Itâs not even that Keithâs day was bad. Really, it wasnât. A couple years ago everyone had gotten nostalgic for seasons, so Coran and Hunk had rigged the castle to be somewhat chiller every few months, to simulate winter, so now Keith got to wear a hoodie every once and a while without sweating. Itâs wonderful. (And, of course, thereâs the added bonus of Lance with flushed cheeks and a red nose, brown eyes bright and excited, wearing four sweaters and a comforter wrapped around his shoulders everywhere he goes. Itâs adorable and the universeâs greatest gift to the world.)
But no, really. Keithâs day was decent. He had a couple meetings, trained for a few hours, just a regular day on the castle. He even got to watch Shiro trip that morning, which raised his mood significantly. His day, by all accounts, was decent, if not good.
But as the evening hits and he heads to the common room, tasks done for the day, he sees his boyfriend (fiancĂŠ, now), and just â he doesnât even have the words for it. One second heâs standing in the doorway, something warm and inviting uncurling in his belly as Lance catches sight of him and beams, and the next second heâs got Lance wrapped up in his arms. He buries his face in the crook of Lanceâs neck and inhales deeply, not giving even half a shit if thatâs weird, because his eyes are closed but he can feel the softness of Lanceâs favourite pink sweater and hear his warm chuckle and smell his floral shampoo, and his senses are overwhelmed with Lance and he just melts. Just â sinks into Lance, sighing, muscles relaxing and brain quieting and heart slowing, because it feels like heâs holding pure comfort in his hands.
His hands find the back of Lanceâs head, fingers tangled in his curly hair, and he thinks that itâs true and he is.
âHi, sweetheart,â Lance mumbles, pressing a kiss to Keithâs temple. âYou okay?â
Keith sighs again, kissing the warm skin of Lanceâs neck.
âYeah. Just â wanted to hold you.â
âMm. Youâre acting like you havenât seen me in days. I was with you in the meeting this morning, you dork.â
Itâs true. He was. They sat together, quietly playing tic-tac-toe on Lanceâs notes when it droned on for too long.
âI know. I just like holding you. Itâs â nice. Safe.â
He can feel Lanceâs grin, pressed into his shoulder, even through the thickness of his sweater.
He doesnât know how to say it. How to tell Lance that holding him feels like coming home. That his smile makes Keithâs anxieties melt away, that his affection makes Keith strong. That everything about him makes Keith feel like he can be the best he can possibly be, with Lance at his side.
âI love you,â he says instead, because he feels like that ought to cover a part of it, at least.
Lance pulls back slightly, and when his eyes meet Keithâs theyâre as knowing as they are amused.
âI love you, too,â Lance says, leaning up higher to kiss Keithâs forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips. âGod, I love you, too.â
art again by @awhoreintheory , who is the most talented artist in the world (photo id in alt text)