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Lance collapses onto his bed, completely blissed out. He knows he’ll regret not wiping the sticky mess of lube and cum off his skin once it cools and dries, but he can’t bring himself to move. He closes his eyes and lets a little smile flit onto his lips. Keith is moving around the room, and Lance assumes he’s grabbing something to clean up with. There’s never a dip in the mattress, though, and the smile falls from Lance’s face when he hears his bedroom door open and close. The pleasant daze is ripped from him in an instant, replaced with cold dread. He opens his eyes to an empty room.
For a while, he tells himself Keith is coming back. He must have just gone to grab something, maybe he wanted to shower back in his own room (even though Lance is the one with all the nice fancy shampoos and things). Lance doesn’t know how long he sits there staring at the door like an abandoned puppy. Long enough for the grossness settling on his stomach and between his legs to start itching.
He wants to shower, but his legs are feeling a little wobbly and his back is feeling a little sore. He settles on getting a rag wet and thoroughly wiping himself down. He throws on a fresh pair of boxers and strips his bed of his newly dirtied sheets. It’s not comfortable curling up on a bare mattress, but Lance doesn’t want to leave his room any time in the near future. He shoves his pillow on top of his face and lets himself cry.
When Keith kissed him in the middle of an argument, Lance assumed he was reciprocating the frustrating crush. He should have pulled away long enough to ask Keith’s intentions. He really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. Still, Lance feels used and gross and hurt .
He misses dinner, apparently. There’s a knock on his door, but Lance doesn’t move. He keeps his face hidden beneath his pillow even when he hears his door open and footsteps coming closer. His bed finally dips like Lance had been waiting for, and it brings a fresh wetness to his eyes.
“Lance,” Shiro’s voice calls, soft and gentle and it makes everything worse. Lance tightens his grip on the pillowcase. His fingers hurt. “I brought food if you’re hungry. Do you want it?” Lance doesn’t move, and Shiro sighs. “I’ll leave it on your nightstand.” The mattress creaks as Shiro shifts his weight. Lance hears the clatter of a plate being set down. “Lance, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk, but can I at least see your face?”
He thinks for a moment. “No,” he finally decides, “I look stupid.”
Warm hands slip between Lance’s fingers and the pillow, and he’s pulled up against his will. He snatches the pillow back but just holds it to his bare chest. He refuses to look at Shiro.
“Do you want me to go?” Shiro asks. Lance squeezes his swollen eyes shut and shakes his head.
“Sorry, Shiro, I’m just–” His voice is too high, too watery, and it cracks. He takes a shaky breath and tries again. “I’m embarrassed,” he sobs. He doesn’t resist when Shiro gathers him up into his arms.
“What happened?”
Lance croaks out a laugh. “Are you blind?” He can feel Shiro’s huff rustle the short hairs on the back of his neck.
“I mean, specifically. Why are you upset?”
“It’s my fault, I jumped to conclusions…” Lance sniffles. “I thought he meant something by it.”
Shiro tenses. “Oh, Lance…”
He pulls back just enough to look at Shiro. He knows he must be one hell of a picture, puffy red eyes and bruised neck and all. “Don’t tell him about this.” Shiro looks like he’s about to protest, so Lance barrels forward. “I’m humiliated enough, Shiro, please. I’ll get over it.”
Shiro reluctantly nods. “Okay. But don’t settle for this again.”
Lance snorts. “We’ll see.”
“Lance–”
“Don’t worry about it, dad. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions.”
Shiro frowns. “Bad decisions.”
“Whatever. We’ll see.” Lance tosses the pillow behind himself and flops back on it. Shiro takes it as a dismissal and moves to stand, but Lance grabs his sleeve. He tilts his face away from Shiro, brow furrowed. “If you have things to do, it’s okay but…” He glances back to meet Shiro’s eyes. “Could you stay awhile?”
Shiro smiles and scoots up to the headboard. He pats his lap, and Lance obediently abandons his pillow to rest his head on Shiro’s thigh. Shiro runs his fingers through soft strands of hair, and Lance lets out a deep sigh.
Shiro doesn’t comment when Lance pulls his pillow back into his chest, doesn’t stop stroking his hair even when his shoulders tremble and his tears leak onto Shiro’s thigh. He hums, and the low rumble vibrates through Lance’s chest as well. It shakes away some of the tighter knots in his gut, and Lance dozes off feeling significantly better.
And when he opens his eyes in the morning, Shiro is still there.