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Keith felt so pathetic.
It was hard being out in space this long, facing what they’ve faced, having done when they’ve done. Sometimes these things become too much, and someone ends up cracking under the pressure of Voltron, it’s happened to everyone on the team.
But Keith wasn’t as susceptible to it as, for example, Hunk or Lance who had homes and families that were too far away to even fathom. He’d always been of tough exterior; he didn’t have siblings or loved ones back on Earth. His life there had been miserable and, honestly, he’d say things have actually gotten better in space than they’ve ever been on Earth. Keith has a boyfriend and some of the closest friends he’s ever made. Heck, he’d met his mom for fucks sake so where did the urge to cry come from if not an endless wave of pitiful weakness that is all too real for Keith right now.
He feels so wrong right now, seeing stars instead of the rolling hills of the desert. His stomach was churning with the constant movement of the castle-ship, and the stinging behind his eyes wasn’t helping at all.
Keith turned to face the wall and tried to go back to sleep, to no avail. He pulled the sheet over his shoulders before the heat built up and it was kicked back down to his knees. He shut his eyes and tried to remain still, tried to relax his muscles and finally get to sleep goddammit. When his efforts continued to be fruitless, he got up and paced around his room, it did nothing to coax the tenseness out of his posture and might have even made the motion sickness worse.
When he laid back down on the bed, the nausea seemed to increase tenfold, and he could feel the food goo in the back of his throat. His eyes were welling up with tears, but he hoped that if he stared up, unblinking, long enough they would dry out before he actually started crying.
Nothing was working, nothing was working, and he really really didn’t need this dip in self-worth right now.
By now he felt so sick it was making him dizzy. He was probably just dehydrated, maybe if he just drank some water, it would reboot his system and he wouldn’t feel so fucking pathetic.
He stumbled down the hall, making it a few paces before having to brace himself against the wall. His head spun and his vision blurred with tears, he just wanted to sleep, he just wanted to be somewhere…familiar. Keith hated that he didn’t recognize a single constellation in the sky around them, and he hated that he felt so strongly about stars that didn’t seem to bother him a week ago. He hated that his stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out, hated that he wasn’t able to control his breathing, hated that his head hurt.
Hated feeling so alone while surrounded by those he deeply cared for.
The castle titled slightly to the left, the auto pilot maneuvering around debris floating aimlessly in space. To anybody else (to Keith on any other day) it wouldn’t have been noticeable at all. A ghost of a wobble, barely enough to make someone stumble whilst walking, but right now it made Keith’s legs shake and stomach lurch.
He managed to slide down into a crouch before gagging once then throwing up in the middle of the hallway.
The tears he had so desperately tried to repress now streaked his face, and the thoughts of ‘pathetic, pathetic, so pathetic,’ only increased as he heaved a second time, digested food goo on display on the floor. He sat there for a while, crying openly into his sad puddle of vomit, until he managed to haul himself up to attempt cleaning his mess.
It took him a couple seconds to regain his balance. He careened forward, nearly falling into the sick spattered across the floor, but before he could face-plant there was a firm hand on his shoulder keeping him upright.
“Keith! Fuck, hey-look at me,”
He was met with the face of a concerned Shiro, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sharp despite looking like he just rolled out of bed.
“Are you hurt? What happened?”
“Um,” there were several ways Keith could have answered him, but in that moment his mind was blank save for the steady thrum of self-deprecation. So, he opted for the generic ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me’ bullshit that he knew wouldn’t work, not with his upchuck still sitting there behind him.
It only made Shiro’s frown deepen, and eyes grow ever more unreadable.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
Keith blinked at the bionic hand, clearly holding up three fingers.
“Three-Shiro I’m fine… just..motion sick.”
The older man sighed through his nose. Keith knew it would take more to fool him, this wasn’t just anybody, it was Shiro. He looked away, the prolonged eye contact reviving the awful churning in his stomach.
He pursed his lips. The crease between his brows seemed to deepen, anybody else would think he was angry or upset but Keith knew he was just worried.
“Don’t move,” he instructed, before heading off to clean Keith’s mess. Keith tried to help, but bending down made his head feel like it was being beaten in, so he was pretty much useless. When the floor was spotless, Shiro turned to give Keith that unreadable stare again.
“We’re here Keith, I’m here. If you need someone to listen, I’m just down the hall. You’re only one person, you can only handle so much on your own.”
Keith nodded and vaguely wondered if Shiro ever let the pressure of such a role in the universe bother him. Before his thoughts were able to take much shape, Shiro’s face set resembling the one he made when he was trying to figure out how to get them out of inescapable situations in battle.
“That’s why I don’t want you alone tonight. My room is open but if you want to spend it with someone else,” with Lance, (He didn’t say it, but Keith knew it was implied, their relationship was far from secret) “that’s up to you. We can talk about this more in the morning, but for now…just get some rest”
The captain gave Keith a final pat on the back, gentle as to not rock him in his sensitive state, before turning and heading in the direction of his own room.
Keith didn’t want to spend the night with Lance, not when he felt so alone and small. Usually, he liked feeling small. Small up against Lance’s chest, small when Lance looked at him from under his lashes, small when Lance fit just so in his arms, like how Keith fit in his. But that was a different kind of small, now it was the kind of small that made him spit the word ‘pathetic’ under his breath as he blinked away the stars from walking too fast, made him scratch at his arms until they strung, made him rub away the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes.
Yet, he finds himself at Lance’s door with a pillow under his arm, a guilt in his stomach and the urge to cry again.
When Lance opens the door, sleep ever present across his features, the guilt only burns hotter.
And he feels like the unwanted foster kid again, lost and alone, trying and failing to find a peace in the hustle and bustle that was his life. Maybe he was meant to be alone all along. That scares Keith, lonely, pathetic Keith, whose heart beats frantically at the thought of being destined to be alone. With and for no one. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? Keith Kogane, surrounded by people but always alone, alone, alone-
His spiraling was cut off by tentative fingers on his wrist. Lance’s eyes, although half-lidded and tired, are soft. Too drowsy to form words but he knows, maybe he doesn’t understand but he knows and for now that’s enough. Keith allows himself to be led into the room and brought into bed.
He could tell that Lance was trying to fight off sleep, and something akin to shame seemed to bury itself in his chest. Normally, the warmth of his boyfriend’s body so close to his was a comforting presence, but he felt so undeserving, like a leech. He wished the fingers carding softly through his hair would pull until they drew blood, that the arms wrapped loosely around his neck would snap it.
Maybe that would justify going to him for comfort over such a stupid longing. How could he voice to Lance that the home that he yearned for was a shed, far from everything he knows and loves now, comforting yet isolating all at once.
Still, some part of him (the selfish part, he thought bitterly) leaned into the small touches. And when Lance’s lips pressed gently on his, he let their warmth melt him and kissed him back-selfish or not.