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Keith sat on the couch in the one-bedroom apartment he owned with Lance, a book in hand and Kosmo at his feet. The drone of the air conditioner was Keith’s white noise, accompanied by Kosmo’s light snores.
Five years ago, back during the war, Keith might’ve called the sight ‘disgustingly domestic’. While he always wished for peace, even before space and the Galra happened, he thought he would spend his years in the desert in his father’s shack, or in a forest somewhere far away. A slow, meaningless life, filled only with monotony. The thought was… depressing, at best, but it was better than flitting around through the system, never knowing where or with whom he’d end up.
After space and the war, Keith thought about returning to the shack. Commuting back and forth between the Garrison and there. Then Lance revealed he found an apartment on the Garrison grounds, and needed a roommate to afford rent. He’d complained about how, even though Lance was a Paladin, he still had to pay a monthly rent.
Keith volunteered to share the apartment with Lance. It was before Keith had revealed his feelings to Lance. Not even six months after moving in, not only did Lance and Keith share the living space, but a last name.
The door of the apartment opened to reveal an exhausted-looking Lance. He winced as he closed the door, then walked over to Keith and laid down. He curled into Keith’s chest, head tucked into the crook of Keith’s neck.
“Bad day with the trainees?” Keith asked, chuckling a little as he ran his hand through Lance’s chestnut locks.
Lance shook his head. “No,” he murmured, voice muffled by Keith’s shirt. “M’ head hurts. And the lights hurt.”
Keith hummed, and placed his book face-down onto the couch. He began to gently rub Lance’s back in a circular motion. “Anything else hurt, you big baby?”
If Lance wasn’t in pain, he might’ve replied with “Just my lips. Can you kiss the boo-boo away?” But he barely had the energy to stand, let alone crack a joke.
Instead, Lance whimpered. A tear glistened down his cheek as he clung tighter to Keith. “It hurts,” he whispered, voice breaking. “So much.”
Keith’s eyes widened. Lance was famously dramatic. But this was… unlike him. Keith and Lance had had issues in the past concerning Lance’s tendencies to bury his feelings ‘for the greater good’. As time passed, Lance got better at communicating how he felt, and Keith learned the signs, recognized the patterns. He remained patient, the old mantra of ‘patience yields focus’ repeating in his head.
Lance only ever broke down bad when the pain was overwhelming, when it took too much energy to hide.
Keith hooked his arm under Lance’s knees, and hauled him up slowly, so as to not disturb his husband. He walked to the bedroom, and gently placed Lance on the mattress. He stripped the blue-eyed boy of his uniform jacket and boots. A bit of the tension in Lance’s muscles faded.
Keith brushed his fingers across Lance’s forehead. Lance caught Keith’s wrist, keeping his hand in place. “Y’r hands’re cold,” Lance murmured. “Feels nice.”
A light smile painted itself onto Keith’s face. “I’ll get you an ice pack,” he said softly, pressing a peck onto Lance’s nose. He carefully pried Lance’s hand from him. “Be right back.”
He jogged to the kitchen, fetching an instant cold pack. By the time Keith returned, Lance had already fallen asleep. His face was still scrunched into a wince, jaw clenched and fist white-knuckling the pillowcase.
Keith sighed, and took his place on the right side of the bed. He wrapped the pack with a hand towel he’d also grabbed, and placed the compress on Lance’s head. Hopefully, it would bring him relief.
Keith laid down beside his lover, and wrapped his arms around him. Sleep tugged at his mind, Lance’s pulse slowing against Keith’s chest. He gave in to the sensation.
^-_/*\_-^
Later that night, Lance awoke to the sensation of nausea filling his stomach. His head thundered with the stomps of a thousand elephants wrapping around his skull. The agony of the migraine had dialed up while Lance slept.
He rushed to the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet and spilling his guts into the porcelain bowl. The splash of the vomit made Lance’ belly turn ever further.
Keith raced from the bed to the bathroom, any speck of sleep disappearing. He flicked on the miniature lamp on the counter, and Lance let out a whimper of protestation. The brightness of even a small two-watt night light was enough to send Lance’s pain spiraling.
Thankfully, Keith immediately turned the lights off, and silently sat down next to Lance. He knew sound also triggered Lance’s pain, so he opted to brush Lance’s hair away from his forehead and rub ellipses into Lance’s back to comfort him. He tapped out a rhythm on Lance’s forearm, hoping Lance hadn’t forgotten his morse code.
Deep breaths. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.