live it down, right? Kissing me in the med bay after I heroically fix you up from your usual stupid heroic stunts?"
"Figured as much," Keith said, his own lips quirking into a rare, genuine smile, "Sounds like some crazy story."
"It does, doesn't it?" Lance laughed, leaning his head on Keith's shoulder.
They stayed like that for a moment longer, the quiet hum of the med bay the only sound around them. For once, Keith felt like he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Just this sweet, stubborn, Cuban boy.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.